Master Travis let out an irritated sigh. “Go see who it is,” he ordered. “I’ll finish here.”
“Yes, Master,” I said, standing. “I’ll see to it, then close up for the night.”
I hurried down the darkened stairs, keeping one hand on the rickety banister to ensure I didn't fall and tumble right down to the bottom. The lanterns below had come on, automatically, when someone entered the shop, but Master Travis had never bothered to illuminate the stairwell. It would have disrupted his misdirection wards. I took a moment to brush my hair back as I reached the bottom, then stepped into the light. A young man was waiting for me, standing behind the counter. He was examining the bottles on the shelves with a curiously bored expression.
I felt my temper begin to fray. “Can I help you?”
He turned, slowly, allowing me to see his outfit. He was quality. He had to be quality. No one else could afford a blend of silks and satins, let alone walk through Water Shallot without fear of attack. The livery on his shoulder marked him as one of the Great Noblemen, from the Great Houses. I knew them all, of course. We all knew the Great Houses, even though they rarely deigned to look upon us. My throat was suddenly dry. If a Bolingbroke decided I’d insulted him, I was in deep trouble. Even Master Travis would be unable to protect me.
I hastily dipped a curtsey, then went down on one knee. I could feel his eyes, far less warm than Master Travis’s, studying me for a long moment before he let out an exaggerated sigh. I resisted the urge to look up, terrified that he would find a reason - another reason - to take offense. Master Travis might be a big man, in Water Shallot, but he couldn’t stand against a nobleman. A word in the right ears might see him banished from Shallot - or dead. And no one would care about a half-caste girl at all.
“You may rise,” the man said.
It took all my strength to stand on wobbly knees. His eyes watched me as I moved. I shivered as I felt them pass over my breasts, silently grateful that I hadn’t worn anything too revealing. I looked back, careful not to meet his eyes. He was handsome, with strikingly long blond hair and a smile that seemed to light up the room. His clothes were cut to reveal his muscular arms and legs, suggesting that he wanted to show off his physical strength as much as his magic. I didn’t dare try to probe his magical field, not when that too could be taken as an insult, but I was sure he’d be strong. The Great Houses were always strong in magic. The handful of low-power magicians born to their bloodlines were often quietly sent to the countryside before they could ruin their family’s reputations.
“I am Reginald Bolingbroke,” the young man announced. He sounded as if he expected me to know him. I didn’t, of course. I might have memorised the livery, but I didn’t know Reginald Bolingbroke from the rest of his family. It wasn’t as if I had time to read the society pages. “And you are?”
I hesitated. Up close, he didn’t look that much older than me. I guessed he wasn't older than nineteen. Wearing his hair long might be a fashion statement, proof that he didn’t have to care about what High Society found acceptable, or it might be a hint that he was more interested in men than women. I didn't know for sure and I didn’t dare ask. A nobleman would be expected to marry and have children no matter his personal proclivities. There was certainly no way he’d be interested in me.
“Rebecca, My Lord,” I said, feeling his eyes lingering on my face. “I greet you and ...”
“A very typical name for a very uncommon beauty,” Reginald mused. “Your father is unknown, is he not?”
“Yes,” I said. Four years of good food had done wonders for my development - I was no longer as scrawny as I’d been as a child - but it had also sharpened my features. There was no mistaking me for anything, save for a fatherless half-caste. “He went back home before I was born.”
“A mistake on his part, no doubt,” Reginald said. “He should have acknowledged you before he left.”
I felt a pang of bitter shame. No one cared about my looks. Reginald might be as pale as the moon, but House Aguirre was as dark as the night and House McDonald had bright red hair and bluff cheeks that spoke of an origin somewhere in Garstang. My looks didn’t matter so much as my lack of any recorded family. I was a bastard, plain and simple. And the only half-caste family I knew that had achieved any kind of success in High Society was House Griffin. Their daughters knew their mother ...
And their father is one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, I thought, sardonically. I imagine that helped a little too.
Reginald cleared his throat. “I believe your master is expecting me,” he said. “Perhaps you could call him.”
I blinked. Master Travis wasn’t expecting anyone, as far as I knew. Normally, visitors came in the morning or late afternoon. Reginald was late. Reginald was very late. I wondered, suddenly, if he had a small army of bodyguards camped outside. A powerful magician could defend himself, of course, but it would be better to deter attack rather than cause a mess that would require a great deal of expensive soothing. I didn’t want to think about what might happen if Reginald took offense ...
“My Lord,” Master Travis said.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I’d been so intent on Reginald that I hadn’t heard Master Travis coming down the stairs. I kicked myself, mentally. I was normally more aware of my surroundings than that! But Reginald had distracted and discomfited me.
“Master Travis,” Reginald said. “I see you got my note.”
“I did,” Master Travis said. “Rebecca, close the shutters and then go to bed. If I don’t see you in the morning, open the shop as usual.”
“Yes, Master,” I said, obediently. There was an edge in his voice that told me not to argue, not now. Reginald’s presence didn't bode well for either of us. “I’ll get right on it.”
Master Travis nodded, then led Reginald up the stairs and into his private chamber. I felt a stab of envy, despite my fears, as the wards went up. There was no way I could eavesdrop. It hurt more than I cared to admit. Master Travis rarely let me into his private chamber - normally, I was only allowed in to dust and then under close supervision - but he’d taken Reginald right inside. I wondered if the young nobleman would appreciate the honour Master Travis had done him. The private chamber was the heart of the building. The wards around it were so strong that I doubted anyone could crack them without a great deal of effort.
Or an Object of Power designed to crack wards, I thought, as I pulled down the shutters to signify that we were very definitely closed. But anyone who could get their hands on one of those wouldn’t want to steal anything from us.
I smiled at the thought, then hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. Master Travis had told me to go to bed, but I wanted to stay awake and see what time Reginald left. And yet ... this was serious. Anything that involved a nobleman was serious. I sighed and started to climb the two flights of stairs to my garret, closing the door behind me. Master Travis would tell me what was going on tomorrow, if he was so inclined. Until then, I’d just have to wait and see.
The lantern came on as I entered the tiny chamber, bathing the entire room in an eerie white glow. I smiled as I sat down on the bed and started to undress, remembering just how long it had taken to get the spell right in the first place. I hadn’t grown up with magic, let alone someone willing to teach me how to conjure properly. It was sheer luck, I thought, that Master Travis had been capable of showing me the basics. I wasn’t sure where he’d been taught - some of his spells were different from those in the books I’d purchased from the markets - but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they worked.
I splashed water on my face, then drew the blind down and climbed into bed. It was already far too late to stay up and read, although Master Travis would hardly check on me once I’d closed the door. He’d simply make sarcastic remarks if I woke up with a headache, or failed to get the fire lit and breakfast started before he climbed out of bed himself. I sometimes felt he wouldn't bother to feed himself if I wasn’t looking after him. It was s
omething that worried me, more than I cared to admit. A full-time apprentice could hardly be a servant as well.
Perhaps we could take another girl into service, I thought. It was an idle flight of fancy - I knew enough about the shop’s finances to know that Master Travis could hardly pay two sets of wages - but I clung to it anyway. Or maybe I could have a longer apprenticeship.
I pulled the blanket over my head and muttered a single Word of Power, powering down the spell in the lantern. The room plunged into darkness, broken only by a faint hint of moonlight coming through the overhead window and splits in the roofing. Master Travis and I had spent months trying to fix up the roof, weaving spell after spell into the leaky wood, but he’d reluctantly conceded that it was probably beyond fixing. The landlord, damn the man, was dragging his feet on any proper repairs.
It felt like I hadn't slept at all when I awoke, sunlight streaming through the window. I stood hastily, casting a quick spell to check the time. It was six in the morning, but I could already hear the sounds of the city coming to life. Down below, the milkmen would be rushing bottles of milk from the countryside to the cafes and shops before they opened for business. I knew I’d find two bottles outside the door, waiting for me. I pulled on my robe and hurried downstairs. There was a note on the kitchen table, waiting for me. Master Travis had ordered me to forget his breakfast and go straight to work.
Odd, I thought, as I dug up some bread and jam for myself. What happened last night?
But the scrap of paper offered no answer.
Chapter Two
It had often struck me as amusing that people were always writing plays and singing songs about the lives of shopgirls such as myself. The life of a shopgirl has never been remotely glamorous. As soon as the clock struck eight, I wolfed down the last of my breakfast and hurried down the stairs to the shop. I checked the wards, opened the drawer to make sure the money was still there - Master Travis insisted that I count every last copper before I opened the doors - and removed the shutters. A handful of eager customers were already waiting outside, their faces pale and worn. Sailors and housewives, dockyard roustabouts and warehouse loaders ... people who couldn’t come to us at any other time. It wouldn’t be long before they had to go to work, too. I opened the door, dropped a curtsey to a housewife I knew would complain - loudly - if I didn’t treat her like a full-blooded noblewoman, then hurried behind the counter. It was barely ten minutes past eight and my day had already begun.
There was nothing special about our first customers of the day, but I served them anyway: the woman who wanted a new perfume with a little something extra; the sailor who dared not admit to his mates that he was plagued with seasickness ... the aged loader who needed an energy potion to keep up with the younger men who would otherwise take his job and leave him out on the streets. I felt sorry for him, but there was nothing I could do. No matter how many potions he downed, he wouldn’t be able to keep up forever. Master Travis had warned him that he was at severe risk of an overdose that would likely kill him, but the poor man had merely shaken his head. He intended to keep working until he died. I understood, better than I cared to admit. There was no one who would support him when he was no longer useful.
“I’ll need five more bottles,” the sailor told me, as he purchased three bottles of Master Travis’s best anti-seasickness potion. It had a fancy name, but none of the customers ever used it. “Can I pick it up tonight?”
“Perhaps,” I said, checking the record book. Normally, Master Travis would spend the morning brewing; I’d have a chance to brew in the afternoon. Now, I wasn’t so sure. “I’ll do my best to have it in your hands this evening.”
The sailor nodded and hurried out of the shop, almost knocking over the young woman who was waiting at the door. I scribbled down a quick note, then found two bottles of face-changing potion for the next customer. Master Travis had told me not to ask too many questions about what she did with the potions, although I’d heard enough whispers to have a good idea. It just wasn’t something I wanted to consider. I took her money, counted out her change and waved her farewell. She left without looking back.
It was nearly an hour before I heard Master Travis coming down the stairs. I allowed myself a moment of relief when he stepped into sight, carrying a plain black leather-bound notebook in one hand. His personal book of experimental recipes was off-limits, I’d been told; I wasn’t allowed to pry without his supervision. It irked me, sometimes, that my book of recipes was very definitely not off-limits to him, although I did understand his reasoning. I might brew something that would send both of us to our ancestors. I wondered, sometimes, if any of mine would be pleased to see me.
“Master,” I said. He looked distracted. I was sure he hadn’t bothered to eat. “Can I get you a sandwich?”
Master Travis shook his head slowly, as if he had barely heard me. “How is business?”
“We have five orders for tonight and two more for the following day,” I said, reaching for the record book. “Do you want to brew them ...?”
“Not now,” Master Travis said. “I’ll be in the ironhold. I may be some time.”
I blinked in surprise. Master Travis had a reputation for brewing and supplying potions on time. It wouldn’t look good if the customers had to wait an extra day. I could understand spending a few minutes in the ironhold - the iron-lined chamber below the shop, where our most dangerous potions and their ingredients were stored - but longer? The ironhold had always creeped me out. I’d had nightmares about being trapped in there after Master Travis had first shown me the chamber, then warned me about the wards. There was no way to get out without help from the outside.
“We have to have the potions ready today,” I said, carefully. “Master ...”
“You can brew them this afternoon,” Master Travis said, with a dismissive wave of his scarred hand. “I have something else to do.”
Something to do with Reginald Bolingbroke, I guessed. He must have offered you a great deal of money if you’re turning your back on your customers.
“Yes, Master,” I said, softly. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
Master Travis nodded and walked into the rear of the shop. I heard the iron door clang as he stepped through, hurrying down the stairs to the ironhold. I checked the wards, then stepped into the back of the shop to put the kettle on. Master Travis would want some tea or coffee when he resurfaced, I was sure. He’d certainly never objected when I offered him a cuppa while he was brewing. I knew better than to interrupt him when he was brewing something delicate.
I poured two mugs of tea when the kettle boiled, slapped a stasis charm on Master Travis’s mug once the tea had brewed, then walked back into the shop and started to check the shelves. Master Travis had never let me simply sit behind the counter and read, unless I was reading a potions textbook. Besides, there was always something to do in the store. I made careful notes of which jars and vials were starting to run empty, then compared them to our stockpile on the upper floor or in the ironhold. We’d need to order some more bat’s wings and rat eyes, I noted. Thankfully, there was no shortage of either. It was a great deal harder - and considerably more expensive - to order the rarer ingredients from the Desolation. Jude’s and the other magic schools kept putting the price up.
The wards quivered as someone entered the shop. I looked up and tried to keep the dismay off my face. Clive was a broadsheet boy, the same age as myself ... and, ever since I’d started to wear my hair down, he’d made a whole string of crude advances. He was handsome enough, I supposed, but he just got on my nerves. But I had to be civil to him as long as he was in the shop. Master Travis would not be pleased if I alienated a potential customer.
“Rebecca,” Clive called. “You’re looking as pretty as ever.”
“Thank you,” I grated, biting down the urge to tell him that he looked like a pig. I wished I could turn him into a pig. Master Travis had told me, when I’d asked about such magics, that my power wasn’t develope
d enough for such spells. “What can I do for you?”
Clive leered. “You could come out on a date tonight.”
“I have a prior engagement,” I said, primly. It was true. I’d arranged to meet a friend for coffee. “Did you bring us anything or are you just wasting my time?”
“I suppose I’d better apologise to the waiting crowd,” Clive said. He turned and bowed to the empty air. “I offer my most sincere apologies for making you wait.”
I glared as he turned back. “Do you have anything for us?”
“Oh, one or two things,” Clive said. He opened his bag and produced a handful of papers. “Your weekly issue of Society Pages, your daily issue of Local News, a special edition of Potions Masters Quarterly and a couple of letters.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the broadsheets and dumping them on the counter. Master Travis would want to look at them in the evening, before he went to bed. “You can go now.”
Clive bowed. “But why would I want to leave my lady-love?”
“I’m sure she’s wondering the same thing,” I snapped, tartly. Perhaps I should throw a bottle of perfume potion over him. A week smelling like a young woman would teach him a lesson, I was sure. Only the thought of Master Travis’s anger kept me from turning thought to deed. “Why don’t you go find her?”
The Alchemist's Apprentice Page 2
