A Conspiracy of Alchemists

by Liesel Schwarz

  “Marsh is not a sop. He’s more of a man than you are.”

  Patrice laughed. “Oh, I think we both know he is a coward and a cad. He’s not coming for you, you know. A little bird told me that he got off the train in Bucharest. He’s home safely, in his drawing room in London by now. His little Chance-dalliance long forgotten.”

  One of the servants emptied the last bucket of hot water into the bath. The water sloshed and spilled onto the floor. Patrice ran his hand through the water. “Perfect,” he said.

  Elle glared at him. “Who was that man? The one who was here earlier?” It was all she could do to hide her disappointment over the news about Marsh. Surely he wouldn’t abandoned her. The hope she felt inside evaporated and made way for a deep sense of anguish. He was not coming for her.

  “Sir Eustace is exactly who he says he is. And right now he says he is the master, and if that is what he says, you should know, that is all you need to know. Now, you be a good girl and have a nice hot bath. Then, have some lunch. It will do you good.” He motioned to one of the servants who put a platter of food on the table. Elle’s mouth watered when she saw there was fresh bread, cheese and fruit.

  The servant placed a jug of water next to the platter. Another placed a paper box onto the chair.

  “Once you’ve finished bathing, you are to put that on.” Patrice nodded at the box. Then he turned and picked up a lock of Elle’s hair on her shoulder. He lifted it and turned it between his fingers. “Also, be sure to do something nice with your hair. Something classic, to go with the dress, hmm?” Then he leaned over and sniffed the lock.

  She jerked her head back to free her hair, but Patrice held on to it, pulling it. She winced. “You need to work on your attitude, Eleanor. Your temper does nothing but make life more difficult for yourself, you know. It did not help your father and it’s not going to help you either.”

  “Where is my father,” she said in a low voice.

  Patrice raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Did they not tell you?” He tutted again. “Your dear old papa is dead.”

  Elle felt her knees buckle and she leaned against the wall for support. “Patrice, so help me. As soon as I am out of these chains, you are a dead man.”

  “You are way past help now, my dear. I am your only salvation,” he said softly. He stood back and clapped his hands. “Leave us,” he commanded. The last of the servants and acolytes bowed and left the cell.

  Once they were gone, he turned to her. “Be sure to obey these orders. You are to be washed, dressed and fed. You are to wait in readiness until you are called upon. Nothing more.”

  “And what if I do not?”

  “If you do not, then I shall drag you out of here naked and kicking. We don’t need all this fragrance and frippery. But the master thought it would be a nice touch. I, for one, have no qualms in handing you over a little used.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. The expression in Patrice’s eyes was blank. He looked like a man who meant what he said, with no reservation.

  He motioned to the bath and the chair. “Contrary to what some might say, the Alchemists are a civilized order. They agree that there is no need for barbarism in this day and age.” His eyes grew cold. “But if you shun their gift, then there is no problem with proceeding as they did in the days of old.” His eyes flicked over her. “You are a beautiful woman, Elle. I’ve always thought so. But you were always too ambitious, too selfish and wrapped up in your own little world, to notice my regard. I really am quite looking forward to you defying me.”

  Elle shuddered with revulsion. “Patrice, you are mad. Did you know that?”

  He laughed again. “Mad? No,. I am not mad. I am an opportunist.”

  “And what exactly am I preparing for?”

  He gave her a look that was steeped in pure evil. “Oh, I am not going to ruin the surprise for you. Just know that you are to be honored greatly.” With those words, Patrice left the cell. The door closed behind him with solid thud.

  Elle stayed where she had slumped to the floor. She watched the steam curl slowly up off the surface of the perfumed water in the bath.

  Patrice is a liar. The voices spoke.

  “I agree.” He was playing games with her. She was sure of it. Her father could not be dead. She refused to believe it. And Marsh?

  You must have faith.

  She rattled the crystal in frustration. “Why can’t you just give me a straight-forward answer for once!”

  The answers are for you to find, Pythia. We are merely your compass.

  Elle sighed. Marsh had been so cold. He had turned her away. It was hopeless.

  The power of salvation lies within you. It has always been within you.

  The voices were right. It was time to take matters into her own hands. She wasn’t sure how many days had passed, but she knew her body was dirty. The thought of complying with Patrice’s orders somehow made her feel even more sullied. But he did seem deadly serious about the alternative. And she would not let him do that. Ever. She shuddered again. She could not believe he was the same man she met in Paris not so long ago.

  She crept over to the table and opened the paper box. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, was a piece of wispy blue material wrapped in tissue paper. Nestled next to the fabric was pair of copper brooches, a golden, braided belt and a pair of fine leather sandals. She held the fabric up to the light. It had a definite shape to it, even though it was rather flimsy. It looked like something she’d seen draped over women in classical paintings. She held the fabric it up against her and looked into the mirror. Her hair was messy and hung over the fabric, but the purpose of the fabric was clear.

  It was a dress cut in the classical Greek style.

  So she was going to be the Oracle, whether she liked it or not.

  That has always been your destiny.

  Elle rolled her eyes. The voices were going to take some getting used to. She dropped the fabric back into the box, and looked down at her feet. They were covered in gray streaks of dirt, and the soles were black.

  Remember, you have the power to control men. It is through you, because of you, that they gain power. It lies within your gift to take that power away too. Remember that your responsibility lies with ensuring that power is used for good.

  She felt herself fill with a deep sense of pragmatism. She would think about Marsh and her father later. The voices were right. There were more important factors at play here. It was ultimately up to her. And no matter what happened, she was not about to allow these men to take what was not theirs. Abercrombie and Patrice wanted her to make herself ready. Well, she would be ready for them indeed.

  With quiet resolution, she pulled off her nightdress and stepped into the warm, fragrant water. If she was going to die, then she may as well look her best for it. And if she managed to escape, then at least she would be dressed enough to get out to the street to find help. Either way, being clean and dressed seemed to be the preferable option at this stage. There was no time left for sentiment.

  The chain attached to her shackle clanked against the metal bath as she moved in the water, but she hardly noticed it. Elle was devising a plan.

  CHAPTER 49

  In the guesthouse, Marsh slipped his carriage cloak over his shoulders and buttoned it up. He pulled on his gloves and put on his hat. It was time to go and he was more than ready.

  Inut was loitering by the door with a broom in his hand, pretending to sweep the floor. Marsh turned to the boy and handed him an envelope. “Give this to your father. If I do not return by the end of tomorrow, he is to post it without delay. It is very important. Can you do that?” The boy took the envelope with some reverence and nodded. “Well, then I bid you a good evening, young Inut.” Marsh touched the rim of his hat. “You have been most kind and helpful. I will always be grateful for that.” He felt a sense of eeriness as he spoke.

  Constantinople was settling into the rhythm of early evening as the sun cast its last weak reddish glow along th
e skyline. The air was filled with the smell of wood smoke and a thousand spicy dinners cooking. Marsh set out at a brisk pace. Even without his abilities, he was good at being inconspicuous. To the world, he looked like any other gentleman tourist seeking out the forbidden pleasures that the city of Constantinople had to offer. Opium dens and houses of ill repute were not hard to find. Apart from the odd surreptitious glance, no one paid him much attention.

  He reached one of the many wooden bridges that connected the city. Two royal guards were looking out at the river. He held his breath and willed himself to stroll casually past them. At the other side of the bridge he looked back briefly. The soldiers hadn’t looked at him, but he wasn’t going to tempt fate by loitering. Instead, he turned into a side street and disappeared into the half-light.

  Thanks to the faun’s map, he managed to find the square again without too much difficulty. The Judas tree stood lonely and bare in the blue-gray light that filled the space between sunset and complete darkness. Its black branches reached for the sky. The square was deserted, but Marsh decided not to tarry. If his calculations were correct, a full moon would soon be rising tonight. Whatever the Alchemists were planning, it was going to happen tonight. Of this he was sure.

  He hoped Elle was all right. A tiny ember of hope glowed inside him.

  Quiet as a shadow he stole round the square and ducked into a deserted doorway. The fairy had told him that she had flown out of a grate on top of the tower. He could see the crumbling structure looming up from the middle of the cluster of buildings. The tower must have grown into this villa as buildings were added onto it over the years.

  At the other end of the alley, the yellow light of a lantern marked an entrance. A guard in a gray cloak slouched against the doorway. He was no more than a boy, his face still clear and unmarked by runes. An acolyte yet to undergo the ultimate initiation that earned them the scars of their Guild.

  This, then, was definitely the right place. They could not have advertised it better if they had made posters and pasted them on the walls. He would have to go round the other way to avoid the boy raising the alarm. Silently, he backtracked to the square and slipped into the alley that ran alongside the building.

  He rounded the building in the opposite direction, but; it took him a good few minutes to walk all the way. The building was much bigger than it looked.

  Quietly Marsh crept up on the boy. Judging from his dejected stance, he must have misbehaved for them to make him stand guard instead of attending what would probably be the biggest ceremony this Order had conducted in centuries. He didn’t want to think about the reason for the ceremony tonight. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle. Carefully he poured some of the liquid onto his handkerchief. It was a tincture of mandrake root, chloroform and a few other secret ingredients purchased—with the help of Inut—earlier today.

  Marsh reached up and grabbed the boy from behind. His eyes widened as Marsh clapped the cloth over his nose and mouth. A few seconds later, the boy slumped against him, limp and unconscious.

  Marsh carefully let him down against the doorway. The mixture would leave him out cold for at least six hours, perhaps more. With quick fingers, Marsh felt inside the boy’s robes until he found the keys. He unlocked the door. Then he jammed the key into the lock and pushed against it with all of his strength. The key snapped off in the lock. The door would not be locked again in a hurry. With his exit secured, he slipped into the building.

  Inside was a narrow passageway that led downhill. It was quiet and empty. Marsh drew a stick of chalk out of his pocket and made a mark on the wall, indicating the direction he was taking. Judging from what he had seen of other Turkish buildings, this one was likely to be like a maze inside. He made another mark on the wall a few paces further on. It was going to be easy to get lost.

  He walked down the passage and into another, all the time looking and listening for anything that could lead him to Elle.

  Suddenly the sound of voices reached him. Marsh ducked into a dark alcove. He stood very still as an acolyte and a guard walked by. The guard was carrying a tray with an empty bowl and a jug on it.

  Marking the wall with his chalk, Marsh walked in the direction they had come from.

  He walked until he reached a wooden door with a padlock on it. It was the only door in the corridor that was locked like that. Carefully, he lifted the padlock and examined it. It rattled against the door as he maneuvered it.

  There was a shuffling noise, and Marsh froze.

  “Who’s there?” A man spoke from the other side of the door.

  “A friend. Now be quiet.”

  Marsh pulled the ring of keys out of his pocket and examined them. He selected one and pushed it into the lock. It didn’t fit. He tried two more before he felt the click of metal biting into metal. With a swift twist of his wrist, the lock sprang open and he slid the bolt back.

  The door creaked open and Marsh took two steps back in surprise. He gasped for air and covered his face as a rancid wave of heat and stench assailed him.

  The man grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the cell. He closed the door and slid the bolt into place. “Quick, before they see you.”

  The man inside the cell had dark red hair, like Elle’s, except that it was graying at the temples. He was dressed in a long linen smock that was covered in an array of gory-looking brown and red stains. The smock was held in place by a leather harness around his chest and shoulders. The man also had a contraption that involved a magnifying glass strapped to his head. It made one of his eyes seem grotesquely large compared to the other. Eyes the same color as Elle’s.

  “Professor Chance, I presume?” Marsh said as soon as he caught his breath. Inside the cell, the stench was even worse.

  “Who wants to know?” the man said somewhat nervously.

  “Marsh, Hugh Marsh—Viscount of Greychester” Marsh shook the professor’s hand. “And I have come from England to rescue you.”

  The professor shook Marsh’s hand. He turned his head and squinted, almost as if he did not believe Marsh was real, and the magnifying glass on his head rattled.

  “What on earth have they done to you?” Marsh said as he took in the surroundings. If he breathed through his mouth, he could just about handle the smell … but only just.

  The professor’s cell had been converted into a laboratory. A series of long wooden benches took up most of the space. On top and to the side of the tables was a collection of copper kettles of varying sizes. A network of rubber tubes connected these to one another. Glass iambics and retours filled with spark glowed ominously as they sat clipped onto metal stands.

  To the one side of the room, Marsh spotted the source of the heat; a large furnace glowed behind a grate, locked with another large padlock. To the side of the furnace, an unmade cot with dirty sheets sat sourly against the wall.

  Then he spotted the source of the smell. It was a heap of dead chickens and other small animals, and he did his best not to gag.

  “I’m terribly sorry about the ghastly pong in here, old chap, but they made me do it. Those dastardly Alchemists.”

  Marsh surveyed the carcasses.

  “Normally they come to take them away,” the professor said, “but no one has been yet this afternoon. , so I do apologize.

  They do look rather horrible, don’t they?”

  Marsh nodded.

  “They were already dead when they brought them to me, you know. I am supposed to fill them with spark, to get them going again. The study of re-animation alchemy, they call it. Lazarus electro-biology and thaumaturgy. Not my field of expertise, as you can see.”

  He pulled the magnifying glass back over his eye. “I think I’ve done it though. Look here, —if you wire up the animation candidate with wires to the center point— …”

  “Professor!”

  The professor looked up from his experiments. “Yes?”

  “How long have you been here, sir?”

  The profess
or shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure. It was night. There was a train involved. We traveled due east, I think.” He shook his head again. “I haven’t seen the sun, so I don’t know how long. Days, I think probably. I don’t—I can’t remember, but I think I made a note.” He muttered and rifled through the notes and bits of paper that were strewn in between the apparatus.

  “Let’s take a moment, shall we.” Marsh led the professor to the cot and sat him down. “I am a friend of your daughter.”

  The professors looked at Marsh sharply. “Eleanor?”

  Marsh took a step back. The professor’s magnified eye, so close to him, was somewhat disconcerting.

  “Oh, sorry.” The professor pulled the headpiece off and put it onto the bench.

  “Yes, Eleanor.”

  The professor looked suspicious. “How do you know her? You look familiar. Do I know you?”

  “She and I traveled here to look for you.”

  “Then where is she?” he asked, looking around.

  “Professor,” Marsh said, as gently as he could. “These people, the Alchemists, they have Eleanor. I am sorry, but they managed to intercept us on the way here and they have taken her prisoner.”

  The professor stared at him in horror. “But Ellie’s at home in England. She was due back for a week off from her flight duties. We were going to work on the flying machine.” His voice wavered. Suddenly he looked up at Marsh. “Mrs. Hinges.” He grabbed Marsh by the arm. “Is Mrs. Hinges all right? Please tell me these monsters have left her unharmed.”

  Marsh gripped the professor’s hand. “Mrs. Hinges is fine. I’ve left her in the care of my most trusted man. And from what I can tell, she is a woman who is quite capable of caring for herself.”

  The professor nodded. “Yes, I suppose that she is.”

  The older man seemed fragile, like his mind wasn’t entirely whole. There was no way of telling what the Alchemists had inflicted on him, but for now Marsh hoped his absentmindedness was not permanent.