A Conspiracy of Alchemists: Book One in the Chronicles of Light and Shadow (24 page)

Marsh winced again. It felt like an army of ants were crawling over his skin.

“Does it tingle?” Vasili asked.

“Yes,.” Marsh responded with let out a little hiss of air.

Vasili nodded, pleased. “That means it’s working.” He stopped applying ointment and studied Marsh’s rib cage. “Hmm … might not be strong enough to heal the wound completely, but you’ll live. And it will certainly hurt a lot less. That wound was about to start dissolving you alive, Brother.”

“I had feared that,” Marsh said quietly.

Vasili started wrapping strips of cotton bandages around Marsh’s chest. “Now, keep these bandages on. I’ll give you a tub of the ointment to take with you. You need to put it onto the area twice a day until the bruising is completely gone.” He looked at Marsh. “But know that it is going to take a long time to get better.”

“I understand.”

Vasili tied off the wrappings with an expert knot. “You are lucky you found me when you did.” He patted his own chest. “I was a medic in the war. Saved many a soldier with my skills, I did. Now, remember, another blast like that and you will be dead for sure. Your body won’t be able to survive another. Do you understand?”

Marsh nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

The older man returned to his seat and poured himself another cup of tea. Carefully he picked up a sugar lump and dropped it into his cup. They both watched the lump disintegrate, the slick of sugar settled at the bottom of his glass. “I am sorry if I’m speaking out of turn, and you’ll forgive me for saying so, but it is an interesting situation, you know. And it’s not often someone like me gets to speak to someone from the Council.” He eyed Marsh.

Marsh looked at him in surprise. “How so?”

“Well,” Vasili nodded. “Far be it from me to tell a Council member how to practice his craft, but surely you would know that you are on the cusp?”

“The cusp?”

“Yes, my boy. The cusp. All writings about the bleeding-off of power were banned many centuries ago. Probably before your time, I’d guess. Normally if a Warlock is drained of his power, he dies. But if done correctly, the magic leaves the body and an ordinary man remains. In the old days, when a Warlock became tired of living, he would slowly allow his power to drain away so he could live out his days in peace as a mortal. They say it takes a very fine control to get to that point.” He chuckled, “Or in your case, the right dose of fighting.” The older man looked at Marsh for a long moment. “Please forgive the blasphemy for saying so, but have you ever thought of just letting it all go?”

“Let it go?” Marsh looked at him.

“Yes!” Vasili nodded. “Let go of the Craft. Become an ordinary man with no powers. Marry, have children and grow old gracefully. Die. All the things a man should do.” He grew nostalgic. “I have had many years to think about my mortality. Living a long life is not all it is made out to be, I can tell you. I have now outlived four wives, and the fifth, as you can see, is on her way. My children are all dead, so are their children. The family tree I started now barely knows me—so far are the shoots from the trunk these days. There is no one in my line who carries my ability to take up the Craft. And so I will die alone one day.” Vasili sighed. “It is a lonely path, the one we take in the end.”

“Indeed it is,” Marsh said.

Vasili gave him a friendly pat on the arm and without a word he wandered off into the shadows of the hallway. Marsh had started buttoning his shirt and waistcoat when the old man reappeared. He held out a parcel wrapped up in brown paper. “More ointment. And this.” He handed Marsh a little bundle of leather.

Marsh untied it. “Mandrake root?”

“Do the ritual. You know which one. Your power will seep into the root. Bury it under an oak tree. And as the root rots and returns to the earth, so your power will disintegrate and return to the realm of Shadow. You will be free of this terrible burden. But only if you want to. Or not. I don’t care either way.”

“Thank you. What do I owe you for the ointment?”

Vasili shrugged. “No charge. Look after yourself, my boy. The world is a dangerous place.”

Outside the shop, Marsh carefully stowed the parcel inside his cloak. The wind had picked up and he felt cold. He could smell snow, even though it was still early in the year for it. He tightened his cloak around him and started walking in the direction of the station. The old man’s ointment seemed to be working and— as he walked, his constricted chest opened up a little.

He let his thoughts wander. Give it all up? He knew the ritual the old man had spoken of. It was a suicide ritual. Once used by the Brotherhood in cases of extreme dishonor. He had never thought of using mandrake root with it though. The solution seemed so simple it was inspired.

And Elle? It always seemed to come back to her. He quickened his pace as he reached one of the fancy French-looking boulevards. He needed to more time to think. And time was the one thing he didn’t have right now. He had an important train to catch.

CHAPTER 40

The girl with no shadow was in trouble and it was my fault. I should have shown myself to help defend her. I should have come forth to help her escape, but we were bound so tightly as we were carried away into the night that there was nothing I could do. I had left Paris because the girl had given me a way of escaping that terrible iron staircase that had held me prisoner for so long. I had never dreamed that this quest for freedom would become so large.

And I was afraid, for fairies are cowards more often than not. The temptation to spirit away and hide is far stronger than the need to stand and fight. When I finally crept from my diamond-hard fortress, I found the girl on her side with her hands shackled. Her long hair was loose, streaming over her awkwardly turned shoulders.

We were in a place of darkness. I could smell evil seeping from the dust and stone around us. There were others in this place; I could taste the rage and anguish of their captivity and desperation in the air around me. This was a place beyond the Shadow. We were on the verge of darkness.

Silent as thought, I stole across the floor. I felt myself tremble slightly as I moved. The lack of absinthe had made me weak and feeble, unable to defend us. I reached for the door but drew back. The door was banded with pure iron and there would be no escape through it. The terrible realization that I had tarried in the safety of the diamonds for too long enveloped me. They were coming. They were coming for the girl.

Although I had failed and almost all hope was lost, I would protect her from these monsters somehow. There was little point in mindless bravery though, for sometimes victories were won by small increments. As the mighty pine rises up from one tiny seed, so our escape plan would grow.

I sensed that there was still time. And so I slipped back into the diamonds and waited for the moment to come to pass.

It was the pain in her shoulders that finally made Elle drift up from the deep slumber that held her. Everything felt heavy and swollen. She opened her eyes and the world shifted into focus. She was lying on her side with her cheek against cool stone. Her arms were tied behind her back. She struggled to sit up, but a thick wave of dizziness flooded her.

She leaned over and retched, but her stomach was empty. Her throat felt swollen and raw. She slumped against the wall and whimpered.

Someone cleared their throat and she looked up. A large man with his face hidden in a gray cloak was standing by a wooden door.

“Welcome to Constantinople, little one. I am so glad to see you.”

She tried to say something, but her tongue was too swollen in her mouth to speak.

He lifted the cowl off his head and a slow smile spread over his whiskered face.

More nausea filled her and she retched again. “Patrice? What are you doing here?” she croaked.

“Dear Eleanor,” he tutted, and shook his head. “Not feeling so well, are we?”

Another wave of dizziness washed over her. “Help get me out of these things. Before someone comes.”

He gave her an oily smile. “Silly girl. I am the someone who might come. But not to worry, pretty, you will find that you feel much better once the powder they gave you wears off in a few hours.”

A sob escaped from her throat. “Untie me, would you?”

“It’s taken so much time and effort to finally get you here. It would be a travesty to let you go. But I can’t bear to see a lady in so much distress, so I’ll untie you just a little bit. And besides, we need you alive.” He reached over and unlocked the shackles on her wrists.

Elle cried out as the hot blood rushed into her fingers. Every nerve in her arms tingled. She straightened up and flexed her shoulders. Her arms felt dead and heavy, like lead. She leaned forward and took a few deep breaths to calm the panic that was rising up in her chest. Blood and air coursed through her, the fog lifted and her mind slid into gear.

She looked up. “Patrice?” Her voice was rough and hoarse in her throat.

“Yes, the brain is working now, isn’t it?”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“You know, I am very cross with you. You shot one of our best men. He died on the way here.”

Elle started shaking. “Patrice, how could you? Marsh trusted you.”

“Ah, good old Mr. Marsh. And how fares my former business associate? The last I heard, he was lying on the side of the railway tracks somewhere in Transylvania.” He looked at his fingers. “The wolves or one of the forest creatures must have got him by now.” He pursed his lips in a mocking pout.

She stared at him. “I don’t believe you. You were supposed to look after Mrs. Hinges. What have you done with her?”

Patrice chuckled again and shrugged his shoulders. “Believe what you want, it is of no consequence to me. But I must say how very noble it is of you to show such concern, given your current plight.” He flicked an invisible fleck of lint from his cloak. “Although the role of damsel in distress does not become you, my dear. You are looking rather peaky, if I might say so.”

Elle just stared at him with naked hatred.

“Oh, all right, then,” he said with some irritation. “The old lady is fine. She’ll wake up with a headache, but no serious harm has been done.” His hand went up to his head where Mrs. Hinges had hit him with the frying pan. “
Quid pro quo,
as they say. I’m not a complete monster, you know.”

“What is this place?”

“You are exactly where you need to be,” he said. “Especially given the trouble you have caused us. We were most disappointed in the service our pirate friends provided.”

Elle let her head roll onto her chest. She was tired and very thirsty, but she could not give in quite yet. She needed to get more information from Patrice.

“That was you? How did you get here?”

“Always so stubborn. It’s almost painful to watch. You did make things rather difficult for us in Paris. You should have just let Chunk drive you to the sanctuary in the cab. It would have been so much easier. And setting poor Feathers alight like that … how awful.” He tutted and folded his hands behind his back.

“Oh well, I suppose I might as well tell you, seeing as there won’t be anyone else to tell. While you and our friend Marsh were conferring with the Council of Warlocks in Venice and canoodling down the canals, I took a flight across the Channel and caught the Orient Express in Paris. You were kind enough to join me in Vienna.” His gaze flicked over her. “He was all over you right from the start, you know. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist you. My plan worked so beautifully. It was like watching a play. But none of that matters now.”

She had never noticed how cold his eyes were.

“So all this time you have been pretending to be my friend? Pretending to be close to me so you could steal this ability you say I have? .I thought we were friends,” she said between clenched teeth.

Patrice laughed. “I am an opportunist. And you presented an opportunity too good to let pass. I’m sorry you have to get hurt. I truly am. You are a sweet girl, but business is business, I’m afraid.” He looked up at the vents above. “The moon will be full soon. We have been planning this for a very long time, you know. Waiting and watching you grow into the new Oracle. Just like your dear mama.”

Elle glared at him. “You do not talk about my mother.”

He laughed again. “Ah, but I do. The Warlocks are so spineless, don’t you think? All tied up in politics and diplomacy. Stealing your mother away from them was almost as easy as it was to steal you. She died fighting to protect you, the poor thing.” He looked up to the sky. “The irony of it all is so beautiful, don’t you think? The whole Chance family, sacrificed for our cause. And soon, oh, very soon, it will all come to fruition. You wait and see.”

Elle felt her whole body flood with heat as anger filled her, blocking out the tiredness. “Where is my father?” she said.

Patrice started laughing. “Your father has proven to be a most useful asset. His knowledge of the fusion of Shadow magic and electricity has been so informative. It would have taken us years to get there, were it not for him.”

“I demand to see my father. Right now,” she said. Her voice wavered as another wave of dizziness flooded over her.

Patrice laughed again. “You are not going to be demanding anything, my dear. In fact, it is only because I am somewhat fond of you that you have the luxury of this accommodation. They were going to throw you into the old well.”

Elle clenched her teeth and concentrated on staying upright. She was not going to give this man the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.

Patrice picked up a jug of water and a plate of flatbread that had been

left by the door. “Here.” He shoved it down in front of her. “Eat. As I said, they want you alive.”

He reached over and picked up a chain from the floor. In one deft movement he looped and locked the chain into the shackle that was around her ankle. Checking to make sure that it was secure, he put his hand on her cheek. “I’ll be back for you later. Now, behave yourself while I’m gone.”

Once the key turned in the lock, Elle counted to a hundred and fifty before she leaned over and grabbed hold of the jug. She raised it to her cracked lips and drank deeply. The first few swallows made her choke and she had to stop and cough. “Slow sips,” she said to herself.

She drank almost half of the water at once. Then, careful not to spill any, she set the jug down and slumped against the wall. She closed her eyes and felt herself drift back into the darkness.

The melodic sound of chanting filtered through the blackness. Elle opened her eyes and groaned. While she had been sleeping, life had returned to her limbs and now it felt like every bit of her body was filled with pins and needles. She pushed herself up against the wall, but she was shaking so much that she only managed to sit. Gingerly, she checked herself for broken bones and dislocated joints. Her muscles were stiff and she felt bruised, but she seemed to be in one piece. She did the same with her legs. There was a large shackle around her left ankle. She followed the chain to the point where it was tethered to an iron ring in the wall. She let the heavy chain drop and sat with her back against the wall again. There was no possibility that she would be able to break it.

Elle took in her surroundings. The bare room around her was vaguely circular. The rough walls looked dusty and old. She ran her hand over the flagstones of the floor next to her. They were smooth and waxy with age and a dry chill rose up from them. There were no windows save for a row of vents high above her. Sunlight pooled in a dusty shaft in the center of the floor.

What day was it? She wondered. Was it morning or afternoon? She had no way of knowing.

She thought back to when Patrice had woken her. It had been light then too. It could be later in the afternoon or early the next morning, but there she could not tell how long she had been sleeping. The singing stopped. She looked up. There must be people about. That meant someone might be able to hear her.

“Help! Somebody help me, please!” Her throat was so raw that all she managed was a hoarse croak. The thick walls swallowed up the sound.

She felt a wave of despair rise up into her throat, but she could not allow herself the luxury of panic.

Instead, she measured the length of the chain attached to her ankle. It was about twice as long as her arm. She crawled across the floor to see how far the chain would reach. Her legs felt like they were made of rubber.

The chain reached as far as the pool of light in the middle of the floor, but it was not long enough to reach the heavy wooden door on the other side of the cell. There was a drain in the middle of the floor, but the grate was stuck. She tugged at it a few times, but it would not budge. She realized with growing horror that she would have to use that drain to relieve herself. She peered down into the darkness behind into the darkness of the grate. There was no telling how deep it was or how narrow. She wasn’t sure, but she could almost make out a strip of blue sky in the vent above her, but—even without the shackle around her ankle, she doubted that she could climb to the top. She returned to her place by the metal ring in the wall and sat down as calmly as she could. She was trapped with no hope of escape.

Carefully she lifted the jug and drank more water. Her stomach felt hollow and soapy inside.

She did not know how long it was since she had eaten. The last meal she remembered was on the train, with the baroness and Marsh. The feeling of despair rose again. Marsh. What if he really was dead?

“No, I am not going to believe that you are dead, Mr. Marsh. You are far too annoying for that.” The silent room swallowed her voice. She thought of his eyes and his messy hair, and it filled her with a physical ache.

Quite abruptly, her stomach rumbled. She picked up one of the flatbreads and started chewing on it. The bread was dry and the edges were very tough, but edible. She ate a little more and then finished most of the rest of the water. She wiped down her face and hands with the torn hem of her nightdress dipped in the remaining water at the bottom of the jug.

The food and having a clean face revived her a little and she sat back looking at the grate above her head. The patch of blue was gradually turning a golden color. It would be dark soon. She was still dressed in her nightdress and there were no blanket, or anything to lie on. She would be cold tonight.