A Conspiracy of Alchemists: Book One in the Chronicles of Light and Shadow (30 page)

“Try aiming at the chain first, I’m not sure I want you to aim this thing at my foot just yet.”

“Couldn’t agree with you more.” Marsh held on to the machine. Feeling his center, he focused on the spark in the tube. The energy felt rough and scratchy compared to his own Warlock power, but it would do. He pressed the bellows.

A pure blue line of spark shot out of the nozzle and melted right through the chain. Blobs of molten iron sizzled on the flagstones.

“By golly, that was impressive. With the right amount of tweaking, think of what the army could do with this. We could build a pistol that shoots rays of spark instead of bullets. Think of the possibilities,” the professor said.

Marsh put the machine aside. “Indeed, but I don’t think we should leave that lying around for the Alchemists to find and use.”

The professor’s face fell. “You are quite right. We’ll take it with us!”

Marsh started laughing. “You know what? I think that is just about the best idea I’ve heard all day.” He hoisted the spark blaster up and onto his shoulder. The tube of spark glugged up and down in the tube and Marsh put out a hand to still it.

“Hmm. I must remember to make a note to think of a better carrying harness or strap,” the professor said.

With the spark blaster in place, Marsh opened the door and peeked out into the passage. He stepped out into the quiet passage. “Professor!” He called after a few tense moments. The professor appeared at the doorway, without his smock. Marsh watched him as he carefully locked the door.

“What on earth are you doing?” Marsh said.

“Now they will never know our secret.” The professor tapped the side of his head.

“Quite.”

“They always go this way when they leave. I’ve watched them. We must hurry. There are only about two hours left.”

Marsh was not entirely sure about what the professor was on about, but there was no time to wonder. They needed to find Elle.

CHAPTER 50

The moon was rising. Silver light ran like mercury down the walls of the cell. They were coming for her. Elle heard them chanting in a low hum as they walked slowly down the stairs. Every nerve in her body was on edge.

A key turned in the lock.

She stood and straightened the blue dress. Not good for running in, she thought as she looked down. The wispy fabric draped over her curves and pooled in soft folds at her feet. In ordinary circumstances she would almost have been impressed by the effect, but right now she was too terrified.

The door opened slowly.

An Alchemist with his hood pulled low over his face stepped forward. The others formed a circle and bowed their heads in reverence. This time they were all dressed in gray robes, the hems embroidered with runes in fine silver thread. She recognized the leader as he stepped forward. Abercrombie.

Abercrombie lifted his hood and his smile made her shudder.

“Cybele. You are ready. It is indeed an honor to be escorting you.”

She held her head high and tried to look down her nose at him, but he was taller than her.

“You will forgive me, but I prefer not to speak to strangers without the proper introduction,” she said.

“Oh, there is no need to be haughty. You and I are old friends in the Shadow plane.” He leered at her.

“You are no friend of mine.”

“Very well. Allow me to introduce myself, then. Sir Eustace Abercrombie, at your service.” He took her hand and bowed formally over it.

Elle pulled her hand away and held it in a fist tightly at her side. For a split second, she contemplated punching the man in the nose, but he was bigger than her and she was outnumbered. She was not going to give them an excuse to hurt her any more than was necessary.

Abercrombie stood back and ran his gaze up and down over her. “So majestic, don’t you think?” He spoke to someone behind him without taking his eyes off her.

Another hooded figure stepped forward. His pale skin was luminous in the lamplight. “Indeed, she is magnificent.” He spoke with a French accent, —Parisian, if her ears did not deceive her. He turned his head and a lock of long silky black hair escaped from the side of the hood. Her eyes widened with surprise.

“Aleix? Is that you?”

He inclined his head slightly. She could see his eyes glimmer in the shadow of his hood.

She noticed Patrice standing next to Aleix. His hood was pulled over his forehead, but there was no mistaking the moustache. “Eleanor. In the French Foreign Legion they have a saying: There are no friends in the desert. And you would agree that we Shadow-dwellers find ourselves in a rather savage desert, in a manner of speaking. In fact, we are in the desert and you are the oasis. An oasis of power that we all thirst to drink from.” A few of the others murmured in agreement.

Abercrombie chuckled. “Oh, my dear, don’t look so hurt. What is a little conspiracy amongst friends when there is so much to gain?” There was another murmur of agreement. She could almost touch their eagerness.

Abercrombie continued. “I had you pictured as being more plucky. And yet, here you are, all meek and mild.”

Elle looked at Patrice. “I will never forgive you for this. And you will not take what you want from me. I will resist to the end.”

Abercrombie’s laugh filled the cell. “That would be absolutely fine with us. If this is how you choose it to be, then so be it. I would like to mention though, that you do have another option. It would be terribly unsporting for us to misinform you in this regard.”

“And what might that be?”

Abercrombie met her gaze. “Join forces with us. Join us and we will make you our queen. You will have more power and riches than you ever dreamt of. We will make you like the majestic high Oracles of the days of old. And in return, you will grant us the power we need to finally be free.”

“You mean you would put me on a pedestal and pamper me like some prize cow while you drain me dry until I outlive my usefulness? I think not.” She felt herself grow angry despite her fear.

He laughed again. “There is no need to be so cynical. You would receive no different treatment from your precious Warlocks.” He grew serious. “So what is it going to be? Are you to join us, or are we going to have to do this the hard way? The choice is entirely yours, dear girl. Either way, you will give us what we want before the sun rises tomorrow.”

She knew they were lying to her about the proposal, but where the truth ended and where the lies began in all this was anybody’s guess. It was all so confusing. She closed her eyes and thought about Marsh. How she would never be able to tell him how sorry she was for the things she’ had said.? She thought about her dear sweet eccentric father. Who would talk to him about mathematics and flight theory? And Mrs. Hinges? Who would make sure she was taken care of?

They can all manage by themselves
.

The voices were right. The world would manage without her. But before it did, she would have to rid the world of these evil men and whatever it was that they were planning. She was not about to let them succeed, even if it was be the last thing she did.

Suddenly an awesome sense of power filled her and when she spoke her voice had a resonance that was not her own. “Alchemist, you will not take from me what you have no permission to take. By the power that my mothers before me command, all you do shall be returned to you three-fold.” A sudden gust of air whirled around the cell. A few of the cloaked figures shifted slightly and looked at one another.

Abercrombie started laughing. “How magnificent you are., You look like a goddess in that dress, with your hair all around you. But alas, I must call a halt to matters now. Enough of the brave games. The moon is rising and we have important business to attend to.”

He reached over and touched his fingers to the center of Elle’s forehead. Hot alchemy flashed against her skin. She resisted for an instant, but her feeble barriers didn’t hold. Suddenly she was far away from her own body. She watched her knees buckle under her.

Hands caught her and lifted her up onto the flower-adorned litter they had ready and waiting outside the door. A wreath of flowers was pushed into her hair. She was borne away in time to the deep-toned death chant of Alchemists. Then everything went black.

CHAPTER 51

Marsh and the professor found themselves walking down a narrow alcove-lined passageway. The corridor sloped steadily downhill and it became darker and closer as they walked.

“What is this place?

“It is an avenue of meditation,” Marsh said. His voice bounced off the walls.

“But why the alcoves?”

“Blood rituals. The Alchemists believe that pain and blood brings them closer to the power their rituals give them. These spaces in the walls are for that. Apparently, an act of bloodletting in each one of these alcoves completes the path to enlightenment. They say blood binds Nightwalker and Alchemist together.”

“Extraordinary.” The professor peered at the dark walls.

Suddenly, the deep sound of chanting reverberated through the passageway. Marsh stopped and dragged the professor into one of the alcoves. He signaled for them to be silent.

The professor nodded. They both listened for a moment, but the chant echoed off the alcoves and the stone of the walls, making it impossible to pinpoint the direction it came from. Suddenly, the chanting stopped.

“What was that?” said the professor.

“The ceremony is about to begin,” Marsh murmured. A bubble of worry was starting to form in his chest. He knew enough Alchemistic to know a death-chant when he heard one.

Checking that the coast was clear, they stepped out of the alcove and into the passageway. Marsh glanced over his shoulder. They were horribly exposed here in the corridor, with nowhere to hide but the creepy alcoves that flanked them. Anyone passing would immediately recognize them, despite the fact that the professor had taken off his horrible smock and magnifying glass.

“We need to find cover. Let’s go this way.” Marsh motioned for the professor to follow. Their footfall clop-clopped loudly on the flagstones.

They kept walking until they found another passage that led off the main corridor they were following. Marsh made another mark on the wall with his chalk, but his plan use the white marks to navigate was proving to be useless.

“This place is worse than a maze. How on earth do these people find their way about?” The professor’s voice echoed off the walls.

Marsh gave him a harsh look and put his finger to his lips.

“Oh, yes, of course. “Sorry. How quickly one forgets.” He lowered his voice to a whisper.

“It is very quiet. I suspect that they are all gathered for whatever secret ceremony they have planned. No Alchemist would want to miss whatever they’ are doing tonight.”

“I think you might be right. Normally there are many more of them. I heard them walking up and down the passageways at night.”

Marsh unhitched the blaster and put it down on the ground. The spark in the cylinder made a galumphing sound as the blaster settled on the ground. He flexed his shoulder. The thing was turning out to be rather heavy and uncomfortable and his ribs were starting to hurt again.

“So which way should we be going?” the professor asked.

Marsh looked up and down the tunnel. “Elle is being held in the tower in the center of the building. That would be due east, which I believe is that way. But I can’t be sure. This place is very odd.” He pulled the brass compass Elle had lent him out of his pocket and held it up in the gloom to take a bearing. The needle swiveled round and round as if it was wound by clockwork. “Well, that’s no use, is it?”

“I say, is that my compass?” the professor said.

Marsh blushed. “I do believe it is. Elle lent it to me. But the tunnels must be guarded by some sort of hex.”

“Or magnetic field.” The professor peered over Marsh’s elbow at the compass. “Which way were we heading when we started?”

Marsh closed the compass and put it back in his pocket. “I thought it was east, but now I’m not so sure. Looks like we are going to have to survive on our wits for the time being, professor.”

Professor Chance peered down the dark passage. “Let me see. We are walking down the passage, which appears to be straight, but we keep ending up in the perpendicular direction.”

“Must be some sort of trick to stop people from escaping.”

The professor walked a few paces down the passage, turned around and then walked back. “I have it,” he said.

Marsh looked at him, not comprehending.

“It’s a circular labyrinth!” He bent down and drew a line in the dust on the floor. “I think the passageways are wound up on themselves. We appear to be walking round and round, each time turning back on ourselves. It is one continuous spiral, with intersecting shortcuts. We could walk here for an eternity and never know it.” He pointed at the passage they had taken. “Unless we know a shortcut, like that one.”

“And how did you work that out?”

The professor smiled. “Simple. The ones who brought me food and the dead animals kept on complaining about the labyrinth and how tedious it was to walk the whole route.”

“Professor, has anyone ever told you that you are a genius?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.” The professor smiled in triumph.

Suddenly the passageway echoed with voices. Marsh grabbed the spark-blaster and the professor and took the side passage.

“Look, a doorway,” the professor said.

Marsh tried the handle and the door slipped open and they stepped into the darkness. The voices grew louder and a group of young Alchemists in robes walked by. Marsh and the professor held their breaths as they listened to the voices echo in the passageway. Holding the door open slightly, Marsh watched the swirl of robes as they went by. “We need to follow them.”

He felt the professor tug at his sleeve.

“What is it?”

“Look,” said the professor. He pointed off into the dark.

Marsh turned and went very still. They were not alone.

Two red eyes glowed at them from the darkness. He could feel the dark power swirling around them, thick and viscous.

“What are you doing in my lair, Warlock?” a croaky voice said. He felt the professor step behind him.

“My apologies. I did not know that this place was yours,” Marsh said formally. It was always a good idea to address the Shadow formally. At least until one knew who, or what, one was addressing.

“But now you have found out, Warlock.”

A ball of light appeared in the middle of the room. It radiated out and cast shadows on the walls.

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 they 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.