The Alchemist's Touch

by Garrett Robinson

  “She is a woman named Imara, of the family Keren, and I think she earnestly believes that all things in Underrealm exist to serve her—to be either amusing, or useful. She saw me as some mix of both. She had me tested, to confirm my gift, and then offered her patronage. I accepted, though I greatly disliked her, for my only other choice was to remain an urchin, and someday die. If I ever return to Cabrus, I shall be her lackey for the rest of my days.”

  “Can you not earn your way out of her service? There are laws.”

  Theren shook her head, the smile sad upon her face. “Spoken like a true child of wealth, though I hold no rancor against you for that. Laws can be bent, if not broken, and the wealthy have perfected the art. I could try to flee her service, of course. But if Imara is spoiled and vain, she is also spiteful, full of wrath for those who wrong her, whether she imagines it or no. And so I remain here. I could pass every test now; I have learned them all and done them in private to ensure that I could. But I wish to remain here as long as I can. I only…it is a terrible excuse, yet I needed you to know why I did not try to stop the Dean. He would only send me home…to her.”

  Ebon looked at his hands, fingers braided tightly enough to bleach the knuckles. It seemed terribly unfair. Suddenly, even his own family seemed less onerous considering Theren’s circumstances.

  “I wish I could help you. Only I do not know how. My family could help, of course—our purses are deep enough to pay off your service, with room to spare. Yet my father would never agree to it.”

  An idea hit him, like a globe of fire igniting in his mind. Ebon’s hand moved of its own accord, gripping her arm. “Come. We must find Kalem.”

  “What?” Theren frowned. “Why?”

  “Trust me. Come, you will have to help me walk.”

  He threw an arm over her shoulder, and together they hobbled into the Academy like wounded soldiers, up the stairs towards the younger children’s dormitories, careful to avoid any instructors—Ebon did not wish to explain why he looked as if he had been beaten by an angry mob. Soon they were in the hallway outside Kalem’s common room, and Theren left him leaning against the wall while she ducked in to fetch the boy.

  When Kalem came out into the hallway with her, his eyes fell upon Ebon and widened with shock. “Ebon! What has happened to you?”

  “Do not trouble yourself about it,” Ebon said. “But come with us.”

  They made their way to the stairwell, stopping in between floors and sitting together on the steps. Ebon knew their voices might carry far on the stones, but then again they would be able to hear anyone coming well before they could be seen.

  “My father is up to something,” he said. “We know that from the map. My aunt may think otherwise, but I believe she thinks of my father in his childhood. I have lived with him the last sixteen summers. He has some plot, and I believe it must be a dark one. I wish to learn what it is, and there is only one place where we can.”

  A smile spread across Theren’s face. “The docks.”

  “You want to go there?” Kalem whispered. “You cannot be serious. Ebon, we have nearly been thrown from the Academy, and killed. And besides, you look as though it hurts to walk.”

  “I shall be fine,” said Ebon, forcing a smile. “I need only a bath and a night’s rest.”

  “So, we learn what your father plans upon the Seat,” said Theren. “Then what?”

  “We cannot just learn it. We must prove it. If we can bring proof to my aunt, she will deal with my father. Somehow.” Ebon frowned, for in truth he had not thought that far ahead. But he shook it away—Father had built this bed, and would lie in it of his own accord. “Then, mayhap I can convince her to help you. Or, if I find myself the head of my household, I can help you myself.”

  Kalem frowned. “That seems a shaky plan at best. It requires overmuch on luck.”

  “Yet it is all we have,” said Ebon. “Rest well tonight. We make for the docks on the morrow.”

  twenty-six

  EBON TOOK A LONG BATH and retired too early. He woke feeling refreshed in mind, but battered in body. Bruises covered most of his flesh, and the back of his head was still tender. But whether by design or fortune, the Dean had left his face unmarked, except for a deep cut on his lip. Though he walked tenderly through the day, neither instructors nor students gave him so much as a second look.

  At the midday meal, he ate with Theren and Kalem. They spoke little, only a few muted words, and nothing about the evening’s plan. Ebon thought they must feel as afraid as he did. But he also felt a curious resolution. For once in his life he was taking a stand against Father, and he could not deny the powerful feeling that gave him.

  When evening came, they snuck out into the training grounds. Again Kalem cast his mists, and Theren helped them over the wall. Ebon still found it a terrifying prospect, but did not have as much difficulty as before. Once outside the walls, Theren swiftly led them through the streets.

  They had to cross most of the island, so they wasted little time talking. The moons hung almost straight above them by the time they finally reached the Seat’s eastern gate. They stopped between two houses, a stone’s throw from the wall. The gate stood nearly seven paces high, a huge portcullis wrought in iron with a man-sized door in the side.

  “I have only snuck out once,” said Theren, pointing to the door. “It was difficult, but this time, Kalem’s mists should make it easier. I shall distract the guards. Once they are away from the gate, Kalem, cast your spell.”

  Kalem nodded, his wide eyes shining in the moonslight. Though Ebon could see the fear in his face, but for once the boy made no complaint.

  Theren raised her hands, and a glow lit her eyes. Ebon could see two guards, one to either side of the gate. They must have had little reason to suspect trouble, for they both leaned against the wall in positions of easy rest. All of a sudden, they both pitched forwards as if pushed, catching their feet immediately, hands flying to their swords as they peered into the darkness.

  “What was that?” said one.

  “I do not know,” said the other, leaning forwards and squinting into the darkness. “Who is there?”

  Theren shoved them both again, away from the portcullis. They stumbled, and this time one tumbled to the pavement.

  “It is some spell!” said the one still standing. The air rang as he drew his steel.

  “Once more, and then it is your turn, Kalem,” Theren murmured.

  Her hands twisted, and the guards stepped farther from the portcullis. Mist thickened the air, flooding the ground all around the gate, thick and soupy. Theren gripped his arm and pulled him forwards, dragging Kalem along with them both. The guards shouted in the fog, their voices far away. Together the friends found the wall, and then edged it until they reached the portcullis. The door had no lock, only a heavy latch keeping it from entry outside. Ebon lifted the latch as quietly as he could and rushed through the door. Theren and Kalem were only a half step behind, and Theren closed the door immediately.

  They raced from the gate. The stone road soon turned to old, weather-beaten wooden planks. Theren pulled them to the side, where great stacks of crates and barrels stood in rows. Once they had vanished among the cargo, Kalem let his mists fall away. They had made the docks.

  “A fine job,” said Ebon.

  “It will be harder to get in, but not by much,” said Theren. “I can lift the latch from outside.”

  “Excellent,” Ebon said. “Let us be quick.”

  He had stowed the map in one of his pockets, and withdrew it now. They spread it out where the moonslight fell between the crates, studying it in the pale silver glow. The docks were drawn in some detail, and they could see where the ships had been drawn, both to the south of where they now stood.

  “Let us go south,” said Ebon, “and see if we can find where these ships lay.”

  “Very well, but be careful. Look.” Theren leaned beyond the crate and pointed. Ebon and Kalem followed her finger. There in the moonslight the
y could see a figure—Ebon barely made out the hardened red leather of the constable’s pauldrons.

  Ebon said, “Likely there are more, but we can avoid them if we are careful. Kalem, if we are spotted, you will have to hide us.”

  He made to lead them, but Theren waved him back. “You are still tender. Let me go first.”

  Theren set off among the cargo and down the dock. They had many stacks to hide behind, but between each one they were forced to make a harrowing run across open space. Ebon’s heart leapt into his throat every time. But Theren timed their runs well, so that no constable was ever nearby. Before another hour had passed, the trio had moved far down the docks to the first spot marked on the map.

  “Here we are,” said Ebon. “Now let us see what we can.”

  Together they leaned out and peered into the night. Ebon’s heart fell almost immediately. There were two docks before them, each large enough to hold a vast ship, both empty.

  “What does that mean?” said Kalem. “One of the ships is clearly drawn right here.”

  “I do not know,” said Ebon.

  “What of the other ship on the map? Will it be empty, too?”

  “I do not know, Kalem!” hissed Ebon. “The only way to find out is to move on.”

  He caught Theren’s eye in the moonslight, eyeing him doubtfully, her brow furrowed in worry.

  “There will be something,” he reassured her. “There must be.”

  “But what if it already happened?” she said. “Whatever was plotted, we may have missed it.”

  Ebon paused. He had not considered that. “Then we are wasting our time. But at least we tried.”

  She sighed and nodded, again leading them down the docks.

  Almost before they had reached the ship, Ebon knew they had failed. Another two empty spaces, ready to hold grand ships, in the exact spot where the boat was drawn on the map. But there was nothing there, and thus their venture had failed.

  “The same again,” Kalem said. “Perhaps this is a sign in itself. Why should these spots be empty? I mean these precise spots. Mayhap the signs on the map mean something other than what we thought.”

  “We saw many empty spots along the way,” said Theren. “I doubt it means anything sinister. Ebon, what say you?”

  But Ebon was frozen. The spots on the map were empty, yes. But there was a ship just beside them. A small vessel, with but a single mast and space to carry a dozen passengers, or more. But people were milling on the dock beside it, and he had recognized two.

  “Ebon?” He waved Kalem to silence and leaned forwards, hands gripping a crate’s edge.

  Yes. It was them. Liya and Ruba, two of the servants from the Drayden family manor upon the seat, carrying satchels that looked very much like traveling sacks, following behind others he recognized from the manor.

  “I need to get closer,” he said. “So I can see those people just there.”

  “Why?” said Theren.

  “Just get me closer.”

  She sighed and looked up and down the dock, but there were no constables close by. Quickly she stole across the dock, and now they were more exposed than they had been before. Ebon followed, with Kalem just behind. Now they were mere paces from the figures boarding the ship.

  “Be quick,” said Theren. “We could be seen far too easily here.”

  Leaning out again, Ebon saw that he had been right. Yes, Liya and Ruba were there. And so were the manor’s cooks and cleaners, the gardeners, and the stableboy. It was such a shock to see them, Ebon nearly called out to ask what they were doing, stopping himself only at the last moment.

  “It is them,” he whispered. “All the servants from our family manor. They are leaving.”

  “What?” Theren stopped surveying the docks and looked at the people boarding the ship. “Do you truly mean all of them?”

  “Every one,” said Ebon. “I do not recall a face from the manor that is not here before us now.”

  “But where is your family?” said Theren. “Surely they would not stay to manage the household themselves. Unless…have they run short on coin? Perhaps they could not pay these servants anymore, and are sending them home.”

  Ebon snorted. “Not likely. They are being sent away.”

  “To Dulmun?” said Kalem.

  “What?” Ebon blinked at him. “No. They would be sent to Idris. Why would you say that?”

  Kalem pointed to the bow, where a green pennant hung with the sigil of a white wave breaking across it. “That is a ship of Dulmun, of the king’s own fleet.”

  “Perhaps they hired it,” Ebon suggested.

  “They could not,” Kalem shook his head. “The king’s ships are never for hire. They sail only at his personal—”

  “You there!”

  The shout made them jump, and they whirled to see a woman in red leather armor standing paces away, hand on the hilt of her sword.

  “What are you three doing here?”

  Ebon glanced over his shoulder. The manor servants had heard the constable, and were looking towards him. If one of them laid eyes on his face, they were done for.

  “Run!” he whispered, shoving Theren and Kalem forwards.

  They tried to dodge past the constable and run north along the dock, the way they had come, but the crafty woman blocked their path. They turned as one and ran in the other direction.

  “There are piers running back to the shore!” cried Theren. “Make for one!”

  But looking ahead, Ebon saw they were too late. Another constable had heard the commotion and was coming for them now. His sword lay bare in his hand, steel glinting in moonslight.

  “The cargo!” said Kalem, breaking for the crates, with Ebon and Theren a step behind. The constables shouted behind them. But as they wove through the stacks, Theren’s eyes glowed, and she threw her hands wildly from side to side. Barrels swayed, and then came crashing down to block the pathways leading forwards. But the barrels were empty, and the guards cast them aside with ease. Theren had to throw more and more down behind them to remain ahead.

  Though his body lanced with agony, Ebon tried to help her. He went for a barrel standing atop another, and pushed at it. But when his hands slid on its surface, a long splinter sprang into his flesh to leave an angry red streak. He cursed, but did not remove his hands. He could feel the wooden spike digging in harder as he pushed.

  And then, he could feel the wood. He saw it. He saw it down to its core, through to every part of it.

  He changed it.

  Just as the barrel tipped, a ripple of grey shot around it. By the time it hit the docks, it had turned to stone. It went crashing into the guards’ legs, and they cried out as it bowled them over. Ebon stared at the barrel in shock, and Kalem did the same beside him. But Theren seized their shoulders and dragged them backwards, away from the chaos.

  “Run, you fools! Time enough for gawking later!”

  The constables’ angry cries fade behind them as they reached the docks’ western end. Thirty feet of black water between them and the shore.

  “Theren, can you carry us across?”

  “Are you mad? I can hardly lift you to the top of a wall.”

  “I may…I may have something,” said Kalem, though his trembling voice. “Theren, could you lower me to the water?”

  “No time!” Ebon threw himself to the dock’s edge. The tide was high, and the water just four feet away. “Give me your ankles!”

  Kalem crawled to the edge and over, with Ebon and Theren clinging to his legs. His robes fell around his shoulders to expose his underclothes.

  “Not one word, from either of you,” he snapped.

  “Be silent and hurry,” said Theren. “They are getting close.” And indeed, Ebon could hear the constables voices above the crates and barrels, moving around the stacks of cargo towards them.

  Kalem reached out until his hands touched the water. A wave of ice spread from his fingertips, out and out, until a small platform of ice yawned for several paces in every d
irection, securing itself by wrapping the dock’s many poles.

  “All right!” he squealed. “Let me go!”

  They did, and he came down to the ice on hands and knees. At once he crawled forwards, spreading the ice before him a few feet at a time. Ebon and Theren scrambled to climb down from the dock behind him. But just as Ebon had nearly lowered himself off the edge, he heard a triumphant cry, and something snatched at the back of his robes. He barely twisted his neck enough to see the constable behind him, one gloved fist filled with his robe, her sword held high and ready to strike.

  “No!” Theren’s eyes glowed, and her hand cut through the air. The woman’s head snapped back, and she released her grip on Ebon’s robe before falling to the ground. Ebon gained the ice and scrambled forwards, just behind Theren.

  “Thank you.” His voice refused to stop shaking.

  “Better than my showing against the Dean,” she said with a faint smile.

  They were halfway to shore. Again, Ebon heard a cry behind him, but this time much farther away. He turned and saw that while the constable struck by Theren still lay senseless on the dock, the other had arrived at last. He ran for the dock’s edge and gave a mighty leap onto the ice. It cracked beneath him, and he sank into the water with a yelp. Ebon froze, but then saw the man’s head crash back to the surface, his limbs flailing as he fought to stay afloat. In a moment he had secured his grip on the ice, and there he clung, sputtering and trying to spit the seawater from his lungs.

  They reached the shore without further incident, and climbed the steep slope leading up to the city’s wall. There they quickly made there way north until they had neared the eastern gate. Just before reaching it, Theren snatched Kalem’s cloak and pulled him to a stop.

  “Wait. We should not go inside yet. There is still the marking to the southeast to investigate—the small boat drawn in the cave.”

  “You cannot mean to go there, too.” Kalem was close to a shout. “This is twice now we have nearly seen ourselves killed, and twice too many. I shall not do it again!”