It took Hrot a while to realize that the kidnapping had been just a brutal prank. At first, he felt like punching Felix’s laughing face and stomping out of the hall, but his anger evaporated when Felix forced him to down a large tumbler of Slivovice. Tattered from the shock, his mind absorbed the alcohol in seconds and started to shut down. He drained another tumbler, to the great cheer of the alchemists, and felt blissfully drunk. The ordeal of the kidnapping melted into a distant nightmare.
“You’re now one of us, my snotnose!” Felix ruffled his hair. “You’re now our brother. Look how well we live! So much food and drink! And guess where we are? Right at the castle. Haha-haa! This is where we always celebrate. The king himself has come here three or four times to drink to an especially successful experiment or discovery. Other times he sends beer and wine and roasted piglets. He doesn’t know we’re here tonight, though, and we had to bribe the guards to let us in. But, hell! Wasn’t it worth it?”
Bellowing a belch of agreement, Hrot nearly poked out Felix’s eye as he tried to pat his ruddy cheek. The memories of Erna’s staring eyes, Anath’s bruised neck, and the Emissary’s sickening leer dissolved into a sea of alcohol. At that moment, Hrot wished the banquet would never end. And never-ending it felt.
People kept singing and shouting even when the light of the new day crept through the large clerestory windows. A toothless old man whose gray, waxed beard reached all the way to his belt buckle climbed atop the table and began to undress.
“That’s old Leopold,” Felix said with a laugh. “He always does this, as if he were obsessed with that white parchment that has once been his ass. Take a good look at him, snotnose. You’ll never see a bigger senile and lisping idiot in the whole world!”
As he tried to take off his breeches, Leopold rolled off the table. A minute later, he fell asleep with his arms hugging a chair leg. A few other men of science scrambled up the table to dance, sending an avalanche of dishes to certain death against the flagstones. Felix stood on a chair and beat his chest like a drunken ape. “Where are the ladies? I need to break a mattress!”
But the merriment ended abruptly when the door opened and they saw Lang. The alchemists quieted down and glared at the king’s odious valet. Lang’s eyes narrowed as they scanned the spilled drinks on the table and the broken glass that sparkled and glistened all over the hall. He leered at the sleeping Leopold and smirked at the dancers, who were now trying to climb down from the table like a herd of wounded mountain goats.
Lang never crossed the doorway, as if he feared that the Black Death crept along the hall. He only shouted, “Felix and Hrot, His Majesty wants to see you immediately!”
From his tone, and from the gloomy look that settled on Felix’s face, Hrot guessed this was no prank. Using Hrot’s head and shoulders as a balustrade, Felix stepped down from the chair. He hiccupped loudly as he followed the valet outside. Hrot wobbled behind them, his forehead drenched with onset of fever.
Although it was merely rising, the sun seemed to burn straight through Hrot’s eyes and skull. The flowers smelled too strong, and the birds chirped too loudly. The duck he’d eaten was thrashing wildly in a lake of beer and liquors. He burped and coughed, praying that he wouldn’t throw up in front of the king.
As they crossed the Royal Gardens, Hrot realized they were going to the Lion Courtyard again. The orangutans were sitting around listlessly as if they were also hungover, but the chimpanzees seemed to have gone mad. They fought and screeched on the swings, and one of them tossed a handful of feces through the bars, nearly hitting Hrot on the head. The king stood by Aisha’s cage as if he had never left. The angry look on his face made the two merrymakers sober up, like a cold bath.
“I brought the two men, Your Majesty,” Lang said. “They were celebrating. Prematurely, I’m afraid.”
“Prematurely indeed!” The king’s voice boomed so loudly the parrots began to screech and the lions growl. Hrot would never believe that such a peaceful-looking man could possess such a strong, angry baritone.
“We forgot to tell you something, Hrot,” the king continued more quietly. “Fortunately, our dear Lang here has reminded us. And we are very disappointed it had to be Lang who reminded us, Felix!” The king glared at the alchemist for a while and then he asked him, “What was it that you should have reminded us of, Felix?”
For a few moments, Felix looked sicker than the black tigress. Staring at the gravel at his feet, he wheezed out, “I suppose I should have reminded you that everyone who wishes to work in the royal laboratory has to pass a test first, Your Majesty.”
The king nodded and pointed to the prostrate tigress. “The poor beast here is dying, and nobody has been able to help her. She cannot eat, and when she does take a morsel she vomits blood, so she’s virtually starving to death. Even though she’s quiet most of the time, sometimes she squirms in so much pain our heart breaks for her. It’s your task to make her well, Hrot. You can only become our alchemist if you make an elixir to cure her stomach!”
Hrot couldn’t have been more shaken if the chimpanzee’s reeking missile had really splashed against his head. He had never brewed an elixir in his life. Besides, he wanted to be an alchemist, not an apothecary.
“We give you special permission to use our laboratory today,” the king continued. “If you pass the test, you can make the laboratory your home. If you don’t, you must leave forever. What time is it, Lang?”
“It’s about seven, Your Majesty.”
“We give you until noon, Hrot,” the king said and waved them away.
The two friends bowed and turned to leave. Lang stepped toward the king and whispered something into his ear.
“That is true!” the king exclaimed, pointing his finger at Felix. “You must go home, Felix, and don’t come back until noon. We want Hrot to work independently to see what’s really in him. Just go to sleep, Felix, and come back after lunch. We don’t want you to interfere, understood? My dear Lang, take Hrot to Felix’s work post.”
Without a word, Felix shook Hrot’s hand and turned to leave. It almost looked as if they were parting at a funeral. Nausea, guilt, and worry wrought Felix’s face into a pitiful mask. Lang smirked as he led Hrot out of the courtyard.
CHAPTER TEN
By the time they reentered the castle, Hrot was shaking with panic. How on earth was he to make that elixir? He’d never even seen a laboratory before, and all his knowledge was purely theoretical. He could recite all the alchemical formulae known in this world, and he could dazzle even the most prominent alchemists with his insight into ancient allegories. He could think of all the components of an elixir that could help Aisha, but he knew he would be as helpless as a child in front of chemical apparatus. The king obviously thought Hrot was as skillful with the vials and pipettes as he was with the scrolls and manuscripts—but he wasn’t.
The royal laboratory buzzed with activity, and Hrot could see that most of the posts were occupied. Fearing the king’s wrath at the unannounced banquet, everyone was busy mixing, brewing, and distilling. The vast, vaulted hall reeked of liquor, sweat, and chemicals. A vile smell slithered from a purple liquid that bubbled furiously in a large cauldron in the middle of the hall.
“Get to work, Hrot,” Lang said as they reached the long table where Felix normally worked. “I’ll be back at noon.” Then he turned to the other alchemists. “This man is on trial, by the orders of His Majesty. Nobody is to speak to him or help him, is it understood?”
The alchemists only glared at him with their bloodshot eyes. Lang smirked and strutted out of the laboratory.
Hrot scanned the post with a wary eye. The table was littered with glass beakers, cylinders, funnels, and test tubes. Flasks of all shapes and sizes sparkled everywhere in the light of a nearby fire. Hrot had seen the same apparatuses hundreds of times in hundreds of manuscripts, and he knew the name and function of each and every one. But he doubted it would do him much good.
Just as he wouldn’t have been able to make
a spit to roast the goose Anath had brought to the Ruins—even though he’d seen it done a thousand times in his village—he knew he wouldn’t be able to use the equipment on Felix’s table. The worst thing was that he didn’t know what truly ailed Aisha. If it was a stomach ulcer, he could try to cure her with sulfur compounded with just enough mercury to prove lethal for the sore but not for the tigress. But he feared that Aisha was dying of cancer and that the only thing that could save her was the fabled Elixir of Life.
Hrot’s eyes ran desperately over the array of jars on Felix’s shelves. They contained liquids of various colors, along with powders and shredded minerals. The problem was that Felix hadn’t labeled them with common alchemical symbols but with his own, and utterly illegible, sigils. That prevented the other alchemists from using his material. But it also further thwarted his best friend’s chances of passing the test. Fortunately, Hrot had memorized the descriptions of colors and smells of every compound and element used in alchemy. He would have to literally try to sniff the right ones out.
As he reached for the top shelf, he toppled over a ceramic evaporating dish and sent it crashing to the floor. He kicked the shards under the desk and looked around. He noticed that some alchemists were looking at him and snickering. He thought he heard laughter when he turned back to the desk.
“What an ass the new kid is,” somebody said, and the laughter got louder. His brothers in drink and science had obviously found his misfortune amusing.
Hrot reached up again and took a jar with a bright yellow liquid that looked like a sulfur compound. He uncorked it to sniff it—and he moaned and retched when a terrible stench and burning sensation seared through his nostrils and rushed down his throat. Tears poured out of his eyes, and his head began to spin. His hands shook as he corked the jar and put it on the table. The laughter behind his back made him shudder.
“A colossal ass!” somebody roared.
Hrot staggered and collapsed onto a small stool. He knew that the all-seeing Emissary was also laughing somewhere in the shadows of his terrible realm. Despondent, Hrot buried his face in his hands. How naive he had been! How could someone as clumsy as he was ever become a practical alchemist?
He jumped when somebody tapped on his shoulder. Spotting a long, gray waxed beard, he realized it was the exhibitionist Leopold, whom Felix had called a senile idiot. Leopold was fully dressed now, and he looked quite refreshed by his floor nap.
“I’ve heard you have shome problemsh,” the old man lisped through his toothless gums. “I might help you out.”
“How do you know about my problems?” Hrot asked, standing up and wiping his face with his sleeve. His eyes were still tearing, and mucus ran out of his nose.
“The goddamned tigresh ish all the king caresh about, sho it ishn’t too difficult to guesh what your tesht ish.” The old man reached under his doublet and produced a parchment and a vial full of colorless liquid. “But lishten—if you give thish elikshir with theshe inshtructionsh to the king, Aisha will shoon be running around like a kitten. Thish thing will remove the ulsher in her shtomach overnight.”
Hrot gave the old man an inquisitive look. Leopold looked sober and serious. “So you think it’s an ulcer?”
“I’m poshitive!”
“But why haven’t you given the elixir to the king?”
“I’ve jusht finished it, young man. It wash a very long and compleksh proshesh.”
“I see. But what is it? And how do I know that it works?”
That question threw Leopold into fury. “Do you know who I am? The king brought me here from the royal laboratory in Vienna when he moved hish court to Prague. I’ve been working here shinsh the very beginning. And you ashk if my elikshir will work? I’ll cut my right hand off if the shtupid animal doeshn’t get better. But if you don’t believe me, shuit yourshelf!”
Leopold turned around and was about to stomp back to his desk. Hrot took him by the sleeve. “Please don’t be offended. I am really sorry if I sounded mistrustful. Of course I believe you.”
Leopold turned back. But he was still scowling.
“Now I remember that Felix has called you a genius,” Hrot lied. “He always talks about you with so much admiration!”
“Apology akshepted,” murmured Leopold as he handed him the vial and the parchment.
“Thank you so much!” Hrot pressed them to his chest as if they were his children. Then he noticed Leopold’s outstretched hand.
“We might become friendsh one day, Hrot,” he said. “I might even teach you a thing or two. But you’re shtill a shtranger to me now, sho let’sh don’t treat thish ush a favor but rather ush a commercial transhaction.”
“Oh, I see.” Hrot searched his pockets for coins.
“Very well,” Leopold grinned when Hrot pressed a thaler into his wrinkled hand. “Jusht make sure you copy the inshtructionsh for the king and burn the original. Hish Majeshty knowsh my handwriting.”
Breathless with relief, Hrot thanked him again and set to work. Not even the dreadful valet, who really came at the strike of twelve and outstretched his hand without a word, could spoil Hrot’s mood. Hrot gave Lang the vial and the copied instructions with a victorious sneer. Then he winked at Leopold, who threw him a reassuring, toothless grin.
ON THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, Hrot was sitting in a coach again, blindfolded, pinned between the two masked men, and with his hands tied behind his back. And once again, he was trembling and listening to the rattling of the wheels and pummeling of hooves. This time, however, it wasn’t shock and fear but rather thrill and excitement what sent chills through his body.
He was to dine and celebrate with his brothers again tonight. And tomorrow he would become a royal alchemist. With patience and care, he would learn how to use the laboratory apparatus to put his vast knowledge into practice. It didn’t even bother him that he’d been kidnapped and blindfolded again. This time, the masked men had ambushed him on the dark stairway to his quarters when he was returning from the library. But at least they hadn’t gagged him.
“Why all this comedy?” Hrot asked cheerfully. “I’ve already been initiated, haven’t I? And I know perfectly well the banquet hall is at the castle.”
Although he got no response, he determined he wouldn’t let this farce spoil his moment of glory. If the alchemists wanted to have some fun again, why not let them?
The horse halted, and the door squeaked open. The coach swayed when the men climbed down. A strong hand clutched Hrot’s arm and helped him outside. The men led him through the cool night into the building. But something was wrong. Hrot was sure they had dragged him to the upper floor the last time, but now they were leading him downstairs. And now when he thought of it, he hadn’t heard the hooves clapping on the cobblestones as he had the day before yesterday.
“Where are you taking me?” he shouted into the blackness of his blindfold. “What’s going on? Are we not in the castle?”
A fist or a knee plowed into his belly. They gagged him when he opened his mouth to gasp for air. The invisible hands clenched him firmly when he tried to stir. Sweat poured from Hrot’s forehead. His sightless eyes stung. Their footsteps echoed sharply: they were taking him down a narrow catacomb.
A door groaned open in front of them, and they shoved him through. The blindfold came off, and he found himself squinting at Felix and the other alchemists. But this time, no mischief and merriment flushed their cheeks, and nothing but contempt glistened in their eyes. The bare, windowless chamber he’d been pushed into was nothing like the lavish banquet hall from two days ago.
The stone ceiling arched only inches above their heads. The torches blazing in iron sconces shed sickly light on suspicious-looking stains on the floor. Two rusty shackles were fastened to one of the grimy walls, just under the ceiling. Other two hung below them, a hand’s breadth above the floor. Having guessed what they were for, Hrot tried to squirm out of the men’s clutches. But they only clenched his arms with an even greater force.
Felix
walked over to him, sober and solemn. “The king shouted at me for hours,” he said to Hrot, anger rattling in his voice. “He shouted at all of us. He was so furious he brandished his cane around the laboratory like a madman and smashed up all our equipment. He accused us of being nothing but a horde of leeches and charlatans. He threatened to send us all down into the dungeons. And do you know why he got so angry?”
Hrot shook his head, but he feared he knew. The gag choked him as if it had turned into a snake that slithered deep down his throat.
“Aisha died today!” Felix spat. “Your elixir gnawed away her stomach like acid. She died in terrible pain and convulsions.”
“And you should do the same, Hrot!” shouted a bespectacled man who’d told Hrot a dirty joke during the banquet.
“We should chain you here and let you die of thirst and hunger!” exclaimed another one, and most of the alchemists roared in agreement.
Felix turned to them and snapped, “We’ve already discussed this!”
Hrot swayed in the kidnappers’ arms like a slab of meat. Was this really happening, or was it just a horrid dream?
The alchemists quieted down, and Felix turned back to Hrot. “As you can see, snotnose, my brothers are furious. But I’m still your friend, and I’d rather die than let you die. Nevertheless, I hope you understand that you do deserve strict punishment.”
Hrot stared at Felix, his eyes begging for mercy. Felix eventually hung his head and blushed, as if he’d finally realized that he was at least partly responsible for Hrot’s fate.
Hrot’s eyes found the old man Leopold, who was glaring at him with the same disdain as everyone else. The right hand Leopold had sworn to cut off if Aisha didn’t get better was stroking his long beard. Hrot recalled that Felix had once told him that deep down all alchemists hated each other and saw each other as competitors. Was Leopold merely senile and incompetent? Or had he sold him a harmful elixir on purpose?
Deception of the Damned Page 9
