The Transparency Tonic

by Frank L. Cole

  After a few seconds, Ms. Bimini reappeared, regarding Mezzarix with a serious expression.

  “Silt,” she said. “Wondrous Silt. It allows me to become invisible whenever I choose. I can go anywhere I please and remain hidden for as long as I desire. Mr. Rook, we both want the same thing. We both have been banished from our true homes.” She pressed her hand against her chest. “I wish to resume my rightful place on my island, but I can’t do that without your assistance. If you help me, I shall help you, and perhaps together we can achieve our hearts’ desires.”

  “What did you have in mind?” He hadn’t been out of Greenland long, but he could already feel the effects of his temporary departure from the cave starting to wear off. He had maybe a couple of days before the Link would force him back. Should he resist it, Mezzarix would die. He needed to find a way to increase his stock of potions, and the sooner he could do that the better.

  “I will supply you with whatever tools and ingredients you require.” Ms. Bimini gestured toward the brewing workstation behind her. “You will then Replicate my supply of Silt. Ravian has explained to me that though your ability to Replicate is unmatched, the effects of the Replication process will be temporary. I believe the risk will be worth it.” She opened a black case that had been resting next to her chair and pulled out seven small vials, each one partially filled with inky liquid. “This is all I have left of the Silt I took from my people when they banished me several years ago. Though I tried to go back, I never had the means or the support I needed to do so. Until recently, just when I thought all was lost, I discovered a new world. Your world, Mezzarix. The world of the potion master. This Silt is not much, but with your skill, we could perhaps gather a small group to overthrow B.R.E.W. and grant you the Vessel—and your freedom.”

  “We have already started recruiting Scourges for our uprising,” Lolly said, leaning forward in her seat. “Walsh, myself, and Ravian could have a formidable army at our disposal in less than a week.”

  Mezzarix didn’t doubt Lolly’s ability to stir up trouble, and he knew once word spread of his involvement, there would be plenty of others who would rally to his cause.

  Mezzarix narrowed his eyes. “You would just give us the Vessel?”

  “What would I do with such a thing?” Ms. Bimini asked. “I’m no Elixirist.”

  “Then how did you make this Silt?”

  “Make it?” She smiled as if Mezzarix had said something absurd. “There is much you need to learn, dear sir. Silt flows freely from a fountain on my island. My ancestors scoured the ocean in search of it centuries ago. It’s the only one of its kind.” She cleared her throat. “After you seize the Vessel and free yourself permanently from your exile, you will help me take back my island. You shall force my people to release my banishment, and then I’ll show you the way to the fountain, where you can fill your vials and bottles with as much Silt as you can carry. After that, I’d say you’ll be well on your way toward your goal of global domination.” She sat back in her cushioned chair, watching Mezzarix closely.

  Mezzarix sat down, stretching his legs and wiggling his toes as he processed her proposal. It all sounded favorable. Freedom. Power. And unless Mezzarix captured the Vessel, which would break him from his banishment, he would have no obligation to deliver on his end of the bargain.

  “What if I say no and we”—he nodded at Ravian and the Gittens—“eliminate you from the equation? We find this island of yours and take the Silt for ourselves.”

  Ms. Bimini raised her eyebrows. “The oceans are wide and wondrous, and the route to my island is invisible to any but those who are from there. I’m the only one who knows the way back. And, if I’m not mistaken, your hours are limited. By the time you’ve procured yourself a boat and charted your futile voyage to wander the seven seas, you’ll be left with nothing.”

  “Then maybe we should take your supply of Silt right now. That looks sufficient to achieve our goals. Why would we need you, if we have that?”

  Ms. Bimini nodded knowingly. “I see what you’re trying to do. You’re testing the strength of my resolve. But, my dear sir, you didn’t really think I’d travel all this way alone, did you?”

  Mezzarix felt an invisible hand grip his shoulder, and something wrenched his bag free from his arms and carried it across the room.

  “That’s mine!” he gasped, panic flooding through his chest.

  The bag unzipped, and the two glass jars containing the grayish liquid emerged, drifting haphazardly over to float beside Ms. Bimini.

  “What are these?” she asked, gazing upon them inquisitively. “I don’t recognize them.”

  Mezzarix stepped forward, holding up a desperate hand. “Be careful with those!”

  “And should I drop them?” she asked. “What then becomes of the great Mezzarix Rook?”

  The jars hovered for a moment before gently being returned to the pocket. The zipper closed, and the bag floated back across the room and into Mezzarix’s arms. Mezzarix felt the blood pounding in his temples.

  “I’m sorry I had to tease you like that,” Ms. Bimini said, pouting. “But I wanted you to see what I’m capable of, and I don’t think highly of threats. Now, are there any further inquiries? I do believe we have a revolution to plan.”

  A hulking man with a grizzled silver beard hunched in the driver’s seat of a sputtering gray pickup truck parked one block east of Kipland Middle School. He gripped the steering wheel, calloused knuckles jutting up from beefy, bent fingers. Next to him, equally crammed in the tight quarters of the pickup’s cab, sat one of the man’s associates.

  The second man had a black beard spanning the width of his chest, save for one thinning section on his left cheek, where a patch had been burned and only recently started filling back in. The man’s lips puckered around the end of a foul-smelling cigar, and he carried a test tube filled with a roiling, smoky liquid. It was a Friday afternoon, and the weather was warm and sunny, not a cloud in the sky, but the two lumberjack-like men, in their thick, fleece-lined coats, looked ready to explore the upper regions of the Klondike.

  “Keep your head about you and wait for my command,” the driver instructed, plunging his hand into a paper sack at his side. His fingers emerged, closed around a mound of mashed french fries, a dusting of salt glittering upon his skin. The whole operation had him on edge. After so many months of hiding out, planning for the right moment to strike, he couldn’t wait for it to be over. “The moment Bolter arrives in the parking lot, we make our move.”

  “How will we know when he arrives?” the other asked, expelling a puff of smoke. The cloud lingered above his head before escaping through a crack in the window. He flicked the gray vial in his lap, and the contents unleashed a staticky crackle. “The parking lot’s full of vehicles.”

  “He’ll be the only one driving car that looks like cat,” the first answered. The other man nodded but then screwed his face up in confusion. Before he could question further, the driver cut him off. “I don’t need to explain everything to you, Burke. You’re not in charge.”

  “Neither are you, Yeltzin!” Burke spat, the two sounding more like a pair of toddlers fighting over a toy.

  “Aye, but I outrank you. So keep your mouth shut and your eyes peeled.”

  The school bell had rung, class had been dismissed, and a flock of children, boys and girls carrying backpacks, emerged from around the corner. Yeltzin nearly choked on his fries when he caught sight of someone at the end of the road. Several someones. As they approached the vehicle, all but one of them veered off across the road at the crosswalk, heading into a subdivision. Lingering back at the rear, timidly casting wary looks in every direction, was Gordy Stitser.

  Yeltzin’s wooly eyebrows nearly folded in upon themselves as he scanned the parking lot and the road, looking for signs of Bolter’s vehicle roaring up the block. But it was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the nuisance Elix
irist had changed cars, but Yeltzin didn’t believe that to be true. He just wasn’t there. Why was the boy walking? He never walked!

  “Looks like there has been change in plans.” Yeltzin gripped the gearshift, plunking it down into drive, but kept his foot on the brake. He shot a warning glare toward Burke. “Take your hand off that handle. I gave no command.”

  Burke chomped down on his cigar, nearly rending it into two pieces, but he complied, easing his fingers away from the door handle.

  “Stay calm and cool like cuticle,” Yeltzin said.

  “The correct saying is ‘calm and cool like a cucumber,’” Burke corrected.

  “Not in Russia it isn’t.”

  As Gordy passed by the truck, he came to a sudden halt. Yeltzin’s fingers tensed upon the wheel as the boy faced the vehicle, his eyes widening. Then, without warning, Gordy broke into a run. Yeltzin jerked the steering wheel, taking the turn sharply, and causing Burke’s head to smack his window, which would have likely shattered the glass had he not been wearing such a thick stocking cap.

  “Watch those turns!” Burke shouted. “You’re going to lose it!”

  “I know what I’m doing.” Yeltzin tossed his cell phone into Burke’s lap. “Tell the others where we’re headed.”

  The boy ran with incredible speed, cutting across several yards and momentarily disappearing behind a tall brick house.

  “Did you see where he went?” Yeltzin demanded.

  “I’ve got eyes on him,” Burke replied a few moments later, as the boy resurfaced down a side street, running in an all-out sprint. Yeltzin nearly slammed the gas pedal through the floor. Gordy reached a park at the end of the road and dashed between a pair of empty swings, heading for the woods beyond, just as the truck roared onto the lawn. Yeltzin never took his foot off the accelerator, barreling through the swing set and sending sand and woodchips flying. The moment he arrived at the edge of the forest, he slammed on the brakes. Both burly Elixirists hurriedly exited the vehicle and took to the trees on foot, hands gripping their liquid weapons.

  Up ahead, Gordy continued to distance himself from the attackers, looking over his shoulder as he ran. The boy maneuvered through the woods with ease, but he wasn’t paying attention. A smile broke through Yeltzin’s hardened scowl when Dieter and Ridley, two of Yeltzin’s companions, emerged from their hiding places, cutting off Gordy’s escape just as the back end of a subdivision appeared through the fragmented space between the trees.

  As Gordy skidded to a stop, his eyes darted between the new threat hedging his way and Yeltzin and Burke closing in from the rear. Without any hesitation, he thrust his hand into his backpack and pulled out a bottle, which he threw at Dieter’s feet. The glass shattered, and Dieter’s hands went up, shielding his face from the fumes. He spat and coughed, and then, in an instant, he was gone.

  Yeltzin blinked in surprise. What had just happened? What potion could vaporize someone so quickly? But then he realized that Dieter hadn’t truly vanished; rather he had just melded into a nearby tree. Dieter’s arms and legs flailed about, jutting out from the trunk, while the rest of his torso, chest, and shoulders were buried in the wood. A knothole made it possible for him to breathe, but the amber-colored potion had rendered him fully incapacitated.

  Gordy turned to face Yeltzin, hand closed around another bottle, ready to fire, but Burke acted first. His vial erupted above Gordy, showering him with a smoky fluid, which instantly formed a gray sack covering Gordy’s head. Gordy’s hands shot up, desperately pawing at the taut fabric cinched around his face, but it was no use. Burke’s Sessizlik Serum had completely silenced the boy. Yeltzin tossed his bottle, and Gordy collapsed on the forest floor, wrapped up in the writhing vines of a Vintreet Trap.

  “Hello, little Stitser,” Yeltzin said, elbowing Burke in the ribs. “I give you highest praise on your mighty concoctions, but we take you with us now without another peep.”

  Gordy never peeped once as Yeltzin and his gang transported him across town to their hideout. Garbage littered the sidewalk alongside the row of mostly abandoned stores with boarded-up windows and padlocked, galvanized, rollup doors. With the others trailing behind, Yeltzin carried Gordy from the back of the vehicle down a side street, past a stretch of dilapidated buildings plastered with graffiti, and through a door. He plopped the boy into a folding chair at the center of an office and worked a length of rope around his arms before removing the bag covering Gordy’s face. Only then did Yeltzin relax. After more than half a year of plotting revenge, he had finally caught Gordy Stitser.

  “Didn’t think you’d see me again, did you?” Yeltzin asked. “The satisfaction of having you here, helpless and scared, feels so good.”

  But the boy didn’t look scared, which gave Yeltzin a moment’s pause. He should’ve been at least worried, but Gordy remained silent, his teeth clenching tight enough to expose the muscles in his jaw.

  “Well, what are you thinking?” Yeltzin dropped his massive hands onto Gordy’s shoulders. “That your mommy will magically appear and batter down the door?” He shook his head grimly. “We covered our tracks. Not a soul saw us enter here, and no one’s coming in that we don’t want.”

  Gordy stared at him, eyes unblinking.

  “Say something!” Yeltzin demanded. “Beg for mercy!”

  Gordy remained rigid and silent. It annoyed Yeltzin. He leaned over to mutter in Burke’s ear, “How long until your serum wears off? I want to hear him speak.”

  “It should have already worn off,” Burke grunted.

  Yeltzin puckered his lips and snarled at Gordy. “Your bravery is admirable, I’ll give you that. But, my boy, what we have in store for you will shatter bravery like candied glass.” A soft padding sound at the door announced a new visitor, and Yeltzin’s smile widened. “We have brought special guest for you, Stitser. Old friend has been dying to see you.”

  Yeltzin moved to open the door. A cloud of noxious, rotting chemicals flooded in, and the boy flinched, his nose scrunching from the sour scent, as Bawdry, the mummy, lumbered into the room.

  Gooey bandages dangled limply from Bawdry’s shoulders, and a trail of elongated footprints stamped the floor behind him. Not wanting to touch any part of Bawdry’s decomposing flesh, Yeltzin buried his mouth in the pit of his elbow and gave the mummy a wide berth.

  Bawdry’s crooked jaw drooped to one side as if having recently come unhinged from its socket. “Well done, I say,” he said with a velvety voice unbefitting his bent and crooked stature. “You took a lot longer to snatch him than I would have hoped, but I must admit it was worth the wait.”

  Gordy’s eyes narrowed as he finally spoke. “Esmeralda Faustus?”

  “You were expecting someone else?”

  “Well, yes, actually. You’re the one in charge?”

  Bawdry folded his arms, a length of bandage swooping out and nearly swatting Yeltzin in the chin. “I’m the only one who could be.”

  Gordy scowled at Yeltzin. “Why are you still following her? You could’ve vanished. There are plenty of Scourges you could have begged to welcome you into their care, yet you hung around to take orders from a corpse?” He shook his head in disappointment.

  “You have a lot of cheek for someone snagged in our trap.” Esmeralda took a stumbling step toward Gordy.

  “Have you been living inside Bawdry all this time?” Gordy asked.

  Bawdry cocked his head to one side, unleashing a barrage of gurgling pops. “Only when I needed to give instruction.” Bawdry’s thumb shot out toward Yeltzin. “Do you really think I’d remain in this body any longer than I had to?”

  Gordy’s scowl turned into a grin. “Wow, Esmeralda, here I thought you had a shred of dignity. I would’ve never believed you could have stooped so low.”

  “Don’t you dare insult me! You’d be wise to watch your mouth, if you don’t want me filling it up with all sorts of vile pot
ions. Your mother should’ve been more thorough in her search. Leaving me this gateway creature has been most helpful in our capture of you. That was her worst mistake!”

  An earsplitting crash shook the building. All pairs of eyes, including Bawdry’s, which were really nothing more than hollow sockets, snapped toward the door. Crumbling drywall fell from the ceiling as a suctioning sound suddenly rose from outside of the office.

  “Find out what that is!” Esmeralda jabbed an odd-angled finger at Yeltzin, who reached for the doorknob to wrench it open.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Gordy warned.

  Yeltzin’s hand faltered as the suctioning sound grew louder until it sounded like plungers unclogging a thousand toilets all at once.

  “Who followed you here?” Esmeralda demanded.

  “No one,” Yeltzin said. He had been so careful. There had been no suspicious vehicles tailing them and certainly no signs of Wanda and her little nuisances from B.R.E.W.

  “Not who—what,” Gordy clarified. “I think you’ll be familiar with our work.”

  Yeltzin eyed the boy, wondering if his Vintreet Trap had addled Gordy’s brain.

  Then the door burst open, and a swarm of buzzing mosquitoes the size of hummingbirds flooded the room. Burke and Dieter screamed; Ridley swatted at the swarm with her leather satchel. The mosquitoes hovered in the room, hundreds of them, pulsating, and then they dropped dead to the floor.

  Yeltzin squealed, leaping back as a puddle of soupy potion pooled beneath the insects.

  “The wards,” Esmeralda muttered through Bawdry’s slack jaw and stared over the morbid pile of bug corpses.