The Apprentice's Path: The Alchemist #1

by Stacey Keystone

  The Captain nodded.

  “Ah, yes. The shock.”

  He was about to continue with the questioning, but then, the healer came in, with the nurse in tow.

  “My patient is still too weak for questioning, Captain Briggs,” the healer said. “And I must ask you to leave. Miss Bedwen needs peace and quiet to recover.”

  The Captain looked at me, the Lieutenant standing beside him.

  “You’re being released in a couple of days, aren’t you, Miss Bedwen? We’ll talk then.” And with that, they left.

  After the gendarmes left, the healer, enraged, came to my bedside.

  “To barge in like that! And to not even allow a nurse to come in — the sheer disregard for my patients!” he said, taking the usual measurements, checking me. “Thankfully, Miss Bedwen, you are fine. The questioning hasn’t worsened your state.”

  “Doctor,” I said, “when am I being released?”

  The questions the gendarmes had been asking had surprised me. I had expected them to ask about the Initiation. Instead, they asked me questions about the Captain’s death and the project. Did they suspect me of killing the Captain? They must have known that my injuries were magical in nature. So why weren’t they arresting me for unauthorized magic?

  “In three days, Miss Bedwen. Your body has recovered from the injuries, so you should be alright.”

  Three days. They were going to take me for questioning, get a sample of my magic, and pin it all down on me in three days.

  “Doctor,” I asked. “Do you think I would be in a state where I could withstand interrogation in three days?”

  He looked at me with a bit of sympathy. The gendarmes’ behavior hadn’t endeared them to him, certainly.

  “We can’t keep you longer, Miss Bedwen,” he said. “The Floyd Fund, which is paying for your medical care, won’t pay for more than the strictly necessary.”

  “And I’m not asking for that,” I said, “since I wouldn’t be able to afford a longer stay in the hospital anyway. But could you explain to those nice investigators that, if something happens to me during interrogation, it would be their responsibility?”

  “And how do you propose to do that?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “Well, of course, by creating the proper paper trail. If you give them an official document that says very bad things would happen to me if I don’t recover sufficiently, they would at least try to get their superiors’ permission before they arrest me.”

  “OK, Miss Bedwen. I’ll write such a document. I’m not going to ask you what you’re going to do once you go out of the hospital since it is not my business. But I don’t like the police coming after my patients and taking advantage of their weakness during interrogation.”

  Typical healer. His help came more out of principle and status-seeking than compassion. It’s one of the reasons I like healers so much.

  On the day of my discharge, both gendarmes came. The healer, as I had asked, accompanied me to the door.

  “Miss Bedwen needs rest and good care, which is why I advised her to go home,” the healer said. “Here is the explanation.” I had a copy of that document. “She is too weak right now and can relapse if taken to the police station.”

  The investigators were sceptical, but it was an official-looking document, with a stamp and everything.

  “In that case, why are you releasing her? Why not wait until she is fully recovered?” asked the Captain.

  “And who will pay for that? Besides, hospitals are not the best place for recovery. The care of family and friends and fresh air is what Miss Bedwen needs right now,” said the healer.

  “In that case, Miss Bedwen,” the investigator said. “Let us accompany you. We’ll make sure you arrive home safely.”

  “No, thank you, detectives,” I said coldly. “I’m going straight home from here, and I don’t need your help. Or do you want to arrest me now? In which case, of course, I’ll have to accompany you to the police station. Where you will be responsible if I collapse in the interrogation room.”

  The argument seemed to convince them, as they accompanied me outside, and let me board a cab alone, after telling the cabbie my home address.

  When I judged the cab had gone far enough from the hospital, I waited for it to stop at a crossroad and slipped out, having left a bill on the seat to pay for it. I went two blocks, after which I hailed another cab.

  “To the train station,” I asked, this time.

  After I bought a train ticket home, I examined the contents of my wallet. I had enough to buy food for a week, plus a bit extra. I used those extra coins to make a call through the payphone in the station. There was an hour before the train left. Better use it well.

  As I made the call to his workplace, I hoped he would answer me. What would I do if he didn't?

  "Hello?" I heard. "Who is this?"

  "Jack," I said. "It's me, Dana."

  "Dana! Where have you been this week? I heard there was a death on campus, and some people got injured after an explosion in an alchemy lab." So that was the story for public consumption. "Were you injured? I've been trying to find you, but nobody could confirm where you were."

  "I have decided. What the weregild will be," I said.

  There was a silence, but Jack quickly gained his composure.

  "Are you in trouble? So you were injured, right?"

  "I was. But that's not why I called you. The weregild — will you pay it?"

  "As long as it's fair," he said, "and doesn't exceed what I did.”

  "OK, then," I said. "I'd like you to sort the paperwork for my Initiation. Which happened last week."

  "Initiation? Why would you get Initiated outside the official dates? Wait… you didn't, didn't you?"

  “I did," I said.

  “But how…"

  "I can't tell you. It's not safe. It wasn't my fault, though, I can give you my word." I really didn't want this to ruin my relationship with Jack, but I needed to save myself more than I needed to preserve our relationship. Hopefully, he'll trust me. Because I couldn't tell him what happened. Not without endangering him.

  "Where are you now? Let me pick you up, and we'll discuss it."

  "There's nothing to discuss. Will you do it, or no?"

  "OK," he said. "I'll do it. But that's it — the slate is clean. I don't owe you nothing anymore."

  "Great. Thanks. Payment accepted. Just another thing. Jack…"

  "I said no more favors."

  "I'll just give you my address. Write me a letter when you solve this issue."

  "A letter? Are you going somewhere? Are you running away?"

  "I'm going home," I said. "Now, write it down, because it's quite long. There are three Crow Hills in Caerland. The one I come from is…"

  22

  Professor David Bedwen stared at the letter a cab driver brought him, insisting on giving it to him directly. It was made of a piece of paper, folded inwards and on the sides, so it wouldn't open, even without a seal. No envelope.

  "Who gave it to you?" he asked the cab driver.

  "A girl. Dark mage, she was. Gave me a crown and told me to bring it straight to you. Told me you'd give me another crown if I gave it to you." The cab driver said, nervously crumpling his bowler hat.

  "A crown, she said? I'll give you two. But don't mention you brought me the letter. Unless they specifically ask you, that is." He said, taking the bills out of the box in his desk drawer.

  "Thank you, sir. My lips are sealed, sir," the cab driver muttered, quickly leaving the building.

  He wasn't going to tell anybody about this. Mages were trouble. What business could a dark mage have with a light mage? Whatever it was, it wasn't something ordinary people like him should stick their noses into. The only reason he agreed to carry this message was because he didn't know the person he was bringing the message to was a light mage.

  The professor opened the letter, unfolding it carefully. It was written in the handwriting he had become so familiar wi
th. The girl who claimed to be his granddaughter.

  Dear Grandpa,

  As you may have guessed by now, I'm in trouble. I was attacked, and, to save my life, had to gain control of my magic. Yes, I've gone through an unauthorized Initiation.

  I am trying to sort out the consequences of this, but at the moment, I'm not really sure what to do. This is why, as the head of the family, I'm calling for a family strategy meeting.

  He paused. Did she think she was the head of the family? That girl certainly was weird. He continued reading the letter.

  Our enemy is strong, and our family has been weakened. Alas, my actions, intended to strengthen it, have led to the opposite effect — which is why I've decided to listen to the advice of my elders. So I ask you to come and impart me much needed advice, as my elder and my grandfather. Come to our family home, in Crow Hill, at the address below.

  Please make sure you aren't followed. And be careful when coming — light mages are viewed with great suspicion here. Bring a weapon.

  The address was long, with many instructions and several paragraph-length descriptions of the crosses and turns he had to make. But that wasn't all.

  I'll understand if you choose to prioritize your and Billie's safety and don't come. But I'd like you to become part of the family again. I'll handle mother — she'll let you stay with us.

  Your granddaughter,

  Dana Bedwen

  So this was it. It was time to decide. Would he trust this strange girl, who wasn't blood-related to him, or would he reject this strange order? There was only one thing to do, he decided. Billie was safer here. He'd made arrangements for when he had to leave, and Bettie could handle Billie for a couple of weeks.

  "Bettie!" he called the loyal housekeeper, who had probably listened in to the conversation with the cabbie.

  She came in, pretending to examine the cleanliness of the corridor.

  "Yes, master?"

  "Pack my winter clothes. I'm going to Caerland."

  "Yes, sir," she paused, stopping at the door. "How long are you going for, sir?"

  "Well, it takes at least a week to get where I'm going, so don't expect me earlier than a month. I'll leave you money. And I'll call Craig — he'll make sure to take care of Billie and the house. I expect to come back."

  "Are you going today?" she asked.

  "No, tomorrow, with the first train. It's too late anyway. Make sure to pack plenty of clothes — can't do laundry on the train."

  The housekeeper nodded and headed towards the bedroom, summoning the maids. There was plenty of work to do. The professor also started making his own preparations. He marked his friend's number.

  "Hello, Craig. Can you do me a favor? I've got an unplanned trip. Private business. Could you take care of Billie for now? Bettie can do most of the work, but somebody needs to come and check regularly if they need anything, just in case…"

  As the healer advised, I rested on the bed, only getting up to eat in the dining car. I bought a ticket with an upper bunk, on which I stayed for the whole trip. The conductor, who visibly recoiled when he saw me, left me alone after checking my ticket once.

  "Crow Hill," he mused. "That's the third to last station. We'll be there in a week."

  "I know," I said, and grabbed my ticket back. "I'm from there."

  The other passengers stopped bothering me after one of them tried to invite me for a game of bridge. Did I really look that scary?

  The day before we were arriving at Crow Hill, I stepped out at one of the stations, where we had stopped for an hour. I found the nearest payphone and called father's repair shop.

  "Crow Hill Repair and Machining shop, Sean Bedwen speaking," I heard.

  "Dad?"

  "Dana? Is that you?"

  "Yes, it's me, dad. I'm arriving tomorrow, at the mid-day train. Could you pick me up at the station, please?"

  "Of course. But shouldn't you be at university? Are you OK, dear?" I could hear the worry in father's voice. I hadn't called him earlier because I knew he'd worry — and worry mother, too. And it's not like they could do anything before I arrived.

  "I'm as OK as I can be after a magical accident. Don't bring the boys — they shouldn't see me like this."

  There was a long pause, as father was absorbing the information I'd just given him.

  "I won't bring the boys, then. Should I also keep it secret from your mother?"

  "She'd worry even more if we kept it secret. Just try to prepare her for this. You know her — she'll suffer more than I will." I looked at the station clock. "Listen, dad, I have to go back to the train — I'll tell you everything when I see you. Love you."

  "See you tomorrow, then".

  As I hang up, I could feel my hands trembling. Ever since I became aware of myself, I'd never wanted to worry or disappoint father. He'd always been very understanding, allowing me to get away with almost anything I did. But hurting his feelings meant hurting mother. She always took father's disappointment more seriously than he ever did. And mother was never forgiving. Or forgetful. This time, I was going to worry them both. Hopefully, I didn't disappoint them.

  As I collapsed on the bunk bed, quite smelly after a week of laying on it, I tried to think of what I would tell them. There was probably no way to calm them. If my face scared my fellow passengers — what feelings would it elicit from my parents?

  As we were arriving at Crow Hill, I tried my best to be decent. I couldn't change my clothes, which I'd worn for a week, as I'd boarded the train without any baggage. But I tried to wash my face and comb my hair with my hands, trying to make some simple hair updo that would make me look slightly better. I then put on all the warm clothes, trying to conceal my skeletal frame as well as I could. The hospital laundry had tried to fix my clothes, but they were still in quite a sad state, having survived a magical fire and a week of non-stop use.

  The conductor came by me, personally making sure I went out. He probably didn't want me scaring his passengers any more than strictly necessary, but I still thanked him. Going out, climbing down the steep steps of the train ladder, I felt a little bit thankful I wasn't carrying a suitcase with me. In my current state, I would have fallen down with its weight.

  As soon as I stepped down, the doors behind me closed, and the conductor used his whistle. The train left, towards the last station, leaving behind a huge cloud of smoke.

  Crow Hill was the same as ever. Cold, full of smog, and barren, my hometown. I breathed, smelling the familiar smells of the coke plant and the blast furnace, which never stopped. It always was a reference point in Crow Hill, as you could see it brightly even in the darkest of nights.

  The train station was almost empty, as not that many people step down in Crow Hill. I looked around; father should be somewhere, with mother behind. I was on the furthest edge of the platform, so I headed towards the station, slowly tumbling under the light of the gas lamps.

  Then I saw them.

  "Dana!" mother shouted, losing her composure for the first time in years. Father, paler than usual, was holding her arm.

  "Mother. Father." I stumbled towards them, feeling — for the first time in a long time — safe, as I fell into their worried embrace.

  Part II

  23

  Waking up in my childhood bedroom felt... weird. I had left Crow Hill four years ago, and only came back a couple of times. The week-long train ride was too long for many visits. The room was the same, untouched by time. The bed was still too short for me. The drapes on the windows, through which the sunlight came in, were the same dull, black, faded color. The air was fresh, and the bed linen smelled of sunshine and a bit of bleach; mother had probably aired the room and changed the sheets as soon as she heard I was coming.

  I sat, drinking the glass of water mother had thoughtfully left on the bedside table. The room was quite warm, I noticed as the blanket slid down. The ambers in the fireplaces showed father had made a fire the night before. I opened the drapes; the sun was quite high, so everybody was
up. I approached the door and listened in. My brothers were constitutionally incapable of being quiet, so if they were still at home, I would hear them. The house was quiet. My stomach grumbled. I was dressed in a camisole, which mother must have put on me. I considered changing, but that would mean I had to bathe first (after a week of traveling on a train, putting on clean clothes without bathing was unwise). And I was too hungry, and, despite a solid night's sleep, still too tired mentally and physically to organize a bath. So I put on a warm long dressing gown that had been too small when I left Crow Hill but was just the right size in my currently reduced state.

  Going down the stairs, tightly holding the banisters, I could smell the smell of pancakes and bacon. It was quite rare for mother to cook my two favorite foods all at once, so she must be really worried about how thin I had become. No wonder, I even scared myself if I looked at my reflection too closely.

  As I came into the kitchen, mother looked up from the stove, on which rashers of bacon were sizzling, right next to the slight murmur of the pancakes.

  "Good morning, Dana," mother said, turning a pancake. "I made you breakfast. Wash your hands and sit on the table."

  One thing mother never did was allow us to slack off. She always insisted she wasn't our servant and made us at least serve the table. The fact that she didn't even ask me to take a plate meant she was really worried.

  "Good morning, Mama," I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek, and turning to wash my hands in the sink. "I'd like some tea with breakfast. Is the kettle in the usual place?" I said, going towards the cupboard that used to hold the kettle.

  "Sit," mother ordered, putting a pancake on top of a pile she had just made. "I'll make the tea myself. Just focus on eating."