When I was in the corridor where Captain Greggs' office was, I noticed the door was wide open. This was highly unusual, as the captain preferred to keep his door either closed or slightly ajar. I approached the door, slightly on edge by the unusual circumstances.
I couldn't see anything inside the office, as the door was blocking all the view from the corridor, sticking out. I pulled it towards me, and that's when I saw Captain Greggs, wounded, with a knife in his side, laying on the floor.
He was unconscious; I tried to shake him and slap him, but he wasn't responding. The puddle of blood was probably enough to kill him soon if I didn't get help. I grabbed the phone and didn't hear anything. Somebody had cut the line.
There weren't that many things I could do for him, other than call for help, but I tried to tie his wound with my scarf. I then run towards my office, where there was another phone line. It was the closest place I could think of, and every other door in the corridor was closed. If somebody was there, they should have heard the altercation and called the healers, right?
Time was of the essence, so I run to the end of the corridor, where the lab was. The door here had just been torn down. Did they cut the phone line here, too?
I came in carefully, checking if anybody was inside. If the attacker was still here, I had to be alert to respond. As I scanned the lab, I noticed that they had searched it thoroughly, destroying most things. Had they been looking for the stupid button?
The Captain's life was more important now. As I grabbed the phone, I was surprised to hear the line was open. I marked the emergency number, drilled into us since childhood: Zero-One-Two.
"Emergency services, how can I help?" said the cheery voice on the other side of the line. Too cheery. Were they supposed to be this happy when somebody was dying?
"I'm at the old Alchemy building at Ashford University, office G22. There's a man, wounded, with a knife in his belly. Need a healer to come."
There was a pause, as I heard a murmur on the other side of the line. I waited. Did they need any more details? Could I do anything? Finally, the operator said something.
"A healer has been dispatched to your address. Have you administered any first aid?"
"I tied his wound, and secured the knife, so it doesn't move. Other than that, I left him alone."
More murmurs on the line. Weren't they supposed to know how this works already?
"Our healer will arrive shortly. Could you go to the entrance, to show where the wounded man is? It's important that help arrives as fast as possible."
"I will. But I hope the healer hurries up; there's no time to lose, this man will die soon if unattended."
I hung up, heading towards the door, giving the lab a last scan for possible intruders. Nobody was there, but something was still bothering me. I paused, and heard the soft, blood-curdling tick of a clock. There wasn't any clock in the lab — I always used my pocket watch. In these circumstances — it could be…
I slowed my steps and saw what had bothered me before. There was something, occupying approximately a cubic yard, covered with a cloth. Considering the intruders had spent considerable amounts of time uncovering everything and checking all the shelves and drawers, why cover something.
I carefully pulled the cloth up. Yes. They had covered it so nobody would see it at a first glance. A cubic meter of nitroglycerin. With a timer attached to a detonator. I checked the timer and detonator — mechanical, with anti-tampering protection. And the timer had only a minute left. The timer ticked on, as I was trying to think. I couldn't outrun an explosion of a 1.5 tons of nitroglycerin, not in less than a minute. And, considering the sheer amount of explosive (how did they bring it? Thawing more than a ton of nitroglycerin was bound to be quite dangerous), the entire building was going to explode, with everybody inside it.
There was only one way to stop this explosion. Magical fire isn't an ordinary combustion reaction. It can burn most things, leaving a greyish powder, which is alchemically identical regardless of what's burning. But mass makes a difference. A ton is a lot.
I hadn't gone through Initiation. I cursed my pride, which meant I couldn't safely use magic. So what if I were a level one mage? At least I could use my magic. But there was nothing else I could do anymore. I couldn't outrun this, as the timer was about to ignite the fuse. I was going to die if I didn't do anything, and magic would kill me if I used it.
Never wanted to be a hero. I'm not afraid of anything, but dying this pointlessly — without having avenged my family, without having achieved anything — was sad. But dying in an explosion was an even worse way to go, and at least I could go with a bang.
So I went into that meditation state I had used to observe that damn button. Deep within myself, I could feel my magic. Weak, diffused. It would have to be enough. So I started concentrating it, in my core, creating deep channels of energy within my energy body. Sucking every last tiny drop of magic out of my organs hurt — like I was pulling all my organs, bit by bit. But I kept on going, trying to first concentrate all the magic in my core, and then creating the channels through my arms, my hands, and fingers, putting all of it into a big ball of fire between my palms.
Fire is the most primitive of magic and requires no training, so that's how my magic looked like. And with it, I could feel like all the energy, all the life force was going out of my body. By the time I finished the ball, I wasn't going to be able to throw it anywhere. So I did what I could. I stood as close as I could to the bomb. When the ball formed, I would just fall onto it. And the magic fire with me.
As I felt my life escaping through my fingers, I chickened out in the end. When I felt like the last drop of magic — and with it, my life — was about to leave my body, I just smashed the fireball onto the bomb, making it burn, smokelessly, devouring everything around it.
As I was feeling my hands burning, the pain was so great that I lost consciousness, falling backward. My magic was outside my control, and with it, my life. At least death would mean nothing would hurt anymore, I thought before I went into complete darkness.
Isn't death supposed to be painless? Because everything just hurt so much. My whole body just felt raw, sore, the channels of magic empty and itchy. Was I supposed to have a body in death? And eyes — which I tried to open, but could only see a narrow slit of light. And then somebody just yanked my eyes open, and a bright ray of light just blinded me.
"Pupils are responsive" I heard. I tried to move my body, say something — and I heard a groan. Was it me? "She's conscious. Miss Bedwen, can you hear me?"
I groaned again.
"You've been badly burned," I heard. "So go to sleep now. It will all be better when you recover."
And I felt all the pain going, my mind slipping into blissful sleep.
I kept waking up with the pain, just to be put to sleep again. This time, though, I actually managed to open my eyes fully. I saw a nurse leaning on me.
"I see you are awake, Miss Bedwen," she said. "I just called the healer. Would you like to sit?"
"Yaagh," my throat was so dry, I couldn't even utter a yes. As I tried to sit, with the help of the nurse and a lot of pillows, I felt how heavy my head was. My whole body ached. I looked at my hands. I must have burned them pretty severely, but they looked fine, even if the skin was a bit reddish.
"Waagh," I said, and the nurse understood me.
"Here is a glass of water, Miss Bedwen. Would you like me to hold it for you?"
I held it, although it felt really, really heavy. The water was the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted, relieving the pain in my inflamed, sore throat. I sipped slowly and finished the entire glass, which the nurse refilled.
An old man in a green robe, presumably, the healer, entered the room.
"Ah, Miss Bedwen, glad to see you're awake. No need to speak," he said, "I'll explain everything. You were brought in with severe magical exhaustion and third-degree burns in your hands. We had to sedate you and regenerate your skin, which is why you'll need to eat a very nutritious
diet, as your body's resources have been exhausted."
I looked at my hands. The skin, pinkish, like a baby's, didn't have a single trace of the burns I'd suffered. But it looked like a skeleton's hand. Skin on bones — and I'd never been very skinny.
"And, since your body's magic was depleted, we've had to find a dark mage to pump magic into you. Let me tell you, Miss Bedwen, a mage of your strength should never have their resources depleted. What were you trying to do — change the course of a river? Move a mountain?"
I stared at him, dumbfounded. What did he mean, a mage of my strength? I'm not a mage — I haven't gone through initiation yet. And as for strong — is that a joke? I tried to ask some questions, but the healer stopped me again.
“Don’t talk. You can’t talk yet. I’ll tell you everything I can tell you. You were brought here a week ago. You’ll be released in a couple of days and will need to stay in bed and eat a lot for at least another week before you can do any exercise. That’s all I can tell you as a healer. But if you’ve got any more questions, the gendarmes who have been visiting you daily can tell you more. Would you like to see them? Don’t talk — just nod or shake your head.”
The gendarmes? One of the rules my mother, a lawyers’ daughter, had hammered into me, was “Never talk to the police”. As a good daughter, I followed that principle as much as I could. And, as much as I wanted answers, I was too vulnerable right now. So I shook my head. No, I didn’t want to see the gendarmes.
“Ok, then, Miss Bedwen. I’ll help you avoid talking to them as much as possible, but at some point, you’ll have to talk to them.”
The healer left, with the nurse behind him. I leaned back on the pillows, watching the door. Gendarmes? Not the police?
The gendarmes were federal militarized police that investigated magic-related crimes. As far as I knew, the only magic used was by me. So what was happening here? Were they trying to pin all the crimes on me? I kept thinking. There was something about the situation, something that meant I was in much more trouble than I thought I was.
Wait! The healer — he said I was a mage, right? And even though healers are light mages, detecting each other's magical capabilities was a universal skill, one that both dark and light magicians could use. So he thought I was a mage, and a powerful one at that… And arall don't become mages without Initiation. Which I didn't go through and couldn't have done in an unconscious state. But I did use magic — to the limit of my abilities — when I made that fire. So what if that had been my Initiation? After all, Initiation had been invented just a hundred years ago by the Inquisition. And there had been mages before that — which meant that the Initiation wasn't the only way of becoming a mage.
But if that was true, I was indeed in big trouble. A huge stack of papers had to be signed, and a whole lot of procedures had to be followed before any arall, dark or light, was allowed to go through with an Initiation. Anybody who skipped those steps and did an unauthorised one would be in big trouble. I couldn't prove that I hadn't gone through a secret Initiation — I had become a mage, didn't I? And I had not filed the proper papers. And who would believe me this was because I had been trying to save the day? A dark hero? Who would believe me?
I had to come up with something — anything — to save myself from having my magic blocked, the punishment for an illegal Initiation. Having your magic blocked didn't just mean you couldn't use your magic. Magic is part of arall bodies, it permeates everything we do, affects our feelings, moods, minds, and character. Arall who have their magic blocked become mindless robots with no desires, a fate not much better than death.
21
The healer helped me as much as he could, but after a couple more days, they just barged into my room. I was allowed to speak by then, although I was still too weak to hold a lengthy conversation. Nobody was in my room, but I rang the bell to call the nurse.
“Please leave,” I said, my voice but a whisper.
The gendarmes, a middle-aged man and a young dark arall, looked at me, with no intention of leaving. The younger guy stood guard by the door as if trying to block anybody’s entrance. The middle-aged man started talking.
“Glad to see you’re awake, Miss Bedwen. You were quite fortunate to survive as well as you did. Unlike the poor Captain Greggs. Did you see who did that to him?”
I shook my head. Right — the Captain. With the bomb and me almost dying, I’d almost forgotten about the Captain’s wound. So he was dead now? But his wound hadn’t been lethal — surely, if they managed to save me, they could have saved him?
“I didn’t,” I said. “But who are you? Please identify yourself.”
They took out their badges. I looked at it, trying to memorize every detail. “Gendarmerie — Magical crimes,” it said.
“I’m Captain Briggs,” he introduced himself, “and this is Lieutenant Craen.”
Craen — a typical dark surname. Unlike mine, which is typical light, his suited him much better. Was he a mage? I glanced at him, trying to gather some information. The steely gaze he directed at me showed that I should expect no sympathy or help from my fellow dark arall. Well, not like I hoped for it or anything.
I nodded at both of them. The Captain was the one doing the talking, but the Lieutenant seemed the scarier one. He was observing me, with great interest, as the Captain kept talking. He was obviously here to deal with my magic.
“Right, right. So you saw nothing, but you were the one that found Captain Greggs dead, after which you run to a lab to make a call. And then a magical fire burnt the lab, with everything in it.”
I said nothing. Mother had taught me well. I should say nothing, even to defend myself, as any word I utter will be twisted beyond recognition. These gendarmes came to investigate a suspect.
The nurse I’d called tried to come in, but the Lieutenant, standing by the door, prevented her from entering. She left, hopefully, to get somebody with more authority.
“The Captain only had a stab wound when I saw him,” I said. “So you should learn what happened afterward. As for all the rest, my memory is fuzzy. Please leave; I need the rest.”
That’s everything I would tell them. Saying that I had seen the Captain, stabbed, wasn’t too good for me, but now, I had told the same story to the emergency calls operator and to the gendarmes. I hadn’t told them anything they didn’t already know about, but at least they weren’t going to catch me in a lie. Never lie to the police — that was the second rule of dealing with the police my mother had taught me.
The Captain continued talking, trying to… scare me? Intimidate me?
“Right, right. So you don’t remember anything else. How truly convenient. And the lab burnt, including all the files in it. You were working on a project with Captain Greggs — can you tell us what it was about?”
“He was helping me with my minor thesis,” I said.
After all, that was the official legend. And it was also the truth. It wasn’t the only thing I had been working on, but it was true.
“Your thesis,” the Captain mused. “On the Legal systems and alchemy? Why was Captain Greggs interested in that?”
“He said that alchemy development is very important for the Kalmar Republic,” I said.
He did say it.
“And that’s it — your thesis. That’s why you were working late into the evenings — for your thesis.” The scepticism in the Captain’s voice was quite clear.
“Yes,” I nodded. “I am trying to submit my minor thesis this year. And leave the major one for the next year.”
Who had sent these guys? Captain Greggs’ superiors must have known the contents of the project. And whoever killed him knew too. But these gendarmes seemed to have no idea about what was happening.
There were two options here — they knew I was working on a secret project, and what it was about. But I’d signed a confidentiality agreement and swore an oath of secrecy. If they pressed me, I could always point out that these guys hadn’t shown me any document showing they ha
d the right security clearance. It would have been imprudent at best for me to tell them anything.
And if they didn’t know anything about the project, if their superiors didn’t know anything about it, that would mean the project had been cleansed. What proof could I give that I had been working on a super-secret government project? I even started questioning it myself. I was paid in cash — why not in checks? So it was best for me to keep my mouth shut, and stay out of trouble. Never mention the project, its results, or who knew about it. I was going to stick to my legend. That would be the best, for my own safety.
“Right, right. Unfortunately, all your research documents and books burned in the fire — nothing could be saved. Hopefully, you remember your results well enough to reconstruct it from memory. A pity, that. You’d been working on it for half a year, right?”
I shrugged. Considering the situation, the destruction of all the files in the fire was probably a good thing. Nobody would know the results of the research — except for the people who Captain Greggs reported to. Those who had him killed.
“I have a written draft. It’s in the hands of my supervisor — you can ask him for it.”
“Professor Bedwen, isn’t it? We’ll ask for the thesis, then. But are you sure the fire didn’t burn anything else?”
“I am not sure what the fire did or didn’t burn, Captain,” I said. “Since I wasn’t conscious by then.”
“Right. And what caused the fire, Miss Bedwen?”
I caused a fire by burning a ton of nitroglycerin that was about to explode the building. And there was no proof since the ashes of magical fire are identical in all cases. But my magic would have left an indelible trace. They didn’t have a sample of my magic since I hadn’t submitted it yet. Mages only had to do it after an Initiation. Which I hadn’t officially gone through yet.
“Out of control magic, I guess,” I said. “But my memories of the fire are fuzzy. The shock, you understand.”
The Apprentice's Path: The Alchemist #1 Page 16
