A Conspiracy of Alchemists

by Liesel Schwarz

  Too weak to struggle, she lifted her head. She found herself face-to-face with a shock of dark, wavy hair. It smelled of sandalwood. Marsh lay on the outside of the blankets. The weight of him pinned her down as he held her.

  What ridiculously thick hair he had, she thought absently. He made a strange sobbing sound. She felt his breath catch before he wrapped his arms around her more tightly.

  “Would you mind letting go of me? I can’t breathe,” she croaked.

  His head shot up and he stared at her. He looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes and his eyelashes looked damp.

  “You came back for me,” she murmured.

  “I never left you.” He smiled at her, but she was too tired to think about it, so she closed her eyes and drifted off. She slept without the blackness.

  The next time she woke, the sun was shining through the window to the side of her bed.

  She groaned. Her whole body felt like a thousand wooden mallets had pummeled it. Everything ached. She tried to sit up, but it hurt too much.

  “Easy now, my darling. You need to do this slowly.” Marsh was in a chair next to the bed.

  She lifted her arm out from under the covers to push herself up. She noticed that it was bandaged. She frowned. What was it about her wrist? The image of a shackle and a diamond bracelet popped into her head. Imaged of crashing stones followed. Then everything that had happened flooded back into her mind.

  She looked about in a panic. “The Alchemists. Where am I?”

  Marsh held her hand. “You are safe now. They were all killed in the earthquake. Sucked into the void. Buried in the rubble. We went back to the site to look for survivors, but there was no way that anyone could have survived the collapse. Except us, that is. You stopped them. You stopped the Alchemists.” There was something strange in the way he said it.

  “Hugh, I’m so sorry about what I said. Before.” She looked in his eyes. “I’m so ashamed of what I said, but I didn’t know. And later, on the train, Loisa told me. She told me everything about Rosamund and what happened. I should have listened to you … ”

  “Never mind that. I promised myself that I would do this, the moment you opened your eyes.” Then he kissed her with such intensity that it reached right into her soul.

  “Ahem.” Someone coughed.

  They both looked up. Elle saw her father standing at the door. “My lord, if you wouldn’t mind—a word with my daughter, if you please.”

  Gently, Marsh let go of Elle. His eyes held hers as he walked to the door.

  Elle smiled at her father. “You are alive.”

  The professor nodded. He sat down on the bed next to her and held her hand.

  “Ellie, my darling. I am so glad you are better. You gave us such a terrible scare. We’ve been so worried about you.” He placed his hand on the side of her face. He was never a man for great shows of public affection, but his eyes were shiny as he spoke. There was a scratch on the side of her fathers face. Elle kissed his hand. “What happened to you?”

  He ran his hand over the healing scar. “Oh, that is nothing. I think it makes me look rather dashing. Do you think Mrs. Hinges would like it?”

  “I think she’ll tell you that you look like a pirate.”

  Her father laughed. “Well, that will certainly get a rise out of her.”

  Elle suddenly remembered something. “Oh, I almost forgot. We did it. We flew the gyrocopter.”

  The professor blanched.

  “You did what?”

  “The gyrocopter. We found it in the workshop. And the key with the message. You know?”

  The professor shook his head. “And it flew?”

  “Yes. All the way from Oxford to Italy. Until we ran into some sky pirates. We’ll have to make the next model a little more blast- proof though. And we need to work on an on-board communication device. It is ever so windy and noisy in the cockpit.”

  The professor rubbed his chin. “I’ve been meaning to ask how you got to the train so quickly. But, my dear, I don’t know how to tell you this, but the flying machine was a failure. I couldn’t get the reactor to work. It was a complete disaster. I left the key to the workshop for you to let the scrap metal collector take what he could salvage.”

  “But it flew. We flew,” Elle said.

  Marsh smiled as he stood in the doorway. “And your daughter is a spectacular pilot. I have no doubt that if you put a pair of wings on a bucket, she could fly that too.”

  The professor shook his head in amazement.

  Elle looked around the room. “Where exactly are we?”

  “In a small guesthouse in the old quarter in Constantinople.” Marsh stepped away from the door. “We are safe and amongst friends for now, but we will need to start making our way home soon.” He looked pointedly at the professor.

  “Ah yes, the matter of the caliph. Inut told me this morning that the Royal Guard is still busy helping with the aftermath of the earthquake. But I suspect that it won’t be long until they discover the reason for the phenomenon,” the professor said.

  “I, for one, would be far happier if we put some distance between ourselves and this place before that happens. I was deeply saddened to discover that the caliph had allied himself with the Alchemists. He will probably want someone to blame. And someone will probably have to pay for all the damage caused as soon as the dust settles.” Marsh paused. “I may be many things, but I am definitely not noble enough for that.”

  “The Alchemists,” Elle said. “They were on the train and there was this cell. And then there were the voices. They tried to teach me things. I think what they taught me may have helped with stopping the Alchemists.”

  Marsh sat down on the bed and hugged her. “Shh, my darling. It’s not important anymore. We can sort through all of that in time. And there will be all the time in the world for that, once you are better.”

  She shook her head. “And Patrice! Oh, Marsh, you need to know about him. He cannot be trusted.”

  “I know. Patrice is dead, Elle. There is no way anyone could have survived the collapse. I very much doubt anyone got out of there alive after us.”

  “No one?”

  “Well, half of them got sucked into the vortex they created. A few of them ran away, but that was about it.”

  They were all quiet for a moment.

  “I think it will be a long time before anyone tinkers with the Shadow realm again. The primal chaos that makes up the universe is not something to be trifled with.”

  She looked up at him. “I know how that works! I learnt it in the dungeon. The voices taught me.”

  Marsh frowned. “What voices?”

  “The Oracles. I know their secrets now.”

  The professor cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you for a moment, shall I?”

  Elle could have sworn that her father winked at Marsh as he closed the door.

  “What was all that about?” she said.

  Marsh smiled at her. “Your father and I had quite an adventure before we found you being served up to the powers of darkness. He’s a brave and resourceful man.”

  Elle frowned and rubbed her forehead. “Exactly how long have I been unconscious?”

  “Almost two days. We thought you were dead, but I couldn’t leave you behind. So, we carried your body out. The falling stone blocks nearly killed us.”

  She shook her head. “And the fairy! Oh my goodness, what happened to the fairy? She must be out there in the streets, all by herself. The poor thing. We have to find her.”

  Marsh smiled. “It’s a long story, but we crossed paths courtesy of the caliph’s guard.” He pointed at a bottle standing on the shelf. It glowed with a slight green light. “She says the local moonshine is not quite what is in Paris, but it will do. She has requested that we wake her when we were home. Her name is Adele, by the way. You should make a point of asking.” He paused. “But, tell me, if you can remember, what happened after the train?”

  “I don’t remember much. They drugge
d me or did something to my forehead that made me pass out. I remember a dirigible and then I woke up in the dungeon. And there were these voices in the stone … Oh, Marsh, I am the Oracle, aren’t I?”

  Mash took her hand and looked into her eyes. “You are. And I am sorry that I ever dragged you into this terrible mess. I know I had no right to and I will always blame myself for what happened. For the way Patrice used us both.” He looked very sad and his gaze was distant for a moment. “When I think about how you almost died …” He shook his head. “And that is why I intend to take you away from all of it. You were right. You were right about all of it. The Council. The Order. Organized occult in general.” His face grew stern. “There is nothing sacred about it anymore.” He slid onto his knee next to the bed and took her hand in his. “My love, as soon as you are better, we are going as far away from all of this madness as possible. This I promise.”

  Elle looked at him. “What did you just call me?” she said.

  Marsh smiled one of his devilish, lopsided smiles. “Elle, I never thought I would do this, but I’ve had a word with your father and he has given me his blessing.” He cleared his throat. “Eleanor Chance. I love you more than I ever thought any person could love another. I am a complicated man and my life has always been full of twists and turns, but right now, here before you, things cannot be simpler.” His voice wavered slightly. “Will you be my wife? I promise that I will try to be the best husband I can. If you’ll have me. Will you?”

  Elle’s heart was so full that all she could do was nod. She reached over and pulled him to her. “Of course I’ll have you.” And then she kissed him.

  EPILOGUE

  PARIS, NOVEMBER 13, 1903

  The café off the Boulevard Saint-Michel was never the same after its former owner disappeared. Without the Nightwalker to watch over them, the absinthe fairies had been sold off in their bottles, one by one. Without the absinthe, the artists and poets cleared off, leaving only hard sailors and a mix of riffraff from the underworld that drank in brooding silence as the red paint flaked from the walls.

  A woman now worked behind the bar. Her black hair was always wet against her pale-blue skin and she looked ill at ease in the tight dress they made her wear. But the dress was still better than being stuck in equine form and being harnessed before a carriage and so she held her tongue. Every so often, her hand would creep to the nape of her neck, where freshly healed scars evidenced the cruelty of her former master. It was something she would rather forget.

  The midnight shift was their busiest time and so she remained behind the counter. She sulked and poured rounds of cheap cognac and coffee for grubby gaslight trolls who stopped by after their shifts. They spent most of their time smoking cigarettes and grumbling about how the spark-light companies were stealing their work.

  Outside, the cold gray rain slithered down the blacked-out windows of the café. A short man in a long carriage cloak with the collar pulled up around his face strode though the rain and opened the door. He walked over to the counter, leaving a trail of wet footprints in the thinning sawdust on the floor. The sylph shied away as she felt the power that surrounded him. Putting a safe distance between herself and the man, she lifted her chin in order to enquire after business.

  He said nothing, but placed a coin onto the counter. “I have an appointment,” he said.

  “Upstairs.” The sylph shrugged and inclined her head toward a set of molting red velvet curtains that led to the back.

  The man touched his hat in thanks and ducked behind the fraying edges of the curtain. He climbed the iron stairs up to the dimly lit back room.

  Patrice waited for him at one of the low tables. He was much thinner and paler than he had been, but he still smoked a small cigar that filled the room with its cheap, foul-smelling smoke.

  “Glad to see that you made it out alive, Patrice.”

  “Warlock Master De Montague. How do you do.” Patrice said. He did not stand or extend a hand to greet the Warlock. In the dim light, the grubby edges of a crutch was just visible above the edge of the table. “I see my offer was too good to resist.”

  “So was mine.”

  Patrice inclined his head in response.

  “And how is your … injury?” asked De Montague with a slight hint of sarcasm. Patrice looked down at his leg. Black otherworldly burns flickered and played under the skin. He had dragged himself from the edge of the vortex, but not before it had seared his living skin to blackness. The specter of what remained of his bottom half hovered in the space between Shadow and Light. The effect left the bone and muscle in a state that was half-real, half-not-real and incredibly painful.

  Patrice shrugged and shifted in his chair. “I have good days and bad. Did you bring the money?”

  “Yes, I did.” De Montague produced a pouch from the inside of his cloak. He placed it onto the table. It made an expensive-sounding thunk on the stained wood.

  “Open it,” said Patrice.

  De Montague knocked the bag over and a heap of gold coins spilled out.

  His companion gripped his cigar between his teeth and slid a coin onto his palm. He examined it in the light before dropping it back onto the heap on the table.

  “It’s in the bag under the table,” he said.

  The Warlock reached down and pulled out a wooden box. The box was smooth and polished, with slightly battered brass edging. A row of exquisite blue diamonds were inlaid into the lid.

  “The carmot. Safely returned to you, as requested,” he said. “They never knew I took some of it. I left them with just enough to make the experiment look authentic.” He shook his head. “Who knows what the Alchemists might have done if they’d actually had the whole lot?”

  “Who knows indeed.” De Montague tucked the box into his cloak.

  Patrice scraped the coins into the pouch and tucked them into his waistcoat. “It was a pleasure conducting business with you, sir.”

  “He’s gone, you know,” said De Montague.

  “Who?”

  “Marsh. He’s left the Council. Given up the path of Shadow for good. And I believe that over Christmas he’s marrying the girl over Christmas. A winter wedding—or so the London society papers say.”

  Patrice shrugged. “How lovely for them. But it’s none of my business. You got what you wanted. The Alchemists are all but destroyed and we have a shiny new Oracle who has blasted loads of lovely power into the world without even knowing it. The rest, I don’t care about.”

  De Montague put his hand out to stop him. “Not so fast,” he said. “I may have a few little matters that might interest you.”

  Patrice shrugged and sat back. “I’m listening.”

  “I need someone to do a collection for me. You see, Marsh made us a little promise and he has unfortunately failed to deliver. And I would be far happier if she was safely within our control, if you know what I mean.”

  “Well, then, I might just be your man.” Patrice smiled at him.

  “Indeed. I’m glad to see that your new title and fortune hasn’t changed you too much, sir.” Greed and glee spilled over his De Montague’s face and into his beard. “I shall contact you with the details soon. I do believe that we will be able to continue to work together for our mutual benefit, don’t you?”

  “Oh, absolutely, and I thank you for your time, sir.” Patrice wrestled himself up from his seat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some unfinished business to attend to. Please stay as long as you need. Ask Marilique behind the counter for anything you might need.”

  De Montague put out his hand. “I look forward to hearing from you. then.”

  Patrice just gripped his walking stick, and limped past De Montague.

  Patrice crossed the café with a brief nod at the bar. The girl nodded back. She knew better than to trifle with her new master, especially when he had that look about him. He had a proper temper when he was like that.

  She went back to the task of wiping the sticky patches from the counter as two dr
unken sailors stumbled in through the door and started singing.

  Around the corner from the café, a black steam-carriage waited in the dark. Patrice stepped up to the carriage and got inside.

  “Where to, sir?” the driver said.

  “The airfield, Chunk. I have a passage booked to Manchester. I need to see to the factory.”

  “Right on, sir.” Chunk started the engine and the motor took off with a rumble. Patrice sat back against the leather seats of his plush new conveyance. With Eustace Abercrombie and the Nightwalker Aleix both sucked into oblivion, it had not been hard to forge the necessary documents that made allowed him to inherit lot—lock, stock and title. And the possibilities his new wealth and power presented made him dizzy when he thought about it. The Warlock’s money felt warm and heavy in the pouch inside his pocket. He patted it and smiled. He had work to do.

  HISTORICAL NOTE

  One of the greatest challenges of writing historical fantasy and science fiction is marrying up that which is fact and that which is fiction with a sufficient degree of competency, so that the work becomes a coherent whole. And thus I take a moment to apologize to those historians who might read this book and feel a sense of outrage. Any liberties taken with historical fact was done mindfully and with the intention of creating fiction rather than a work of academic reference. The world of Shadow and Light is not this world and so there must be differences.

  Creating historical fantasy is not a task that can be achieved successfully without the requisite amount of research and for those who are interested in the facts, I mention a few:

  The Wright brothers made their historical flight in December 1903, but hot air balloons, dirigibles and other flying machine prototypes were in existence for many years before then. Croydon aerodrome really was a dirigible airfield and the giant hangars and art nouveau building can still be seen today; it operated as such until the hydrogen gas explosion that was the Hindenburg disaster in the 1930’s all but put an end to the dirigible industry as it was then.

  Stanley produced steam cars until the electric starter motor changed the industry, and I must say a big thank you to the British Car Club of Great Britain for their wonderful photographs and entertaining video footage of these cars in action. I am forever smitten.