The Alchemist's Apprentice

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “Rebecca,” Clive said. He winked at me, cheerfully. “I brought your supplies.”

  I blinked. “And they let you bring them into the hall?”

  “Yeah,” Clive said. “They’re addressed to your ... master, don’t you know?”

  “Oh,” I said. It took all of my self-control to keep from showing my anger. Clive - or Zadornov - had taken a terrible risk. And the consequences could have landed on me ! I wanted to strangle him. Maybe - just maybe - it would have worked in my favour. I wouldn't have cared to bet on it. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Clive said. If he realised I was angry, he gave no sign. “And this is a symbol of my love.”

  He reached into his pack and removed a long thin wooden box. I opened it and smiled when I saw the spellbreaker. It didn't look like much - an iron rod, inscribed with runes and topped with a glowing crystal - but it felt right. I hefted it in my hand, wondering how I could test it before I put it to work. Maybe I could cast a spell on Clive and then use the spellbreaker to cancel it.

  “ He says good luck, whatever you’re doing,” Clive said. “And he wants a full report when you’re done.”

  “Understood,” I said, sourly. I slipped the spellbreaker into my sleeve, hoping it would remain hidden until I needed it. Whoever had designed the dress, thankfully, had assumed that the wearer would carry a spellcaster. It was condescending, but useful. “I’ll see you afterwards.”

  Clive shot me a jaunty salute, then left. I picked up the box, silently grateful that the lightening spells remained in effect and carried it back to my room. Cook, still berating her assistants, barely noticed as I left. I put the box somewhere safe - I’d have to unpack it later - and then returned to the kitchen. Jill met me as I helped myself to food.

  “Cook’s in a temper,” Jill said, cheerfully. “She spent half the night making a particularly delish soup for the guests and those two idiots accidentally poured it down the sink.”

  “Ouch,” I said. I glanced into the corner, where Cook’s shouts had been replaced by threats to turn her assistants into cows and serve them for dinner. “How did that happen?”

  Jill shrugged. “Might be the right time to start applying for a job in the kitchen.” She winked at me. “Cook’s not going to want them around any longer.”

  I shrugged back, then forced myself to finish my breakfast as the shouting began again. Cook had a lot of stamina. Jill might have a point. If she managed to get herself transferred to the kitchen - and Cook was one of the few people who could stand up to Lucinda - she might actually start learning skills that would allow her to climb up the ladder. Cook would need a replacement one day. I doubted she wanted to stay in Bolingbroke Hall for the rest of her life.

  “I’ll see you later,” I promised. “Take care of yourself.”

  Jill gave me an odd look. “Are you alright?”

  “Just a little tired,” I said. One way or the other, I wasn’t going to be staying at the hall for much longer. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “ He looked to be in a foul mood when he got home,” Jill said. “I hope he didn’t take it out on you.”

  “I had to nurse him through a hangover,” I said, shortly. I met her eyes. “Why are they so ... so helpless?”

  Jill considered it. “Well, on one hand they’ve been babied ever since they were babies,” she said. “And, on the other, they’re quite competent at magic .”

  I nodded, shortly. It was true enough. Lord Anton had been one of the greatest magicians in Shallot before he’d started to sicken ... and Henri, from what I’d heard, had been a worthy successor. I hated to admit it, but Reginald was no slouch himself. He even knew how to dress himself! That put him ahead of his younger half-sister, although ... I shrugged. The fancy dresses I’d seen at the ball literally couldn’t be put on without help. My dress was a model of simplicity in comparison.

  “I suppose,” I said. “We take care of them and they work their magic.”

  I left the room and hurried up the stairs. Reginald had gone out, giving me all the time I needed to carefully unpack the box and make sure we had everything we needed. Zadornov - or his supplier - had done an excellent job of packing the box, wrapping everything in charmed parchment or spells to ensure it was safe to carry them from place to place. Reginald could have taken lessons from him, I thought as I finished laying out the jars and bottles. A couple of broken bottles could have led to a spectacular explosion. Clive would never have known what had thrown him into the hands of his ancestors.

  And it would have been my fault , I thought, with a twinge of remorse. Damn Zadornov for involving Clive. Damn Clive for being so willing to become involved. I hadn’t asked him to do anything. I certainly hadn’t encouraged him to chase me. Does he think it will get him close to me? Or does he think it’s a step up from broadsheet boy?

  I pushed the thought aside as I carefully placed the ingredients into the cupboards, sealing the wards behind me. Reginald would have me brewing the moment he returned, I was sure; I wanted - I needed - to whip up a few other potions before he arrived. I picked up three cauldrons, checked to make sure they were actually clean, then placed them on the table. A handful of basic healing and energy potions would come in very handy, once I took the potion. I had a feeling that it was going to leave me a shivering wreck.

  Assuming it works like a normal regeneration potion , I reminded myself. I’d had a chance to read up on regeneration and rejuvenation potions, thanks to Reginald’s vast collection of books, but no one had actually tried to rewrite someone’s entire cellular structure before. I found it hard to believe that Reginald was the first person to actually think of it, yet ... I supposed it was possible. Almost anything you can do with a regeneration potion can be done, quicker and easier, with transfiguration spells.

  My lips twitched as I started to brew the potions, one by one. I wasn’t sure what would happen if Reginald used Cyanine’s blood to make the potion. Would it turn him into an exact copy of his little sister? It was hard not to laugh. Reginald - Regina? - would be too young to connect with the wards, even if he was part of the main bloodline. I left the potions to simmer and started to flick through the books, hoping for an answer, but there was none. It didn’t look as if anyone had thought of using potions to change gender. There were transfiguration spells for that.

  I glanced at my face in the mirror as I returned to the chamber of horrors. Would it change, when I took the potion? Would I be an exact copy too? Or ... I wondered, suddenly, what would happen if I used Reginald’s blood for the potion. If I swapped genders, I could simply walk out of the city without being stopped. The City Guard wouldn’t suspect a thing if I looked like a man. And if they did happen to be suspicious, I’d just have to pull down my pants.

  Except the potion might just be permanent , I thought. The humour faded away as I considered the possibilities. Transfiguration spells, even ones held in place by a Device of Power, could be undone with relative ease. The potion was permanent. Reginald wouldn’t care, but I did. I didn’t want to change my face, let alone anything else. It was mine. What happens if it’s impossible to switch back?

  I finished brewing the healing potions, then turned my attention back to the original recipe. Master Travis hadn’t included any way to undo the potion, assuming - probably correctly - that Reginald intended to be Patriarch or nothing. Reginald had been prepared to take the risk of poisoning himself, knowing that he’d be either banished to the country or simply kicked out when the next Patriarch took his place. I had to admire his nerve, even though he was playing for the highest stakes. But if the potion was weakened, just a little ...

  The geas shivered in my mind, a warning that I had to finish the potion and deliver it to Reginald. I cursed him under my breath, then returned to the books. A little hint of adder blood, inserted once the potion was complete, would weaken it a little. It would still work, I thought, and it might be safer to drink ... but anyone who took it would need regular doses
if they didn’t want ... something ... to happen to their cellular structure. I wasn’t sure quite what would happen - there might not be enough of the original structure left for the drinker to simply return to normal - but I was sure it wouldn’t be pleasant. I made a mental note of the possibilities and moved on. Reginald might be back at any moment.

  It was nearly lunchtime when Reginald returned, looking grim. “Father will be gone soon,” he announced, once he’d closed the door and checked the wards. “You have only a few days to finish the potion.”

  “Yes, My Lord,” I said. “I’ll get started at once.”

  “There will be another ball on Saturday,” Reginald added. “I’m not invited. Perhaps I should crash the ball, with you on my arm.”

  I stared at him in horror, then realised he was joking. “I’m not much of a dancer,” I managed. “And besides, I have to brew.”

  “I once asked Rachel Griffin to dance,” Reginald said. “She shunned me. Can you imagine? She shunned me. Publicly!”

  Smart girl , I thought. I winced. I knew what would happen to any woman who humiliated a man in Water Shallot. My mother was always seen, but never heard when my stepfather held forth. And lucky too, to live here .

  “You will finish the potion,” Reginald ordered. “And then ... the hall will be empty. I will have all the time I need to take over before they come staggering home.”

  And right into a trap , I thought. Reginald would control the wards. I doubted anyone would realise the difference before it was too late. And then he’ll control the family too .

  “I’ll do my best,” I said. The geas would see to that, damn it. “But it is a very fragile potion.”

  “Make it work, whatever it takes,” Reginald snapped. He sounded angry, but I could hear the fear in his voice. We could run out of time at any moment. “If it fails ...”

  “I won’t get a shop,” I said. It was a minor matter, compared to what would happen to Reginald, but true. “And you will be dead.”

  Reginald’s eyes gleamed. “We will both be dead,” he said. “Or do you think they’ll let you live?”

  I lowered my eyes. “No, My Lord.”

  “Quite,” Reginald said. He pointed at the chamber door. “Back to work with you.”

  “Yes, My Lord,” I said. “I’ll start straight away.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I was entranced.

  The potion bubbling in front of me held my attention, as firmly as any spell. I was barely aware of Reginald’s presence - or of anything else - as I sensed the magic flickering inside the cauldron, the spellform slowly taking shape. My hands moved of their own accord, slowly lowering the final set of ingredients into the liquid and then stirring the mixture as carefully as possible. It had taken me longer than it should have to realise that Master Travis hadn’t given precise instructions, when it came to stirring the brew. The changes were tiny, but collectively they rendered the recipe useless. Now ...

  I knew, deep in my heart, that this time I was going to succeed. I knew it. There was a rightness about the bubbling liquid that I simply hadn’t felt before, even when I’d managed to complete all the steps before the mixture destabilised and exploded. It had been hard, very hard, to keep from being distracted by Reginald’s growing frustration and fear. He knew his father could die at any moment. And, when he did ... I shook my head. The liquid bubbled one final time, then went smooth. I let out a long breath as I lifted the cauldron off the fire and placed it to one side to cool. It was done.

  My body ached as I forced myself to stand upright. I’d been bent over the cauldron for so long that my muscles were protesting, loudly. I stretched, then peered into the cooling cauldron. A shimmering golden liquid lay at the bottom, waiting for me. There was more than anyone would need - it was so potent that a small glass would be more than enough to trigger the spellform - but ... I let out a long breath. It had taken hours to convince Reginald that we had to produce more than he needed. Thankfully, he’d accepted my explanation without demur.

  It helped that I was telling the truth , I thought. It is easier to brew potions in large batches .

  I heard Reginald pacing up behind me. He really hadn't been in a good mood, ever since his uncle had told him - in no uncertain terms - that he wasn’t welcome at the Alidade Ball. I rather suspected that he was being silly - and that his uncle was trying to convince Reginald to gracefully leave the city - but it didn’t matter. I’d had to put up with his angry ranting while assembling the ingredients for my next try at the potion. I wondered, suddenly, if my life was about to end. Reginald might not need me any longer.

  “Well?” Reginald’s voice was impatient. “Is it done?”

  “It is done,” I said. The geas frayed, then snapped. I could feel it let go of my mind and vanish into the ether. “The moment you drink it, you’ll start the transformation.”

  Reginald nodded. “My sister hasn’t gone to the ball, but everyone else has left the hall,” he said. “We are alone.”

  Apart from hundreds of servants , I thought. The personal maids and manservants would have escorted their employers to the ball, of course, but everyone else would have remained behind. We are alone in the midst of a crowd .

  “Yes,” I said. “You can take the potion now, if you like. Or ...”

  Reginald peered at me as I poured the potion into two bottles. “Or what?”

  “I can add something that would mitigate the pain, just a little,” I said, carefully. I didn’t want him to catch me in a lie. I certainly didn’t want him to replace the geas . “You’ll need to drink more of the potion” - a statement that was technically accurate - “but it won’t hurt so much.”

  “Do it,” Reginald ordered. “How long will it take?”

  “Two minutes,” I said. I picked up the bottle of adder blood, carefully measured out the precise amount, then poured it into the first bottle. “Give it a little time to blend.”

  “Very good,” Reginald said. “Do I need anything else from you?”

  “Not at the moment, My Lord,” I said. I moved the spellbreaker carefully, allowing it to slip into my palm. If he decided to blast me on the spot, I’d have a chance ... I hoped. “You can take the potion whenever you like.”

  Reginald nodded. “I made a mistake when I killed your master,” he said. His voice was very calm. “I should have kept him alive until I was entirely sure I no longer needed him. And I will not” - I sensed the magic field shift, too late - “make the same mistake twice.”

  My body froze, again. I couldn’t move a single muscle. I tried to summon my magic, but it wasn’t strong enough to break the spell. Reginald had frozen me, again. And all I could do was wait for the necklace to free me or ... Reginald’s hand reached forward, touching my throat. I wanted to scream as he took hold of the necklace and ripped it away from me, dropping the pieces on the floor. Sparks of magic flickered and flared as the necklace died.

  You bastard , I thought. Tears prickled at my eyes. Master Travis made that for me .

  “I’ll be back,” Reginald said. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  I heard him laugh as he strode out of the room. He’d destroyed the necklace ... he’d destroyed the last thing I’d had of my father ... my true father. Hatred raged through me, my entire body fighting the spell that held me in place ... it refused to break. Reginald really had learnt from his previous mistake. He was going to keep me as a helpless prisoner, forced to brew for him, until he no longer needed me. And I had no way to resist. I couldn't even trigger the spellbreaker. My plan had failed before it even got off the ground.

  He’s off to kill his father and I can do nothing , I told myself. Lord Anton would have someone in the room with him, but what could a maid do against Reginald? The nursemaid wouldn’t even have any reason to suspect trouble. Reginald could simply order her out of the room and that would be that. And then he’ll kill me .