The Artful Apprentice

by Christopher Nuttall

  “You’ll have time to work on that,” Void assured her. “Barley, inform the cooks that we’ll be eating here. Bring a tray for both of us.”

  Barley dropped a curtsy. “Yes, My Lord.”

  Emily frowned as Barley left the room. “Where do you get your servants?”

  Void shrugged. “It depends,” he said. “I hire some of them from Zugzwang. Or the White City. Or... a few other places. They don’t stay with me for very long. Barley probably won’t be here next year. She wants seed money to open a shop of her own.”

  “Good,” Emily said. “How much do you pay them?”

  “Enough.” Void shot her a sharp look. “Focus on your work. The servants are there to take care of you.”

  Emily sighed. “Yes, sir.”

  Void nodded as the door opened. Barley entered, carrying two large trays of food. Emily leaned back as the maid placed them on the table, dropped another curtsy and retreated as silently as she’d come. Void lifted the covers to reveal sausages, mashed potatoes and steaming gravy. Emily had to smile as her stomach rumbled in appreciation. More plebeian food. He was definitely sending her some kind of message.

  She rubbed her forehead, but her headache started to fade once she tucked into her meal. The food tasted good, although very basic. She wondered if the cook was offended at being asked to cook such dinners, instead of the fancy meals she’d enjoyed in other magical households. She’d met a couple of cooks who’d been very proud of their work.

  “If you have trouble keeping up, say so,” Void said, quietly. “There are limits to how far you can go in a single day.”

  Emily flushed. “I don’t want to fail.”

  “The White City was not built in a single day, tall tales aside,” Void said. “Your apprenticeship will take as long as it takes. We have time.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Unless you have some reason to think otherwise?”

  “Jade took a year to complete his apprenticeship,” Emily said. She couldn’t remember how long Cat had taken. “And Aloha is on track to end hers...”

  “You’re not either of them, are you?” Void met her eyes. “You’re following a different path to power. Your apprenticeship may be over in a couple of years or five years or... it takes as long as it takes. It doesn’t matter. What matters is having a proper grounding before you reach for the skies.”

  “Learn to row before you take the helm,” Emily muttered.

  “Quite,” Void agreed. “Eat up. We’ll be doing something different this afternoon.”

  Emily nodded and tucked in again.

  Chapter Six

  EMILY TOOK A MOMENT, AFTER LUNCH, to use the facilities before following Void into another — much larger — chamber. It looked more like an alchemist’s laboratory than anything else, complete with solid wooden tables, a large workbench positioned against the far wall, a pair of mundane lanterns and shelves upon shelves of ingredients. Void hadn’t stinted, she noted as he picked up a cauldron and placed it on the table. There were ingredients on the shelves she hadn’t seen outside Whitehall or Mountaintop. Some were so sensitive they couldn’t be placed in a stasis field, let alone a preservation spell. They had to be used within a short time. or discarded.

  “Your alchemy marks were consistently poorer than everything else,” Void said, as he picked up a handful of jars and placed them on the table. “Why?”

  Emily flushed. Professor Thande had been a good teacher — he’d certainly been more exciting than the teachers who’d tried to introduce her to basic science — but alchemy had never been one of her best subjects. There was something fundamentally... irrational that nagged at her, denying her the instincts necessary to take full control of her work. She could follow the instructions, but... there were times when she just couldn’t make them work. It was no surprise that she’d been quietly told there was no hope of gaining a mastery in alchemy. She had barely passed the exams two years ago.

  “It never quite made sense to me,” she admitted. “I can understand and follow charms, but alchemy seems to... depend on factors that don’t make sense.”

  Void nodded, thoughtfully. “It can be frustrating,” he said. “What is alchemy?”

  “A process that unlocks the magical potential within the natural world,” Emily recited. It had come from one of her textbooks, if she recalled correctly. “A skilled alchemist can take that potential and turn it into a potion.”

  “True enough,” Void said. He walked around the table, motioning for her to stay where she was. “But it is also true that alchemy is effectively another way of casting a spell. In some ways, it is less reliable than more mundane spellcasting. In others... with careful preparation, one doesn’t have to be a sorcerer to brew a potion. One just has to be very creative to ensure the magic surges at the right time.”

  He glanced up and smiled. “The more complex the potion, the harder it is to brew without magic,” he said. “Why do you think that’s true?”

  “Because you use your magic to shape the potion,” Emily said. “If you’re reliant on something you don’t control, not directly, you cannot shape the magic so effectively.”

  Void looked pleased. “True.”

  He nodded to the cauldron. “Why do you think I brought you here?”

  “You want me to brew a potion,” Emily guessed. “Right?”

  “No,” Void said. “I’m going to brew a potion. A very simple booster potion, something you would have done in first year. Why?”

  Emily shook her head. The potion was extremely simple, so simple anyone — even she — could brew it. It wasn’t the most effective potion in the world, but... it worked.

  “I don’t know,” she said, finally. “You’re going to teach me a different way to brew it?”

  Void smirked. “No,” he said. “I’m going to give you a chance to sense the magic.”

  He picked up a jug of cold water and poured it into the cauldron. “What’s the difference between a sludgy mess and a potion?”

  “Magic,” Emily said.

  “Quite.” Void picked up a firelighter and lit a flame under the cauldron. “I told you that, in some ways, a potion is really nothing more than a spell. Consider the implications. If you could define the magic, if you could reduce it to spell notation, what could you do?”

  “... Cast the spell without brewing the potion,” Emily said, slowly. “Right?”

  “Right.” Void nodded. “It does, of course, require an extremely capable magician to even grasp the details of the spell, let alone note it down and cast it. You won’t find it easy. Even here, in a chamber where there are no other active magic sources, it will be hard to get a sense of the spell. The most capable alchemists in the world tend to refrain from trying.”

  He tapped the table. “Come close, put your hands here,” he ordered. “And feel the magic as the spell takes shape. Don’t try to cast any analysis spells. They’d just get in your way.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said. She rested her elbows on the table, placing her hands on each side of the cauldron. The air grew steadily warmer. “I’m ready.”

  “Good.” Void picked up the first jar. “Close your eyes, if you like. It might help.”

  Emily nodded, reaching out with her senses as she closed her eyes. The chamber felt completely bare of magic, save for the omnipresent background hum from the wards. Void hadn’t even bothered to set up the protective charms that were compulsory at Whitehall. She hoped she could duck under the table in time if she sensed a surge of magic, the only warning she’d get that the mixture was about to explode. A rustle echoed through the air as Void tipped the first ingredient into the water. She felt a faint glimmer of magic as the herbs started to combine.

  The magic grew stronger as Void added more ingredients, the spell taking shape and form. It was weird, like a collection of bright lights so close together they blurred into one. Emily found herself struggling to pick out details, trying to figure out the components of the spell. It was difficult, almost impossible. T
he brewing magic was surprisingly complex, ebbing and flowing as Void stirred the brew. She could feel his magic pressing against the potion, bubbling in tune with the flow even though he was trying to keep it under control. Emily focused her mind, watching the spell take shape. It was surprisingly elegant, like crystals forming in a jar...

  There was a surge of magic. Emily grunted in pain, feeling as if someone had suddenly shone a bright light into her eyes. Her head hurt, just for a second. She gritted her teeth and reached out with her senses, picking up the complex spell as it drifted within the potion. It was... weird, reminding her oddly of DNA. Each tiny fraction of the potion held a model of the whole within it. She silently calculated just how much someone would have to drink to make the potion work. It was less than she’d thought. She wondered, idly, why no one seemed to know it. Void couldn’t be the only person who’d realized a potion was effectively a spell.

  “It’s ready,” Void said. His voice was tightly controlled. “Are you?”

  Emily opened her eyes and reached for the paper, trying to keep what she’d seen at the forefront of her mind. It was incredibly crude, yet understandable. And yet... she gritted her teeth as she tried to write the spell down. It looked... wrong, like someone had slung together a hundred spell notations at random. Professor Lombardi would have caned her hands if he’d seen her work. He’d have thought she’d forgotten everything he’d taught her.

  “It’s not complete,” she said, looking down at her work. There was a pattern there, but... imprecise. She felt like a child who’d tried to duplicate a famous painting. “I can see the pattern, but it’s not complete.”

  “No.” Void didn’t sound surprised. Or angry. “It is your first time.”

  Emily gave him a sharp look, then sat back and glared at the parchment. Normally, she could see the gaps in the spellwork and try to fill them. Now... she wasn’t so sure. The pattern looked random, even though she knew it couldn’t be. There had to be some order in the chaos. But where?

  She was tempted to try to cast the spell, just to see what would happen. But that would get her in real trouble.

  “We’ll try again,” Void said. He put the steaming cauldron to one side, then picked up another one. “Or do you want to wait a little?”

  “Maybe five minutes,” Emily said. “What do you do with the spell?”

  “You cast it,” Void said. “You get this right, you can boost yourself without drinking a potion. Or boost someone else.”

  “I thought it was a bad idea to try to heal yourself,” Emily said.

  “It is.” Void shrugged. “If you’re in screaming agony, it’s not a good idea to try to cast a spell. Any spell. But if you’re not in agony...”

  “I see,” Emily said, doubtfully.

  Void nodded. “It can give you an edge, when the time comes,” he said. “Or allow you to create the effect without the potion.”

  Emily frowned. “Why doesn’t everyone — alchemy masters, I mean — do it?”

  “It isn’t easy,” Void said. “If you don’t understand the roots of magic, Emily, you won’t find yourself getting very far. Even the best alchemy masters have trouble thinking outside the box. They’d see a potion as being more inherently flexible, and they’d be right. And” — he winked at her — “if everyone could do it, who’d need them?”

  He shook his head before Emily could come up with an answer. “There are dangers in every field,” he said. “No matter how much power you have, you can hurt or kill yourself with a single mistake. Alchemists with the power to do this on a larger scale tend to be very careful about actually doing it. Brewing the potion can be a lot simpler.”

  “And less effort,” Emily said. “It wouldn’t have killed you to walk upstairs and get a pencil.”

  “Or send my apprentice to do it,” Void teased. “You’re right. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you want to do it all the time, if there’s an easier and safer way to do it. But being able to do something is important too.”

  He poured water into the new cauldron and placed it on the heat. “Try again,” he said. “But start from the beginning. Don’t try to fill in the gaps.”

  Emily nodded, then closed her eyes and reached out with her senses. This time, the magic seemed both simpler and more complex. It took her a moment to realize she was automatically filling the gaps. She gritted her teeth, then forced herself to look again. The magic was steadily taking shape and form, the liquid bubbling away merrily as the power built up. A single crystalline structure hung in front of her eyes for a long second, then became something else as the power surged. She studied it, sensing how the different components interacted to become one. It was... weird. She suspected she would never truly understand it.

  She opened her eyes, reached for a new sheet of paper and started to write down what she’d seen. The spellwork was definitely odd, as if it wasn’t quite real, but it was there. She breathed a sigh of relief as she finished, putting the pen to one side. Void peered down at her work, then nodded tersely. There were still gaps, but — this time — she could fill them. She thought she knew what she was doing.

  “Good,” Void said. “Now, try to cast the spell.”

  Emily glanced at him. “On me? Or you? Or...?”

  “Just cast it,” Void said. “Hold it in the air.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said.

  She focused her mind, then concentrated on casting the potion-spell. It blurred at once, as if it really wasn’t quite real. Or right. It almost felt like wrong-context magic. And yet, she knew it had to fit into the magic system somehow. She frowned, the spell flickering in and out even as she tried to cast it. She almost felt as if she didn’t have the power to cast it, although she didn’t feel drained. It didn’t make any sense.

  The magic flared, then snapped out of existence. Emily scowled, unwilling to raise her eyes as she glowered at her fingertips. It should have worked, yet... it defied everything she knew about casting a spell. Charms were logical. Charms made sense. Alchemy didn’t... she shook her head as she realized she needed to focus on both the spell components and the spell itself. Somehow, she had to both build it up from nothing and — at the same time — create it as a single whole.

  “Try again, if you like,” Void said. “It’s never easy to master on the first try.”

  Emily nodded, then tried again. It still didn’t work. She shook her head, then stared at the spell notation. Perhaps she could modify it to be more like a normal spell, with a firm beginning, middle and end. It wouldn’t be that hard, but... the effect would be different. She was sure of it. And she had no idea what that effect would turn out to be.

  “I’m going to have to practice,” she said, crossly. Alchemy seemed determined to be her major weak point. “It’s... contradictory.”

  “Yes.” Void seemed unsurprised by her complaint. “It’s never easy, like I said.”

  He turned off the flame, then pushed the second cauldron towards her. Emily peered into the simmering liquid. It looked like dark chicken soup, but smelled terrible. Professor Thande had told the class, time and time again, that potions were meant to taste and smell terrible. They had to discourage people from drinking them unless there was a pressing need. Emily understood the logic. She just didn’t like it.

  “Let’s try something a little different,” Void said. “Can you sense the magic within the brew?”

  “Yes.” Emily leaned forward. The smell didn’t get any better. “Not much, but it’s there.”

  “Good,” Void said. He leaned back. “I want you to draw the magic out of the brew and into your wards.”

  Emily blinked. “Isn’t that a form of necromancy?”

  “More like a form of ritual magic,” Void told her. “The power levels aren’t high enough to risk necromantic madness. You should be able to do it.”

  “Oh.” Emily wasn’t so sure. Her counterpart’s memories, tainted by madness, danced through her mind. The other Emily had thought she could handle a magic surg
e. She’d been wrong. Disastrously wrong. “Why...?”

  “Because you need to learn,” Void said. His voice was suddenly cold and hard. “There is a reason for everything I ask you to do, Emily. I may even share it with you, if you ask.”

  He tapped the cauldron. “Try and draw the magic out, if you can.”

  Emily nodded, stiffly. It wasn’t easy to take magic from another person, outside a ritual or necromantic sacrifice. It should be easier, she thought, to draw magic from a potion. The liquid wouldn’t be fighting her, would it? And yet, when she dipped her finger into the brew, the magic felt... wrong. It felt so wrong that she almost recoiled. She had to focus her mind before she started to draw the magic into her wards...

  The potion shimmered, then... she had a sense of spellwork collapsing before the magic was gone. The potion was now nothing more than a cauldron of half-cooked ingredients and water. She felt the magic brush against her wards, uncomfortably. She felt almost as if she’d donned ill-fitting male clothing. It wasn’t hers.

  “Good,” Void said. “What can you tell me about the magic?”

  “It feels weird,” Emily said. She wasn’t sure how she felt. “And...” she frowned — “there isn’t actually very much of it.”

  “No,” Void agreed. “The vast majority of potions, even the ones that require weeks of effort to brew, aren’t particularly high-magic once they’re ready. Given time, you can negate a potion simply by drawing out the magic. You’ll be using that later.”

  “I see,” Emily said. Her fingers itched, uncomfortably. Her skin felt dirty. “Does my magic feel different from the outside?”

  “Not to me.” Void shrugged. “You should probably discharge the magic, if you don’t want to keep it. I don’t think there’ll be any ill effects, but it’s up to you.”

  Emily nodded. “Why don’t people do it all the time?”

  “First, you have to be good at magic to draw it out of a potion,” Void said. “Or anywhere, really. Second, as you said, you simply don’t get very much out of it. Drawing on a ward is a great deal harder, as well as far more dangerous. It’s actually simpler to work on developing your magic. If nothing else... you’d have to convince people to keep brewing potions so you could use them for power.”