A Conspiracy of Alchemists Read online

  There was a discreet knock on the door.

  “Enter!” said Abercrombie.

  A servant in a red fez with a black tassel entered the room and bowed. He proffered a telegram on a small tray.

  Abercrombie lifted the envelope and tore open the seal. As he scrutinized the message, his face grew like stone. He stalked across the room and yanked at the bell pull at least half a dozen times.

  Mr. Chunk came running in. “You rang, master?” He was slightly out of breath.

  “We need to speed up the experiments. I want the professor working through the night, if need be. See to it.”

  Mr. Chunk nodded.

  “And wake the Nightwalker. I need to speak with him.”

  Mr. Chunk started. “But master, it is still too early in the afternoon.”

  “I don’t care. His windows have been blacked out. There is no reason why he cannot rise. We’ll can meet in his sleeping crypt. See to it. Our guests are arriving and there is no time to lose.”

  “As you wish.” Mr. Chunk nodded and retreated.

  The runes on Abercrombie’s face blurred as they whirred and moved while he brooded over the telegram. The news was not good.

  A quarter of an hour later, Aleix stormed out of his dressing room, the folds of his velvet robe flying around him as he walked. His shiny hair fell around his shoulders in a dark, straight curtain. His skin was so pale that it was almost translucent in the lamplight and there were dark smudges under his eyes.

  “Why, Aleix, you look terrible,” Abercrombie waited in one of the red leather wingbacks that adorned the anteroom of the Nightwalker’s crypt.

  Faster than the human eye could see, the Nightwalker moved across the room and grabbed Abercrombie by the throat. “Why do you wake me at this hour?” he hissed. He bared his fangs at the Alchemist.

  Abercrombie started laughing. “My, we are grumpy when we wake up first thing. You know you cannot harm me, Nightwalker. One shout and this crypt will be filled with sunlight. Now let go of me.” To prove his point, Abercrombie pushed the wooden stake he had been holding up his sleeve against Aleix’s chest. “You lot are like a pack of rabid dogs. I should put a collar on you.” Abercrombie did not even bother to hide the contempt in his voice.

  Aleix hissed at the insult, but let go of Abercrombie’s throat. He turned away, shielding his expression from the other man. “Forgive me. I am indeed not at my best early in the evening. Pray, why have you woken me from my slumber before sunset?” The sarcasm bled though his voice like a stain.

  Abercrombie’s face grew serious. He handed over the opened telegram without a word.

  Aleix grew even paler as he scanned the words on the page. “This is from the captain. Our pirate allies have failed us. The girl destroyed their ship in some huge explosion, it seems.”

  Abercrombie sighed and waved his hand in the air with contempt. “Hydrogen in the balloon. They didn’t stand a chance. But no one really cares about a few pirates. What concerns me is the fact that the Warlock used his power to vanquish them.”

  Aleix swiveled round. “But destroying the ship would have taken an enormous amount of power. Why have we been thinking that he had none to use?”

  “It would seem that our information has been incorrect.”

  “But I have not heard of Warlocks using their power in the open in more than a century,” Aleix said.

  “Well, the captain of the pirate ship would beg to differ.”

  Aleix shook his head in disbelief. “All they needed to do was grab one girl. How difficult can that be?”

  Abercrombie gave a short laugh. “I almost feel sorry for them. Especially since it was one as powerful as Greychester. He must have forged a link with the girl. It’s the only way he could have done it.”

  “Then she really must be the Oracle.” A strange light filled Aleix’s eyes. “I knew I sensed it in her when she walked into the café. But with all those cheap fairies floating about, it was hard to tell.”

  Abercrombie nodded slowly. “It seems we are on the right path, my friend.”

  Aleix closed his eyes. “The elders arrive. I can feel them approaching. Drastic steps are needed.”

  “Quite,” said the Alchemist, studying his fingernails. “I think I have a plan that might just work.”

  “And that would be?”

  “I think it is time to call in a favor from our friend in London, don’t you?”

  “Hmm. An interesting thought. And what do we do with the elders in the meantime?”

  “They are your kin. Take them hunting. I’m sure there is enough blood in this city to keep them distracted for a while. A last good feed before you betray them would be quite romantic, don’t you think?” Abercrombie smiled at the Nightwalker. It was quite extraordinary what Nightwalkers would do for money and power. Especially one who had fallen on hard times.

  “Our friend will have to be discreet though. It is safe to assume that the Council knows about the girl. News of Greychester’s actions will reach them soon,” Aleix said, ignoring Abercrombie’s jibe.

  “Fear not, my night-walking master. Our plans will succeed. We simply need to trust in our allies,” Abercrombie said.

  The Alchemist and the Nightwalker stared at one another for a long moment. Then they both smiled.

  CHAPTER 23

  The farmer’s cart that had eventually picked Elle and Marsh up from the crossroads trundled along the cobbled road that led to the dockside. They had reached Mestre, the dowdy sister-city of Venice and her anchor to the mainland. Elle and Marsh hopped off the back of the cart and waved a thank you to the farmer.

  “I’ll see if I can get us some tickets for the ferry,” Marsh said. “You stay here.” He motioned for her to sit down on the harbor wall. “And do try to stay out of trouble while my back is turned.”

  Elle pulled a face at his back. Try to stay out of trouble indeed. She busied herself with picking bits of straw and pine needles from her coat. It was a rather pointless task, given that her clothes were utterly ruined. After a few minutes, she gave up and watched the ferry crowd instead.

  They were mostly day-laborers and tourists making their way back from Venice as evening drew in. A few automatons steamed their way through the crowds pushing luggage barrows. These automatons were made from shiny steel painted in places in ice cream shades of light blue, yellow or even red. Little puffs of steam escaped from their polished articulated legs as they ambled along. Elle loved Italian design. Automatons were very fashionable in Rome, mostly due to narrow alleyways and streets.

  She caught a glimpse of gray in the crowds. She looked again, but there was nothing. She could have sworn it was a gray cloak just like the one in her visions from the other night. Elle shook her head. She was still very edgy. Everyone looked suspicious all of a sudden. She squeezed the reassuring lump under her elbow. She had lost her stiletto in the wreck, but the Colt was still safely tucked away under her waistcoat.

  Marsh made his way over to her. He fanned two ferry tickets. “Venice awaits, my lady.”

  A ferry horn sounded right next to them and Elle had to cover her ears. They felt raw and achy after the crash.

  “Well, come along, then. The boat’s not going to wait for us,” Marsh said as soon as the noise had died down Elle stood up from the wall and groaned. Every bone and muscle in her body ached, and it took a few steps before she was walking normally again. They shuffled along with the crowd and boarded the bright blue ferry.

  On board, the crew started preparing to cast off. The gangplanks rose. Big clouds of steam started chugging from the chimney stack and the boat moved away from the quay.

  “Come with me,” Marsh said. “I want you to have the best spot for your first view of Venice.” He took her elbow and led her to the railing at the bow. “Look!” He pointed out over the water. The great domes of Venice came into view against the backdrop of a salmon-colored sky as the ferry chugged across the water towards the Grand Canal.

  “Oh my goodness, loo
k at that!” Elle pressed her hands against to her cheeks as she took in the curved domes and buildings. A few large passenger dirigibles floated lazily in the golden air above the city domes.

  “Have you ever been to Venice? This city is far more beautiful than any picture or painting could ever capture.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve always wanted to come here though. Do they have an airfield?”

  Marsh smiled at her. “No, I believe it’s landing platforms and ladders here.”

  The ferry moored, and they jostled with the other passengers up the ancient stone stairs to emerge, breathless, onto the Piazza San Marco. The square was filled with people bustling about in the fading light of the early evening.

  A few women were selling the last of the day’s flowers from underneath large parasols, while shiny-winged pigeons fluttered and wheeled around the square in flocks as they came in to roost. Workmen shouted as they packed up for the day amid scaffolding and the rubble of what looked like an ancient building.

  “That’s where the Campanile—Tower of St. Marco used to be. It fell down last year. After hundreds of years, it just gave up and collapsed. Venice is like that though. It’s the city that stays the same, despite the fact that it is always changing.”

  “Will they rebuild it?” she said, eyeing the scaffolding.

  Marsh nodded. “Apparently they are rebuilding it exactly as it was.”

  She looked up at the façade of the basilica, which stood majestically next to the scaffolding. The buildings were tinged with soft light and she felt herself fill with excitement. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “I’m glad you like it. Venice is one of my favorite cities. But first, my dear Miss Chance, I think we should find a place that will put us up for the night. And I think I know just the one. Let’s go this way.” He steered her off the busy square and into the labyrinth of alleys and footbridges beyond. Elle did her best to keep track of the route, but the close alleyways twisted and turned so frequently that she was soon lost.

  Marsh suddenly stopped and looked behind him.

  “What is it?”

  He peered down the alley they had walked though. It was empty save for the growing shadows of the setting sun.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I thought I saw something. My nerves must still be on edge from the crash.” He shook his head.

  “I know what you mean. I keep seeing suspicious characters from the corner of my eye too. I thought I was going mad.”

  Marsh looked again, but the alley was empty. He shrugged. “If someone is following us, they’re doing a fine job of it. Come. It’s this way. We will be safe once we are indoors.”

  They rounded a corner and entered a small square. Bright light beamed through the lead-glass windows of an ancient building in front of them.

  “I give you the Hotel Royale,” Marsh said. “And I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see it.”

  They stepped into the elegant foyer of the hotel, lavishly decorated with pink marble and Murano glass. Twisted pillars that looked more like they were made from sugar rather than stone reached up to meet arches that were so finely carved that they looked like lace. Everywhere you looked fine glass chandeliers that hung from the ceiling cast glimmering light. It was like standing in the middle of a giant confection shaped like a Gothic castle.

  “Lord Greychester. We are very pleased to see you! It has been such a long time.” The concierge greeted them with a broad smile. He seemed to be entirely unaware of their sooty faces and tattered clothes.

  “Hello, Stefano. It is very nice to be here,” Marsh said.

  “This way, please. I will show you to your room. Would the blue room be adequate for the lady?”

  “Do you like the color blue?” Marsh asked Elle.

  “Um, I believe I do,” she replied.

  He turned to the concierge. “The blue room would be perfect.”

  Stefano clicked his heels together. “This way, please.”

  “How did he know we were coming?” Elle whispered to Marsh.

  “He didn’t. I have a standing reservation here. The Council regularly meets in Venice.”

  “No luggage?” the concierge asked as they climbed the stairs.

  “It was destroyed in an accident on the way,” Marsh said.

  The concierge put his hand in front of his mouth in dismay. “Oh, how terrible!” He said the final word in Italian. “I will send word to your tailor to expect you immediately. And might I recommend a seamstress for the lady?” he said, nodding at Elle’s singed coat.

  “How very thoughtful,” Marsh said.

  The concierge led them into a suite and retreated unobtrusively, as only the very best trained staff in service could.

  Elle looked about the elegant room with its wood-framed picture windows. “Are you sure this place is a good idea? It’s terribly ostentatious.”

  Marsh shook his head and looked into her eyes. “This is a safe place, Elle. We will come to no harm here.”

  “And where would you be staying?” she asked, eyeing the ornate bed.

  “I have my own suite. These rooms are for your exclusive use.”

  She cleared her throat and looked away. It felt strangely disappointing that she wouldn’t have to fight with him about their accommodations. “Right now, I think I could do with a bath and a rest.”

  “That sounds like a capital idea. I need to go out for a little while first. If your father is in Venice, we need to find him as soon as possible.”

  “And you are going out like that? You don’t even have a hat.”

  “I must speak with the Council immediately and— we have been greatly delayed by this afternoon’s rather unfortunate crash landing.” He ran his hand over his lapel. “Besides, this is an excellent disguise. No one would even give me a second glance in these clothes.”

  “Do you think the Council will help?”

  He straightened his coat. “I am almost certain they will. In the meantime, stay here and keep the door locked. Open the door to no one but Stefano. He will bring the seamstress to you. Please choose whatever clothes and things you might need for the rest of the journey.” He ran his gaze over her. “Perhaps something pretty to wear to dinner this evening, what do you think?”

  She felt herself flush. “Thank you, … but please remember to add the costs to my expense account.”

  He shrugged. “It’s of no consequence. I will collect you when I return.” With those words he stepped out of the room and was gone.

  CHAPTER 24

  A chill rose up from the dark canals and the dank air turned to fine mist that swirled like white fingers around the legs. Marsh shivered in his tattered coat. He lifted the lantern he had taken with him from the hotel to examine the carvings on the sweaty walls of buildings as he walked. Venice had been a place of Warlocks for centuries. Within the flaking stonework rested a myriad of markers. They revealed the way to wherever the Council met, for those who knew how to look.

  He came to a narrow footbridge that led to a doorway. A glyph rendered faint by centuries of rain was carved into the stone next to the door. In the flickering light of his lantern, the triangle with an eye in the topmost point was the marker he sought. Marsh placed his palm over the glyph and closed his eyes. There was a faint vibration in the air around him and with a sigh the door creaked open.

  He cast a quick glance over his shoulder and stepped inside. The door shut behind him with the a gentle rumble. Before him, a steep staircase extended up to the rooms above. Marsh wasted no time in the narrow, damp hallway. At the top of the stairs he paused to gather himself.

  “Enter.” A voice spoke from the room that lay just beyond the stairs.

  Marsh closed his eyes and walked through the protective veil that shrouded the entrance. He had found the Brotherhood, The Order of Sacred Warlocks.

  Conrad De Montague, the Grand Master of the Order of the Council of Warlocks, sat at a large round wooden table, with eleven other men. He beckoned to Marsh.
“We are pleased that you could join us. Please do come in.” De Montague spoke in a soft, cultured voice that was almost too melodic.

  The other Warlocks turned to look at Marsh. They were all dressed in black ceremonial cloaks with deep hoods. Each cloak had an elaborately wrought clasp of silver at the throat.

  Marsh felt a frisson of power flow through him, and the torches against the wall flickered in reply. The Warlock masters of the thirteen dioceses that made up the civilized world were assembled. It had been many years since a full Council had sat. Warlocks were solitary creatures. Longevity and the quest for power made them wary of one another. The Council was one of grudging cooperation borne of necessity, but none of its members particularly enjoyed their place on it.

  “Gentlemen. My apologies for being late. We ran into trouble on the way.” Marsh walked over to the Grand Master, bowed and rested his forehead against his leader’s hand. It was a ceremonial gesture, but one that carried a very real message. Nothing other than complete obedience would be tolerated.

  “So it would seem, Master Warlock.” The Grand Master eyed Marsh’s torn coat. “And our Cybele, how does she fare?”

  “Miss Chance is safe and resting. I have made sure that the she is well guarded at the hotel.”

  “That is good news. Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable. This is not an inquisition, you know.”

  Marsh pressed his lips together and sat down. “You will forgive my appearance. I thought it better that I attend without delay.”

  “Do not worry about that, Greychester. We are glad to see that you are alive,” said the Grand Master. “Now, please, tell us what news you bring.”

  Marsh did not answer immediately. He would have to lay the groundwork carefully. “My brothers, as you all might be aware by now, Eustace Abercrombie has found the carmot we liberated from the abbey a few months ago. He managed to intercept the box in Paris. I’ve had my men looking for him, but the trail has gone cold.”