Death of an Alchemist

by Mary Lawrence

  “The three disappeared out back. A moment later there was a loud clatter from the kitchen and we heard a man and woman arguing. The commotion caused the entire establishment to quiet. Nothing stirs a man’s sympathy more than the sound of another being scolded by his woman. There is not a man in God’s creation who doesn’t pale at the sound of a woman screeching. And then there was a slap. Everyone heard it.”

  Meddybemps took another drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “No one had time to blink before Amice came charging out of the kitchen. She was angry as a boar, red-faced and choking back tears as she bolted for the door. I couldn’t say if her cheek was red from her being slapped or if she was just upset. Someone stood and made to comfort her, but she shirked away and whipped off her apron. Just before heaving open the door she threw the thing on the floor, glowered round at the clientele, and disappeared into the night.”

  “Sounds like good theater.”

  “It got the whole lot of us talking. And it comes out that Gilley had just murdered a man. Perhaps it was mere speculation. Tongues are loose after a few pottle pots, but with drink and conjecture comes a wee bit of truth.”

  “Do you believe Gilley murdered Thomas Plumbum?” Bianca helped herself to Meddybemps’s ale.

  Meddybemps arranged himself so his back blocked them from their tablemates. “Words flew that Gilley must have killed a man. Others surmised who he had murdered. One cuffin said he had been at the Crooked Cork a few days before and heard that Jack Blade had caught the alchemist, Thomas Plumbum, buggering a young boy. Blade had no use for Plumbum. He wanted his money back and if it was not forthcoming, he was the sort of man who would exact his own personal justice.

  “It was presumed that Gilley and Blade had come to an arrangement between them. Blade no longer frequented the Royal Poke and moved his operation south of Knightrider. Likely, Gilley got the area around the Royal Poke in exchange for a few favors.”

  Meddybemps polished off his ale. He caught sight of the wench to order another but thought better of it when she glared back at him. “The reason I think Gilley is the culprit is because I stopped at the Poke earlier in the day and saw Amice accuse a man of being an alchemist. Apparently, Amice recognized him and mentioned his not-so-flattering conduct. The look she had when he tried making her look foolish was hard to miss. She is a woman who does not like to be crossed.”

  “So, Gilley’s reason to finish Plumbum may be twofold.”

  Meddybemps smirked. “His sort doesn’t ponder matters of conscience. As long as he sees some personal benefit, he doesn’t question what is asked of him.”

  Bianca sighed. “I doubt Amice expected her husband to go as far as murdering Plumbum. If Gilley was found out, which sounds likely, it would be the ruination of them both.” Bianca got a distant look in her eye. “Amice strikes me as a woman just trying to get by.”

  “The lot of an alchemist’s daughter, wouldn’t you say? Making do with nothing.”

  “Amice mistakenly saw Gilley as a way out of her misery. Instead, he is causing her plenty.”

  “Reminds me of someone else we knew.”

  Meddybemps was referring to her friend Jolyn Carmichael, the muckraker who had lived a hard life and had believed she was on the verge of a better one. She put her faith in the wrong person and it ended badly for her. Bianca was still pained at the mention or thought of Jolyn. She missed her friend terribly.

  Meddybemps sensed Bianca growing morose and immediately regretted mentioning Jolyn. He quickly engaged her before she slipped into maudlin introspection. “Bianca, I doubt that Gilley would murder Ferris Stannum.”

  “But Gilley was his son-in-law. It seems an unhappy coincidence now.”

  “But why would Gilley murder Amice’s poor father?”

  “Maybe for the alchemy journal? Or the valuables in Stannum’s room of alchemy?” Bianca massaged her temples. “My thoughts keep going to Tait. Both Plumbum and Stannum owed him money. I wonder if Tait could have some connection to Blade.” Bianca gazed at a fixed point across the room, her eyes glazing over as she thought.

  Meddybemps refrained from talking. Bianca often sank into silence and took issue if he interrupted her thinking. However, he wanted to remind her that her immediate consideration was John’s welfare. He couldn’t understand why she had taken it upon herself to find Ferris Stannum’s murderer. Dismiss Stannum’s death to natural cause and save yourself the bother, is what he wanted to tell her. Stannum was an old man, feeble and not long for this world anyway. But Bianca believed he had been murdered and was consumed with proving it. Meddybemps studied her determined face. If there was any way to connect the two alchemists’ deaths, she would find it.

  “I need you to take this satchel,” she said, rousing from her rumination and pushing it across to him. She leaned over the table, then said in a low voice, “I warn you—you might be followed.”

  “I have been followed before,” he whispered. “It is not the first time.”

  Bianca sat back and looked around. She tipped forward, meeting his eyes. “Meet me on the bridge in an hour,” she said. “And bring the satchel. I have someone to visit first.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Bianca found the crowd outside the boozing ken had thinned substantially. The overturned cart had been successfully angled, relieving the earlier congestion. She emerged on Cheapside Street—a wider thoroughfare that was considerably less dark and ominous feeling.

  The sensation of being followed lessened, though she still cast searching glances over her shoulder with a mind for spotting anyone suspicious. If Tait or anyone else had followed her as far as the alehouse, he might notice she was no longer carrying the satchel. She hoped Meddybemps would be able to meet her at the bridge at their agreed-upon time.

  When she had left Gull Hole that morning, she had not intended to be gone the entire day. Her main objective was to find a kerotakis. It seemed an unexpected string of events conspired to keep her from returning to John.

  It would have been understandable to abandon the search and return home. A pang of guilt stabbed at her heart, but realistically, she did not know what she could have done for him. Sitting and waiting would have driven her mad.

  But Bianca believed she would soon secure the elusive cylinder from Amice. And the sooner she had it, the sooner she could start working on the elixir.

  She ignored her niggling conscience and followed the slightly curving route to the Royal Poke, where Amice and Gilley lived above the tavern. Night had fallen, and with it came fast-moving clouds and the sprinkle of stars in between. A northern breeze accompanied their appearance. A change in weather was in the air.

  An errant goose took exception to Bianca and honked in loud protest as she neared the ignoble establishment. She ignored the bird’s bluster and sidestepped around the creature. Unhappy at being brushed aside, the goose ran up and nipped her, eliciting a chuckle from a patron just leaving.

  “God’s wounds!” she exclaimed, waving it away. The aggressive beast retreated long enough for Bianca to scurry inside and slam the door in its face.

  Bianca stood next to the entrance and scanned the rows of tables and raucous clientele. A new serving wench appeared from the kitchen clutching two fists of tankards. Bianca waited until she had finished serving. Before the girl got caught up with another order, Bianca tapped her shoulder.

  “Amice is not working this evening?”

  “She’s ill.” The maid motioned with her head in the direction of the kitchen. “She and her husband both. Haven’t seen them since this morning.” She put her mouth next to Bianca’s ear. “We suspect the sweat.” She reared back and gave Bianca a serious look. Her eyes flicked to one side and she leaned in again. “Best keep that one to yourself.”

  Bianca squeezed through the crowded tables with the pretense of finding a place to sit, watching until the serving wench was occupied, then ducked into the kitchen. No one noticed her slip past and head for the back stairs.

  The
candle on the stairwell had not been lit. Once she had felt her way up the uneven treads to the landing, she saw the door to Amice and Gilley’s rent was closed. Bianca pressed her ear against the wood and, hearing nothing, knocked. After a moment she tried the handle. It was not locked.

  She called into the dark but heard no reply, so she stepped inside. The shutters were closed. No candles or lanterns had been lit. She allowed a moment for her eyes to adjust, and the first thing she saw was the table where Gilley had played primero. It was piled with copper coils. Still heads and retorts cluttered the room. Their quarters had been transformed into a warehouse of alchemy equipment.

  Bianca felt around for a candle on a high shelf next to the entry and, not finding one, sufficed by cautiously picking through the collection of alembics and crockery. A myriad of sizes and shapes, stacked in leaning heaps, created a tenuous maze for her to step through. She squinted in the dim light, navigating to the opposite wall to open a shutter, though doing so would only marginally illuminate the interior with moonlight.

  The silence made her wonder if Amice and Gilley had feigned sickness and escaped together. They could have abandoned their rent and London in the hopes of avoiding Gilley’s arrest. If Meddybemps had figured out Gilley’s crime, someone else certainly would. Again Bianca called out. Hearing no response, she continued to the opposite wall.

  She bent over, running her hand along a pile of copper, feeling the shapes, hoping by chance to find the cylinder with the curved glass top. Her fingertips had just touched the cool feel of metal when something hit the floor in the adjoining room. Bianca froze. She looked in its direction. A shutter banged, blown by a gust of wind. Dismissing the sound as something knocked over by the wind, she waited a moment. Hearing nothing more, she continued to the wall. Bianca pushed open a creaky shutter.

  Moonlight was blocked by the roof across the way, affording little improvement. Bianca swept her hand along the wall to feel for a sconce. She crept forward, tiptoeing along the wall. Something ran over her foot. She yelped, disturbing several retorts and causing a clatter as they toppled over. In the dim blue light, a mouse disappeared under the jumble of equipment. If anyone was in the rent, they would know she was there now.

  But no one called out.

  Bianca resumed running her hand over the wall and found a sconce caked in dried tallow. She worked out the stub and patted her pockets for her flint. She often dropped one in her apron instead of leaving it next to a stove in her rent. Pleased that her forgetfulness had served her, she lit the candle and ran her eyes around the room.

  She concentrated on the shape and size of the kerotakis. She had often found that visualizing her desire brought it to her. It was an amusement she often played, especially when she was creating salves and medicinals. She knew the location of every ingredient in her room, but, since John had moved in, he often put jars back in unexpected places. Sometimes it was a monumental task to locate her ingredients, requiring her to think like John, or remember where he had been and what he had been up to, before eventually finding what she wanted. But if she imagined the appearance or smell of an object, within a few minutes she would find it.

  She turned, raising the candle in front of her. Her mind was a muddle. She paused, gazing at the display of equipment but not really seeing it. Worry and lack of sleep had worn her down. Her stomach protested, reminding her that she was not only tired, but hungry. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten.

  Bianca decided her weariness was a state of mind. The exhaustion and hunger were temporary discomforts that she needed to suppress. She tucked a loose strand of hair under her coif and rubbed her eyes.

  When she opened them, she spied a vessel sticking out of a bowl. Excited, she hurried over and grabbed it. Unfortunately, it was just a simple copper cylinder, not a kerotakis. Disappointed, Bianca laid it on the table.

  Hot tallow ran down the candle. She turned the stick sideways as the flame consumed the tallow near her fingers. Dropping the spent tallow, she heard a night watch call as she stamped the wick on the floor. Soon she must meet Meddybemps on the bridge. Time was running out and she hadn’t found the kerotakis.

  A loaf of bread sat on a table and Bianca tore off an end. The lump went down like wood, but she was so hungry she did not care. She glanced around for something to drink and found a keg of ale. She poured herself a mug, took a sip, found it potable, and polished it off, glad to slake her thirst. The humidity still sapped her strength in spite of a slight cooling breeze, but the ale revived her. She poured herself another cup and poured it over her face to cool her skin, not caring that she would smell like she’d taken a bath in it.

  As she set the mug down, she noticed a copper vessel lying in a crate on the floor next to the table. She bent down and held it up in the dim light.

  The kerotakis.

  She pressed the cool metal cylinder to her chest. Finally. She closed her eyes and took a deep, invigorating breath. The elusive apparatus needed to sublimate the elixir of life. She had found it. Bianca bit her lower lip, hoping John was still strong enough to survive until she’d created the mythical brew.

  Finding the kerotakis instilled Bianca with confidence. Confidence that this was indeed her fate. She would create the elixir of life. How could this not be an auspicious sign? If she had never found the crucial piece of equipment, she would have assumed before she had even started that her efforts were doomed. But now, with the kerotakis in her possession, her fate was awaiting her.

  The thought of saving John made her giddy with joy. If someone had peeked through the window, they would have seen her toss her head back and laugh like a lunatic. She cared not a whit whether granting immortality might be immoral. All that mattered was John and their future together.

  Bianca kissed the kerotakis, wagged a finger at it, and dropped it in her pocket. She lifted the hair off the back of her neck, fanning her damp skin with her hand. It was time to meet Meddybemps at the bridge.

  Bianca turned to wend her way back to the door when she heard a strange sound from the room off the main living quarters. Puzzled, she hesitated. If Amice and Gilley were home and sleeping, surely they would have heard her long before now. She looked over her shoulder at the door of the adjoining room. Perhaps it was her imagination.

  Shrugging it off, she turned back to the door. She had taken only a couple of steps when she heard the sound for a second time. Eyes wide, she stopped and searched the dark, her senses primed.

  A disconcerting shriek startled her. Her hand flew to her mouth, squelching the cry that came out of it.

  What was that unearthly sound? It was not in Bianca’s nature to flee. Her inquisitiveness was often a detriment to self-preservation. Guardedly, she crept toward the room. In the few seconds it took for her to reach it, her imagination had run the gamut of possibilities.

  She paused just outside the door and slowly looked in.

  It took a second for her to comprehend what she was seeing. Moonlight shone through an open window. She followed its silvery beam across the room and saw where it illuminated Amice and her husband. Gilley lay on a pallet and Amice was curled on the floor beside him.

  At first, Bianca thought them asleep. But Gilley’s head was turned toward the door, as if he had heard her coming. For a second she thought he might speak. His face was a sneer as he stared right at her. The wind blew and the shutter smacked shut, plunging the room into complete darkness.

  Bianca froze.

  Another gust of wind blew open the shutter and Bianca saw in detail the horrible scene before her. Gilley’s face was caked in blood. A dried red trickle ran from his mouth down his chin. Streaks of blood ran from his eyes. His nostrils were caked in it. The whites of his eyes were dark, yet still reflected the dim light. An arm dangled off the bed, his fingertips grazing Amice where she lay on the floor.

  Curled in a half-moon, Amice faced Gilley with her back to the door. Bianca went over and crouched beside her. She laid her hand on the girl’s shoul
der, feeling it cold to the touch. She rolled the girl over.

  Amice’s face was the mirror of her husband’s. Lines of dried blood crisscrossed her skin. She had suffered the same fate as Gilley. She had bled from every orifice.

  Bianca retreated. The bloom of death had not yet tainted the air. She had never seen a disease manifest in this way. She ran her eyes over the pair, seeking stab wounds, but their clothing showed only the stains of blood that had dripped from their faces.

  As she stood and thought on their wretched end, she heard a scrabbling. The noise shot down her spine, jarring her to her core.

  In a dark corner, Ferris Stannum’s parrot thrashed. It writhed on the floor, attempted to get to its feet, and fell over. Bianca watched it push its unwieldy beak against the floor in a vain attempt to stand. A wing flapped helplessly; the other hung paralyzed and limp. What used to be a rainbow of red, green, yellow, and blue plumage was completely crimson now. Its pale golden eyes were blinded by streaming blood.

  Helpless to ease its suffering, Bianca wished the bird passage from its misery. Its pitiful caw—a mournful, eerie cry—pulled at her heart. Finally, exhausted by its struggle, it lay quiet, its chest heaving. Its beak parted for a final breath and its body relaxed. Its agony was over.

  “Peace be,” she said. “You are free.”

  Bianca looked round at the scene before her. What kind of cruel malady would cause such a death? The symptoms were unlike any she had ever seen. Not even the sweat was as malevolent. The buzz of flies soon drew her notice. She looked about for sheets and found one folded at the foot of the bed. She covered Amice, leaving the flies to alight on Gilley.