The Alchemist's Apprentice

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “I’ll make arrangements for a suitable shop to be purchased,” Wesley said. It was late at night, but ... I had to smile. It was astonishing what people would do if they were offered vast sums of money. The title deeds could be transferred before sunrise if House Bolingbroke pushed . “And the money will be made available to you.”

  He bowed and left the room. I watched him through the wards as he hurried back to the Great Hall, then out into the gardens. He’d been smart enough to insist that the remainder of the family stay outside the wards - and outside my influence - although I had no idea how he planned to explain it to the city. Even in standby mode, the wards would have permitted the family to return to their house. But then, I’d be surprised if they trusted me not to turn on them. The wards made me all-powerful within their domain.

  But not invulnerable , I reminded myself. Reginald had killed his father, after all. It wouldn’t be that hard for them to figure out a way to kill me too. Better to strike a deal now than drive them to desperate measures .

  I walked back through the house myself, taking the servant passageways out of habit. The wards pulsed around me, growing stronger with every passing moment. Reginald had done a lot of damage, but the network was already regenerating. I stopped at the door to Reginald’s room and peered inside. His chamber of horrors lay open in front of me. The wards hissed their disapproval as they finally registered its existence. I shrugged and probed inside. Master Travis’s notebook was lying on the table. I scanned for traps, then picked it up. It felt reassuringly solid.

  Mine , I thought. Zadornov was going to want it too, but ... it was mine. I’d have enough money to pay him when Wesley handed over the cash. I picked up Reginald’s journal too, after a moment, and slipped them both into my pouch. It would probably be safer with me. Wesley wouldn’t know to ask for it. And it might just come in handy .

  I checked the chamber of horrors one last time, then picked up the remains of the necklace and walked into my bedroom. It felt like mine for the first time since Reginald had dragged me into his plot, although I knew I’d be leaving tomorrow. I lay down and closed my eyes. The wards wrapped around me, comfortingly, as I went to sleep. It was the first truly restful sleep I’d had in many days.

  The wards woke me the following morning. I sat up, washed and dressed myself, then collected my handful of possessions and headed down to breakfast. Wesley was already there, looking as if he hadn’t slept a wink. Simon was standing next to him, his face pale. He looked enough like Reginald that I almost flinched. I controlled my heartbeat with an effort as we ate a hearty breakfast, talking about nothing in particular. I felt so far out of place that it was all I could do to say a few words.

  “A shop has been purchased” - Wesley pushed a set of title deeds at me - “and the money has been put in the bank. I trust it meets with your satisfaction?”

  I read the paperwork quickly, making sure I understood it. And that there were no surprises waiting for me. Wesley had spent a lot of money to get his hands on a shop overnight. I was all too aware - I’d heard Master Travis grumble about it often enough - that land ownership paperwork was a minor nightmare. Wesley’s lawyers might have made mistakes, if it was a rush job, or left an opening they could exploit later. I couldn’t find one, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. I’d have to ask Ginny to look at it later.

  “I think so,” I said, finally. “How is the shop?”

  “It was a clothes shop, originally,” Wesley said. “The previous owners were shutting it down when we made them an offer. You’ll have to renovate the shop and purchase new stocks, both of which we will pay for, but otherwise ... it should suffice.”

  I looked at the title deeds again. The shop was right in the centre of South Shallot, well within walking distance of both Jude’s and Magus Court. There would be thousands of magicians who would need to patronise an apothecary. If I couldn’t make a go of it, I’d deserve to go back to Water Shallot.

  “The City Guard has been called off,” Wesley added, as I put the title deeds in my pouch and finished my breakfast. “The Kingsmen needed some extra ... persuasion.”

  “We blamed everything on Reginald,” Simon said. “As he’s dead, he’s in no position to dispute it.”

  “No,” I said. The Kingsmen would have accepted it. No one would have lied about Reginald’s involvement. There would be too many consequences to risk saying that unless it was the absolute truth. One might as well give money to charity and claim to have stolen it. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Wesley said. His lips twitched. “And now, if you wouldn’t mind ...”

  I looked at Simon. “You’re going to carry the wards?”

  “So it would seem,” Simon said. He didn’t look happy. He wouldn’t be a prisoner in his own home - the wardmaster could come and go as he pleased - but the remainder of his life would have already been mapped out for him. The cynical side of my mind noted that he’d have more than enough wealth and power to make up for any lack of freedom. “Father never bothered to prepare me for it.”

  “The wards will help you.” I rose, brushing down my dress. Jill was already clearing away the breakfast things. “We’ll have to do it outside the house.”

  Jill caught my eye as the two men cleared out. “Who are you?”

  “Long story,” I said. I’d tell her as much as I dared later. “I have a question for you. Would you like a job in an apothecary? Somewhere away from here ?”

  “It might be an improvement,” Jill said. “ Your apothecary?”

  “Mine,” I confirmed. “I’ll send you the address. Come have a look when you have a moment, then decide.”

  Jill smiled, rather tiredly. “I’ve already decided,” she said. “I’ll come this evening, if you’ll have me.”

  I smiled back. “You’re more than welcome.”

  Simon was waiting for me outside the room. I allowed him to lead me down the stairs. Lucinda and Staunton were standing at the bottom, their faces grim. Lucinda didn’t meet my eyes as I passed. I silently bid her farewell, then put her out of my mind. She’d been unpleasant, but Reginald had been a monster. She didn’t matter.

  “I’m glad you killed him,” Simon said, when we were outside. “I wish ...”

  “Take care of your sisters,” I said. “Reginald was horrible to Cyanine. You should be there for her.”

  Simon looked down. “I know.”

  I felt a stab of sympathy, mingled with contempt. I knew how hard it could be to stand up to a monster, even a monster who only lived on sufferance. But Simon hadn’t even tried to stand up to Reginald. He was a trained magician who’d allowed himself to be cowed. I knew how hard it could be, but still ...

  “Take my hand,” I said, dismissing the thought. The wards hummed as they readied themselves for the transfer. “I ... good luck.”

  I staggered as the wards slipped away from me. Simon seemed to grow taller, just for a second, before nodding to the gate. I turned and walked away, resisting the urge to take one last look at Bolingbroke Hall. It would take Simon some time to realise I’d been bluffing about leaving something in the wards to ensure the family kept their word, but I wanted to be well away by the time the copper finally dropped. Wesley was certainly ruthless enough to kill me rather than allow word to spread.

  Clive met me outside the gate. I wasn’t remotely surprised.

  “ He wants to see you,” he said, as we walked down the street. “What happened?”

  “Long story,” I grunted. “And I can’t tell you most of it anyway.”

  Zadornov was waiting in the cafe, reading a broadsheet. The front cover was dominated by a giant headline - DARK DOINGS AT BOLINGBROKE HALL - and a story that bore about as much resemblance to the truth as I did to Caitlyn Aguirre. I had no idea where the hack - I wasn’t about to call him a reporter - had gotten the story, but it was a tissue of lies from start to finish. Perhaps Wesley had ordered the editor to print the lies. The story was so absurd that no one would believe it.r />
  “Well,” Zadornov said. “What happened?”

  “Reginald did something stupid and got himself killed,” I said, uncomfortably aware of the notebook in my pouch. “I was fired on the spot, immediately afterwards.”

  “I see,” Zadornov said. I didn’t think he believed me. “What was he trying to do?”

  “He killed his father,” I said, flatly. It was the truth, but not the entire truth. “That’s what he had in mind all along.”

  “What a thankless child,” Zadornov mused. “And the notebook?”

  “Gone,” I said. Reginald’s potion wasn’t entirely useless. He hadn’t been the only bastard son in Shallot. Zadornov might well find a use for the potion if he knew what it was. “It was destroyed.”

  “How ... unfortunate ,” Zadornov said. He eyed me as a snake might eye a mouse. “And you owe me money.”

  “Yes,” I said. I looked back at him, calmly. “I will pay you one thousand golds as settlement of all debts. I think that will conclude our business, don’t you?”

  “They paid you hush money,” Zadornov said, flatly.

  “Yes,” I said.

  He studied me for a long cold moment. I wondered what was going through his head. I was defying him ... but, if I had the backing of a Great House, there was nothing he could do about it. He could kill me - I had no doubt he could kill me on the spot - yet ... what would happen afterwards? I wasn’t sure myself. House Bolingbroke might be privately delighted if I met an accident that couldn’t be traced back to them.

  “You can give me the five hundred,” Zadornov said. “And I’ll ask for a favour, one day.”

  I shook my head. “No favours,” I told him. “Take the five hundred, that you say I owe, or take the thousand. Either way, we are through.”

  Zadornov snorted. “We shall see,” he said. “One day, you may want to purchase more ... illicit ingredients for yourself.” He dropped a card on the table. “You can have the five hundred transferred to this account, if you please. I’ll check in a couple of days.”

  “As you wish,” I said. I had no intention of dealing with him ever again. “Goodbye.”

  I rose and walked out into the bright sunshine. Clive was nowhere to be seen. I wondered, as I started the walk towards my shop, if I’d ever see him again. Zadornov might simply discard Clive, now the affair was over ... no, that wasn’t likely to happen. Clive was a bright young man, even if he was bad at taking a hint. Zadornov would still have a use for him.

  And it isn’t as if Clive has any incentive not to stick with him , I thought. Zadornov could offer Clive far more than any honest job. Clive certainly didn’t have any reason to lead a lawful life when it would probably end with his wife and kids in poverty. Why be honest when you can’t rise in the world?

  I sighed and took a long breath. It was over. Master Travis had been avenged, I had the notebook, I had a new shop and an apprenticeship and Zadornov was off my back. It was finally over. And now ...

  No. There was one more thing that had to be done.

  Chapter Forty

  The First Bank of Shallot was the kind of place, I had to admit, that would have normally thrown me out the moment I stuck my head through the door. It was a massively intimidating building, a solid stone structure guarded by heavily-armed guardsmen and powerful wards that weren’t even trying to conceal themselves. The handful of customers, as I entered the building, were either wealthy merchants or powerful aristocrats. If I hadn’t had Simon Bolingbroke beside me, the staff wouldn’t have let me in the door. Instead, they practically fell over themselves to serve me.

  “We had an opportunity to inspect and verify the will,” the bank manager said. He’d insisted on seeing me personally, although I knew all too well that he was actually insistent on seeing Simon . “Master Travis’s account has been transferred to you.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I wasn’t expecting much, but I’d wanted to tie up the last loose end before I opened my shop. “What - exactly - did he have?”

  “Two things,” the manager said. “First, he had a fairly standard savings account. The total savings, as of yesterday when we transferred the account to you, were seven thousand gold and assorted silvers and coppers.”

  I stared. Master Travis had been poor. The apothecary had earned a great deal of money, but our profits had never been high. He wouldn’t have needed Reginald if he’d had seven thousand golds in the bank. There had to be a mistake. I was sure of it.

  “There’s no mistake,” the bank manager said, as if he’d read my mind. “I should say” - he looked pensive - “that the money wasn’t touched for over thirty years. It grew, although slowly. The interest rate was not high.”

  “It wasn’t touched,” I repeated, stunned. Thirty years ... that was fourteen years before I was born. “Do you know where the money came from?”

  “No,” the manager said. “The transfer was apparently cleared by my predecessor, who verified the paperwork, but the actual details themselves were never recorded. Master Travis paid a great deal of money for secrecy. My predecessor would not, I think, be able to answer your questions even if he were still alive.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “I see,” I said. I would have to sit down and think about it later, when I wasn’t so astonished. Seven thousand golds ... it was a minor aristocrat’s ransom. I couldn’t believe it. A man with seven thousand golds in the bank didn’t have to live in Water Shallot. “And the other thing he had?”

  “A trunk, which was put into storage at his request,” the manager said. “That too has been transferred to you, legally, but you might not be able to open it. The charms on the metal might simply destroy the contents if you tried to force it open. I can have it brought up for you, if you like.”

  “Please,” I said.

  The manager cocked his head, communing with the wards. Five minutes later, the box was carried into the room and placed on the desk. It was a school trunk - I couldn’t help thinking that it looked like a coffin - covered in runes and surrounded by powerful charms. Someone had sketched out a face in black ink, the eyes blinking oddly at me. It took me a moment to realise that it was part of the protective charms, rather than vandalism. I’d seen too much graffiti in Water Shallot.

  “Master Travis went to Jude’s,” Simon said. “You could probably ask the school for his records, if you wish.”

  “Or he bought the trunk off someone else,” the manager countered. “They’re not supposed to be sold, but some people” - he managed a sniff - “are prepared to do anything for money.”

  I ignored him as I stared at the clasp. It looked to be solid silver ... slowly, not quite sure what I was doing, my hand reached forward and touched the metal. There was a spark - and a brief moment of pain, as if I’d been jabbed with a needle - and the clasp unlocked. I opened the trunk and peered inside. It was crammed with journals and potion notes, all written in Master Travis’s spidery handwriting. Below them, there were a handful of letters from someone called Ira. I put them aside for later consideration and poked through the rest of the trunk. There were a pair of vials filled with a pearly white liquid - I guessed they were potions, although I had no idea what they were - and a handful of crystals. It felt as if I’d found buried treasure.

  “You’ll have to go through them later, carefully,” the manager said. “We can offer you the use of a secure room, should you wish to leave the trunk here with us.”

  “Please,” I said, as I closed the trunk. I’d come back, once the shop was open, and go through the trunk properly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  I was still in a daze as we were escorted back to the street. Master Travis had left me ... money. Enough money to ensure I would never have to work again, if I didn’t want to work. I could purchase everything I’d need ... I shook my head. I wasn’t going to relax into idleness, not now. I had an apothecary to run and an apprenticeship to complete. And besides ... I made a mental note to send some of the money to my mother and half-sisters. If th
ey wanted to get away from my stepfather, they could.