The Alchemist's Apprentice

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  I withdrew the money Reginald had given me and placed it on the table. It was more money than I’d ever seen in my life and Reginald had handed it out casually, as if it was no more than a handful of coppers. My stepfather had sometimes given his daughters coppers to spend in the sweetshops - not to me, of course - and he’d been more careful with his coppers than Reginald had been with his golds. Zadornov blinked in surprise - I had a feeling it was the first honest expression he’d shown - and checked the first two coins. They were real.

  “He took a risk,” Zadornov said, bluntly. He sounded a little shaken. “If you’d been mugged ...”

  “It would have been bad,” I agreed. No one would have willingly carried so much money through Water Shallot without an armed guard and plenty of magic. But then, Reginald was a powerful magician and an aristocrat. He was in no danger on the streets. His family would avenge him - or so everyone thought - if he ran into something he couldn’t handle. “I hope that’s enough for the first batch of ingredients.”

  “I’ll have to get them boxed up and sent to you,” Zadornov said. He collected the money, counted it twice, and then dropped it into his pouch. “Or do you want to collect them yourself?”

  “Clive can bring them to the hall,” I said. “And I’ll carry them into the hall.”

  “Don’t get caught,” Zadornov said. “There are some ... items ... on this list that will set off all kinds of alarms.”

  “I know,” I said. Reginald had briefed me thoroughly on how to avoid detection. I still wasn’t sure I could get them through the wards - I wasn’t family - but I had to try. “How long would it take you to gather them?”

  “Two to three days,” Zadornov said. He scanned the list again. “I have a handful in storage and I could send those to you today, but the remainder would have to be purchased from other suppliers. They’ll take a little longer.”

  And give you a chance to mark up the price , I thought. How much will Reginald have to pay by the time you get them to us?

  I smiled to myself. It was an old trick. Master Travis had taught me to deal directly with the suppliers, rather than use a middleman. An ingredient that cost ten golds would, by some curious alchemy, cost twenty by the time it reached us. But now, I had no choice. Master Travis’s old suppliers wouldn’t be able to help me, even if they didn’t call the City Guard the moment they saw me. A third of the items I wanted were on the banned list. They’d certainly ask a great many questions before they agreed to sell.

  Zadornov gave me a considering look. “Have you managed to take a look at the notebook?”

  The geas rustled inside me, warningly. “No,” I said, carefully. “I know where he keeps it, but he hasn’t let me take a look at it.”

  “So we still don’t know what he’s doing,” Zadornov mused. “Or do you have some idea?”

  “Something big, I’m sure.” I felt cold. Zadornov was going to be furious when he realised that the potion was effectively useless. There weren’t many people who’d want to buy it ... I thought. “But he’s been very tight-lipped about what he’s actually doing .”

  “His father is dying,” Zadornov commented. “It could be a slow poison. A very slow poison.”

  I frowned. The Great Houses had thousands of protections woven into their wards, complex protections that made it almost impossible to assassinate even the lowliest member of the family. Anton Bolingbroke would have spared no expense to investigate his condition, when he started to sicken and die. If he’d been poisoned, one of the healers would have spotted it and brewed a counter-potion. There were some poisons, I’d been told, that were very hard to detect, but even they could be countered. Unless ...

  “It isn’t too likely,” I said. “Reginald is dependent on his father.”

  “Someone else could have poisoned the old man,” Zadornov said. “Who could it be?”

  I shrugged. Someone else ...? It was possible, I supposed, although - as far as I could tell - there wasn’t a prime suspect. Henri was dead ... there simply wasn’t anyone else who would automatically inherit. Simon was too young, his siblings younger still ... Wesley would have to call a family council to be named heir and there was no guarantee that the council would vote for him. And there were others - I didn’t know them - who would have their own claims. The only thing I could say for sure was that there was no one who could be sure of coming out on top.

  “It could have happened during the House War,” Zadornov mused. “Someone slipped a nasty little curse through the defences and ... poor Lord Bolingbroke.”

  I looked down. “Does it matter?”

  “Not really,” Zadornov said. “Unless we knew who cast the spell, of course. Or somehow convinced Lord Bolingbroke to drink a bottle of poisonous wine ... maybe it was House Aguirre. They have a secret weapon that everyone knows about.”

  “I suppose,” I said. A secret weapon that everyone knew about? I dismissed the thought with a shrug. It really didn’t matter. The mystery of Lord Bolingbroke’s illness was someone else’s problem. I doubted I could brew a healing draught that would save his life when far more experienced brewers had failed. “I have to get back to the hall.”

  “I’ll have Clive deliver the ingredients in two days,” Zadornov told me. “And you will let me know if he has any more requests.”

  “Of course,” I said. It wasn’t as if I could go to the suppliers myself. He knew it as well as I did. “And thank you.”

  I stood, then paused. “Is the City Guard still looking for me?”

  “I believe they searched your house a few days ago,” Zadornov said. “Your stepfather’s house, I should say. Idiot got lippy with the guards and they gave him a busted jaw. I’d stay well away from him if I were you.”

  I winced. My stepfather deserved far worse than a broken jaw, but ... I knew it wouldn’t be enough to stop him taking it out on my mother and half-sisters. He’d probably have beaten them up already ... I shuddered. Life in Water Shallot would be so much nicer if a handful of the worst offenders were marched away to prison and never allowed to return. No one would challenge the thugs as long as they knew the thugs would come back and exact revenge. I told myself to be glad I was a long way away. There was nothing I could do for the rest of the family.

  “Watch your back,” Zadornov said. “The City Guard will stop at nothing to find you.”

  “I know,” I said. “Thanks.”

  I nodded to the waiter and hurried out of the cafe. Clive was waiting outside, trying to look calm and composed. He was so calm and composed that I knew it was an act. He tossed his cigarette aside and fell into step beside me. I wanted to tell him to go away - the geas was steadily pulling me back to the hall - but I couldn’t afford an argument. I needed him to do me a favour.

  “Rebecca,” Clive said. “Are you ... are you alright?”

  “I’m alive,” I said. He was right to worry, I supposed, but it wasn’t as if he could do anything about it if I wasn’t. What was he going to do? Challenge Reginald and Zadornov to single combat? Clive wasn’t a weakling - I’d seen him lift boxes I couldn’t budge without magic - but he couldn’t stand up to my stepfather, let alone the two magicians. He’d be lucky if they merely killed him. “Thank you.”

  Clive touched my hand, lightly. I flinched.

  “You don’t have to go straight back,” Clive said. “We could go somewhere and ...”

  “And what?” I had to smile. This was North Shallot, not Water Shallot, but it was still far from safe . “What if we get caught?”

  Clive looked downcast. “We could get you a veil,” he said. “You know, like those fancy ladies wear.”

  I shook my head. It was a neat thought, but impractical. A handful of high-ranking ladies did wear all-concealing face-veils when they went out in public - I’d heard a couple of the maids complaining about how difficult they were to wash - yet they always attracted attention. If I wore a veil, people would start wondering who I was and what I was trying to conceal. And then someone might tear it
off ...

  They wouldn’t tear off an expensive veil , I thought. But where would I get my hands on one of those?

  “I need you to do something for me,” I said, instead. “And I need you to keep it to yourself. Tell no one, including him . Can you do that for me?”

  “Yeah.” Clive didn’t sound entirely happy. Zadornov would have told him to keep an eye on me. “What do you want?”

  “A spellcaster, one enchanted to break spells,” I said. I reached into my pocket, retrieved the remaining gold coins and passed them to him. “This should be enough to buy one from the shops. Give it to me when you bring the ingredients.”

  Clive gave me a sharp look. “Can you take a spellbreaker into the hall?”

  “Let me worry about that,” I said. It should be possible. “Can you do it? Without telling anyone?”

  “Yes,” Clive said. He counted the money, then frowned. “And if I do this for you, what will you do for me?”

  I hesitated. I knew what he wanted. A kiss, perhaps. Or more ... I sighed, inwardly. I’d heard too many horror stories about girls who paid in kisses - and more - to want to cross that line. Clive had grown up in Water Shallot. He was no gentleman and I had no protector and ... my lips quirked. Gentlemen were hardly gentlemen . They certainly had no qualms about pinching a maid’s bottom when she was trying to work.

  “I’ll do you a favour too, one day,” I said. “You never know what you’ll need.”

  Clive looked disappointed. His voice, when he spoke, was sullen. “Very well.”

  “You might be surprised,” I said. Who knew? I might have a shop of my own. Or I might be dead and buried. “I might be able to do you a very big favour indeed.”

  “I suppose,” Clive said. I suspected he’d be happier with the kiss. “And Rebecca ...?”

  I looked up. “Yes?”

  “Be careful,” Clive said,. warningly. He reached out, as if he wanted to hug me, then stopped himself. “You’re playing with fire.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” I said. I silently cursed myself for not going straight to the docks and trying to get a posting on the first ship to foreign parts. Maybe, just maybe, I knew enough to be useful. “And now ... you don’t have a choice either.”

  “Thanks,” Clive said, sourly. “That makes me feel so much better.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The geas took control almost as soon as Bolingbroke Hall came into view, forcing me forwards despite my best efforts. I tried, as hard as I could, to keep from breaking into a jog - and then a run - but it didn’t work. I barely had a chance to wave goodbye to Clive before I hurried through the gate and up to the servants’ entrance, sweat dripping down my back as I practically ran up the stairs. The impulse to get back to Reginald’s rooms refused to fade until I was standing in front of the door. I stood there for a long minute, trying to catch my breath, then pressed my hand against the panel. I heard the sound of raised voices as the door opened. Reginald was arguing with Wesley Bolingbroke.

  “Ah, Rebecca,” Reginald said. His voice was very cold. “Tidy my bedroom, if you will.”

  I curtsied, hastily. Reginald looked angry. His uncle, sitting in a rickety chair he somehow managed to make look like a throne, didn’t look any better. I dropped him a curtsey too, then hurried into the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind me so I could overhear the conversation. Reginald made no move to shut the door, or cast privacy wards. I guessed he wanted me to overhear the discussion.

  “You have great potential,” Wesley said. “I read your school reports. You have a very definite talent for charms and ...”

  “Not enough of a talent for an apprenticeship,” Reginald snarled. I cringed at the helpless anger in his voice. “Do you really think that Master Judd or Mistress Zadora would consider taking me as an apprentice?”

  “There are other places to go,” Wesley said, coldly. “Caithness, for one; there are masters there who would be delighted at the chance to teach you .”

  I blinked. Caithness ?

  “And it would get me away from Shallot,” Reginald said. “And suppose I don’t want to leave Shallot?”

  I forced myself to start work as the argument started to go in circles. Wesley was trying to convince Reginald to go away from Shallot - to Caithness or Coven or somewhere else far from House Bolingbroke - while Reginald was steadily resisting the suggestion that he should go anywhere. I found it difficult to believe that he wasn’t taking advantage of the opportunity to study wardcrafting - or charms - with a master, but it wouldn’t be quite the same as controlling the family. Reginald simply didn’t want to work for a living. No, that wasn’t quite right. Reginald wanted power and influence. He wouldn’t get that even if he was the most talented apprentice in a thousand years.

  And he won’t even get a chance to study in Shallot , I thought. I would have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t been such a bastard. He’ll be cut off from his entire family .

  Wesley’s voice rose. “You and your disconsolate friends cannot spend the rest of your lives in idle pleasure,” he snapped. “This is your chance to do something with your wretched life.”

  “And if I refuse?” I cringed at the anger in Reginald’s voice. “If I claim my rights ...?”

  “Your father is dying,” Wesley said. “And when he dies ...”

  Reginald’s voice hardened. “You’ll throw me out?”

  “You will have adequate provision,” Wesley said. “But if you don’t leave now, you will leave later. Consider carefully, young man. You have no friends in this house.”

  The door opened and closed. A moment later, I felt a surge of magic. The walls shook. I heard pieces of debris crashing to the floor. I swallowed, unsure what to do. My stepfather had broken things too, when he was angry. He’d thrown heavy objects around the room before turning on whoever was close enough to hit. I’d learnt to hide whenever I heard him roaring like a bull. It always ended with someone getting clouted into submission.

  “Rebecca,” Reginald called. “Get in here.”

  I gritted my teeth and walked into the living room. The expensive carpet was covered with sawdust. Reginald had reduced the entire table - a solid piece of wood, carved by a master carpenter - to a small pile of splinters. His chair was lying broken against the wall. I was surprised there were no holes in the wall itself. But then, the wards had probably provided some protection. I’d lost count of the number of times my stepfather had punched holes in the wall. My mother had always had to patch them the following day.

  Be calm , I told myself. I didn’t like the look on Reginald’s face. He looked ... he looked like so many others I’d seen, back in Water Shallot. They wanted to lash out at their tormentors, but they didn’t dare. They knew it would only make things worse. They lashed out at other people instead. If he lashed out at me ... I remained standing, trying to look attentive. Be calm .

  “That fat fool thinks he can force me out of the house,” Reginald snarled. He clenched his fists so hard they went white. “And he thinks I will just go?”

  I said nothing. I knew from grim experience that interrupting my stepfather in a rant could only end badly. It would just draw his attention to me. Instead, I just waited. I’d need to wait for him to calm down before I could do anything.

  “As if I’d give up everything and go to Caithness,” Reginald said. “Do you want to go to Caithness?”

  I had no idea if I wanted to go or not - Master Travis had known someone up there - but I knew the right answer. “No, My Lord.”

  “Of course not,” Reginald snapped. He started to pace the room. “It’s so close to the border that no one lives there. No one would want to live in a city that is damp and cold and snowy for pretty much the entire year! And why would I want to apprentice under a master who lives there? No one lives there.”