A Conspiracy of Alchemists

by Liesel Schwarz

  The city grew poorer and the wooden houses more dilapidated as he walked. It took some effort, but eventually he found a little guesthouse. Carved into the eaves of the building was the Warlock triangle. It was cleverly disguised by the decorations, but to Marsh it was unmistakable.

  The owner of the guesthouse looked up from behind the counter. His curved horns were neatly hidden under a close-fitting hat, but there was no mistaking the fact that the owner of the guesthouse was one of the children of Pan.

  “I need a room for a few days.”

  The faun nodded.

  “A quiet room,” he paused and looked the faun in the eye. “And you never saw me.”

  The faun shrugged, picking up the notes. “I ask no questions, Warlock. These are dark times and one good turn deserves another.”

  Without taking his eyes off Marsh, the faun said something to the back. A woman with large hips and a face that was fading in its beauty came out from behind a curtain. She was carrying a large bunch of keys. She motioned to Marsh, who followed her up the stairs.

  “We don’t want any trouble here,” she said.

  “Then we want the same thing,” Marsh replied.

  “My son will help. He will be with you in a minute,” the woman said before going downstairs. A small boy appeared at the door, and while he was somewhat odd-looking with his mother’s dark eyes and his father’s pointy face and curly brown hair at least he appeared to have escaped the burden of having horns like his father.

  A few quiet words, and a few more notes handed to the boy, procured a white linen shirt and trousers, a baggy waistcoat and a red fez.

  Marsh dressed quickly. He stowed the Colt inside his coat and patted his pocket. Money was the currency of secrecy in this world. He had enough cash with him to tide him over until Patrice got to Constantinople. If Patrice managed to track him down, that is.

  The boy reappeared and eyed Marsh in his disguise. He stifled a giggle. Marsh smiled back.

  “What is your name?” he said.

  The boy grew shy. My name is Inut,” he said solemnly.

  Marsh extended his hand and shook the boy’s. “How do you do, Inut? I am Mr. Marsh, and I need to find a certain tower as soon as possible,” Marsh explained. “An old stone tower with a tree growing outside in the courtyard. Do you think you can help me find one like that?”

  “There are many old stone towers in the city,” the boy said. “We could spend weeks visiting each one. But I will help.”

  “Splendid. Let’s try the area near the airfield first.”

  Hours later, in a dusty alley, Marsh kicked an abandoned wooden crate in frustration. It set a series of dogs barking across the silent city. The almost-full moon simmered above them. Marsh looked up at the white disk in the sky and despaired.

  “Damn it to the underworld and to damnation.” They had been wandering around for hours.

  The half-fawn boy sat down on a doorstep. He rested his head on his knees. The fairy was hanging her arms out of Marsh’s pocket, her head drooping down. It was almost midnight.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Constantinople was so full of old stone towers?” Marsh said.

  Inut stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes. “I did,” he said. “You didn’t believe me.”

  Marsh couldn’t argue with that.

  Inut yawned. “The city is old. Many wars. Many towers, even after earthquakes.”

  “Fair enough, but where is the next one?”

  Inut dragged himself up and stumbled.

  Marsh looked at his pocket. The fairy was now curled up in the bottom and was fast asleep. He rubbed his face. He felt like he had sand in his eyes.

  “Maybe we try the one by the money lenders,” Inut mumbled. He started walking down the road, swaggering like a drunkard. The sight of the faun-boy asleep on his feet brought Marsh to his senses.

  Marsh walked up to him and stopped him. “I’m sorry, Inut. This is not fair. It is very late and—right now I think we could walk be looking straight past the tower and not see it,” he said. “Perhaps we should try again tomorrow.”

  Inut eyed him gratefully. “We look again tomorrow.”

  “Yes, we look again tomorrow. But first, let’s go home. Your mother must be worried about you.”

  He lifted the half-asleep boy in his arms and headed back to the guesthouse.

  The next morning he woke as the sun came up. He washed and dressed quickly, pausing to check his injury. The apothecary’s salve had worked and the wound was nearly knitted up, but yesterday’s scuffle with the vizier and carrying Inut home had taken its toll. He examined the blue-black bruising with a grimace. Whatever those Alchemists had used, it was nasty.

  He started dressing. Thoughts of Elle’s hands on his collar flooded his mind. He shouldn’t have played that game with her, but the liberal after-dinner brandies had made him bold, and she was the one who started it. He would have to apologize to her about turning away from her like that when all this was over. He only hoped he got the chance, and that it wasn’t too late. He pulled on his waistcoat and put his flask into his pocket. The fairy had not stirred yet.

  He was busy working through the contents of his bag when there was a soft knock on his door. Inut entered timidly. “Excuse me, sir, but my mother says to tell you that breakfast is ready,” he said.

  “Oh, splendid.”

  “Can we go hunting for towers again, sir?”

  “As soon as we’ve had our breakfast.”

  Inut sped out the room and down the stairs as fast as he could.

  Marsh followed him downstairs. His felt his stomach rumble as the smell of strong Turkish coffee met him halfway down the stairs. He found Inut’s mother in the dining room, clearing a few dishes away from the table.

  “Good morning … again,.” Marsh greeted her.

  “Good morning,” she said politely.

  “Many guests?”

  “Not so many,” she replied, putting a plate of bread in front of Marsh. “Most are peddlers come to the city to find remedies to sell.” She shrugged.

  “I see,” Marsh helped himself to a fresh fig from a wooden bowl on the table. He bit into the fruit, tasting the sweetness.

  Inut’s mother watched Marsh from the corner of her eye. Marsh carefully put his knife down.

  “I must apologize again for keeping your son out so late last night.”

  She nodded. “Inut is a good boy. We don’t want any trouble.”

  “There is no trouble, but I need to find this tower. It is a matter of life and death.”

  Inut came into the dining room with what looked like a rolled-up piece of paper. “My father says we should use this.” He handed it to Marsh.

  Marsh carefully unrolled it, and smiled. It was a map of Constantinople—carefully drawn, with illustrations to show the landmarks. He felt his hopes rise. Some of the illustrations looked like towers.

  “Tell your father I say thank you. Thank you very much indeed.”

  “I will.” Inut also smiled.

  Marsh pointed at the map. “Now show me the towers we found yesterday.”

  An hour later, armed with the faun’s map and dressed in his traditional disguise, Marsh took to the streets, this time without Inut.

  He paused to straighten his fez and checked the map. The streets were filling up with traders and people going about their business of the morning. Not many paid attention to a tall man walking down the road and looking up at the buildings.

  Shortly before the noon hour, Marsh stepped into a square. A fountain that trickled grayish-looking water greeted him. An old man was at the fountain, watering his mule.

  Marsh stopped under the branches of a Judas tree. They were a common sight in Constantinople. The trees mostly looked like they were dead, with their black leafless limbs reaching up into the sky. Then, as soon as spring arrived, they would burst into blossom, covering the city in soft pink petals before their leaves sprang forth. He Marsh looked up at the branches. There were no pink flowers and
the leaves were turning brown and dying. They crunched underfoot.

  He pulled his flask out of his pocket and opened it. The fairy morphed into fairy form and fluttered her wings. She looked at Marsh with annoyance.

  “My apologies for waking you again, but is this the tower?”

  The fairy shook her head, her eyes downcast, and folded her arms as she hovered before him.

  “Look, I am sorry you are tired, and I am even sorrier for bothering you every time I find a tower, but the sooner we find it, the sooner we can go home.” Marsh sighed and pointed at the stone building behind the fairy. “Please tell me, for the love of all that is good in this world, is that the confounded tower?”

  The fairy spun round and looked at the building. Then she looked up the branches of the tree. Marsh watched on in amazement as she started humming and buzzing with excitement like an over-sized bumblebee.

  “Is this it?” he said, almost unwilling to believe it.

  The fairy nodded so vigorously, her whole body bobbed up and down. She pointed at the tower.

  Marsh had to suppress a whoop of delight. “Oh, if you weren’t so little I would hug you right now,” he said.

  He surveyed the building, and his joy evaporated. The tower looked like it had ten-foot-thick walls. The buttresses were heavily fortified. Steel bars covered the windows.

  He walked across the square to take a closer look. As he turned a corner, his eye caught a flash of dark blue uniform and he ducked down into the alley, just in time to see two soldiers of the caliph’s guard walk by. Both of them had swords and dangerous looking pistols at their sides. They sat down on the stone bench opposite the fountain and opened their lunch boxes.

  Marsh cursed under his breath. He was trapped in the alley. The guards seemed happily distracted by their lunch, but he couldn’t risk being seen. Not when Elle was so close.

  He motioned for the fairy to go back into the flask. He needed to rethink his strategy.

  Carefully he backed away and started walking in the opposite direction, away from the tower. He walked with muscle-bunched tension. Finally, he rounded the corner. Sagging with relief, he rested inside a doorway.

  “That was close,” he whispered.

  The fairy buzzed from inside of the hip flask in agreement.

  “At least we know where she is now. Let’s go back to the guesthouse.”

  Silently he stole down the alley, passing two more guards who were on the other side of the road. They were chatting. Marsh kept his head down and managed to pass without them noticing him. Then, as he reached the end of the street, one of them called out.

  “Oi,” one of them yelled, and then said something in Turkish.

  Marsh froze. Slowly he turned around. The guards walked towards him. They were talking to one another. He made himself stand still as he waited for them.

  One of the guards smiled and pulled out a metal cigarette box. He said something. It was one of the few Turkish words Marsh knew. The guard was asking for a match to light his cigarette.

  Marsh put his hand in his pockets and felt around. He was about to raise his shoulders to indicate that he could not help, hoping they wouldn’t notice his lack of language, when something appeared in the palm of his hand. To his own amazement, he pulled a box of matches out of his pocket. He handed the matches to the guard, who took them and lit his cigarette. He handed the box back to Marsh with a smile. Marsh stood completely still as the guards walked away.

  He waited until they had disappeared round the corner before he started walking. When they reached the end of the alley, the fairy flew out of the flask.

  “Did you do that?

  The fairy nodded.

  “Then I have to thank you, little fairy. For saving my life.” The fairy smiled and pushed her chest out.

  Marsh smiled as they walked, silently thanking Inut’s father for the clothes. He would be back this evening for Elle. Nothing would stop him now.

  Back at the guesthouse, Marsh paced the length of his room, from one end to the other. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he walked. He had all of his things laid out, ready to go.

  Inut had been a good assistant. Marsh had sent him out to collect a list of rather unusual things, and the boy had returned with the goods, without looking ruffled. He had even used some initiative. Marsh had asked him to find a bottle of absinthe, but as none could be found, he had returned with a bottle of Turkish raki—the vicious aniseed-flavored drink favored in these regions. The fairy had pulled a face when presented with the option, but eventually she relented. Fresh raki was better than stale no absinthe. The bottle of raki now stood on the shelf, glowing a soft green color as the fairy slept. He smiled. She deserved a rest after all she had done.

  Frustrated, he ran his hand through his hair. The plan was a simple one, because simple was all he could manage at this stage. He had to find Elle. If it was the last thing he did.

  When this was all over, he was going to take her away somewhere. Far away., where they would live out their lives. Somewhere quiet, away from all the politics of Light and Shadow. The thought eased his anxiety and he smiled. Yes, it would definitely be worth it. If she’d have him, but he was going to need to do an awful lot of explaining first.

  CHAPTER 48

  The afternoon shadows were long on the walls when they came for her. This time there were many of them. Elle stood with her back against the wall. She watched them through the fronds of her hair as they filed into the cell. Their faces were shrouded in gray hoods.

  One of them—the leader, it seemed—stepped forward. He let his hood fall back so she could see his face. His head was shaved smooth, and lurid runes moved under his skin. It was one of the faces from her nightmares.

  He gripped her chin and turned her head from side to side to examine her face. “Hmm, such a pretty thing. I am pleased,” he said.

  Elle tried to draw away, but he held her firmly.

  He wrinkled his nose as he took in her greasy hair and dirty nightdress. “Why has she not been allowed to wash?” he barked. A few of his followers jumped at the tone of his voice. “I said, why has she not been attended to?” No one answered.

  He let go of Elle’s chin and his head snapped around. He stared at the others. “She must be prepared. Everything must be perfect. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, master,” they murmured.

  He clapped his hands. “Attend to the preparations. Call Patrice. I must speak with him at once!”

  They bowed and scuttled out of the room. The Alchemist turned and stared at Elle. Then he reached over and took hold of the crystal. He held it between his fingers. “You are ready. I am sure of it now. And our plan will work so much better now that you are.” He let go of the crystal and it dropped back into its now familiar place. Then he turned and left the cell.

  Elle wrapped the blanket about herself and stared at the locked door with growing frustration. There was no telling what these men were up to, but whatever it was, it did not seem good. She closed her eyes and focused her new seeing skills at the door, feeling for anything she could use, but the rebound from the magic that surrounded the door was too strong, and the images were just a blur.

  She opened her eyes in frustration and let out a small sob. What use was having special powers when if you couldn’t use them in an emergency? She wanted to go home.

  Work on scraping through the shackle was slow going, but she had managed to wear away some of the metal. They took the spoon when they collected the tray, but the diamonds in the bracelet around her wrist were not going anywhere. And they were harder than anything she could lay her hands on. She rubbed and rubbed against the shackle. Tiny shavings of metal fell to the floor. If she kept at it, she might be able to wear the link thin enough to break it. She hoped there was enough time though. Judging by her last visitor, she feared it might be too late.

  Suddenly there was a commotion at the door. It flung open and a group of acolytes and servants entered. Elle cowered under
her blanket.

  The acolytes were directing the servants, who carried an ornate copper bath. They set it down in the middle of the floor, in the sunny patch. Next to it they put a wooden table. One of the servants set about arranging an assortment of soaps, oils and brushes on it. Another set up a polished metal oval standing mirror next to the table, while the last servant carried a chair. Elle watched in amazement as her cell was transformed.

  Two servants left, and returned wrestling a day bed, complete with linen, and set it down against the wall. One servant even plumped the pillows and arranged them neatly, while another brought folded towels.

  More minions were carrying buckets of steaming water down the stairs. The water was dumped into the bath. The cell filled with the smell of attar of roses.

  “Why are you doing this?” she said to one of the acolytes.

  He ignored her, but she tugged at his sleeve. “Please, you have to answer me,” she said.

  The acolyte just looked down at his feet.

  “Hello, my lovely. And how are we today?” Patrice was standing at the door with his hands in his pockets. He tutted. “Now, don’t you go upsetting the acolytes. Life is hard enough for them as it is.”

  “Patrice, you are lucky I am chained to this wall. Or else you would be a very seriously injured man right now.”

  He laughed. “Ah, the famous Chance temper. How charming. Now, my dove, there is no need for such animosity. You should be grateful that I am doing you a favor.” He gestured at the new furniture. “You will find your circumstances much improved.” He smiled at her. “You should learn to be more gracious when someone does something nice for you.”

  “Let me out of these chains and I’ll show you grace.”

  “All in good time, little one. All in good time, little one.”

  “Don’t you call me that. You have no right to speak as if I am your friend.”

  Patrice held up a hand in mock apology. “Fair enough. I shall leave the terms of endearment for your Warlock. Although I doubt that you will ever see the sop again.”