A Conspiracy of Alchemists: Book One in the Chronicles of Light and Shadow (28 page)

“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.”

“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.