The Potion Diaries 2

by Amy Alward

  ‘These are the Vul caves – do you know them?’ Emila spins round on her heels.

  I shake my head before I can stop myself, then silently curse. So much for not giving anything away.

  She tuts loudly and the sound echoes off the cavernous walls. ‘Do they teach you anything in school these days? I thought a Kemi would have heard of the Visir School of Alchemy.’

  ‘But that’s in ruins! It doesn’t exist any more!’ I blurt out.

  ‘Doesn’t it? Look around, Sam. I’d say it exists. Think how many amazing potions were discovered here. It honestly is a wonder.’

  The Visir School? So we are in Gergon. And the school isn’t just famous, it’s legendary. ‘It doesn’t look anything like this . . .’ I’ve seen photos of the Visir School. It looked like a normal school, in the centre of Gergon’s capital, Byrne. That’s where I expected Prince Stefan to take me. Not here.

  Emilia smirks. ‘The pictures you have seen are a ruse. All the better to maintain the anonymity.’

  I frown. The Visir School might have once been legendary but now it’s irrelevant. It belongs to the middle ages, along with tallow candles, chainmail armour and messenger pigeons. The school closed its doors officially over a century ago, but it had been dying a long, slow death before that. Sure, it might have once been the place for an alchemist to study, but that was what – two hundred, three hundred years ago?

  Suddenly things begin to slide into place. All those doors – they were to classrooms. The piles of broken glass outside – old beakers, flasks and test tubes, no longer needed. The twin snakes, signifying alchemy. Now I recognise it.

  The Visir School may have officially closed its doors, but there’s at least one person still making use of its vast resources.

  Emilia stares at me with an intensity that turns my stomach.

  ‘I’ve brought you here for a reason. There’s only one of these boards in the entire world, and it was developed right here at the Visir School. They say that all the innovating is now done in synthetics labs. They forget what true artistry looks like . . .’ She sweeps her arm over the board.

  True artistry? To me, it looks like a plain old, boring blackboard. It’s been freshly painted, sure: the black is so dark my eyes can’t seem to focus properly. But then something shifts within its black, inky depths, and I involuntarily shoot back in my chair. Maybe there is something to it after all.

  ‘Why am I here?’ I can’t cross my arms because of the chains, so I let them hang by my side, fists clenched.

  ‘I need your help. Nova needs your help.’

  I raise my eyebrows. ‘Now you’re telling me you’re helping Nova? I don’t think so.’

  ‘If we are quick, yes. But we must hurry before . . .’ She shakes her head. ‘If I say his name, it will summon him.’

  I would laugh if I wasn’t so terrified. ‘As if I would believe you. I’ll never help you.’

  ‘Even if it brought back your grandad?’

  I shift in my seat and my stomach twists. ‘That’s why you want me to be quick. Because he’s dying.’

  Emilia rushes forward to my chair, so close to me I can smell the evil stench of her breath. I recoil but I can’t really get away. ‘You should consider yourself lucky it was I who found your grandfather first and not one of the others.’

  ‘He is in hospital because of you.’ I narrow my eyes and force myself not to quake in front of her. ‘You attacked him, stripped him of his memories, and now you say I should be thanking you? You’re out of your mind.’

  ‘We are wasting time,’ she repeats. ‘How about I just show you what I want from you, and you can make your mind up on your own.’

  She walks over to a tall cupboard at the far side of the classroom. The cupboard stands out against the grey cave walls – it’s a rich, burnished mahogany inlaid with an intricate, swirling ivory pattern. Another indication of how rich the school once was. When she opens the doors, I see several rows of test tubes hanging from an in-built rack. Some have red caps on them, others white. She selects a white-capped vial filled with an impossibly dark liquid, inky black like the blackboard. But I also catch flickering colours within, the way gasoline looks when it catches the light.

  She swirls the bottle around three times and apprehension settles in the back of my throat, making it hard to breathe. She uncorks the stopper, then approaches the blackboard from the side and tips the bottle onto the very top of the board.

  The liquid is thick and viscous like honey, and it drips down the surface with agonising slowness. As it makes its way down to the bottom, the liquid spreads until it covers every inch.

  My hands shake as an image forms in the liquid, and I recognise it. It’s flickering like an old film on pause.

  Emilia takes the blackboard and drags it on its wheels until it is right in front of my face. She grabs my hand and forces me to reach out and touch the image – and I am sucked into the board.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Samantha

  I KNOW INSTANTLY WHERE I am: back at Kemi’s Potion Shop. For a second I wonder if I’ve transported back home through the blackboard, but everything feels wrong. The world is blurry around the edges – if I look too closely, details start to slip and fade. The counter looks different – our cash register is gone. Or rather, it’s been replaced by the old-fashioned kind with brass flags and spinning wheels. I think I’ve seen it in the basement of the store, gathering dust.

  The view shifts totally and moves from the shop into the lab. I’m disoriented, confused and scared. What is this? I feel like I’m in one of Arjun’s video games – I almost expect to put my arm out and see a weapon in its place. I try to move my body but I can’t. I’m limited to a single point-of-view. I wonder whose eyes I’m seeing through.

  Standing there, her back hunched over a desk, is my great-grandmother. At least, I think it’s her – I’ve only ever seen her in photographs.

  ‘Cleo?’ I try to ask. No sound emerges.

  The point-of-view moves in front of a mirror, and I can finally see my ‘host’. It’s a boy about my age. His thick black hair is a mess on top of his head, and his eyes have bags underneath like he hasn’t slept in days.

  ‘It’s no good,’ the woman I think is Cleo says, throwing her arms out wide and knocking a half-mixed potion off the counter. ‘I can’t do this.’

  ‘Please, Master,’ says the boy. ‘You have to. If there’s no master in Kemi’s Potion Shop, then we will have to close. We can’t let that happen.’

  ‘This way of life is doomed. You read the news. The newfangled synths will be taking over.’

  The boy’s eyes shut, but I can feel his rage – and his fear. He’s shaking with it. ‘That can’t happen,’ he splutters out. His eyes open again. ‘It won’t happen. Please, Master, we just have one more hurdle to pass, then we can go to the council and apply for my permit.’

  ‘The council? Who are they?’ The woman’s eyes glaze over. ‘Why do you call me Master? I am your mother.’

  ‘Mother, Mother.’ The boy grabs the woman’s hand and strokes it. There’s so much tenderness in that touch, but there’s also desperation. ‘You remember the alchemical council. The ones who govern our profession? You were the president last year?’

  The woman frowns, then shakes her head. ‘Let me go and make some tea,’ she says, and she gets up from the bench and disappears into the kitchen. The boy’s eyes close again for a moment.

  That couldn’t have been Cleo, I think, although a sick feeling has settled in my stomach. The woman my grandfather always told me about was fiercely intelligent, bordering on cold – always expecting the very best from her son, always insisting that he call her Master while she was in the lab.

  Didn’t I tell you to get out? A voice roars, shaking through my core. I’m disoriented – did that voice come from my mind? From the illusion Emilia has caught me in? I’m still looking through the eyes of the boy and he hasn’t reacted.

  Then I feel a shove in my mind,
and for a moment my vision doubles – I see both the inside of the potion lab and the classroom I’m sitting in with Emilia. I struggle to get out of the weird vision and into the classroom completely, but Emilia pushes me back into the lab. I’m caught in a twisted tug of war.

  Get out, get OUT, GET OUT! The voice yells again.

  ‘I’m trying!’ I cry out.

  Then the voice changes. Wait, who is this? Are you another one of that woman’s goons? I won’t speak to ANY OF YOU. GET OUT OF MY MEMORIES.

  I recognise the voice. I know I do. ‘Grandad?’ I say, tentatively.

  Samantha?

  ‘GRANDAD!’ my mind cries out. I can’t believe it. Now I understand. I’m inside my grandad’s memories. The boy in the vision kneels to the ground to clean up the spilled potion. In the inky black liquid, I can see his face. It’s the picture of concentration. Is this my grandad but . . . young? There is something about the set of his jaw, the determined frown lines criss-crossing his brow . . . it could be him. He looks so old before his time. Then I notice it. The small scar on his eyebrow from catching a pox as a child. Before Cleo developed a mix to vaccinate him from it . . . and the rest of the world. It is him.

  ‘Grandad, it’s me? Hello? Are you there?’ I panic now. I don’t want to lose him – even his voice.

  The memory continues. Once young-Ostanes has cleaned up the potion, he takes a piece of paper from the desk Cleo had been sitting at. It’s a letter of recommendation from a master alchemist, saying that his apprentice is ready to be made a practising alchemist. It’s a letter I hope to get one day too. Except, as I keep reading, I see that this letter says not only to make the apprentice a practising alchemist, but a master alchemist. The apprentice in question? Ostanes Kemi. And the master? Cleo. Except it’s unsigned at the bottom.

  The boy puts the letter down, then pulls a small vial out of his pocket. He seems to hesitate, before finding his nerve and drinking the potion. He waits a couple of moments, then picks up a pen and signs the letter, Grand Master Cleo Kemi. Now I know what the potion is for. It’s to disguise the fake signature against any fraud checks. It’s a smart and complicated potion. Even though he’s faking the letter, he is clearly ready to be a master.

  I always knew the legend about my grandfather – that he became the youngest master in Nova, one of the only apprentices ever to skip the long years of experience and trials required to make the leap from practising alchemist to master. But if what this memory is showing me is true, that means that he lied his way to his position.

  All to keep the store open.

  Sam, is that really you?

  ‘Grandad?’

  But, how are you here? Is she with you? Don’t tell me you’re working with her.

  My eyes well up with tears. I haven’t heard his voice in so long, especially not sounding so coherent. The sensible part of my brain knows that I should be wary, in case this turns out to be one of Emilia’s tricks. But the rest of my brain and my heart want to believe this is real. ‘Is that really you? I . . . I’m not working with anyone. I’m here against my will.’

  Is she with you? I only sense one of you in here.

  The voice sounds frantic, and I can hear it echoing all around my head. ‘No, it’s just me, I think. But Emilia is watching. She’s on the other side.’ I don’t know how else to describe it.

  Oh thank the dragons. We won’t have much time. Sam, you are inside my memories. The ones that were taken from me.

  ‘So these are real?’

  Shh, don’t talk. Just listen. I’m here because when Emilia took my memories, I managed to send most of my consciousness with them. I’ve been protecting those memories from her. I don’t know what’s happened to the rest of me.

  ‘You’re being cared for, but you’re sick. You’re in hospital. No one knows what happened. They’ve shut down the store,’ I tell him.

  No!

  ‘I’m trying to find Cleo’s diary so that I can save you – so that I can bring you back.’

  No! You must not. Leave it alone. It’s too dangerous.

  I cut him off before he can continue. ‘So it is out there?’

  Bloody Kemi stubbornness.

  ‘I’m not having any luck, though. I’ve already been to Runustan, where she was last seen. Nothing but riddles.’

  Good. May it stay that way. Listen, Samantha – Emilia will force you into my memories and you will learn many secrets about me. Things you should forget. She will attempt to break you. Don’t let her.

  ‘Grandad, you don’t need to worry about your secrets. They’re safe with me.’

  Suddenly I feel a tug, and I can sense that the memory is fading and Emilia is trying to pull me out. I push back against her, suddenly not wanting to leave the security of my grandad’s memories, the sound of his voice.

  ‘Grandad!’

  Let her take you! You’ll be back. The memories can’t play for more than a few minutes at a time. Don’t tell her anything. She will have you back here soon.

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Grandad – I love you.’ I let myself be dragged back into the real world by Emilia.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Samantha

  WHEN I’M BACK IN THE classroom, I slump down onto the desk.

  ‘Well?’ Emilia asks. ‘What did you see?’

  After a few moments to catch my breath, I lift my gaze up to meet hers. Having the conversation with Grandad – knowing that he’s not gone completely, only . . . displaced, has given me strength. ‘You know what I saw. My grandfather, as a young man.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And the potion shop. And my great-grandmother.’

  ‘Did your grandfather speak to you?’

  I hesitate for a moment, but I know there is no point in lying to her. I nod.

  ‘I knew he would talk to you. Tell me you found out something.’

  ‘Not a thing,’ I say, honestly. ‘Something happened to my great-grandmother when she came back from the Hunt. She was a different person. Maybe it was too much pressure. Maybe it was some other kind of trauma. Who knows.’ I frown.

  ‘I forget that you are a young and inexperienced alchemist. Your great-grandmother’s condition has only verified for me that she must have made that potion. To make a single dose of an aqua vitae, you must be prepared to lose all your alchemical knowledge and skill. It becomes the very last mix you ever make. That’s why most alchemists aren’t even willing to try. The risk is too great – even for the most powerful potion in the world.’

  That does seem to describe what has happened to Cleo . . . I wonder if Emilia could be right. As much as I’d hate that.

  ‘If it’s so risky, how come you’re doing it?’

  Her dark eyes flash. ‘It’s an exchange. Business, let’s call it. But I’d rather do business with you. If we find the diary, I’ll make the potion – a drop for me, and a drop for your grandad.’

  I laugh. ‘Someone has hired you to make an aqua vitae, but now you’re prepared to double-cross them too? And you expect me to trust a word you say?’

  Even as I fight with her, my brain whirrs. What would someone pay for a mix to cure all illnesses? For prolonged life, free of disease – to live until accident, murder or old age takes you?

  I think of the riot in our store. The desperation I’ve seen at the mere hint of such a cure.

  ‘You’ll regret not trusting me. And you don’t have much time until that option expires.’

  ‘The option is gone already! Just like my great-grandmother’s diary! Face it. She probably destroyed it.’

  ‘Pah! That’s where you’re wrong. Like any true alchemist, it would have killed your great-grandmother to know that she would have all those recipes but not the knowledge or the skill to mix them. So she hid the diary. She wouldn’t have destroyed it. Would you be able to destroy yours?’

  I know in the space of a heartbeat that the answer is no.

  She reads my face. ‘Exactly. So it’s out there.’

  I narrow
my eyes. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with Emilia. It makes me sick. I can’t look at her, so I stare back at the blackboard. Grandad.

  ‘Remarkable invention, isn’t it?’ Emilia follows my gaze. ‘It’s coated with a specially mixed paint that simulates the mind’s eye, allowing us to enter and view the memories as if they were on a reel of film. Developed right here at the Visir School by a very talented alchemist. Very top secret. And how about these vials? These are some of my best creations, if I do say so myself. I adapted it from an old recipe of theirs that they created to help them store magical energy. Now, it’s perfect for preserving memories. A mix of ancient Kauri resin, bacopa flower and my own little secret ingredient.’

  Kauri resin – not used in traditional potions as it is too thick to be ingested easily, often used for aesthetic reasons to encase and preserve pressed flowers for jewellery.

  Bacopa flower – thought to boost brain power and increase resilience to stress.

  Two thoughts run through my mind: one, that it is an incredibly impressive alchemical achievement. Two, that if she’s telling me, it means she isn’t planning on letting me go.

  And what about the blackboard paint mix?

  Maybe midnight squid ink, for reflection? Definitely some kind of silver ore, and then there is the board itself – it would need stickiness, maybe sable tree sap?

  And it needs stolen memories to feed it. I switch off my runaway alchemy brain immediately. The blackboard paint is a dark potion. It needs an ordinary mind to feed on in order to work. I can’t hide my disgust.

  ‘See? Maybe you can’t stomach it, but sometimes the dark can be brilliant too.’

  I bite down on my tongue. Emilia can read me a little too well – I must be giving so much away. I wish I knew how to control the expression on my face; I’m like an open book. Despite myself, I’m intrigued and she knows it. I thought that the only innovation in our field came from working with synths. I studied alchemy for the love, for the tradition, but not for the innovation. I followed and tweaked recipes, yes, but I didn’t develop completely new ones until the Princess. Why would I, when there were labs with big, expensive, complex technologies to do that? But this . . .