A Conspiracy of Alchemists: Book One in the Chronicles of Light and Shadow (25 page)

The enormity of her predicament overwhelmed her like a dark, boiling mist. She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her head in her lap. No one was coming for her. And in that stone cell, for the first time in what seemed like forever, she finally allowed herself to cry.

CHAPTER 41

Elle woke to the sound of keys rattling in the lock. She struggled to sit up, her body stiff and sore from the night spent on the cold flagstones. The door creaked open and she braced herself for another encounter with Patrice. Instead, a young man in a gray habit entered the room. He set a tray of food down in the middle of the floor. Steam rose up from one of the bowls.

“Please. You must help me,” she said. The young man shook his head and muttered something in a language she did not understand. He retreated hastily and she was left alone in silence.

She crept up to the tray. On it was a steaming bowl of what looked like porridge, and another jug of water. The tray was resting on top of a gray woolen blanket. She took the blanket and wrapped it around herself before picking up the bowl. She couldn’t identify the porridge, but it smelled faintly of cinnamon. There was no spoon on the tray, so she slurped the gruel straight from the bowl with her fingers. It was warm and creamy and possibly the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.

She drank more water and then settled down with the blanket wrapped around her. The clasp of the diamond bracelet caught on the blanket. She stared at it. The stones looked so very out of place here. She moved the bracelet with her thumb to ease it out of the wool.

As she rubbed it, she felt her skin tingle. The diamonds glowed with a greenish light. The light intensified and then, without much ceremony, a crumpled absinthe fairy appeared before her.

Elle started with surprise. “My goodness, have you been in there all this time? I thought you had escaped a long time ago.”

The fairy shook her wings and shrugged. Elle stared the creature’s blue-green skin. Fairies didn’t often let people get so close to them, but judging by the frayed edges of her wings, this one was definitely a bit worse for wear.

The fairy surveyed the cell. She twittered with dismay as she took in the stone floor and the bare walls.

“I know. It is bad, isn’t it?” Elle said.

The fairy nodded.

“Do you think you might be able to undo this lock?” Elle raised her ankle. “If I can get free from this chain, then maybe we can work out a plan of escape.”

The fairy examined the shackles. She put her hands on the keyhole and peered into the lock. She looked up at Elle and nodded.

Elle moved her leg so the fairy had more space to work. The fairy closed her eyes and strained until a small puff of green magic escaped from the keyhole … but the shackle remained fast. The fairy looked up at her and raised her shoulders. She gestured at Elle, miming the act of unlocking the lock.

“I’m sorry, but they took me from my bed. I don’t have anything to pick the lock with. Not even a hairpin.”

The fairy tried again. Her face scrunched up with concentration as she strained against the metal. There was another puff of green and the fairy slumped down next to Elle. She made a small, frustrated noise.

It was hopeless. The lock was too heavy and there was no way of knowing whether the shackle had been hexed beforehand.

“Here, have some water.” Elle held the water jug up for the fairy to drink. The fairy scooped some water from the jug and took a few sips. She wrinkled her face in disgust.

“I know, not quite what you are accustomed to, but that’s all there is.”

The fairy shrugged and settled down next to Elle. They sat in silence for a while.

Elle looked up at the vent. The sky was turning a rich blue. It was perhaps about mid-morning right now. In the distance, she heard noises. Carts rumbled. Horses neighed. There were definitely people about. The fairy sat on the flagstones with her legs crossed. Her chin rested on her fists.

“Do you think you can fly up to the grate?” Elle pointed upwards at the vents.

The fairy looked up at the grate and nodded. Then she smiled.

Elle was suddenly filled with elation. They had a plan.

“Fly and go find help. Please. Find help. Find people who are able to get us out of here.”

The fairy stood up and shook her wings. She straightened her shoulders and, with a soft flutter, she flew up to the vent.

“Be careful,” Elle murmured as she watched the fairy disappear through the grate.

She slumped down again and closed her eyes. A wave of loneliness flooded through her. Was it her fate to follow this path? If she got out of here alive, should she give herself over in service to the Council? Surely, working for the good of all was a noble and honorable thing to do. But her chest constricted at the thought.

And what about Marsh? They were incompatible on so many levels. She was not in his social class. Then there was the whole matter of living until you are nine hundred years old. How would she deal with growing old alone while he stayed more or less the same?

But she loved him. That was the awful truth of it. He had made her fall in love with him, and then he’d rejected her. And there was nothing on Earth she could do about it. The thought made her insides ache and her eyes sting.

She leaned back against the coolness of the wall. She didn’t think it was possible to feel so much despair. Then, the light started flickering. This time she did not bother to fight it. Images raced through her mind and she clutched at her temples and gritted her teeth as the vision passed.

… 
Alchemists. Great flashes of fire. Confusion. Nightwalkers with bared fangs. The A blood moon rising in the sky. Dark shadows moving across the countryside. People running and screaming in the streets.
She needed to warn someone that something terrible was about to happen, but she was too tired to move
.
Everything blurred to gray.

Elle opened her eyes. Trouble was on the way.

CHAPTER 42

No one paid the slightest attention to me as I slipped out through the tallest window of the old stone tower, barely a flicker of light that glided down to the street from above. I landed on the bare branch of a Judas tree and breathed in the air. For the first time in years, I was outside. I felt the spirit of the tree reach for me in greeting as I touched it. It was glad of my presence, for not many of my kind were ever allowed in this place.

The tree stood watch over a little square. Below, people were going about their business on the Byzantine-cobbled street. Not one of them looked up or paid me even the slightest heed. Judging from their clothes and the smell in the air, I was a very long way from Paris. The thought filled me with so much fear that I wrapped my arms around myself to stop the shivers that overtook me. I was tired, for the vent was a lot higher than it had looked, and my need for wormwood was growing stronger. I would not last very long out here on my own. And this was a place that did not tolerate fairies.

I sat there for a little while to soak up the rays of sun. It wasn’t exactly warm this early in the morning, but it was better than the stone cell below where the girl lay

The girl. Something had to be done. Desperate for an answer, I peered through the branches and looked up and down the cobbled street. I needed to find someone who could speak Fairy, but this was a large city and I could not fly that far.

I waited for a while, until an old man in a turban slowly walked by. His waistcoat was worn and saggy at the pockets and his short beard was graying. On his head he carried a very large wooden tray piled high with ring-shaped bread. The tray was supported by a frame that rested on his shoulders.

People eat bread. People speak Fairy. If I followed the bread, perhaps I could find someone who would help.

Like a leaf in the wind, I fluttered down from the branch and landed on the tray as it passed by below the tree. Careful to not make a sound, I stowed between the red-brown rings of bread. The shiny sesame-studded crusts felt slightly warm under my fingers. I picked a sesame seed off one of the rings and nibbled at it. Wormwood it was not, but it tasted lovely. So I ate it, and another. In fact, I ate until I could eat no more. Sated, I settled down at the bottom of the bread pile. The platter bobbed and swayed as it made its way through the streets. The warm bread against my back made me feel very sleepy. And so I closed my eyes for just a moment.

The train whistled and discharged a final blast of steam. The Orient Express had arrived at the end of a journey, that spanned almost all of Europe.

Marsh stepped onto the platform.

Constantinople. The locals called it
Istanbul
, which simply meant “City” in Turkish. He preferred the old name.

He secured the services of a porter and trolley for the luggage, and together they strode though the multi-colored crowds, dodging sellers and slow-moving women dressed in layers of veils. Outside the station, he hailed a cab. He watched them load the trunks onto the trap. Two portmanteaus. One of them a lady’s.

His hotel was in the old quarter, near the Sultan’s palace. It was an elaborate building, wood-carved in the old Ottoman style. The walls were brightly painted in whites, gold and turquoise. Two rooms were reserved, only one occupied.

He did not tarry at the hotel, but set out almost as soon as his luggage was delivered, pushing past startled porters in the corridor.

Downstairs, at the desk, he ordered a cable telegram. With a little pencil tied to the desk with a piece of string, he addressed the envelope to Patrice in Oxford.

ALCHEMISTS
HAVE
SUCCEEDED
STOP
ELLE
TAKEN
STOP
BRING
REINFORCEMENTS
TO
CONSTANTINOPLE
STOP
MATTER
OF
UTMOST
URGENCY
STOP.

He handed the communication to the hotel telegrapher and strode out into the street with grim determination. It was time to elicit the help of an old friend.

The road rose steeply up towards the Topkapi palace. The marble home of the Caliph of Constantinople sat on top of the hill like an ornate brooch on a woman’s shoulder.

At the great white carved gates of the palace he stopped and had a word with the a guards. It took some head nodding and explanation, but eventually he was led along the winding garden paths and through the royal gardens to the inner palace. The open arched walkways were adorned with painted birds and flowers. He remembered the patter of silk slippers and the rustle of harem silks from his last visit to this place, as a boy, over two centuries ago.

He was shown to a fine white summer house that overlooked the bay. The view of the famous Golden Horn spread out before him. Hundreds of low narrow banana-shaped fishing boats floated in the harbor below. At a distance, they looked like logs rising and falling in the water.

This morning the sky was gray, and no sun glittered on the blue waters of the strait. He sniffed the cool briny air that wafted towards him.

“Viscount Greychester! What a lovely surprise to see you.” The caliph of Constantinople was behind him.

Hastily, he lifted his hat and bowed deeply. “Your majesty, forgive me. I did not hear you approach.”

The caliph smiled and shrugged. “I see you have been seduced by the beauty of my city.” He glided towards the stone seats that lined the summer house. “I fear you may have missed the best of the year’s weather.”

He gestured to seats covered in opulent blue-and-gold fabric. “Come. Please sit. Let us talk for a while.”

Marsh sat down on one of the pillowed seats so that the caliph’s head was higher than his own. It was prudent to observe protocol when one could. The caliph was a man of about sixty. His white beard and moustache were carefully groomed and he wore an elaborately folded linen turban. He had the face of someone loved and feared in equal measure.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Marsh said.

The caliph waved his hand. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Marsh. You are an old friend of the family. Legend has it that you used to run through the palace and tease the harem girls terribly when you were a boy.” He chuckled.

“The old caliph was a most excellent friend. I missed him when he passed.”

A silent servant stepped forward and put down a gold tray, upon which were two exquisite brass kettles, the smaller stacked on top of the larger, delicate tea glasses and a selection of delicious-looking pastries. With deft hands, he lifted the small brass teapot and poured them each a cup.

“Please, have some baklava. My pastry chef tells me he makes the best in the kingdom. This is why I employ him.”

Marsh helped himself to a square of the syrup-soaked pastry. “Thank you.” He washed the intensely sweet little square down with some tea.

“So tell me, what brings you to my kingdom, Master Warlock? I am sure you are not purely here for a taste of the caliph’s pastries. Excellent as they might be.”

Marsh inclined his head. “Indeed, I am not.”

“You are, I am sure, aware that we have disavowed ourselves of all involvement in matters involving the Shadow realm. This is a city of Light, and Creatures of the Shadow are not welcome here. My kingdom claims neutrality on all other issues.”

“I am here on a matter of a more personal nature. I have come to you as a friend, and not as a Warlock. My Council has nothing to do with my visit.”

The caliph considered his words. “Please continue.”

Marsh told the caliph about Elle and their search for the professor, carefully leaving out the part about her being an Oracle.

The caliph played with his beard before he spoke. “And I take it that you feel affection for this woman?”

“I love her.” A strange warmth filled his chest. He loved her.

“Then I commend you on your quest. There can be no more noble a quest than a man seeking to rescue his beloved.” The caliph smiled and leaned forward. He looked Marsh in the eye. “Don’t tell anyone, but I am a hopeless romantic. Personally, I have sixty wives and concubines and I try to romance each one of them. Sometimes I hardly have time for anything else, I tell you.”

Marsh nodded. He felt a grudging admiration for the caliph. He was struggling to keep up with one woman, never mind sixty of them. “I must find her before it is too late. Can you help me?”

“We do not know for sure that they are in my kingdom though. My vizier has reported no sightings of the Shadow. Nothing strange has happened.”

“Your majesty, I know she is here.”

The caliph nodded and stood. “For you, my friend, I will ask my informants to sweep the city to see if there are any unusual visitors. But I will not be seen to support the Shadow. If there is even a single hint of my involvement in this matter, then my assistance will cease immediately. Is that clear?”

“Your majesty, I am deeply indebted to you. I shall give the details of my hotel to your vizier. If you hear anything, please let me know.”

A liveried servant had sidled up to the entrance of the pavilion. Marsh caught the discreet signal from the corner of his eye. “The visitors have arrived, your majesty,” the servant said with a reverent bow.

“Ah, so be it, then. You are going to have to excuse me. Duty calls.” The caliph rose and took his leave. At the door, he paused. “Remember, this is a favor to an old family friend. We will do nothing that could be seen as taking the side of the Council. If I see even a hint of spell craft, I will have no option but to have you executed for breaking my laws. Is that clear?”

Marsh bowed. “Of course, your majesty. As you wish.”

The caliph left, followed by his entourage, who had materialized as soon as he had stepped out of the summer house. A few stayed behind to help escort Marsh back to the gates. He noticed that a few lingered, watching him for just that little bit longer than was necessary.

Outside the palace, Marsh hailed a rickshaw to take him to the harbor. His ribs were still very tender and he had no desire to reopen the wound. He regretted his decision almost immediately. The rickshaw driver was a sinewy man in baggy white trousers and sandals. He skidded and skittered the rickshaw down the hill, narrowly dodging other carts and people. Marsh got out at the bottom of the hill, dazed, but relieved that he wasn’t dead.

“What have we here, then?”

I woke with a start and looked around in confusion. The towers of bread were gone, but I was still on the wooden platter, now surrounded by a circle of faces. Staring at me from all sides were dark-haired and dark-eyed men who wore red hats with black tassels on them.

“Eh, Serdat. Looks like you have a stowaway in your simit bread,” said the voice. I tried to crawl backwards, away from the one who spoke, but a finger came out from behind and poked me in the back. I looked around, and shrieked in fright. The face of a boy was peering at me. He grinned at me with a row of very white, very menacing teeth.

“What is it?” one of the other men said.

“Not sure,” said the first, stroking his chin. A thin layer of silver stubble made a scratchy noise under his hand. “It’s either some sort of Shadow creature or a very large insect. If it’s an insect, I am going to ask for my money back on that bread!”

“Hush, Ashim. I’ll not have you insult my bread like that.” It was the old simit seller who spoke.

Another finger reached out, and tried to touch my wings. I managed to move away, but I was too slow. A shimmer of blue-green fairy dust drifted off one of my wings and settled onto the breadboard like sorrow.

I folded my stinging wings up against my back as tightly as I could, but it was difficult, because the shivering had started again.

“Careful, you are hurting it!” said the man with the beard. “Look how frightened it is. It might be worth something, and I’ll not have you kill it before I can make a profit.”

The other men laughed and called out in protest.

“Come, friends. Let us not hurt Serdat’s pet,” one of the men said. He gave the man with the beard a rough shake. “But be careful. Small things can sometimes be vicious. It might curse you and make your balls fall off.” He hacked out another laugh. I could feel the mist of his garlic-laced breath settle over us.