The Alchemist's Apprentice

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “Yes,” I said. Master Travis had given me a list. “And I have the money ready.”

  Zadornov smiled. “Don’t say that too loudly or they’ll all be wanting some,” he said, mischievously. He opened the box, then nodded. “Feel free to check the supplies.”

  I rose and peered into the box. Master Travis had unbent enough to tell me that Zadornov was a smuggler, as well as a crime lord. I supposed that explained why Master Travis had made contact with him, although not why Zadornov had chosen to visit the shop instead of demanding that Master Travis come to him . Maybe he hoped that Master Travis could be induced to brew something for him too. I put the thought out of my mind as I checked the packets inside the box, comparing them to the list I’d memorised. Dragon Scales and Cockatrice Blood were the least of it. There were enough exotic ingredients in the box to keep us supplied for months to come.

  And yet, these are all for Reginald’s project , I thought. What the hell does he want?

  “I took a dragon, when I was younger,” Zadornov said, wistfully. “Selling its hide started my career.”

  I glanced at him, unsure if he was telling the truth or not. There were so many stories about Zadornov that it was impossible to separate fact from fiction, but he did look like someone born on the northern edge of the Desolation. And I could easily believe that a dragon’s hide had yielded enough money to kick-start a criminal career. There were very few curses that could penetrate protective garments made from Dragonhide. But Dragonhide was rare because dragons - for some unimaginable reason - seemed to want to keep their hides. For every hunter who returned with a dead dragon, a hundred never came back. Zadornov had been very lucky. No wonder he’d taken his reward and headed south.

  “That’s impressive,” I said, finally.

  Zadornov laughed. “Most girls are more impressed,” he said. “I like you, Rebecca.”

  “Thanks,” I said, numbly. If that was a good thing, I was the king’s daughter. “I think you gave us everything on the list.”

  “I should hope so,” Zadornov said. “I do have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

  I looked up at him. “Where did you get them? The ingredients, I mean?”

  “That would be telling.” Zadornov wagged his finger at me. “Suffice it to say that no one will be looking for them.”

  The schools , I guessed. The schools purchased so many rare and expensive potions ingredients that they’d never miss a handful of bags. Someone had sold them to Zadornov, then altered the records to prove they’d never existed in the first place. Or something along those lines. I felt a stab of envy. The students were given, for free, ingredients that Master Travis and I would never be able to buy. At least they’ll never have the chance to waste them .

  “I’m glad to hear it,” I said. I closed the box and lifted it, carefully. It was alarmingly heavy, heavy enough to make it hard for me to get home. But there was no choice. I didn’t dare cast a lightening charm when it might react badly with the ingredients inside. It was going to be nerve-racking enough to know that Master Travis was going to be brewing with Dragon Scales. “I have to go home now.”

  “You’re welcome to stay, for a while,” Zadornov said. “I can talk about the job.”

  I shook my head. “Master Travis is expecting me home,” I said, as I counted out the money and handed it over. “He doesn’t like me being out after dark.”

  “A wise man.” Zadornov made the money vanish with practiced ease. “I can have two of my men escort you home.”

  “No, thank you,” I said. “He would be very angry if I was late.”

  “Ah,” Zadornov said. “You should know that I wouldn’t rebuke you for coming home late.”

  I had to fight to hide a smile. No, he wouldn’t rebuke someone as valuable as a brewer ... even a half-trained brewer without any formal qualifications. I had every confidence that he’d treat me with kid gloves, if I proved my value. But there was still no way I wanted to work for him. The mouth that spoke so pleasantly to me had ordered men and women beaten to death for failing to pay their debts. Zadornov was a loan shark as well as everything else.

  “I’ll be older then,” I said, as if I’d misunderstood. “And I won’t have a curfew.”

  Zadornov laughed. “Let me have two of the lads escort you home,” he said. “They can carry the box.”

  “As long as they’re very gentle,” I said, conceding with good grace. There was no point in pushing the issue any further. “If they mishandle it ...”

  “The ingredients are well-packed,” Zadornov said, dismissively. “They should be fine.”

  Two men appeared moments later. Zadornov spoke briefly to them in a foreign language - I thought it was the same one the guard had used earlier - then kissed my hand lightly. I blushed, helplessly, as I followed the guards down the stairs and onto the darkening streets outside. The guards said nothing as we started to walk up the streets towards the apothecary, their faces grim. Everyone else gave us a wide berth, yet I was aware of their eyes watching our progress warily. I thought I knew what was going through their heads. I was either someone going up in the world, someone who might be very important in the very near future, or someone who was about to go crashing down.

  Zadornov had been right about one thing, I supposed, as we reached the shop. His men did know how to handle dangerous boxes. They came in, put the box gently on the counter and then retreated without even waiting for a tip. I closed the wards behind them as Master Travis came downstairs, his nose wrinkling as he smelled the smoke on my clothes. I hastily tried to think of an excuse, but it didn’t seem to be necessary. Master Travis said nothing as he checked the ingredients. Everything seemed to be in order.

  “I’ll take these down to the ironhold,” he said. I opened my mouth to suggest he should let me do it, but he spoke over me. “You go have a bath. Make sure you wash your hair.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said. It was embarrassing to be talked to as if I were a small child, but he had a point. The smell alone might cause problems the following day. “I might have to go to the baths tomorrow.”

  “That might be a good idea,” Master Travis said, dryly. We didn’t have a shower in the shop, just an iron washtub that had seen better days. Going to the public baths was the only way to wash thoroughly . “Just make sure you wash your clothes too.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Chapter Seven

  It was no surprise to me, the following day, when Reginald showed up.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he said, as soon as he stepped into the shop. “How are you today?”

  I kept my face impassive, somehow. The truth was that I felt terrible. I hadn’t slept well after returning from Zadornov’s warehouse. My dreams had been filled with shadowy images of a life I would sooner die than live, a life where I was prepared to do anything just for another drug-induced high. If I went to work for Zadornov, how long would it be before he forced me to take something that only he could provide? It would keep me bound to his service until he died, whereupon I’d die too.

  “Fine,” I said. I dropped a curtsey. “I’ll call Master Travis.”

  “Oh, we can chat first,” Reginald said. He was in a very good mood indeed. “Would you like to take a stroll in the park afterwards?”

  “No, thank you,” I said, gritting my teeth. If only Reginald had stepped into someone else’s shop. It wasn’t as if we were his only option. “I have to work.”

  “I’m sure your master would let you go out with me,” Reginald said. “He could mind the store.”

  “And then I’d pay for it,” I said. I didn’t want to be alone with Reginald. Either he’d be asking about the mystery girl - which would be bad enough - or he’d have something else in mind. “Master Travis wouldn’t be making your potion if he was minding the store.”

  “True,” Reginald said. He leaned forwards, as if we were co-conspirators. When he spoke, his voice was hushed. “How long until he’s finished?”

  “I don’t know,
” I said. “I don’t even know what he’s doing .”

  “Really.” Reginald didn’t seem to believe me. “And you don’t have the slightest idea what he’s doing?”

  I felt a surge of pure hatred that surprised me in its intensity. Reginald had screwed everything up, the day he’d walked into our shop. I wanted to draw the wards to me and lash out, but I knew it would prove fatal. He was very well protected. Reginald might survive - perhaps - but even if he didn’t, his family would take revenge. There was nothing I could do to him.

  “No,” I said, as I stepped back behind the counter. “I don’t have the slightest idea what he’s doing.”

  “How strange,” Reginald mused. “And there I was thinking he confided in you. But then, you are a mere serving girl.”

  “A shopgirl,” I corrected, waspishly. It wasn’t that much of a jump above serving girl , true, but the distinction was important. Besides, it was head and shoulders above slattern or whore . “I’m a shopgirl ...”

  “You’re whatever he wants you to be,” Reginald said. His gaze softened. “You really have no idea what he’s doing?”

  “None,” I confirmed. He didn’t have to ask me twice. “I don’t know anything.”

  Master Travis appeared and beckoned Reginald upstairs before he could say anything else. I watched him go, then turned back to my work and thought . What was Master Travis brewing for Reginald? Something experimental, I was sure. Master Travis wouldn’t have bought so many exotic ingredients - and from Zadornov, no less - if he hadn’t expected some wastage along the way. The cost had to be staggeringly high. I was fairly sure Master Travis had made some other promises to the crime lord. Zadornov was being grossly underpaid for what he had provided. And then ...

  It involves blood , I reminded myself, as I sat down on the stool. And that means that the potion is personalised to Reginald .

  There weren’t many possibilities. A potency potion was possible, I supposed, but Reginald wouldn’t have to come all the way to Water Shallot to get one. Besides, there was no real need to use a blood-based potion unless there was something seriously wrong and his family healers would have dealt with it long ago. I knew a couple of recipes for strengthening potion that involved blood, but there were at least four other recipes that didn’t need blood to work. Reginald would hardly take the risk of giving Master Travis his blood unless there was a pressing need. But what? I could think of a few potions that were classed as dark - and probably illegal - yet why would Reginald need them? It made no sense.

  But if it’s something experimental, there might not be a recipe in the textbooks , I thought, slowly. Master Travis seems to be enjoying himself, even as he’s working himself to death ...

  The door clashed open. Clive stepped in. “Hey, my lady-love,” he said. “How are you this fine morn?”

  I glared at him. “Did you bring the letter?”

  Clive hesitated. “No,” he said. “Is he ... um ... very upset?”

  “Master Travis is not pleased,” I told him. Master Travis had snapped at Clive, two days ago, for not bringing the expected letter. It wasn’t entirely fair - Clive wasn’t likely to take the risk of sitting on Master Travis’s letter - but I found it hard to care. “You might want to get out of sight before he takes his displeasure out on you.”

  “He’ll be more likely to take it out on you ,” Clive said, although he looked nervous. “What is this letter, anyway?”

  “I have no idea,” I said. “But he wants it and he ...”

  Clive cut me off. “The thing is, I’ve been hearing rumours about something happening up near Caithness,” he said. “And that’s quite close to Kirkhaven.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t know much about geography. I’d consumed everything I could find on Hangchow, when my mother had finally told me about my father, but I’d never been particularly interested in Tintagel or the surrounding countries. I didn’t have to know more than the basics to understand how it could take days or weeks for supplies to be shipped from the Princedoms of Ardrossan to Shallot. And I had no idea where Caithness was in relation to Kirkhaven.

  “Maybe the postal service has been delayed,” I said. “What do you know?”

  Clive smirked. “I’ll tell you what I know for a kiss.”

  “From Master Travis?” I pretended to recoil in shock. “Dear me! I had no idea! Shouldn’t you be growing out your hair?”

  “You ...” Clive bit off whatever he was going to say. His face reddened alarmingly. “I meant from you.”

  “You don’t have to hide from me,” I said, with mock concern. “ I won’t hold it against you.”

  Clive took a long breath. “Have you thought about my offer?”

  “I gave it all the consideration it deserved,” I said. It was perfectly true. I’d given it no consideration at all. “And the answer is no.”

  “You may change your mind, when you are released from service,” Clive said. “And I will wait for you.”

  I met his eyes. “And will your mother? Your grandmother? Your sisters?”

  Clive looked down. “I'm sure they will accept you ...”

  I had my doubts. My children would still bear the stigma of knowing nothing about their grandfather, let alone the rest of their maternal ancestors. And while Clive himself might be so taken with me that he was willing to overlook such details, I doubted his mother and grandmother would be so obliging. They had a duty to the family. They wouldn’t want their grandchildren to have problems in the future. They might even disown Clive if he married me. It wasn’t as if his parents had approached my parents to arrange a match.

  “They won’t,” I said, sharply. I found myself suddenly unsure what to say, once again. He might mean well, as annoying as he was, but good intentions paled next to the cold hard realities of life. “Clive ...”

  I heard someone moving upstairs. “They’re coming down,” I said. “You’d better go.”

  Clive glanced at the stairwell, then turned and hurried out of the door. I didn’t really blame him, even if he did think he was abandoning me to Master Travis’s tender mercies. Master Travis had torn a strip and a half off him for not bringing the letter. I made a mental note to discuss the rumours with Ginny. If there was anything to them, she would know. Ginny was always up on the latest gossip.

  Reginald appeared a moment later, followed by Master Travis. “Who was that?”

  “The broadsheet boy.” I looked past him, at Master Travis. “He left a pair of broadsheets for you.”

  “But no letter,” Master Travis said.

  He shook his head. “I should be finished in a fortnight, if the theory holds up,” he said to Reginald. “If not ... you’ll hear about it.”

  “And I’ll hear the bang if something goes very badly wrong,” Reginald said. “I’ll see you in a fortnight.”

  “Of course,” Master Travis said.

  Reginald winked at me, then hurried out the door. Master Travis scowled after him - I had the impression that Master Travis didn’t like Reginald any more than I did - and then picked up the broadsheets. Neither looked particularly interesting. I’d skimmed through a couple over the last few weeks, hoping for news of House Bolingbroke, but there hadn’t been anything beyond a handful of puff pieces. Apparently, they weren’t doing anything that could be turned into a glittering story that made them sound like wonderful people. It made me wonder just what they were doing.

  “Clive mentioned a rumour,” I said, as Master Travis put the papers back on the counter. “He said that something had happened near Caithness.”

  Master Travis frowned. “Details?”

  “I don’t think he knew much else,” I said. Clive might have known a little more, but I wasn’t going to meet his price. “I can ask around this afternoon, if you like.”