“I say sir!” said Sir John, echoing his wife’s annoyance. But Marie had gone, while the bearded man sat and laughed.

There was a roar of excitement from the crowd and then a sigh of disappointment.

“Where’s Marie?” said Sir John, perplexed at the absence of his wife who had been there just a second before.

The crowd started to slowly move away from the famous windmill.

“She was just here?” said Emile, equally perplexed.

“Did that man…” said Sir John, turning to look where the bearded man was sitting. He moved towards the table, his view obscured by the departing crowd.

“What did you do?” said Sir John as he pushed his way to the table, but he found he was addressing an empty chair. The man had gone too.

“What is going on?” said Sir John to himself.

The crowd was still dispersing around him as he wandered back to where he had been standing. Miss Henderson was there looking around distraught.

“I’ve lost Morag,” she said. “I had her with me one moment, then she went the next.”

Sabine emerged from the departing crowd.

“It was an acrobat,” she said. “Doing some trick on the sails of the windmill, jumping from one to another. At the end he stood on the roof and waved with something in his hand. Then he went in.”

“Something’s happened,” said Sir John. “Marie and Morag and that obnoxious gentleman have all vanished.”

Sabine looked unperturbed.

“Be calm, Sir John,” she said. “It is a big crowd in Paris, they are probably somewhere in it. We will wait here and all will be fine, I’m sure.”

“But the man…” said Sir John.

“Even in Paris people sometimes leave a café,” said Sabine.

Emile leaned close to his friend.

“You know earlier, when Marie said we needed a witch,” said Emile quietly, “what exactly did she mean?”

“Well,” said Sir John, “it’s funny you should ask that…”

“We’re too late!” said Marie, emerging from the crowd with Morag. “They have it.”

“Who has what?” said Emile.

“The key, the part of the key,” said Marie.

“You mean the part of the weapon?” said Sir John.

“No… yes,” said Marie. “Whatever it is, they have it. There was a man on the sails…”

“An acrobat,” said Sabine, “from his costume.”

“Yes, that was the task, the man at the café was the elemental, the task was to go around the sails three times while it moved. The acrobat did it and… something appeared in his hand.” said Marie.

“We tried to get to the windmill, but we were too late,” said Morag. “Even with everyone frozen for while.”

“When was everyone frozen?” said Miss Henderson. “I didn’t see that.”

“Aye, well,” said Morag, “you were one of them.”

The crowd had thinned out now and the street was mostly visible again. As the group looked at Marie and Morag they missed the fat man, short man and acrobat getting into a carriage.

“The point is,” said Marie glumly, “the point is, we lost.”

The Place Blanche was filled with people all seemingly staring at the Moulin Rouge. From the back of the crowd it was hard to see exactly what was catching their attention, beyond the lights starting to seduce in the pall of dusk. But there were audible gasps and fingers pointing in the direction of the windmill.

“What’s happening?” said Morag to the group.

A young man staggered past, visibly drunk and even more visibly perturbed by a talking dog. He looked in horror at the bottle of absinthe he was drinking and hurled it to the ground before running away. Emile winced at the sight of it.

“It’s a bit hard to make out,” said Sir John, clutching his wife. “Something on the windmill maybe?”

“Oh for ‘eavens sake!” said Sabine and started pushing through the crowd. Her apologies were quickly followed by her blows to the ribs or backs of the onlookers. People turned and made exclamations as she pushed her way to the front but she seemed oblivious to her impact.

“Not very ladylike,” said Miss Henderson to Marie, before casually standing on the foot of a drunken man leering towards her. He howled in pain and fell backwards. Emile made a moue of approval.

“Ho ho, so you brought the maid,” said the fat bearded man at the café, sitting in the same spot as before and once more with a crowd around him.

Sir John glanced over and muttered something.

“Ignore him,” said Emile, under his breath.

“It’s annoying,” said Sir John, equally low voiced, “and ungentlemanly. In London he would be horsewhipped.”

“My friend,” said Emile kindly, “you are not in Kensington now.”

Sir John made a noise.

“Which one is your maid,” said the man. “The amazon?”

Miss Henderson rolled her eyes.

“Or is that your wife?” said the man.

“Monsieur!” hissed Marie and swivelled round to confront the man.

Then…

…everything stopped….

…nobody moved….

…time halted…

…and sounds faded to silence.

“Is that you?” said Morag, walking up to Marie and looking at everyone now still as statues.

“No!” said Marie, confused.

“It’s just no-one else is moving.” said Morag.

The bearded man let out a big earthy laugh.

“Well, nearly no-one!” he said.

“You!” said Marie. “You’re the elemental.”

The man nodded forward, his demeanour seeming to change from brusque bon vivant to gentle man-mountain.

“Enchanted,” he said, “quite literally. And what may I ask are a witch and a… I’m sorry m’dear. What are you?”

“I’m an alchemist,” said Morag. A frown crossed the man’s enormous forehead.

“We’re looking for the weapon,” said Marie.

“The weapon?” said the man.

“The four parts,” said Marie. “The weapon in four parts.”

“You mean the key,” said the man. “The key in four parts.”

“The key?” said Morag.

“Yes, the key,” said the man, looking a little uncertain. “I guard one part and administer a test for it.”

“Yes, that,” said Marie. “What is the test?”

The man looked at the windmill on the Moulin Rouge.

“The test is simple, one must stay on top of the sails of the windmill for 3 full turns. A garçon over there is trying to do it as we speak,” said the elemental.

Marie tried to squint.

“I don’t see, what garçon,” said Marie.

“The one that came with the English men, the fat pompous one and the thin one that rubs his hands,” said the elemental. “They came yesterday, spoke to me, and I explained the task. Today they came back with an acrobat, I think. They started a little a while ago and he has made two turns now.”

The elemental turned to look at Marie and Morag, but they were gone, pushing through the stationary crowd and towards the Moulin Rouge and its windmill.

“And what did you find there?” said Sabine, rapt.

“Nothing,” said Emile flatly.

“Nothing?” said Miss Henderson.

“Nothing,” said Sir John.

“Nothing at all?” said Phlebotomous, prompted by Osvold.

“Not a thing,” said Emile. “No elemental creature, no challenge, no weapon.”

“But Clackprattle and Pook were there,” said Morag, “and there was still nothing?”

“Is my accent a little confusing?” said Emile, sounding irritated. “We saw nothing, found nothing, heard nothing, smelled nothing!”

There was a pause during which a peacock walked into the church. It looked at the group sitting around the table and made a noise.

“Is that new?” said Sir John, pointing to the peacock.

“It matches the decor,” said Sabine waving a hand round at the reworked church hall, now filled with rooms made with ornately decorated panels.

“We lost the noise of the workmen and now we have the noise of this overdressed chicken,” said Miss Henderson to Sir John, with a poor attempt at sotto voce.

Morag barked and the peacock ran out of the church.

“It’s a bit wary of me,” said Morag. “Probably with reason.”

“So what do we do next?” said Sabine.

“We go back, I think,” said Sir John. “We can take some of our investigative devices to see if that helps. Phlebotomous, do you think you have anything?”

“It’s not exactly my area,” said Phlebotomous,” but I could probably make a sort of elemental detector. Something that registered when one element was out of balance. That might help you find this creature.”

“Sounds perfect,” said Sir John, “and we can take the Ectoscopic Glasses. They may help with identifying supernatural sources. Emile?”

“I’ll see what I can find, but I have an Ethereal Detector that may help,” said Emile.

“And we’ll need someone who can carry out the physical challenge,” said Sir John. “When we find out what it is.”

There was a short pause.

“Of course!” exclaimed Sabine excitedly. “It is obvious. I will do it.”

“Ah,” said Sir John, “we were actually wondering…”

“Nonsense,” interrupted Sabine. “The duty falls to me. I insist.”

“Sabine,” said Emile, “we wondered if Miss Henderson would volunteer.”

They all looked at the maid.

“Well of course, mess sewer,” said Miss Henderson. She did a strange sort of half-courtesy and tried to hide a smile.

“And since I’m the only one who can’t be hypnotised by that numpty Pook, I’d better come along as well,” said Morag.

“Osvold and I will stay here,” said Phlebotomous. “Since it’s day time.”

“Well, that’s settled then, I guess,” said Sir John. “Let’s go tomorrow, first thing and find whatever it is.”

The door to Marie and Sir John’s room swung open and Marie walked out.

“You’re forgetting one thing,” said Marie, smiling. “You’re probably going to need a witch.”

“Did she say what I think she said?” said Sabine to Emile, her sotto voce as bad as Miss Henderson’s.

Picture adapted from W.H. Bradley “The Modern Poster – Frontis art” under Creative Commons License

Sir John and Emile pushed through the drunks and raucous groups spilling from bars, theatres and clubs of the most dubious kind.

“Are you looking for a good time?” said one hideously painted lady to Sir John as he walked passed.

“Not especially,” said Sir John and hurried away. “You know, I thought it might be useful to have Marie or Miss Henderson with us, but I do believe you are right. This place is the worst kind of sordid hell hole. What kind of lascivious swine would gain pleasure from being here?”

“Hey Emile, are you coming in tonight?” shouted a barman as they strolled down Rue Lepic.

Sir John looked shocked at Emile.

“Mistaken identity,” shrugged Emile. “It’s a common name.”

“Hey Planquette!” shouted the barman. “Are you deaf, man?”

Emile looked unmoved.

“That’s a common name as well,” he said. “Half of Paris is called Emile Planquette.”

They stopped in a square and looked around.

“We are pretty much out of Montmartre,” said Emile. “And no sign at all.”

“Hey,” shouted a large man with a red face and big beard, surrounded by a group of men. “What are you two looking for? A woman?”

Sir John scowled.

“Ignore him,” said Emile. “We must have missed something. It seems like we’ve been down every street, though.”

“A boy?” shouted the man. Sir John glanced over, but Emile was impassive, facing away from the man.

“Has the topography changed recently?” said Sir John. “Some change of energy perhaps, to make the map wrong?”

“A sheep?” shouted the man to howls of laughter from the group. Emile pivoted round.

“Monsieur!” he shouted. The man smiled back at him.

“It’s just the lamb here is delicious,” he said.

“Look out,” said Sir John and pushed Emile into an alleyway. The bearded man and his entourage laughed even harder. Emile was about to speak when Sir John put a finger to his lips. Clackprattle and Pook walked by the alleyway. Emile gasped then put his hand over his mouth. The men hid as the two walked down the road a little. Sir John looked at the building their adversaries had emerged from.

“A windmill?” he said.

“Tsch, of course,” said Emile. “The Moulin Rouge. I assume that’s the famous Clackprattle and Pook.”

“Indeed,” said Sir John “and moving with some purpose. I suspect they’ve found the elemental. We should go in at once. I hope we’re not too late.”

“You think they may have completed the challenge?” said Emile. “A physical challenge? But… one is so fat and the other so scrawny…”

“Then there’s no time to lose,” said Sir John. ”Let’s go in there and find out what it is.”

Sir John and Emile strode out of the alleyway. The group around the bearded man regarded them with curiosity.

“You know,” said Emile, “on reflection we probably should have brought the maid.”

Sir John’s response was lost in gales of laughter.

The sun had set and the interior of the art church was lit by candles. The near constant construction work had finished for the day. It  had produced some small cubicle-like rooms made from ornate, organic panels. A huge table had been placed where the altar had once been and scattered on it were many pieces of paper covered in symbols. Around the table stood Emile, Sabine, Marie, Sir John, Miss Henderson, Morag, Phlebotomus and Osvold.

“So” said Emile, “we have good news and bad news.”

“What’s the bad?” said Sir John.

“The bad news is that we have two murderous swine loose in Paris searching for a weapon of immense power. The weapon is in four parts, we think, and they have a map to the parts,” said Emile. “And we do not.”

“That does sound rather bad,” said Sir John, “put like that. What’s the good news?”

“We have the notes that Dinard made when he acquired and studied the map.” said Emile.

“And… they tell us the location of the four parts?” said Sir John.

“Possibly…” said Emile. “We have a small problem with the notes.”

Everyone looked down at the table and the pages covered in symbols.

“It looks Greek to me,” said Miss Henderson.

“It is Greek,” said Emile. “I’ve been translating the notes with Osvold’s help, but it’s a slow process and its hard to be sure we have it right. It seems like either a dialect or…”

“Ancient Greek,” said Sabine. Everyone looked at her.

“How do you know that?” said Emile, looking flabbergasted.

“Because I can read Ancient Greek,” she said, “and Latin for matter. I am quite the scholar of antiquities.”

Miss Henderson rolled her eyes.

“Then what does it say?” said Emile.

Sabine picked up a piece of paper.

“The four pieces are represented by four elements, each one kept safe by a guardian who will set the seeker a task. The task will conform to the element in question, so physical for earth, intellectual for air and so on,” she read. “The elements must be acquired in order, beginning with earth.”

Emile looked shocked.

“It has taken the two of us all week just to decipher one page,” he said.

Sabine shrugged and picked up another.

“Ha! That pompous ass will be back in the shop within the hour when he sees the map. Whoever designed it is a true genius. It is a map of mind states not places. Only someone who has walked and knows the streets of this city can use it,” she read.

There was a murmur from the group.

“Then maybe it is not too bad,” said Marie. “Maybe they cannot read it.”

“They will just hire some urchin,” said Sabine. “For a centime they could crack the code. Dinard was a fool to let them have this map.”

Osvold made a whimpering noise and Phlebotomous patted him on the shoulder. Miss Henderson looked pityingly at the small vampire then shot a look at Sabine.

“Still,” said Marie, “it is some hope. Did Dinard find where the earth part was kept?”

Sabine riffled through the notes reading then rejecting several before reading one in detail. She gave a short high laugh.

“Yes,” she said, “he found it. He says that he didn’t even need to walk the street to find this place. He says it was almost too obvious, stuck between the palaces of desire and consumption.”

“Where is it?” said Sir John.

Sabine looked at all of them and smiled.

“The first element is to be found,” she said, “in Montmartre.”