Jeri Westerson - Shadow of the Alchemist

Jack edged forward. “Grass and water. A river’s edge?”

“Not a river. Something over a river. A bridge.”

“London Bridge?”

Crispin turned the parchment end over end. “If there is a riddle by each of these symbols all over London, then we must follow each one to find … what?”

“The answer,” said Flamel.

“The answer to what?”

He looked up. His face seemed more lined than before, his eyes sagging with weariness and worry. “To what to do next.”

The bells rung for Vespers. She slumped on her chair. She had managed to get a little wine and bread at last later that morning, but now there would be no more. She had lost the toss of the dice and he had ticked his head with regret.

She knew what he wanted. He was a fool if he thought he would get it. But why treat her in this way unless he was mad? Yes, he was most likely mad. Circumstances had made him so, from those long-ago days. From the many things he’d said, all in that falsely cheerful way of his, she had pieced together the simple message that it had been this Lancaster’s fault. He blamed him. She tried to reckon it but could not come up with the logic and so kept silent. Better that way. For now, he played these games for her food and relief. But there was no way of knowing if he would become more violent.

“Your husband seems not to care for you.”

She stiffened at the sound of his voice in the doorway. His shadow approached, stretching across the floor. She had won herself a fire in yet another game of tables, so at least she was warmer and there was light, for there were no windows deep in this strange room. Was she even in England anymore? Her head was light from lack of food and the bit of wine she had consumed. But at least he had removed the blindfold and hadn’t even mentioned putting it back on her again.

She said nothing as he approached. He was trying to goad her.

“Did you hear me, Madame ? He does not care for you as you had thought. For there is no rescue.”

“He will not give it to you.”

“Will he not? I think, then, that you are a poor bargaining chit. It might be best, then, to…” Suddenly his lips were against her ear, and she shrank back. “Dispose of you,” he whispered.

She tried not to shudder, to show her fear. He wanted that. She was no fool. But it was hard, so hard, when she was so tired and hungry, and her arms and shoulders ached from the position in which they had been tied for so long.

“I disposed of your apprentice when he got in the way, Madame . He was useless to me, in the end. Do you know what I did?”

She shook her head, unable to stop herself. She wanted to cover her ears but couldn’t. She recited the rosary instead, but it didn’t block out his voice, especially as close to her ear as it was.

“I put my hands around his slim white throat and slowly squeezed. Squeezed, until his choking breath began to slow. His eyes bugged. I was curious to see if they would pop out of his head.”

She sobbed, turning her face as far away from him as she could.

“Alas. They did not. His tongue protruded, though, with my thumb pushing hard on his windpipe. He stopped breathing. His eyes remained open, wide, seeing less and less. His lips became pale. And then … he was quite dead. And finally, I hung him up in your shop by his heel to confuse and confound. I wonder what your precious husband said to that.”

He dragged a stool from the table and set it before her. Sitting, he pondered her face, cocking his head one way, then the other. Reaching forward, he ran a finger down her cheek. “Still beautiful after all these years. Will he discard you as he had so many others? You mustn’t trust him, you know.”

“I trust him. It is you I do not trust.”

“Me? But Madame ! You say this to me, of all people. No, never fear. I will not so easily dispose of you. I have a greater plan. A better one.” He caressed her cheek once more, a smile teasing his mouth. “Would you like to wash? I’m certain you would. It’s been days.”

She angled her head away from his touch. “No more games.”

“But they are such fun, don’t you agree? It’s different when so much is assigned to the winning or losing. When so much is at stake. I learned that lesson years ago. I’m certain that Nicholas never told you that.”

“Release me.”

“Not yet. Perhaps … not ever.”

“Oh, God! O merciful Father! Help your poor child!”

He jerked to his feet, kicking the stool aside. “That’s right. Pray! Pray, for all the good it will do you. We won’t play any more games tonight … and so you shall not wash.”

He grabbed his dagger and pulled it from its sheath. Breathing hard, he looked at her.

A strange calm overcame her. Was it to be over, then? “What will you do with that?” she said quietly.

He strode toward her until he was standing directly over her, still breathing hard, still brandishing the knife. The blade gleamed dully in the candlelight. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled back her head with a jerk. She wasn’t prepared for it and gave a little shriek before quieting. Her exposed throat rolled with expectation.

“What are you waiting for?” she whispered. She glared at him at first with anger in her eyes, anger at the waste of it all. But her emotions soon changed to regret. Prayers, not anger, were more apropos now. She would not go to her death with the sin of anger on her soul. Her thoughts were full of forgiveness. “Blessed Jesu deliver me,” she sighed up at him, before the blade swept down.

The four of them made their way down to Thames Street, passed the Vintry and the Ropery, and finally arrived to Bridge Street. There was a queue to pay the toll to cross the bridge-which seemed to be held up by a man with an oxcart who had lost his cargo halfway through the gate.

Jack pushed his way through, jumping above the crowd to get a look at the archway. He turned back to Crispin and shook his head.

“Perhaps it isn’t on the arch,” he muttered to Flamel. Avelyn stayed at Crispin’s side like a dog with his master. It annoyed him, but she had proved observant before. After all, she seemed to have led him to the parchment in the niche. Had she seen it … or had she put it there for him to find?

He turned to watch her as she stumbled down the embankment, falling on her bum and sliding a little on the way down. How had she known it was there?

He went after her and grabbed her arm when they both slipped and rolled the rest of the way over the rough stones. He cursed and brushed himself off. She got to her feet, rubbing her temple. He grabbed her again and said to her face so she could read his mouth, “How did you know that parchment was there?”

She only smiled softly and shook her head. He tightened his grip and she looked down at his hand in puzzlement. “No, that’s not good enough. Did you put it there?”

Her mouth opened in an “O” and she shook her head slowly. Her long braid swayed from side to side like a donkey’s tail.

“If I find you are lying to me, you shall regret it.”

She shook her head again and signed to him.

“Master Flamel!” he called. “Come translate what this bitch of a servant has to say.”

Flamel clutched his gown and hiked it up, making his way slowly down to the shore. Jack came up beside him and anchored him.

They both reached the stony shore together, and Flamel turned the girl to face him. “What are you saying, child?”

Her hands flew and Flamel nodded, saying only occasionally, “Lentement, lentement.” At last she seemed to have finished, and Flamel turned to Crispin. “She says she is hurt that you should accuse her. She says she trusts you like none other-and insists that she is not a whore or a she-bitch. She says that she is more observant than you, who are more taken by the sounds of the wind and the people and the carts and the birds calling in the sky, and that all these things serve as a distraction to what is truly important. And she says also … that you must apologize to her or … or she will not … er … lay with you again.”