Shadow of the Alchemist

23

Her hands were nearly free. She could feel the rope loosening. But then a light shone from under the door. He had returned. And now she heard his furious stomping about the room, heard glass retorts and metal instruments clatter behind the wall. With the sound of fuel snapping and a poker pushing around coals, she knew he was busy at that fire, at his athanor, concocting his ridiculous work. Fear still coiled in her belly, but it was tempered now by anger and indignation. How could he? How could he do this to her?

She wrapped up the loosened end of rope in her hands and waited.

Her door slammed open, hitting the wall behind it, and he stood in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the flickering light from the hearth in the outer room. His hands opened and closed, fingers curled angrily.

She allowed a brief spike of envy for the warmth she saw flooding the outer room, a warmth she was not allowed unless she “won” it with one of his senseless games.

“You have a champion,” he said.

She turned away, feigning disinterest. She knew this irked him the most, that she did not hang on his every word. She had given him her full attention at first but soon learned it played into his deepest desires. And now he had the Stone. He had showed it to her last night, bragged about how he would soon use it. But by his words she suspected he hadn’t the faintest idea how to use it.

“Madame, did you hear? A most renowned man in London. I have just learned of him and his feats. Have you heard of him? He is called the Tracker. And he is tracking us.” He laughed. “It’s delightful. And most invigorating. It makes the game that much more entertaining, don’t you agree?”

She said nothing, relishing the aggravation surely building with her silence.

He went on, heedless of her stillness, or so it seemed. “Tracker.” He laughed. “His name is Crispin Guest. He’s a private sheriff, tracking for hire. These English.” He shook his head affectionately. “I’ve asked about him. Seems most of the London citizenry have heard of him. He was a traitor, but his life was spared by none other than Lancaster himself. Is that not amusing, mon amour? Is that not ironic? He finds lost things, lost people. Do you think he will be clever enough to find you?”

“You’re a fool. And I don’t care what you think. Will you release me? My bones ache from being in this position for so long.”

“Dear, dear. Shall we toss for it?”

“No more games! For the love of the Holy Virgin! Do a kindness for kindness’ sake. Can you not do that, at least? For the sake of our pasts.”

But as soon as she said it, she knew it was a mistake. His strangely jovial demeanor hardened. “For the sake of our pasts?” he whispered. “For that sake, I would keep you tied up forever, Madame!”

“I did not mean-”

“For all eternity!” He moved with such speed, such agility, it was hard to fathom that he was nearly the same age as Nicholas. He got down on one knee beside her so that his face could be close to her ear. She pulled at her restraints to get as far away from him as possible. “I have the Stone now.” His voice was harsh at her ear. His spittle pelted her hair, now disarrayed and falling from her careful coiffure. “I can do what I have planned. These other things are merely an amusing distraction. The cauldron is bubbling, my love. The retorts are full of the compounds I need.”

“It is a shame, then, that you do not know what you are doing.”

“I do know!” he hissed. His breath at her ear suddenly felt dirtier than her body felt from days without cleaning herself or changing her underclothes. “I know it,” he said more calmly. She remembered that about him, that he could change his outward calm on a wisp of the breeze, though now the change seemed more abrupt, more like a twitch that one could not control. “And what I don’t know, I will make Nicholas tell me,” he went on. “For I think he will be here soon. With the help of his Tracker.”

Her arm jerked, and though she willed him not to look, he did, and saw the loosened rope. He laughed. “Oh, ma chère. How clever you are.” He strode to the other side of her chair and pulled on the rope. “I must make this especially tight, then, so that you will not escape.”

She cried out as the rope dug into her already chafed skin.

“Nice and tight,” he said, securing the last knot.

Her heart sank and the fear she had held at bay crept over her again. Escape was growing further away from her. And now she feared for Nicholas, too. Was he planning on trapping Nicholas? Would he kill him as he killed their apprentice? She would stall him, then. Tell him a partial truth. But she would have to tread carefully. He was wild now. Wilder than he had ever been.

“I could help you. In exchange for a little freedom. And proper food and water. I can help you.”

“Help me? Would you now. We will make the Elixir together, then?”

“Yes. But you must release me. Let me walk about. My legs ache.”

“Hmm. An interesting proposition. I shall think on it.”

She lowered her head, looking away so that he would not see her eyes, for through her fear she also felt elation. He might be tricked. It might work. And Nicholas had gotten the help of a man who found things, found people. A champion! Would he find her in time?