Read Online A Conspiracy of Alchemists: Book One in the Chronicles of Light and Shadow by Liesel Schwarz - Free Book Online
Authors: Liesel Schwarz
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day.”
They dragged the hoses to the canal.
“You picked her for more than her flying skills, didn’t you? What are you not telling me, Patrice?”
His companion just shrugged as he puffed at his ubiquitous little black cigar, in a very Gallic, “I have no idea what you are on about” gesture. Patrice could be a stubborn bugger when he wanted to be. “Word on the street is that she has talents other than flying freight. I thought it might be fun if we used her. And she has a pretty face. I thought you might like that. It’s not my fault she didn’t take to you.”
“We both know that’s not what this is about.”
Patrice’s eyes glittered sharp for a moment in the light of the lantern. “Why? Have you found something?” Somewhere in the distance an owl called out in the black night.
“I’m not certain,” Marsh said.
“So you did find something in her.”
“Perhaps. I can’t tell for sure.”
“Then we should find out. This could be important.”
“All in good time. I’m not about to wake our young lady on the suspicion that she might be special. I think I have faced her temper enough times for one day. There is always tomorrow.”
“If you say so.” Patrice shrugged and they cranked water into the tank in silence for a few moments.
“You think he’s home?” He inclined his chin in the direction of looming shape of Windsor Castle, darker against the night sky in the distance.
“He, mon ami, should be referred to as his majesty, the King of England. And no, I believe the King has already left for his annual visit to his favorite spa in Switzerland. His majesty adheres to a very regular routine.” Marsh closed the water tank with more force than was strictly necessary. “That should do it, don’t you think?”
Patrice puffed at the last of his cigarette and flicked it aside. The butt glowed orange where it fell in the wet grass.
They rolled up the dripping hoses and stored them in the compartment under the steam car.
“Here, let me have a go. You’ve been driving for hours and I’m bored in the back,” Marsh said.
Patrice shrugged and settled in the front passenger seat, next to Marsh. He pulled his hat over his eyes and flipped his coat collar up against the crisp night air. Marsh took hold of the steering lever, engaged the gears and eased the accelerator lever forward. The spark reactor glowed and the automobile trundled off into the night.
CHAPTER 8
The famous spires of Oxford glimmered through the morning haze shortly after eight o’clock that morning. Elle straightened up from underneath her travel blanket and looked about. The morning sun flickered on the river and bounced off damp leaves as they passed Iffley Lock and the part of the river they called the Isis. Her spirits rose; she would be home soon.
“Good morning.” Marsh turned round from where he was sitting in the front passenger seat and smiled at her. Dark stubble covered his chin.
“Oh, good morning. Have I slept the whole way?” She straightened her shirt and tucked her hair back into its knot.
“The whole way.” Patrice said over his shoulder without taking his hands off the steering lever.
“Did we stop?”
“Indeed we did. Twice. You even missed the part where I drove,” Marsh said. “But if you’d oblige us with a few directions, we shall stop for a third time to deliver you home safe and sound.”
Soon the steam car pulled up outside the house she shared with her father. Situated on the outskirts of town, it was a new house as far as houses in Oxford went. It had been built in the style the King’s mother, Queen Victoria, had favored some thirty years before. Elle loved the redbrick front and the white stonework around the windows. It reminded her of the gingerbread houses one saw around Christmastime.
“Pull into the coach yard behind the house, if you don’t mind,” she said. “It will be easier to turn the car around that way.”
The steam car shook to a halt on the gravel
They dragged the hoses to the canal.
“You picked her for more than her flying skills, didn’t you? What are you not telling me, Patrice?”
His companion just shrugged as he puffed at his ubiquitous little black cigar, in a very Gallic, “I have no idea what you are on about” gesture. Patrice could be a stubborn bugger when he wanted to be. “Word on the street is that she has talents other than flying freight. I thought it might be fun if we used her. And she has a pretty face. I thought you might like that. It’s not my fault she didn’t take to you.”
“We both know that’s not what this is about.”
Patrice’s eyes glittered sharp for a moment in the light of the lantern. “Why? Have you found something?” Somewhere in the distance an owl called out in the black night.
“I’m not certain,” Marsh said.
“So you did find something in her.”
“Perhaps. I can’t tell for sure.”
“Then we should find out. This could be important.”
“All in good time. I’m not about to wake our young lady on the suspicion that she might be special. I think I have faced her temper enough times for one day. There is always tomorrow.”
“If you say so.” Patrice shrugged and they cranked water into the tank in silence for a few moments.
“You think he’s home?” He inclined his chin in the direction of looming shape of Windsor Castle, darker against the night sky in the distance.
“He, mon ami, should be referred to as his majesty, the King of England. And no, I believe the King has already left for his annual visit to his favorite spa in Switzerland. His majesty adheres to a very regular routine.” Marsh closed the water tank with more force than was strictly necessary. “That should do it, don’t you think?”
Patrice puffed at the last of his cigarette and flicked it aside. The butt glowed orange where it fell in the wet grass.
They rolled up the dripping hoses and stored them in the compartment under the steam car.
“Here, let me have a go. You’ve been driving for hours and I’m bored in the back,” Marsh said.
Patrice shrugged and settled in the front passenger seat, next to Marsh. He pulled his hat over his eyes and flipped his coat collar up against the crisp night air. Marsh took hold of the steering lever, engaged the gears and eased the accelerator lever forward. The spark reactor glowed and the automobile trundled off into the night.
CHAPTER 8
The famous spires of Oxford glimmered through the morning haze shortly after eight o’clock that morning. Elle straightened up from underneath her travel blanket and looked about. The morning sun flickered on the river and bounced off damp leaves as they passed Iffley Lock and the part of the river they called the Isis. Her spirits rose; she would be home soon.
“Good morning.” Marsh turned round from where he was sitting in the front passenger seat and smiled at her. Dark stubble covered his chin.
“Oh, good morning. Have I slept the whole way?” She straightened her shirt and tucked her hair back into its knot.
“The whole way.” Patrice said over his shoulder without taking his hands off the steering lever.
“Did we stop?”
“Indeed we did. Twice. You even missed the part where I drove,” Marsh said. “But if you’d oblige us with a few directions, we shall stop for a third time to deliver you home safe and sound.”
Soon the steam car pulled up outside the house she shared with her father. Situated on the outskirts of town, it was a new house as far as houses in Oxford went. It had been built in the style the King’s mother, Queen Victoria, had favored some thirty years before. Elle loved the redbrick front and the white stonework around the windows. It reminded her of the gingerbread houses one saw around Christmastime.
“Pull into the coach yard behind the house, if you don’t mind,” she said. “It will be easier to turn the car around that way.”
The steam car shook to a halt on the gravel
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