The Alchemists

Not long enough, Neil Hamby thought to himself. "What brings you here, Liana?" He tested out her new name, her new identity, on the tip on his tongue. "It's not often that you visit me here."

Neil was genuinely surprised to see Halcyon at the Library, or Oxford in general. Neil tried to stay away from other Alchemists while on school property. He always felt they seemed more suspicious in groups. His gaze flashed over to the other woman. His relationship with Halcyon was complicated at best, but he didn't want to bring her down with him when the other Alchemists found out he'd blown his cover.

A twist of nausea curled around his stomach. Halcyon was a Sweeper, wasn't she? And wasn't it her job to get rid of those who couldn't keep the secret?

Neil steadied himself against one of the bookshelves. "Hal-I mean, Liana, honestly, I don't know how she knows!" He ran a hand through his hair. "Really, this is my first time meeting her. You know I'd never do something like this, right? Especially not on purpose. Believe me, I know what happens when people tell, so why would I tell, right? If anyone told her it must've been...it must've been Caldwell!" His voice cracked and went up a few octaves, his speech so rapid it was barely understandable. "We've known each other for years, right? You can't do this to me, you can't! I promise I'll be more careful next time!" He gestured wildly with both hands, and a few droplets of sweat shimmered on his forehead. "I'd never betray you guys!"

----------

Ophira stared onward in horrified silence. Yes, Oxford boasted about its diverse student body, but she never figured someone that mentally and emotionally unstable would be allowed entry into the school.

She looked over at the woman he was talking to. She seemed fairly normal. While Mr. Psychotic Meltdown was having his episode, she definitely needed someone normal to cling on to.

"So," Ophira said with a small laugh, trying to inject some humor into the situation. "Does he do this often?"

"What's that face for? An old friend can't stop by to say hello on a whim? She has to have some ulterior motive?" Halcyon smiled, affecting innocence as well as any cherubic kindergartner, except she'd had infinitely more practice to perfect the look. "And I know, but going the usual route is rather circuitous and I don't have that much time."

She paused to muss his hair, and was able to observe his abrupt change from trepidatious to downright hysterical. She had a hard time keeping her skepticism and annoyance from tearing the smile plastered on her made-up mouth. Familiar with Hamby's paranoid tirades, she let him rant himself out.

"More often than you think," she said to the woman. In a deliberately teasing manner, she bent to whisper in Hamby's ear. "If you don't stop shouting like a maniac the whole of Oxford is going to think you're a nutter, and it doesn't do good things for my reputation to be seen with lunatics. This girl has no idea what our society is and thinks we"--and by we she meant Alchemists--"are just some fairytale like unicorns or leprechauns. So would you please, please dear Lord, shut up!" she hissed the last part, but kept a pleasant expression on her face the whole time, so the woman wouldn't know she was yelling at him.

"Anyway," Halcyon said with a laugh. "I didn't catch your name?" she asked her.

---

"Ready," Andreas replied with a sage nod. "Shall we catch a cab or take the tube?" Despite the unavoidable finagling that accompanies diplomatic games, Andreas was looking forward to a visit to the Market. It was certainly a feast for the eyes, but more than anything it was a mental buffet. His father had taken him there on his fifteenth birthday, just after his mother had died. He'd watched Alchemists in old-fashioned robes bustle about the immaculate floors, but most of all he'd been dazzled by the towering bookcases, perhaps stories high. Almost every book had gilded pages and covers, so that it seemed an underground sun (for the Emporium was literally underground) was blinding him.

"Cab's quieter, tube's faster if we can catch it right," Ven reasoned, checking his watch. "Of course, neither grants much privacy, but we wont need much of that until we get to the market."

He had a few supplies he that needed restocking in his office and probably had a list somewhere in his wallet, but knew most of what he needed anyways. He was sure that when Andreas was investigating his own matters, he'd appreciate a few moments of quiet discussion with a Vendor while Ven ducked down a back alley to search for what he wanted. After the consultation with the Americans his assignment was nearly at fruition, and he needed a few eclectic materials he didn't expect to find at the main stalls to really continue.


He checked his watch again, and nodded affirmatively. "Tube would be better at this time, and it has more direct access to the part of the market I assume you're looking for. Unless you'd like to take the long way?" he queried, considering Andreas' penchant for wandering the various winding hallways.

"No, tube it is," Andreas agreed simply, making sure he'd secured his messenger bag and all the supplies he'd ever need within it--all ordered neatly (possibly obsessively).

"Let's head to the station." It was just two blocks down, and usually it was their typical mode of transportation. Andreas patted his wallet subconsciously, knowing his card to swipe into the system was there among his IDs.

"We can get off at Westminster Abbey and access the Market through the Forbidden Hall." It was one of the more commonly known entryways to the underground Emporium, and his favorite. He had a certain weakness for the cathedral's Gothic architecture because for all its grimness and austerity, the style was darkly ordered, and dependable.

"Off we go," he muttered.

As Ven entered a small side alcove of the Abbey just before the Forbidden Hallway, trailing closely behind Andreas, he tapped the other man on the shoulder and pulled off to the side, eager to talk before they entered the Market. He placed his small bag down on a bench and began rummaging through for his card, occasionally glancing up at Andreas as he talked.

"So, I've been wondering, what section of the Informatica do you plan on visiting today? Of course, disappearances aren't exactly rare, but not quite loud enough to have their own department. I assume you already have a section or two in mind?"

Andreas followed Ven into the alcove and followed suit, getting out his card. He nodded at his roommate's assumption.

"There are a few sections I had thought to peruse. Of course, we'll have to appear casual, as everyone else does. Even though we all have our own hidden agendas." He kept his voice low, knowing it could carry in such a spacious venue as this. "Firstly, I'll be checking on experimental branches of our society, some lesser-known groups perhaps, that may have used one of the Latin phrases as a motto. I suppose those will be in the historic section purely, perhaps some in the labs...I'll be talking to some old friends too of course, as well as comparing member records, to see if, of those inaugurated and those noted as deceased with marks, any names have been expunged...possible disappearances." His mind was running away with him. "Forgive me, I'm making no sense whatsoever. How about if we split up among the historical records, to find any trace of the Latin? Only as a start."

"No issues here," Ven said, finally drawing out his card triumphantly. "However, you may overestimate my ability to focus while talking of Latin, without someone to keep me on track. I'll do my best though!" he smiled convincingly. It really wouldn't be too much of a hassle to stay focused if he kept himself in the main commons, however if he managed to escape into a side alley he always seemed to come across the more intriguing populous. "The third phrase would probably be a good starting point, as it seems more out of place than the others. Is there anything else you need while we're here? I need to stop by a few stands myself."

Andreas laughed, smirking. "Feel free to wander off on your own pursuits. Do you recall the late Don Ricard?" A silly question really, he was such a prominent figure in the Alchemical society. Word on the street was he'd been on the fast track to fame (or more likely infamy) with his radical experiments. That was, before he'd quite suddenly fallen ill and passed away. "I'm curious as to what exactly he was studying. It was kept very secret whilst he was alive, but now that he's dead, I'm sure there will be people willing to give me information freely." That wasn't the only thing he was curious about regarding the Don however. "Shall we?"

Leaving the alcove, Andreas walked to the end of the hall and quickly found the notch hidden in the ocher panels. As he pressed it in, there was a clank and the grating of hidden cogwheels. The slow hiss of air and a faint breeze could be felt, and the silhouette of a door appeared in the wall. Andreas pushed it inward and lead the way into the dark.

"Yes, it does seem that dead men tell more tales than the living these days," Ven remarked tenuously, following Andreas through the ornate hidden door. Such a pity that all of this was designed to be hidden away from so much of the world, a veritable treasure store with an almost as veritable army of guarding dragons. "Best of luck in your search, my good sir, I assume we'll reconvene for lunch at the usual spot?"

Neil Hamby frowned and leaned in close to Halcyon. "Look," he whispered darkly, making sure he was too quiet for the other woman to hear, "She was looking at an Alchemical book then she started asking all of these questions. Plus she associated with Caldwell." He leaned away from her and took a few steps backwards.

---------

"I'm sorry," Ophira said to Liana. "My name is Ophira, Ophira Alves." She gave the woman a warm smile. She did her best to ignore the previously-hysterical one. Ophira then suddenly became acutely aware of the time. She was wasting precious amounts of it chatting up various strangers that appeared to be falling in from the sky. She mentally berated herself for getting distracted so easily.

"I wish I could stay and talk, but I'm afraid I have some research to do." Quickly, her mind fabricated a fib to get herself away from them. "I have a presentation coming up, and I really need to focus on my thesis." She began to turn away from them. "Besides, I can tell you both have things to discuss, so I don't want to get in your way."

Halcyon took in what Hamby was saying and couldn't deny it was oddly suspicious that the woman was investigating Alchemists considering her connection to Caldwell. News of such disappearances traveled fast in their society, though not always the reasons behind such disappearances. In fact, it was a switch for her, not knowing. Since usually...

There could have been other reasons the woman was looking at the book of course, but Halcyon had found coincidences were far and few in her line of business, and lethal to ignore. "You're not compromised, so calm down," she whispered back to Hamby. "Let me handle this potential problem."

Halcyon returned Ophira's smile easily. "Yes, we do, very observant of you. And good luck on your presentation." She could have tried to wheedle out more information from Ophira, but for now she was content with simply keeping an eye on the woman. It certainly wouldn't do any harm either way.

When Ophira was gone, she stood up and straightened her dress. "So, Hamberg, I'm in need of some information."

---

"It does seem so," Andreas agreed. He smirked good-naturedly at Ven's 'good sir' and led the way down an imposing granite staircase, a steep slide that descended into near-darkness only sporadically pierced by the flickering tongues of torches bracketed to the wall, casting lighter ocher shadows along the walls. Behind them, the door closed with a solid 'thunk', and the pleasant whirr of machinery echoed after them as the gears settled back in position. "Usual spot should be good," he said amenably, regarding lunch. He had a feeling that it would be a late lunch, or a light one, because they had a tendency to get caught up in the boundless knowledge of the Market. Knowledge was the best sustenance, after all.

Ophira stepped outside of Oxford Library. It was beyond obvious that the Library didn't contain any useful information about the inner workings of the Alchemical Society. But then again, did she really expect to find such information lying about? Still, the Library did have a very wide variaty of books. Ophira would continue her search back at her apartment, hopefully the internet would hold some answers.

She slid into the driver's seat of her car and turned on the radio. She needed a moment for her mind to wander and rest. She couldn't help but think about that man and woman back at the Library, even after she had driven away. There was something very strange. There was something in the back of her mind that was just a bit fuzzy, but it was still there, and it was very, very important. Something had stuck out. Something that the paranoid man had said.


If anyone told her, it must've been Caldwell. Ubruptly, Ophira veered off to the side of the rode and pulled over. She cursed loudly. How could she have missed something so obvious? She had been right there, with two Alchemists. She sucked in a big breath and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. She'd been very lucky; the Alchemists hadn't done anything to her even though they knew, well, one of them knew, that she was aware that Alchemists existed. Perhaps next time she wouldn't be so lucky, if there even was to be a "next time." Just because they had let her go for now didn't mean they wouldn't return. Ophira knew she needed to call Andreas Kostopoulos as soon as possible.

-----------

Neil's eyebrows furrowed at the nickname Halcyon had given him. "What kind of information?" He asked, his voice low, just in case anyone else was listening in.

"I think you know what kind of information," Halcyon replied, the crimson line of her lips twisting like a ribbon. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation where curious ears are less likely to overhear?"

Neil eagerly agreed. "We should head back to my dorm. It'll be the most discreet place." He glanced around the Library once before leaving, just to make sure no one was following after them.

Neil's dorm room was in a corner in a much larger building. Coincidentally, that building was tucked away in the corner of Oxford's campus as well. It was the perfect place for Hamby, since it was far away from prying eyes.

He opened the door and flicked on the light. It was a sparcely decorated room, with a twin-sized bed against the left wall, a rather plush-looking chair, and a large desk that seemed to dominate the space. Not a single speck of dust could be found in the room.

Halcyon could only chuckle to herself as she followed Hamby back to his room. It suited him beyond belief, and when she entered the small, and surprisingly cozy, little space she wasted no time in making herself comfortable. Snuggling up in the chair, she removed her stilettos and tossed her sunglasses on the desk.

"So..." she stretched, lounging like a cat, hearing the rain pitter-patter against the one, small window. She remembered five years ago when they'd met; it had been raining then too. "I'd ask how you've been, but I find myself short on time lately, and the pretense of pleasantries wastes so much of it." She winked, her eyes bright blue thanks to some uncomfortable contacts. "How well did you know Professor Caldwell?"

Ven veered from Andreas' path, towards, well, the first cart that caught his eye. Mostly worthless baubles, trinkets and things, all bronze. Magpie, magpie, what do you see? he mused to himself as he wandered through the dully glittering paraphernalia, brushing the back of his hand against a few particular items to see if he could bring out a lustier shine. Hopeless. Perfect.

As he reached the end of the stall, moving his hand slowly off the furthest object as if contemplating departure, the vendor finally made themselves known. He was nearly jumped upon by a ragged old woman, trimmed from hair to shoes in brown, her head a vague rough mop, matted and nearly in dreadlocks.

"A toy for the dearie? A bangle for the lady?" she cackled, plying various objects from the junk around her.

"Oh, no," he pulled back innocently, ever so slightly. "I couldn't possibly deprive you of any of your fine wares here? Of course--"

"That's right! You couldn't!" she jumped in, grinning savagely and pushing her face obnoxiously close to his. "They's not for sale. They's mine." She tossed her pieces back with the rest. "But I do has what you's looking for," she murmured, scraping a finger on the underside of his chin. He managed to restrain his reaction to a bit of a shiver, and this seemed to go unnoticed. "This way, this way," she motioned him in somewhat disjointedly, no longer looking at him and making her way into the backside of the stall.

"So I figured," he muttered under his breath, dusting himself off a bit and taking a breath before he ventured in behind her.

The Market was busy as always. Andreas smirked to himself as Ven immediately wandered off among the stalls. They were nestled in among tall fluted pillars that supported an arched ceiling with brilliant paintings of Biblical scenes: the lesser-known brother of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel.

As he made his way through the crowd, Andreas nodded to a few Alchemists who were friends of the family. Many looked like they wanted to engage him in conversation, but he smiled and artfully avoided any further discourse with a few courteous but pointed words and continued on his way. He wondered if they truly enjoyed talking to him, or if they were just puppets employed by his father to draw him further into politics, where, according to his father, Andreas should be.

Eventually, he made it to the part of the Emporium full of books, and turned down a small, dimly lit corridor that led to a circular sitting room furnished in crimson and mahogany. There were plush chairs, a fireplace, and oriental rugs. The walls were hung with black and white photos of Alchemical celebrities, and there were a myriad of book cases filled to the brim with green vinyl record books. Taking a deep breath, he moved to the year in the 60s, when Caldwell had been initiated...

Ven wanted to sigh, and perhaps give an emphatic eye roll, but kept his expressions in check when he saw the large round table with the crystal ball in the center. Heavy crimson tablecloth, ornately carved rosewood chairs (no doubt with a pedal under hers), stark white lace draped around the room in odd places--the whole deal. He was dying to skip the theatrics and cut to the chase, but this type never seemed to respond well to the more effective approach, even though nearly all their clients knew them a con. But a con who knew the market was always welcome in a community like this one.

"There's a man--" he began, only to have the gypsy again thrust her face close to his, her eye nearly on his nose.

"A man?" she asked. "Or a man?"

She wiggled an eyebrow at him as he stammered out an "Uh, no, just, uh, not that kind of... I don't..." he trailed off as she returned to her side of the table, muttering about how there was never any good gossip around here these days.

"As I was saying," he started again, only to be cut off by a sharpy upraised palm, which turned into an extended index finger.

"Seats first, talks later," she murmured without looking up, lowering herself into the nearly black seat without letting her arm drop. He cautiously seated himself and cleared his throat, pausing for another interruption, but when no further commands came he commenced.

It took a good half an hour to find any mention of Caldwell, and when he did, it wasn't where he'd expected. Caldwell's name wasn't in the Inaugural Book of '61, which Andreas knew for a fact had been the year he'd been initiated. The book was in surprisingly good shape. Its spine was free of fraying and the leather cover free of cracks. In comparison, the other books--the '62 to '75--had pages tinged with yellow and wrinkled leather. Clearly it had been replaced. The Alchemists covered their tracks.

It was in the year '70 where he finally found mention of Caldwell's name--as a sponsor, for his father.

They hadn't been smart enough to expunge this information yet. As Andreas scanned the small paragraph about Caldwell on the page dedicated to his father, he saw something that caught his attention. Under his name were a lists of recent achievements, involvement within the Alchemists, and earned titles. There was one title he did not recognize whatsoever.

"Pioneer of Dawning Social Studies," Andreas read aloud. Well, it was something. Reaching into his bag, Andreas pulled out his disposable and snapped a picture.

"What are you doing?" a voice asked.

Neil didn't answer the question right away; he pressed his back up against the plain-colored wall of his room. He crossed his arms almost defensively over his chest. "I passed by him a few times on campus and we spoke once or twice." He raised an eyebrow. "And if you were referring to if I knew him in the Society, then not really. The Hambys and Caldwells never really interacted." He spoke his own family's name as if it tasted strange on his tongue.

"A man that was a friend of mine, whom I haven't seen for a while. And when I've tried to look for him, it seems he's... disappeared. You wouldn't have happened to have heard the name Caldwell around the market lately, perhaps?" he queried, making occasional eye contact but mostly looking around the shop, attempting to appear nonchalant and knowing he was failing miserably. However, he was sure to be looking at her when he mentioned Caldwell's name, and perhaps it was his imagination, or her skill in the art, but it seemed that she perked, just a little.

She appeared to lose focus for a few moments, shuffling and rummaging around her shop and muttering again. She clucked her tongue and yanked a dusty tome from under a copper kettle when her eyes fell on it, and plopped it down in front of him, appearing pleased with her efforts.

"Your man," she said, scrubbing a bit of black film off the part of the book nearer to him, revealing a silver embossed name in a archaic font. Theodore Caldwell. His eyes widened and he went to scrape the dust off where the title should be with his sleeve, only to have his arm seized by the vendor.

"Buys first, reads later," she said, clucking her tongue again and shaking her head. "Or be you's forgetting the order again?"

"Reasonable," he sighed, leaving his coin purse in his bag for now. "How much?"

She pursed her lips and glared inquisitively at him, as if approximating him, or trying to understand his question. "By the time the gyres gimble in the wabe, you'll owe me a favor."

"And, ahem, when might that be?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, just about..." she glanced at her wrist where she wore no watch, "now. I have an errand that need be run, a few trinkets that can't be collecting themselves, not yet at least, and I can't leave my poor babies here," she gestured to her assortment. "All in the market, but if you'll swear to it, the book is yours, fair trade."

"Certainly, certainly," he said, a bit relieved at the clarification. "Do you happen to have a--" before he could finish, a scrap of paper was thrust into his hand, and he was being pushed out the door with a brown sack and a small bag of change.

"You'll find sufficient compensation in the smaller bag, to buy most of the items," she said, "and sufficient space in the larger bag, to fit the items. Here's your book, enjoy the trip!" She thrust the book into the larger bag and was following him through the door.

"How could you know I won't just--" he began, starting to feel sad for the deranged old woman.

"You're the right type," she smiled, and sighed as her copper colored eyes cleared up for a moment. "I can feel it."

"Thank you," he said, a bit confused, holding his head at a slight angle and giving a small courteous bow. "I'll be back soon!" he said, straightening himself up and turning to walk away as he scanned the list, wanting to be out of sight range before he checked the book. Of course he would get her items, but that didn't mean he had to completely postpone his reward.

"Ah," he heard her sigh again as she returned to her sweeping, possibly a bit slower than before.

"Well, unless those couple of times you spoke your conversations were incredibly in-depth, I doubt they would be of use to me." Halcyon tried not to sigh. "Well, perhaps you can give me some gossip then. Students talk. Have there been any rumors circulating about Caldwell's "leave of absence?"

She tapped her fingers, too slow to be impatient, more tolerating. "And, as a side note, do you happen to know of any recent studies involving Chelation and some young, perhaps fool-hardy Alchemists?"

"Of course the entire student body is talking about it..." His palms were getting sweaty at just the thought of it. "He just went and vanished. No one knows anything except for those involved, I'm guessing. Even the police couldn't put out a proper report because there just isn't enough evidence. As far as they know, he could've just gotten sick of everything and left."

He tried to swallow down his anxiety. "It's strange; other Alchemists have gone 'missing' before, but never like this. They always make it seem like they died in an accident or something. With Caldwell...it's as if he was completely erased." An involuntary shiver ran down his spine.

"Unfortunately I don't know any studies about Chelation and Alchemists, sorry." There was a tinge of suspicion in his voice. Why would Halcyon wonder about something like that? It wasn't even related to Caldwell.

"That is peculiar," Halcyon agreed. "Leaving loose ends isn't typical of the Alchemical higher-ups." She thought for a moment, speculating. "Even a little bit of information is helpful," she said by way of thanks, giving him a genuine smile. Though Halcyon hadn't been in contact with Caldwell for years, she still remembered him fondly as a vague memory in her childhood. For some things he did, she would be forever grateful. He was a good man, at the very least.

"Oh,," Halcyon said, surprised into apathy, but brushing the matter aside with a hand. "Not like it would have worked anyway," she muttered, laughing tonelessly. She shouldn't have even said that much even, but she found she was getting bolder of late, maybe that's what constant nausea did to you, distracted your conscientious half and left the careless part of you to deal with the world.

"I won't overstay my welcome." She smiled, picking up her sunglasses and putting her heels back on. "I know you're not too fond of me, Hamby. But anyway, thanks for the help." She moved past him towards the door, embroiled in her thoughts.

---

Andreas looked up, face blank. With a distasteful frown, he dropped his phone back into the bag and calmly replaced the book on the shelf.
"No cameras allowed here, you know that."
The woman was short in stature, with round cheeks and a messy bun. She was younger than her austere stature might have you believe; he could tell by her aura of uneasiness, inexperienced anxiety.
"My apologies. I'll be sure not to be caught next time."
Her open-mouthed look of outrage was rewarding. Her face got red with indignant anger and she turned to yell at him as he stalked out of the reference center-- "You're a self-involved bastard and that's worse than a rule breaker!"
He turned on his heel, teeth clenched. "Do I know you?"
Words caught in her throat. With a squeak, and an abrupt look of terror, she shook her head and rushed off in the other direction. He harrumphed and continued on his way.

Ven meandered down a side alley, glancing over the list until he was sure that he was out of range. The items could be considered odd when placed together, but none by themselves was particularly questionable. He pulled the novel out of the bag, using the smaller satchel she gave him to remove the filth from the rest of the book rather than further soiling his sleeves. An Informal Inquiry into the Cessation of Czar Noitalehc, read the rather over-alliterated title. Not quite what he was hoping for, likely just one of his more academic publishing. He was known to do releases on odd items, and despite his enormous lack in recognition or success for them, he certainly never lost hope. A quick leaf through the pages revealed long passages and references taken from works written in different tongues, which could be promising, but, referring back to the title, likely would not bear any fruit. He shoved the book back into his bag and returned to the list, planning his course through the market.