The professor peered out from behind Marsh and gasped. “Look at that.”
Marsh removed his hat and bowed deeply. “Again, might I offer my apologies, changeling. We did not know that this was your abode. With your leave, we shall be on our way now.”
The changeling’s eyes flickered. It was a spindly creature with skinny arms and legs. Its greenish skin glowed pale in the light. As it moved, its distended abdomen shifted. It looked like an ancient baby with the body of a spider
“What on earth is that?” the professor whispered.
The changeling peered at them with its slanted eyes. Slightly pointed ears poked out through its black hair. Marsh did his best to hide the revulsion that was forming and creeping up the base of his spine. “It’s a changeling.”
“Why is it called a changeling?”
Marsh sighed. “Changelings are the punishment the universe metes out for trifling with the Shadow. They were called baby-stealers in old folktales. Now please be quiet so I can get us out of here.”
“Not so fast, Warlock. I demand tribute,” the changeling interrupted them.
Marsh held his breath. “I am sorry, but we have none to give.”
The changeling sneered, revealing a row of sharp and rather horrible-looking little teeth. “Well, how very unfortunate for you. I would think that a handsome Warlock like yourself would have been more … resourceful. I am quite fond of hearts.” A sly smile crossed its face.
Marsh realized with no small measure of unease that the changeling was female. And female changelings ate their mates after they were done with them.
“I am sorry, my lady, but my heart is promised to another. It is no longer mine to give.”
The professor looked at him. “Is that true?”
“Not now,” Marsh said out of the corner of his mouth.
“Hmm … the true love of a war sorcerer. How delicious,” the changeling said. She shuffled forward and stuck her tongue out, tasting the air around them. She seemed to be paying particular attention to the air around Marsh.
Marsh held very still, but angled his face away from her. She smelled like rotting strawberries.
“Hmm.” She smacked her black lips. “The Warlock speaks the truth. Strong love. Very strong,” She muttered to herself and shuffled back to the nest of rags she had been sitting in. The professor peered out from behind Marsh.
The changeling settled among the rags and folded her arms. “Now, why should I release you when it would give me so much pleasure to detain you here?” She rubbed her belly with her spiny fingers. “My belly aches with loneliness, Warlock. What am I to do?”
“It would bring you no pleasure keeping us here,” Marsh said.
“Oh, but I disagree … if only to see you suffer.”
“What do we do now?” the professor said. He was rattling on the door but the latch seemed to be stuck.
“You don’t, by any chance, have an egg or an acorn in any of your pockets, do you?” Marsh asked the professor.
The professor patted his waistcoat. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I do not.”
“Well then, I fear we are in for a rather unpleasant wait.” Marsh was only slightly amused at the fact that the professor had actually checked his pockets before answering. “I was hoping we could make it vanish.”
“And how would we do that?”
“Well, we could brew beer in an acorn or an eggshell. If legend is to be believed, the creature would say ‘Well, I’ve never seen the likes of that,’ and disappear. Or we could shove it into an oven.”
The professor considered the matter. “Neither plan seems executable at this point.”
“Quite.,” Marsh kept an eye on the creature. Changelings could move very fast if they wanted to. This one looked as if it was poised for action.
Suddenly he felt a massive surge of power. It pulsed through the building.
The changeling shrieked and shrank back into the shadows.
“Elle. That has to be her,” Marsh said.
“What? How do you know that?” the professor said.
Marsh grabbed his arm. “Professor, you need to trust me. On the count of three, shove the door open as forcefully as you can, all right?”
The professor nodded.
The changeling was still cowering in her nest. He lifted the spark-blaster, balanced it on his shoulder and pushed the bellows.
“Open the door and tell me how to get out of this labyrinth, changeling, and I will let you live.”
The changeling stopped cowering. “Why should I say?”
A stream of spark-light hit the ledge the changeling was sitting on. She screamed in pain.
“Tell me,” Marsh said.
“Follow the black stones. The ones in the walls, they lead the way,” the changeling wheezed. “Make it stop, war sorcerer. Make it stop!” The changeling squirmed out of the light.
“Three. Run!”
And for the second time in so many days, Marsh and the professor ran for their lives.
At the end of the corridor, they stopped for breath.
“Do you think that creature will follow us?” said the professor, looking back over his shoulder.
“I doubt it. They tend to be territorial. Let’s hope that if she does survive the spark-blaster, we won’t be worth the effort. But I for one am not in favor of waiting about to see what else might be living in these tunnels.”
“Agreed. Look, a black stone. And there is another one.”
As they walked, the professor looked at the blaster. The spark cylinder was two-thirds empty. “Well, at least we know we can get at least three clear shots from a machine of this size. I must remember to make a note of that.”
The low hum of chant suddenly resumed. Marsh stood very still and listened.
“Come, professor, there is no time to lose.”
They followed the black stones and the sound of the chanting. The long winding passage seemed to stretch ahead for miles. The professor looked up and pointed at the fine roots that were pushing through the stone in the roof. “I gather that we are underground. Possibly underwater too, by the looks of things.” Water was dripping from the tunnel roof, making the floor slippery underfoot.
“And we also seem to be heading away from the tower.” Marsh felt a sense of growing unease.
The floor in the tunnel was rising again. The air smelled fresher.
Suddenly, Marsh stopped and sank onto his haunches. He motioned for the professor to be quiet and pointed at the flickering shadows that could only be torchlight playing on the walls. The professor narrowed his eyes and nodded.
Slowly, they crawled ahead.
A blast of fresh air met them as they reached the end of the stone passage. Marsh paused and motioned to the professor to crawl up beside him. They looked over the ledge. Marsh swore softly as he took in the sight before him.
“Oh, my word,” the professor breathed.
Below them, a row of narrow stairs led down into a crumbling amphitheater. In places, the sandstone had been chopped away to reveal a circle of black stones. They stood out like rotting teeth in a gaping mouth.
The deep rhythm of the Alchemist’s chant filled the air. A procession of robed figures was coming from the tunnel on the other side. Half of them were dressed in gray, the other half in black. They filled the bottom rows of stone seats as more and more of them entered in double file.
And in the center of the amphitheater, where the old Greek stage used to be, was a circular stone altar. It was covered in strange symbols and decorated with flowers. Marsh did not have to think hard on its purpose.
The chanting rose up again. Another group of robed figures appeared. They were carrying a litter. Marsh caught a glimpse of pale skin and blue silk nestled between the flowers on the litter and his heart leapt into his throat.
He had found Elle.
The litter halted and they lowered her onto the stone. Her eyes were closed and she wasn’t moving.
She moved her head when t
hey touched her. With a wave of relief, Marsh realized that she was alive. He rested his head against the wall and thanked the gods for that.
The chanting stopped abruptly. One of the Alchemists signaled. Six others approached, wheeling a large object covered in gold cloth into the stone circle.
The fabric slithered away to reveal a machine made of brass and glass tubes. Its insides glowed and the whole thing puffed and thrummed. Large rubber tubes led from the machine and encircled the altar. Billows of steam escaped as they connected the tubes. When the last tube was in place, spark started crackling in blue circles around the bottom of the altar. The room grew hushed and silent with expectation.
“What on earth are they doing?” the professor muttered.
“They are waiting for the appointed time.”
Marsh felt the professor lurch forwards as he spotted Elle, and he gripped his arm, motioning for him to keep still.
“We have to stop this madness! We must stop it now, before it’s too late.”
The chanting resumed in a low hum as the last three of the figures at the very end of the entourage stepped forward. They took up their places next to the altar.
The chanting stopped. In the silence, the three threw their hoods back to reveal their faces in the wavering light.
Patrice! Marsh felt his blood boil as he looked down at the figures next to the altar. “I am going to kill him with my bare hands.”
The professor looked at him. “What was that?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Then he recognized the man next to Patrice and his blood ran cold. It was Aleix, the Nightwalker from Paris.
“Nightwalkers,” the professor breathed. “How extraordinary. And who is that next to him?”
“You don’t want to know,” Marsh said.
“Who is that man?” The professor pointed at the third figure. “Look at the markings on his face. It’s extraordinary.”
Marsh ground his teeth. “That, professor, is Eustace Abercrombie, Overlord of the Alchemists.”
CHAPTER 52
The chanting ceased and Elle opened her eyes. She felt like she was floating in mid-air and the flickering light of the torches made her dizzy. Cold stone pressed against her back as they lowered the litter onto the altar. Heavy, humid air pressed down on her, making her skin slick with moisture. The energy of so many Shadow creatures in one space swirled and pressed heavily against her.
Her teeth started chattering with fear. She clenched them together as hard as she could.
The chanting reverberated through her bones.
Cold metal shackles clamped round her wrists and ankles, biting into her skin as she was pinned to the stone. She wrestled down a fresh wave of claustrophobia. This was not the time for panicking.
Three cloaked figures stepped forward. Aleix, Patrice and Abercrombie lifted their hoods to reveal their faces to the crowd.
Abercrombie took another step forward. His raised arms looked absurdly thin and pale as they poked out from under the folds of his robes.
“My brother Alchemists.” His voice boomed through the amphitheater. “Tonight we stand at the doorway of a new beginning. For centuries, our people have been persecuted and abused. The power that was once ours alone has been stolen, leaving us weak. For too long, we have been treated no better than slaves. Slaves to masters who were completely oblivious to our true power.”
A murmur passed through the crowd. The black-robed attendees turned to one another and shook their heads. This was no way for day-keepers to speak.
Abercrombie spoke again. This time, his voice rose and filled the amphitheater. “Tonight, I stand before the Nightwalkers with an ultimatum. In a gesture of respect for the centuries we have spent together, I am now offering you the opportunity to make amends. I now ask you to throw aside the pact of servitude that has bound us together for too long and make restitution.” He gestured at Aleix. “I ask you to do this as your brother has done. From this night on we are no longer master and servant, but equals.”
A murmur of uncertainty rippled through the assembly. One of the robed figures stood and pointed at Aleix. “He has betrayed us. He must be made to see the sun. Get him!”
Abercrombie stretched out his arms. “I command you to make the choice now. Or face the consequences!”
“There are no consequences. If you breach the pact, we will retaliate,.” Another robed figure spoke.
Abercrombie laughed. It was a breathless sound. “With the help of modern science we, the Hermetic Order of the Celestial Alchemists, will seize the power that the Shadow realm holds and then we will blend it with the Light. We will unlock and take back what was taken from us. And with it, we will destroy those who would see us destroyed. We will take what is ours by birthright. Behold the Machine!”
Patrice pulled a lever and the machine lit up, its parts expanding behind him until the thing was monstrous and tall as a church organ, an ominous column of brass and riveted glory.
The robed figures roared. The Alchemists in gray resumed their chanting. The Nightwalkers sneered and bared their fangs. A scuffle broke out between a few of the Nightwalkers and Alchemists who were seated near each other. The Alchemists drew stakes from their robes and started stabbing at their neighbors
Aleix turned to Abercrombie. “This is not what was agreed. You said they would be spared.”
In the front row, a group of Nightwalkers stood up. Their faces were contorted with anger. Elle watched Abercrombie signal his guards.
“Your elders are trapped, Nightwalker. There is nothing they can do to stop us now.” He turned to the crowd. “My Brothers, let the Reclamation begin!” With a great flourish, he produced the wooden brass-edged box from the folds in his robes and held it aloft. It was the same box Patrice had given to Elle in Paris.
“Behold!” Abercrombie held the box aloft and the drumming and chanting ceased. The brawlers stopped and looked at him.
“In my hands, I hold the most sacred item known to our Order.” Some of the scuffling ceased as the crowd stopped to stare at the box.
Patrice stepped forward and grabbed Elle’s arm. His lips moved in a silent incantation and with a gentle click, the clasp of the bracelet sprang open.
“You’ve been able to do that all this time?” she croaked.
Patrice ignored her as he pulled the bracelet off her arm. He handed it to Abercrombie, reverently, with both hands.
Abercrombie carefully laid the row of diamonds onto the top of the box, aligning them with the brass edges. There was a soft click and the lid of the box slipped open. Abercrombie held the box aloft.
“In my hands I hold pure carmot. And with its power, we will rule this world as masters. Our time as slaves has ended.”
The Alchemists cheered.
Abercrombie signaled and Patrice stepped forward. “After years of searching, we have found a Cybele strong enough to withstand the challenge that lies before her. She will be the one from which our newfound power is birthed.”
Again the crowd roared with approval. Some of the Nightwalkers had started fighting their way out of the stands, but guards met them, waiting at the entrances. One or two tried to break free, but were restrained and wrestled to the ground.
Abercrombie started chanting a series of strange words. The incantation grew in volume as he spoke, amplified by the energy that swirled around them. Carefully, he opened the glass-fronted door at the top of the machine. Gently, as if they were bird eggs, he placed the chunks of carmot into the little chamber and closed the door. For all the fuss, they were just gray, nondescript lumps.
Abercrombie gave Patrice a nod.
Patrice pulled the other levers on the side of the machine with a flourish and the machine hummed to life. Bright blue spark ran up the tubes that stuck out of its sides and collected in the crystal dome at the top. The insides of the machine started whirring, while small plumes of steam leaked from its flanks.
Elle felt the energy of two realms swirl through her, blending together
into something that was black and sinister. She felt like she was caught in a rush of water. It stung, threatening to tear straight through her.
She gritted her teeth. She was not about to give these men the satisfaction of seeing her suffer.
The energy filled her, rising up inside her chest. Pressure built up and expanded, straining against muscle and bone. It grew, threatening to explode out of her, and waves of pain ripped through her. Something wet trickled out of her nose and she tasted salt and copper in her mouth.
I must stop this. I must not let them take hold of this power. They are not worthy of such.
Abercrombie raised his arms again. “My Brothers, the Oracle speaks!” The crowd cheered.
Elle suddenly realized that she had uttered her thoughts, but that no one seemed to understand what she had said. Words were forming in her head and with detached fascination she realized that she did not know the language either. The words were sitting inside her, tightly packed like seeds in a pod, just waiting to burst free.
She braced herself as she felt another wave of energy. It pulsed through her with excruciating intensity.
The entire amphitheater started trembling. She looked up. A dark shadow had formed over the altar. Slowly it gained momentum until it became a swirling vortex directly above her. Blue bolts of energy crackled around the edges. Through the haze, the dark shapes of unspeakable creatures swirled around in its depths. They were the specters of malevolence that languished in the darkest parts of the Shadow realm.
Elle felt something incorporeal inside her tear. This thing was stretching her so that she felt as if she was about to disintegrate.
She clenched her fists and closed her eyes. She needed to stop these things from entering the world if it was the last thing she did. And it was going to take every bit of her resolve to do it.
CHAPTER 53
Marsh stared at Elle on the altar below like a man in a trance. This could not be happening. He would not let it happen. Not to her. Not now.
A terrible sound reverberated through the amphitheater. It was as if someone had torn through the fragile membrane of reality that separated this world from the other. Shadow magic and dark energy poured through the vortex. It spilled into the amphitheater and pooled around the altar. He cast another look around the amphitheater. The Alchemists and Nightwalkers stared at the vortex, some of them open-mouthed.
A Conspiracy of Alchemists Page 32
