by Nick Baker
Lily quickly dressed but stopped to gaze at her reflection in the mirror. She subconsciously ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to bring some order to the unruly curls that tumbled to her shoulders. Despite her poor night’s sleep, she was amazed to see that she still looked fresh. She spent a moment squinting at her large, inquisitive blue eyes and the dark ringlets that fell about her oval face, characteristics that were a direct acquisition from her mother.
Lily was not hungry and decided that breakfast could wait. On a whim, she collapsed back onto her bed and picked up the book that she had left on the bedside table after reading late into the night. She was studying the art of transubstantiation—the alchemical transformation of one form of matter into another— and stared at the pages, but soon found her mind drifting back to more troubling thoughts.
When her father had commenced her alchemical education, it had all been so exciting, but gradually, as her studies intensified, the burden of learning had slowly taken its toll. She always looked forward to her father’s lessons because of the great excitement they engendered, but the problem lay with her tutors—the formal and boring Victor Mirkstone for Latin, history, philosophy and theology, and the enigmatic and unpredictable Anatoly Volkiev for sciences, mathematics and engineering.
Despite Lily’s respect for her father, she frequently pressed him on the need for her tutors, invariably leading to discussions about her education that ended in a difference of opinion. She knew she was strong-minded, but so was her father, and their arguments inevitably ended in deadlock leaving her feeling dejected and frustrated.
Lily could still remember the keen excitement she had experienced following her first lesson with her father soon after her mother’s death. Her introduction to the alchemical arts had begun with the simplest of techniques but she had shown an extraordinary aptitude for the ancient lore he taught her. Her education rapidly advanced into deeper realms of the alchemical arts, and the more obscure the topic, the more eager her desire for learning. She often wondered why her father had not chosen to send her away for her education, and she was surprised to discover that the dwindling number of alchemical institutions no longer taught much of what she was studying with him. She also suspected that the events surrounding her mother’s death also had something to do with the decision and it was inevitable that he would not want her to leave in the aftermath of such tragic circumstances.
Lily picked up the book that had slipped into her lap; Transubstantiation: An Alchemical and Philosophical Treatise by Isambard Meekins. The book was an adjunct to her father’s lessons and began with the rather mundane origins of the subject. Her lessons had recently moved onto the practical applications of transubstantiation, a topic she was finding increasingly fascinating. She had already learnt how to change the properties of substances at a molecular level and she had graduated onto the transformation of various compounds into others. She had even started reading the final chapters of the book ahead of her lessons, which delved into even more complex and esoteric transformations, but after studying the small text for several minutes, Lily found she could no longer concentrate, and returned the book to the bedside table.
Casting further thoughts of study aside, she went downstairs and headed for the kitchen. The housekeeper, Mrs Brimstork, was nowhere to be seen, but she had left some porridge warming on the range. Lily helped herself to a bowl and filled it from the pot before adding a generous helping of honey. She sat down at the table and soon felt the reinvigorating effect of the stodgy mass of oats. She poured herself a mug of coffee from the cafetière and took in the dark liquid’s aroma as it drifted up to her nose, stimulating her even before her first sip.
The clock on the wall read a quarter to nine; still fifteen minutes before she was due to meet her father. Although she was often late for her tutors’ lessons, she would never allow this to happen with him. She quickly downed her drink and deposited the empty bowl and cup in the sink before leaving for the attic. If her father were not already seated at his desk, she would wait for him to join her there.
Although the house was spacious, the attic had been converted some years previously into her father’s personal study and somewhere to teach Lily without fear of interruption. The result was a room perched on the top floor with plenty of space to accommodate two people, and although the pitch of the roof was low, the room never felt cramped because of three large dormer windows that gave it a light and airy feel. At one end, a small door led onto a north-facing balcony giving spectacular views of the river, and when it was warm, they would often sit there for lessons while admiring the bridge they associated with Saskia.
Lily never failed to feel amazed whenever she entered the study. The room was home to all sorts of peculiar-looking devices and implements including crucibles, telescopes, astrolabes, theodolites, flasks, retorts, gears, levers, fractionating columns, condensers, sprockets, springs, callipers, presses and even a small furnace. A large oak table sat in the middle of the room with an odd assortment of her father’s gadgets strewn across its surface, and even now, Lily still had no idea how many of them functioned. She had lost count of the times she had asked him to discuss his contraptions with her, but all he would say was that her education had not reached the appropriate juncture.
The object that fascinated her most was an instrument her father referred to as the Historoscope. It was a beautifully ornate, metallic cylinder made of an alloy she did not recognise, and it always stood in the centre of the desk. Almost a metre in length, it sat on a stand, intricately decorated with a multitude of surface patterns that reminded her of a child’s kaleidoscope with a small eyepiece at one end and a flat cylindrical screen at the other. Lily had repeatedly questioned him regarding its function, but as usual, he told her little. She knew it acted as a means to store memories and she had even seen him use it, but like so many of his other instruments, she had no idea how it worked.
Her father was already sitting at the desk when she entered the room. He did not stir and was concentrating on a statue of a small creature perched on the tabletop in front of him. As she approached, she noticed that he looked tired and haggard, and suspected that he, too, had slept badly. Her eyes were drawn to his shoulder-length hair, and noted with a start, how it was beginning to grey at the temples. He usually wore his hair neatly tied up to keep it from his eyes, but this morning, it hung loosely about his shoulders. He eventually looked up and smiled, his careworn expression dissipating with the arrival of his daughter.
‘Morning Lily, sleep well?’ he said brightly, getting up and putting an arm around her shoulder.
Lily smiled. ‘Not really. I’m still feeling a bit anxious if I’m honest.’
Price returned her smile. ‘The break-in, I presume? I know I haven’t told you much, but that’s only because I don’t know that much myself,’ he replied as he ushered her into a chair next to his own. ‘Now, what were we discussing at the end of our last lesson? Ah yes, transubstantiation,’ he added, changing the subject before Lily had a chance to reply.
He picked up the statue, glancing at the figure cursorily, before handing it to Lily. ‘What do you make of this?’
Lily took the figure and weighed it in her hands; it felt considerably lighter than it looked. ‘Well, it’s a lifelike effigy of a squirrel. The way it’s standing on its hind legs and the hackles on its back suggest it was startled by something.’
Price was watching Lily intently as she scrutinised the object. ‘I’d like you to explore the object with your mind as if you’re about to attempt a conversion.’
She nodded, immediately understanding what her father was asking of her. She had learnt that transubstantiation, in alchemical terms, was the transformation of one type of substance into another. The early alchemists had toiled for centuries in their laboratories to transform common metals into gold or silver, but now, rather than crucibles and furnaces, it was the power of the mind that was the key to modern alchemical success.
Her les
sons on the topic had started with learning to picture a substance at its most basic atomic level before harnessing the intense mental exertion that was necessary to transubstantiate one simple atom into another. With considerable patience and laborious practice, she had learnt to scrutinise complex molecular structures and attempt increasingly difficult transmutations.
In time, Lily learnt to appreciate both the structure and form of matter by exploring it with her mind. At first, this required a tangible connection to the substance, but as she became more adept, she achieved success by reaching out with her mind. Now, with practice, she could explore and manipulate form at will, rearranging internal structure, sometimes in dramatic fashion.
Lily considered the statue and began to explore it exactly how her father had instructed, shutting out all other thoughts and closing her eyes to visualise the microscopic detail of the structure with her mind. Some minutes later, when she was satisfied with what she had done, she handed the statue back to him and said, ‘Mm, that’s strange. It’s made almost entirely of quartz. That wasn’t what I was expecting.’
‘Quartz?’
‘Sorry, I should have said silicon dioxide.’
‘Ah, yes. The most common of all minerals and the basis of certain types of igneous rock.’
Lily frowned. ‘It’s odd, though, because the statue isn’t uniform and contains voids and cavities. I wouldn’t normally expect to find flaws in a piece of rock derived primarily from magma.’
‘Well done, Lily. You’re right. Can you formulate any conclusions based on your analysis?’ Price asked, looking curiously at her.
Lily shook her head, having no idea where her father’s line of thought was leading.
Price returned the statue to the desk. He stared intently at the figure before raising his palm above the statue’s head. Without warning, a spark of blinding light flew from his hand, cleaving the statue neatly into two equal pieces that clattered apart onto the tabletop.
Lily gasped once the smoke from the discharge had dissipated, immediately realising that the statue was not uniform, just as she had predicted. She picked up one of the halves and felt her stomach lurch as she looked at the figure. What she saw made her recall the first time she had opened one of her father’s anatomical manuscripts, De Humani Corporis Fabrica by Andreas Vesalius. The plates of the anatomical dissections she had always derived so much pleasure from were replicated in the same detail on the inside of the statue.
Price was studying her face intently when she looked up. ‘What do you think?’ he whispered.
Lily looked confused. ‘I don’t understand, unless …’ she began, furrowing her brow.
‘Go on,’ he prompted.
‘Unless this really is a squirrel that has somehow been transformed into stone … mummified even.’
‘You’re almost there,’ said Price proudly. ‘The squirrel, I’m afraid, was very much alive until recently. Albright found it at the bottom of the garden this morning. He stumbled on it by chance and brought it back to the house for my inspection. This squirrel has been petrified, Lily. I believe that our recent intruder was disturbed as he left, and instinctively reacted by casting a spell.’
‘But that means whoever broke in was an alchemist,’ she gasped in response to the unnerving news.
‘Exactly,’ replied Price. ‘As you are all too well aware, this kind of transformation, outside of these four walls, is rarely encountered these days. The few alchemists practising the art of transubstantiation are well known to me, yet this recent burglary has none of the hallmarks of my allies. No, I’m afraid that this event somehow marks the beginning of a new threat, which leaves me feeling decidedly uneasy.’
‘What will you do?’ enquired Lily.
‘The key to this affair is the book that was taken. The intruder knew exactly what they were after, and that’s where I intend to start. I’ve arranged to see Cornelius later this morning.’
Lily smiled despite feeling a sudden pang of guilt. Cornelius was a lifelong friend of her father’s, and inevitably, he had become a surrogate uncle to her. ‘Give him my love and tell him I’ll be over to see him soon. I haven’t visited in ages,’ she said, silently chiding herself for neglecting him.
Price nodded then settled back in his chair. He picked up a battered book that fell open to reveal beautiful handwritten script inscribed on creased vellum.
‘What’s that?’ said Lily, jumping up to look over his shoulder. The book was written in Latin, but despite her studies, she could not immediately decipher the words.
Price looked at her and smiled as their eyes met. ‘Perhaps you should pay more attention to your other lessons, young lady,’ he said in jest.
‘Mm. Maybe you’re right,’ Lily replied grudgingly.
‘Now. I have a lot to do this morning. Perhaps we should continue your lesson tomorrow, but before you go, there’s one more thing I’d like to discuss.’
‘Of course.’
‘There’s an area of alchemical lore you’ve not yet met. Have you come across the term “psychic defence” during any of your reading?’
Lily pondered for a moment. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘I thought not. It’s an area of study that’s been neglected in recent years. It’s well beyond the expertise of even the most accomplished alchemist. I’ve purposely avoided the subject up until now.’
‘Why the sudden change?’
‘I believe you’re ready, Lily, it’s as simple as that. Your practical abilities have matured beyond my wildest expectations. The study of alchemical lore is one thing, but the ability to put it into practice is another. Theory can be taught to almost anyone with the intellectual capabilities to understand, but turning that knowledge into a defined physical effect seems to be beyond even the most capable students these days. Alas, it was not always so.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s a question I cannot answer, I’m afraid. The simple truth is, I don’t know. Many years ago when our greatest alchemical institution, the Academy of Arcane and Alchemical Arts, was at its height, students acquired these skills with consummate ease. Sadly, the institution has been in decline for many years, even going back to my time as a fellow there.
‘The Academy may be the last bastion of alchemical learning, but its deterioration has been accompanied by an inextricable link with the students’ abilities to acquire the practical skills with which we aim to equip them. There appears to be no obvious explanation for this, but it makes your progress all the more remarkable.’
Lily felt a glow of pride. Praise from her father was a rare commodity indeed, and she was more familiar with the frequent criticism he handed out for her failure to appreciate aspects of her education, particularly on the subjects taught by her tutors.
‘What do you mean by psychic defence?’
Price rubbed the bridge of his nose contemplatively. ‘You’ve already mastered many of the skills that are necessary to internalise and assimilate information through simple analysis as you’ve just so ably demonstrated. The next step is to recognise and convert the energy residing within you, and then absorb, channel and ultimately exteriorise that power.’
‘Are you going to start teaching me this now?’ Lily said, struggling to contain her excitement.
Price smiled. ‘The time’s right, Lily. While I’ve directed most of your lessons towards the analysis and realignment of matter, the new skills I aim to teach you are more offensive in nature. Remember, though, you should utilise these skills for your protection rather than harness them as a destructive power.’
Lily was astonished. ‘I don’t believe it! You’ve always steered me away from anything that’s dangerous.’
‘For very good reasons, Lily, but before you get ahead of yourself, you must learn to recognise danger before it arises in order to protect yourself—the realm of alchemy known as psychic defence.’
‘I’m not sure I understand,’ replied Lily.
‘Let me explain. Ana’s been teach
ing you the basics of neurophysiology and psychology. You’re aware that the brain can assimilate vast quantities of data at any given time. This information enters the nervous system via the senses, although much of it never reaches conscious level and is ignored by the higher centres of the brain.’
‘I don’t suppose it could be any other way otherwise a flood of unnecessary data would overwhelm our thoughts.’
‘Exactly, but that doesn’t mean to say that this subconscious information is irrelevant. I intend to teach you ways to monitor what’s going on around you, yet without interfering with everything else that’s going through your mind at the same time. This concept underpins the rationale behind what you will soon come to understand as your psychic defence mechanisms.’
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘Okay, let me give you an example. You’ve heard the term “the smell of fear”, I take it?’
‘I have, but it’s always seemed a ludicrous expression to me. Who can smell fear?’
‘Well, animals can for a start. Chemical factors known as pheromones are released by one organism and trigger a subconscious response in another. Human behaviour can similarly be influenced in this manner. If you master these signals and combine them with the ability to read non-verbal cues, it will put you at a significant advantage against any adversary.’
‘Mm, yes, I see.’
‘The flicker of a facial muscle or a particular body posture or movement can belie many human emotions but may be missed by the casual observer. If you learn to read these expressions, you can tell when someone is fearful, or angry, or even reckless; when they’re lying or telling the truth; or whether they’re a threat or trustworthy.’
‘So that I can decide on the best course of action to take.’
