The King nodded reluctantly. “No, I suppose we cannot.”
Wrexham pressed his case. “Your Majesty, trust me: Boudicca means to kill you. My agents are not mistaken on that point. If we cannot dispatch her, we look like fools indeed.”
“If we shoot her in cold blood, we look like tyrants,” the King said. Dark welts and bruises ringed his throat like shadows. “Do not fire first. If it’s food she’s after and not the throne, then all will be well. When the Great Work succeeds, we should have more than enough to make all parties happy.”
“Very well,” Wrexham conceded. “Instead of killing her, I’ll capture her.”
The King eyed him with concern. “Perhaps I should ride with you.”
Both Wrexham and Sir Isaac looked alarmed.
“Your Majesty, your life is far too valuable to be risked this way,” Sir Isaac said. “And you will only inflate Boudicca’s pretensions if you yourself battle her.”
“And they are already too great as it is,” Wrexham said. “We’ll soon show the old woman who’s master. She may have the advantage of numbers, but we are trained warriors. Truly, Your Majesty, the battle will be over before it’s begun. There is no need for you to be there.”
“Whereas we could indeed use your talents in the laboratory,” Sir Isaac said. “I must bring the Chantress there now. Will you not accompany us?”
The King inclined his head; the circle of bruises darkened. “If you need me, I will come.”
Sir Isaac bowed. “We should be grateful, Your Majesty.”
“Wrexham.” The King put his hand to the man’s plated shoulder. “I wish you Godspeed. Is there anything more you need from me?”
“One thing only,” Wrexham said. “I want a word with the Chantress.”
“Ah.” The king seemed disconcerted as he looked from Wrexham to me, but then he stepped back, all politeness. “Of course.”
He and Sir Isaac walked to the edge of the dais to confer with Gabriel, who had just arrived. I was left alone with Wrexham, who closed the gap between us and took my hand, pressing it so hard the bones hurt.
“We shall make our betrothal vows this very day, after my victory,” he said. “And we shall be wed within the week.”
I shuddered. “So soon?”
Wrexham’s cold eyes traced my face. “I am not a patient man, Chantress.” To my astonishment, he jerked my hand up and rammed a thick metal band onto my finger, bruising the tender flesh at the base. “This will do for a ring.”
It was the ring from his own little finger, set with a dead Chantress’s cracked, green stone.
Unable to hide my revulsion, I wrenched my hand away, but I couldn’t claw the ring off. It jammed against my knuckle and sliced into my skin. With a wolfish half smile, Wrexham watched me struggle.
I yanked at the ring again, and this time it twisted off my finger. As I handed it back to him, I saw that he knew exactly how much I hated him, and that the knowledge gave him a strange sort of pleasure.
“Next time you’ll wear it for good,” he said. “The Council approves of my plan, and I know a bishop who will issue the licenses.”
Everyone with power was on his side, I thought in despair. But then I realized there was one person he’d omitted to mention. “And what of His Majesty? Does he approve?”
“He will, once he knows,” Wrexham said robustly. “We’ve had more pressing matters to discuss. But once I return in triumph, he will deny me nothing.”
He sounded very sure of himself—and why not? Once he’d defeated Boudicca, how could the King turn him down?
But I had a plan too, I reminded myself. If we could make the Stone and it restored my magic, I would have the power to end this dreadful match and to protect Nat, too.
If, if, if . . .
Wrexham turned away from me and saluted the King. Striding out of the hall, he called his men to his side. The entire palace was awake now, a hive of activity despite the darkness. Through the windows came the high whinny of horses being prepared for battle, and then a great shout from Wrexham himself.
“For God!” he bellowed. “For King! For Country!”
His men roared their approval, a sound that shook the palace. They knew, better than anyone, that victory was almost theirs.
“I don’t understand it,” Gabriel said.
I started. I hadn’t realized he was close behind me. “Understand what?”
He gave me a bitter look. “How you could agree to marry Wrexham.”
He thinks I have a choice. And I mustn’t tell him I don’t, or he’ll work out that I have no magic. “Let’s not waste our time discussing it,” I said. “Aren’t we supposed to be starting the Great Work?”
“Yes.” At the mention of alchemy, Gabriel’s bitterness ebbed slightly. “That’s why I came up here—to fetch you and Sir Isaac. Time’s growing short.”
Evidently Sir Isaac had reached the same conclusion, because he broke away from the King’s side. “Chantress, I must bring you to the laboratory now. We cannot waste another minute.”
He was in too much of a hurry to allow the King to lead the way, but instead ushered me toward the laboratory himself. The King did not seem to mind not taking precedence. Lagging behind, he spoke of alchemical matters with Gabriel, their boots tapping against the clay-tiled floors.
Looking up as we came through a door, I glimpsed Margery in a gallery above me. At the same instant she saw me and turned tail. I stifled an exclamation.
“Are you all right, Chantress?” Sir Isaac asked me.
“I . . . I almost tripped.”
Sir Isaac offered me his arm, but we were approaching the stairs to the laboratory, and my only thought was to get there quickly. Leaving Sir Isaac behind, I raced down the steps.
I was not going to let Margery—or anyone else—stop me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
THE GREAT WORK
When the guard saw us coming, he opened the laboratory door. Sir Isaac breezed past him and escorted me into the room.
It was like walking into the Devil’s own dominion. The place reeked worse than ever, and in the vast darkness the great central furnace burned bright as infernal flame. Sweating in a leather smock, Sir Samuel manned the enormous bellows. They wheezed like a mythical beast, as if the fiery furnace were a dragon that might at any moment consume us all.
Sir Isaac set down the box of Flamel’s papers. “Is Dr. Penebrygg here?”
“Up there,” Sir Samuel gasped, pumping hard at the bellows.
At the top of a ladder, Penebrygg was shutting the high windows. Even before they closed, I could hear nothing from the Thames. Had I lost what little hearing I had left? Would my dwindling power put the Great Work in jeopardy?
Please let Sybil be right, I prayed. Please let what power I have be enough.
Here and there, the panes of glass caught the red light of the fire, and when Penebrygg waved at us in greeting, his spectacles glowed strangely.
“I have made the necessary observations,” he called out to Sir Isaac. “The conjunction of the planets is almost upon us.”
“Just as I predicted.” Sir Isaac consulted his pocket watch. “We must lose no more time. Lord Gabriel, will you take Sir Samuel’s place at the bellows?”
After Gabriel stripped off his doublet and rolled back his shirtsleeves, Sir Samuel yielded his position with evident relief. Under Gabriel’s steady hands, the bellows rasped faster and faster, and the fire leaped up in response.
Sir Isaac held a candle to the flames with a shaking hand. “We must be able to see the work perfectly.”
He set the lighted candle on a table, and in the bright circle of its light I saw the Golden Crucible. Beside it were other, plainer crucibles, as well as an assemblage of bottles and vials containing mysterious substances.
Sir Isaac saw me looking. “The first part of the Great Work will be done in the ordinary crucibles,” he explained. “It is only the last part—the fourth stage—that requires the Golden Crucible.�
�
“And that’s when you’ll need me?”
“Precisely. I will require your assistance at a few other points too. Attend closely, and be ready to act as I direct.” He ran a discerning eye over the substances on the table, then called on Sir Samuel to assist him with decanting one bottle into another.
Penebrygg came down from his ladder and joined me as I watched, his spectacles still glowing in the firelight. “My dear,” he said under his breath, “I am so sorry about what has happened. You and Nat—”
“They haven’t found him?” I whispered in alarm.
“No, no,” Penebrygg said. “There’s a report that he was sighted in London, but he’s not been discovered yet.”
I’d expected him to head to Holland, not London. But perhaps the report was wrong. Wherever he is, please let him stay safe. Let him stay safe until I can protect him.
“All is in readiness,” Sir Isaac announced. “Your Majesty, will you prepare the copper?”
The King bent to the task, using pincers to place strips of copper in a crucible with Sir Samuel’s help.
“Lord Gabriel, you may leave off pumping,” Sir Isaac said. “The fire is hot enough, and we need you here. Of all of us, you have the steadiest hands.” His own, I saw, were shaking worse than ever. “It is the first stage,” he said as Gabriel came up to us. “You know what to do.”
Gabriel picked up a bottle containing a liquid that looked like water, but that probably wasn’t. With deft hands, he poured a small amount into a marked beaker, then brought the beaker to the copper-filled crucible.
“Wait.” Sir Isaac stopped him. “The Chantress must pour it in. That is what Flamel says: all the female elements must be added by the woman.”
So the watery substance was supposed to be female? It made no sense to me. There was an acrid smell in the air, however, that I thought I remembered.
“Is it aqua fortis?” I asked.
Looking a bit surprised, Sir Isaac nodded. “It is indeed. Lord Gabriel, hand her the beaker.”
Gabriel surrendered it, but only reluctantly. Was he still angry about my supposed arrangement with Wrexham? Or did he simply fear I would ruin the experiment?
Well, I might ruin it, at that. And it could well be my hands that failed me first, and not my lack of magic. The beaker was slippery. What if I dropped it?
“Pour it into the crucible,” Sir Isaac commanded.
This work was second nature to him, but it wasn’t to me. “All at once,” I asked, “or little by little?”
“All at once,” Sir Isaac said, a trifle impatiently. “Take care, however, that you don’t pour so fast that it splashes. It must all stay inside the crucible.”
“If it dribbles over the edge of the beaker,” Sir Samuel added, “it will burn your skin. And once you are done, be sure to step away, for a devilish smoke will rise up from the crucible.”
I hesitated, remembering the fumes from Lord Gabriel’s experiment.
Penebrygg gave me a reassuring smile over his spectacles. “Never fear, my dear. Just put it in, and we’ll pull you back ourselves if need be.”
Bracing myself, I poured the acid. It fizzed when it hit the copper, and a putrid green cloud funneled upward. I ducked back, nearly bumping into the King.
“Cover your face,” Penebrygg said, raising his sleeve. “Don’t breathe the smoke in.”
The others covered their faces too, except for Sir Isaac, who took the empty beaker from my hand. “Sir Samuel, are you ready?”
Cloaking his nose, Sir Samuel tossed something into the crucible that immediately lessened the smoke.
“Now for your part, Lord Gabriel,” Sir Isaac ordered. “Bring the crucible to the fire.”
With a heavy set of tongs, Lord Gabriel placed the vessel in the furnace. The smoke thickened for a few moments, then died out.
“One minute,” Sir Isaac counted, timing the operation with his pocket watch. “Two . . . three . . . four . . . Now take it out!”
Gabriel yanked the crucible from the fire and secured it in an iron stand—not an easy task, when done with tongs. The other alchemists crowded round the table. When I joined them, I saw a coal-black powder at the bottom of the crucible.
“The Black Crow,” Penebrygg said in satisfaction.
“Black as night.” Sir Samuel smoothed his apprentice’s apron as if it were fine silk.
“Yes, we have accomplished the first stage.” Sir Isaac glanced back at the furnace. “But there is much more to do. We must move quickly. Sir Samuel, will you add the powder?”
This next stage was like the first, in that I was asked to add all the liquids to the crucible, while the men added the other compounds. This time, however, there was no terrible smoke at the end. Instead, after a short wait, we witnessed an almost miraculous transformation, as the black powder turned white.
“The White Swan,” Sir Samuel breathed.
“White as snow,” the King said, astonished.
“On to the next stage,” Sir Isaac urged. “Citrinitas, the yellowing.”
More liquids and powders, another firing, a distillation, and yet more mixing . . . and the contents of the crucible became thick and yellow, like a bowl of beaten egg yolks.
“The Golden Sun,” Gabriel exulted.
Penebrygg blinked down at the bowl as if dazzled. “We are getting very close now.”
You could feel the excitement rising in the room. Indeed, I felt it rising in me. The work was so captivating that I had almost forgotten my fear.
You must be the first to touch it, I reminded myself. You must be the first to touch the Stone. But surely that would be easy enough, if I were the one holding the crucible?
“Now for the fourth and last stage.” So far, Sir Isaac had been the most dispassionate of all of us, but now his voice trembled with emotion. “Chantress, you must hold the Golden Crucible. Lift it up firmly with both hands. Lord Gabriel, you must pour the yellow fluid into it.”
The crucible was heavier than it looked. I spread my hands wide, cupping it as best I could, but its smooth sides made it surprisingly difficult to hold. I began to worry again that I would ruin the experiment with a simple slip of the fingers. Gripping the crucible more firmly, I worked hard to keep it steady as Gabriel poured.
“There,” Sir Isaac said, his voice still quivering slightly. “Dr. Penebrygg, will you add the contents of that green flask? Sir Samuel, if you will be so good as to stir?”
I held on to the crucible so tightly that my fingers ached. Soon, however, I was distracted from the pain by the magic of what was happening inside the crucible: the yellow liquid thinned out and turned a rich orange. As Penebrygg brought the candle close, I saw flashes of shimmering blue-green spread across the surface.
“The Peacock’s Tail,” Gabriel said in wonder.
“Amazing!” Penebrygg, too, was filled with awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
We stood around the crucible for several minutes, completely engrossed. Then Sir Isaac pulled back, his long face furrowing.
“Is something wrong?” I was hoping the answer was no, and that Sir Isaac would say that our work was almost done, for the ache in my hands was creeping upward now, into my arms and neck.
“The transformation is not complete.” Sir Isaac’s frown deepened. “The color ought to be changing again.”
“Yes, to a deep and most perfect red.” Gabriel watched the liquid closely.
The King, too, stared into the crucible. “I don’t see any red myself. Only orange and blue and green.”
“Did we make a mistake?” Penebrygg wondered aloud. “Perhaps we mistimed things?”
Sir Isaac consulted his pocket watch and shook his head. “The timing is perfect.”
“The ingredients, then,” Penebrygg said. “Perhaps we measured out the wrong ones?”
Again Sir Isaac shook his head. “All the ingredients were checked and double-checked. They are exactly what Flamel called for.”
“Well, we must h
ave done something wrong,” Sir Samuel said. “Because nothing is happening.”
“It might be the auras,” Sir Isaac said slowly. “An imperfection or imbalance in the qualities each of us brings to the work.”
Could it be me? Was it my weakness that was holding back the Great Work? The mere thought was paralyzing, and the crucible slipped down in my hands.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CRUCIBLE
“Careful there!” Sir Isaac warned as I regained my purchase on the crucible.
“She’s tiring,” Gabriel said.
“Yes.” Sir Isaac scrutinized me for a moment. My cheeks flamed, and not from the furnace. Did he suspect that I was the weak link?
Apparently not, for he turned to the others and said, “Your Majesty, gentlemen—you must leave the room.”
The King’s shoulders went back. “Leave the room? Why?”
“Are you suggesting we are at fault?” Gabriel said angrily.
“No, no,” Sir Isaac said. “You must not take offense. It is merely a matter of balance, as I said. Flamel, you see, calls only for an alchemist and an assistant—a man and a woman—to finish the work. I thought it wouldn’t matter if there were more people, but perhaps it does. Perhaps the energies are skewed with so many extra men in the room.”
“I don’t see why it should matter,” Gabriel began, but he stopped when the King held up his hand.
“If you think it would help,” the King said with dignity, “then of course we will leave.”
“You needn’t go far,” Sir Isaac said. “If you could just wait on the other side of the door with the guard, that will be sufficient.”
With the King leading the way, the others followed without further objection, though frustration was writ large on Gabriel’s face. As they walked out the door, I felt a faint surge of strength, and with it a leap of hope. Could Sir Isaac be right? Was the fault not with me, but with the balance in the room?
After the men passed through the door, Sir Isaac closed it behind them, then bolted it shut and set the dead bar across it.
Chantress Alchemy Page 21
