“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?
24
The game is not over. What are you waiting for?
Crispin read the words on the scrap of parchment again. He glanced at the lock of hair, red gold, streaked with gray, that Flamel would not release, and turned at last to Avelyn.
“Avelyn, do you know where the Boar’s Tusk is? A tavern on Gutter Lane?”
She nodded.
“Go with all haste and bring back Jack Tucker. Don’t take no for an answer.”
She leapt up and darted out the door.
When the door slammed shut, he took Flamel by the arm and sat him on a chair by the fire. “Master Flamel, is this a lock of hair from your wife?”
He nodded, eyes never leaving the strands tied with a blue ribbon of cloth.
Crispin lowered the parchment. “He has the Stone. But it isn’t merely about that, is it?”
The alchemist shook his head again. “He … he must want my help in order to use it. It is a most complicated process. And so I must … I must…” His chin hit his chest and he shivered.
“Master Flamel, he did not speak of your helping him. He spoke of a game.”
Flamel shot to his feet, hand now curled around the lock. “But he is dead! It is impossible!”
“Hadn’t you better tell me everything, sir, no matter how impossible it might seem?”
Wild-eyed, he glared at Crispin. “Very well. My … my wife was married before me. But her husband died and left her a wealthy widow. But that didn’t matter to me. I was in love.”
He shuffled to the fire and leaned an arm over the hearth. The flames’ light danced over his long face, creasing the lines in deep shadow. “She was not as enamored of me, however. I was younger than her, rash. She had a suitor in France in those days. He was somewhat relentless in his pursuit. But … well … she eventually spurned him in favor of me. I am afraid he took a long time to get over it. But this was many years ago. He married someone else. Had children. Then there was a fire … he was killed along with his son.”
“The man’s name?”
“Piers Malemeyns. A brilliant alchemist himself. But he could never achieve even close to the Philosopher’s Stone. He was always too impatient. Too greedy. He could not understand that the journey is the achievement, not the end result.”
“I fear he is not dead and that he is behind more than this abduction, Master Flamel. I think he is the man who hired others to poison the cistern.”
“But why? It makes no sense. If he wanted Perenelle, if he wanted the Stone, all he need do is deal with me.”
Crispin nodded. “Yes. That is a problem of logic.”
“But no! Maître, it cannot be. He is dead. I am certain of it.”
“But I am not so certain.” He looked at the parchment again, holding it up to the light to be sure there were no other hidden messages. “I feel this is a good sign rather than a bad omen. There is still something he wishes to negotiate. Or to gloat. Either way, I feel that Madam Flamel is still alive.” He deliberately left out and unharmed, for of that, he was no longer certain.
He read the parchment again.
The game is not over. What are you waiting for?
“He’s watching us. He’s watching us find the clues. He knows we have not pursued the last one and he wants us to continue.”
“It is a trap, then!”
“Perhaps. In that case, Jack and I will pursue this alone.”
The door flung open and both men whirled. Jack Tucker stood in the doorway, with Avelyn clutching his shirt as if she had dragged him the whole way. He smacked her hands away and glared at her. “I’m here, you sarding woman! Let go of me. Master Crispin?” He eyed his master. “I thought you would meet me at the Boar’s Tusk.”
“More has come to light, Jack. I want you to stay here with Master Flamel. At no time are you to leave him. We received another message.” He shoved the parchment into the boy’s hand and then cocked his head at the lock of hair in Flamel’s fist. Jack read and looked again at the lock of hair. “God blind me,” he whispered.
“And that’s not all. I did encounter our Robert Pickthorn, but he was a dupe, thought he was only helping the people of London and putting a draught in the water that would make them pliable. The true villain is the alchemist Bartholomew of Oxford. Master Flamel?”
“Yes?”
“Do you know this alchemist?”
“No. I never heard of him. But I do not know the alchemists of London. I kept my presence here a secret … or so I thought.”
“It’s that apprentice,” said Jack. All eyes turned to him and he lowered his head sheepishly. “Thomas Cornhill. May he rest in peace. But he must have told others. Proud of the new job he got. His family, too. If anyone asked and he said that he was apprenticing with the French alchemist Nicholas Flamel, well … Someone must have overheard.”
Flamel nodded and lowered his head to his hands. “Foolishness. I should have sworn him to secrecy. I did not know. How could I have known?”
“Jack, stay here. Help them to clean up this disorder. I must deal with this other alchemist.”
“Right, Master Crispin. I won’t leave his side until you yourself tell me to.”
“Good lad.”
Crispin glanced once at the pensive face of Avelyn before rushing out the door.
Back he went to the sign of Mercury and tried the door. Locked, of course. He was too angry to try to pick it. Brute force seemed to be what he wanted most, and he drew back and slammed his shoulder into the wood. He heard a crack but little more. He tried it again and again, little feeling the sore ache to his shoulder and arm with the blows.
“Here! What do you think you are doing?”
Crispin turned, and a man of middle years with mousy brown hair shook a pilgrim’s staff at him. Behind him was a boy a few years younger than Tucker, gripping the lead of a mule bearing the burden of parcels and luggage packed high on its back.
He stepped forward and looked Crispin up and down. “I’ll call the law on you. What do you think you are doing?”