“I did,” Clive said. He dropped his voice until he was practically whispering. “You could marry me, you know. My parents wouldn’t object.”
My temper snapped. “Get out.”
Clive looked surprised. “But, Rebecca ...”
“Get out,” I repeated. I gathered the wards, feeling them pulsing around me. Clive was no more a qualified magician than I was, but I knew he could feel them too. “Now.”
“As you wish,” Clive said. He threw a bow, as if he were a pureblood nobleman. “But I will not be defeated in my suit for you.”
He left the shop, trying hard to look as if he’d left of his own free will. I glared after him as I slowly released the wards, allowing them to fade back into the ether. Clive ... the hell of it, the bitter hell of it, was that it was the best marriage offer I was likely to get. Clive’s family was too poor to give much of a damn about heritage. I was tempted to believe they’d accept a fatherless half-caste girl rather than risk their son remaining unmarried. But I simply didn’t like Clive. His bluster might impress some girls. It didn’t impress me.
And marrying him would be an admission I’d never get out of Water Shallot, I thought. Clive’s wife would never be allowed to have a life of her own. I’d seen enough housewives, their eyes filled with quiet desperation, to know I never wanted to join them. The men weren’t much better. A single mistake - or even growing too old - would mean joining the beggars on the streets. I shuddered to think what happened to men who failed to repay the loan sharks. If I married him, I would be trapped forever.
I pushed the thought aside and opened the first broadsheet. I’d never really understood why Master Travis subscribed to Society Pages, unless he intended to use the paper in his water closet. The men and women described within its pages were so far above me - and Master Travis - that they might as well be on the moon. I had no idea what Mistress Marlena had paid to have her daughter described as a society beauty - the poor girl was remarkably plain, if the picture was to be believed - but it was probably more money than we earned in a month. And why did I care about their lives anyway? It wasn’t as if I had a hope of joining them.
A thought struck me and I flicked through the pages. Perhaps there was something about Reginald Bolingbroke within the paper. I found nothing about Reginald personally, but I did find a note about Henri Bolingbroke. Henri - Reginald’s brother, I guessed - had been killed during the House War, five months ago. His family had just finished a period of official mourning for the young lad, described as a pleasure to all who knew him. The writer went on in increasingly florid terms, while I rolled my eyes in disgust. I didn’t know what the Great Houses had been fighting for, when they had their war. All I knew was that they’d devastated parts of the city and killed hundreds of innocent civilians. No one had held a funeral for them.
Henri must have been Reginald’s older brother, I figured, although the article didn’t mention Reginald at all. The writer specifically states that Henri was the Heir Primus, the next Lord Bolingbroke. He won’t be inheriting now he’s dead.
I shrugged, put the broadsheet aside for Master Travis and opened Potions Masters Quarterly. The special edition talked about the discovery of how Objects of Power were made and just what changes Potions Masters could expect, if Objects of Power became commonly available once again. It was intriguing, I had to admit, but I’d heard enough to suspect it would be a long time before the price dropped to the level we could afford to buy charmed spoons and cauldrons. There was one person who could make Objects of Power, just one. If she made one a day - and I had no idea if that was even remotely possible - she could only make three hundred and sixty-five Objects of Power in a year. She couldn’t come close to meeting demand. The article writer didn’t say as much, but he seemed to agree. He concluded by urging the Guild of Potions Masters to do everything in their power to discover new Zeros.
The wards shifted, again, as Master Travis emerged from the ironhold and clumped up the stairs. I hurried into the backroom to get him his tea, which he took and sipped gratefully. I promised myself that I’d cook him something simple for lunch, if he took over the counter for half an hour or so. He normally did, but this was very far from a normal day. I could sense the protective charms he’d layered over the notebook without even having to touch it.
“Letters,” Master Travis said. “Did we get any letters? From Kirkhaven?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. The postal service was unreliable outside the city, particularly near the border. Master Travis had a correspondent somewhere up there, but his letters were frequently delayed or lost altogether. “There’s only two letters and I think they’re both from the city.”
“People who could just walk over and have a chat if they wanted,” Master Travis said. He cradled his mug in his hands, sipping daintily. “Did you check the shelves?”
“Yes, Master,” I said. “We need more of ...”
“We need more of a great many things,” Master Travis said. “Dragon Scales and Cockatrice Blood, among others.”
I blinked in surprise. Dragon Scales were highly volatile. Any potion involving Dragon Scales was prone to exploding if the brewer looked at it the wrong way. Most Potions Masters wouldn’t touch such brews for love or money. Cockatrice Blood wasn’t so dangerous, but it was extremely rare. The vast bounties paid to anyone who brought home a dead Cockatrice weren’t always enough to tempt hunters into trying their luck. Master Travis couldn’t afford more than a vial or two a year.
“I don’t know how we’re going to afford it,” I said, carefully. What was Master Travis trying to brew? I couldn’t think of anything that involved both Dragon Scales and Cockatrice Blood. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what else Master Travis was going to be buying. He might have to mortgage the shop. “Master ...”
“Master Reginald has put me on retainer,” Master Travis said. “He will be funding the purchases from his own pocket.”
I swallowed. That didn’t sound good. The dangerous thing about working with such exotic materials was that the brewer could do everything right and still wind up with nothing more than a colossal explosion. Potions Masters had been arguing for decades in the letter columns about why this might be so, although no one seemed to have come up with an answer. I’d never been tempted to experiment myself. Master Travis wouldn’t be tempted either - or so I’d thought. Reginald must have offered him a lot of money.
It might not be a bad thing, I thought. There were reasons to be optimistic. If we had enough money in the funds, we wouldn't be scraping so desperately each month to pay the suppliers.
“I’ll be working upstairs for most of the day,” Master Travis said. “You can handle the shop, can’t you?”
“Yes, Master,” I said. I held out the record book. “But we will be unable to brew the potions our customers want.”
Master Travis scowled as he read my scrawled handwriting. “We’ll close the shop between two and three,” he said, after a moment. “You can brew the potions then. Simultaneously.”
“Yes, Master,” I said, doubtfully. There weren’t any real problems in brewing the various potions simultaneously - it wasn’t as if I was going to brew something that required constant attention - but it was still a bad habit. Master Travis had told me never to brew more than one potion at a time unless I was in a hurry. “I should be able to brew them all on time.”
“Of course you can.” Master Travis gave me a warm smile. “I have every faith in you.”
I hesitated. Was this a good moment to ask about an apprenticeship? Perhaps not. Master Travis’s letter hadn’t arrived - and besides, his mind was clearly elsewhere. Whatever Reginald wanted, it was a real challenge. I hadn’t seen him looking so distracted since he’d brewed a set of very complex potions for the local builders. He’d practically locked himself in his chambers until the potions were ready.
“You said I could go out tonight,” I reminded him, instead. “Can I still go?”
Master Travis thought f
or a moment, then nodded. “Have fun,” he said. “Just remember to be back before eleven.”
“I’ll be back well before then,” I promised. It was dangerous for a young girl to walk the streets alone after dark. I knew better than to take the risk. “Now, can I get you something to eat?”
Chapter Three
It was still bright outside when I closed the shop, grabbed my cloak and hurried out of the door, sealing the wards behind me. Master Travis was still in his workroom, either brewing something or digging through his collection of reference texts. I’d heard him mumbling to himself as I passed the door but he hadn’t come out, even when I offered him a snack. In the end, I’d left it on the table before going back down to the shop. I hoped he’d have eaten it by the time I got back.
The streets were just starting to fill up with people as I made my way down towards the handful of coffee shops at the edge of Water Shallot. Workmen were heading home, paying little attention to the handful of street performers trying to earn an honest wage; five or six ladies of the evening were leaning against the stone walls, trying to make eye contact with men who might be interested in their wares. I shuddered, drawing my cloak tighter around myself as I hurried past. The ladies affected a kind of glamour, but I knew - all too well - that there was nothing glamorous in their lives either. Their pimps eyed me as I walked past, their eyes sending trails of slime running down my body. I would sooner die than fall into their hands. They’d use me up, then leave me to die.
I felt better as I reached the main street and headed down towards the bridge leading to South Shallot. The area was slowly being gentrified as merchants and other “new men” who’d struck it rich - and yet were unable to move into North or South Shallot - started to buy land and redevelop it into something more suitable for their new status. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, even though I’d been born and bred in Water Shallot. On one hand, the gentrified quadrants were safer than the rest of the island; on the other, the newcomers were driving up rates and forcing those who couldn’t pay to move further into Water Shallot. It might only be a few years before Master Travis and I were either forced to pay higher rates ourselves or find somewhere new to live too. I’d heard enough angry mutterings about rebellion to fear for the future.
A passing City Guardsmen eyed me sharply, as if he didn’t think I had the right to be there, then shrugged. I kept my face impassive as I walked past, trying not to show my humiliation too openly. There weren’t many half-castes and almost all of them lived in the poorest districts of the city. I wondered, sourly, if I’d been on the verge of being arrested just for existing, even though it made no sense. A common thief or pickpocket would hardly want to be someone as noticeable as I.
The people in the gentrified quadrant were better dressed than me - or anyone else I knew, save for Master Travis himself. They wore fine clothes and walked around as if they were lords and ladies without a care in the world, although I had no trouble picking up the subtle signs that they were new money. They wouldn’t have tried so hard to look posh, as if they’d made it, if they had any doubts about their status. I also had no trouble spotting a handful of pickpockets working the crowd. Someone was about to lose his wallet, if I was any judge. It wasn’t people like me the guards needed to watch.
My breath caught in my throat as I spotted a pair of Hangchowese men walking down the streets. Might one of them be my father? I pushed the bitter thought aside a second later as the men passed, without even a sideways glance at me. My father had gone home before I was born, my mother said. I didn’t even have a picture! I wanted to shout and scream at the two men, but what was the point? They probably didn’t even know my father. It wasn’t as if I knew everyone who looked like me.
I forced myself to calm down as I reached the coffee shop and stepped inside. Ginny was sitting at a table by the window, a mug of hot chocolate resting in front of her. I smiled at her as she stood to greet me, holding out her hands to give me a hug. She looked good, I thought, although she had the advantage of working in an office rather than being a housekeeper and shopgirl wrapped into one. I’d met her by accident, but we’d hit it off straight away.
She was a tall girl, with long red hair that fell down to the small of her back and a nice smile that caught the eye and pulled it towards her. Her freckled face and bright green eyes gave her an exotic air, like mine, although there was no question about her ancestors. Ginny’s family had come from somewhere up north, she’d told me, but she fitted far better into Shallot’s melting pot than I. She had no trouble reciting the names of everyone all the way back to her great-great-grandmother.
“You’re looking good,” Ginny said, as we sat down. “What have you been doing with yourself?”
“Liar,” I said. I’d brushed my hair back and washed my face, but I hadn’t had the time to change clothes. I was lucky Master Travis didn’t mind what I wore, as long as it covered most of my body. The dress might have been passed down from my grandmother - or so I’d been told - but it was still wearable. And it was dark enough to hide the stains from potions accidents. “I look awful and you know it.”
“You look pretty,” Ginny insisted. “Have you found a new lad?”
“I haven’t found any lad,” I said. There were potions that could only be brewed by virgins. I qualified. “And I’m not looking either.”
“That’s what they all say,” Ginny said. “And they always change their minds.”
The waitress appeared at my shoulder and coughed, lightly. I hesitated - coffee shops weren’t expensive, but my allowance was very small - and then ordered a hot chocolate. I didn’t need anything else. Master Travis and I would eat late at night, when I got home. I had a feeling that Master Travis wouldn’t bother to eat, let alone go to bed. He was very interested in his new project.
“Speaking of lads,” Ginny said. “Did you bring ...?”
“Yeah,” I said. I reached into my handbag and produced a small vial. “You remember how to use it?”
“Of course,” Ginny said. “One drop in a glass of water and you’re covered for a day or two.”
I nodded, curtly. Ginny had asked - begged, really - for me to supply her with a contraceptive potion. It was easy to brew, but it was expensive. Ginny hadn’t been able to promise me anything in exchange, apart from future favours. I wondered, wryly, if I’d ever be able to collect. Ginny was in no position to give me the one thing I truly wanted.
“Thank you,” Ginny said. “I’m sure Rupert will thank you too.”
I smiled. “Are you and Rupert getting serious now?”
“We’re going to get married, once I turn twenty-one,” Ginny said. “We haven’t told our parents yet.”
“I suppose not,” I said. Ginny was nineteen. Old enough to marry, with her father’s permission, but too young to marry for love. “Is Rupert serious too?”
“He’s opening his own printing business and he needs an assistant,” Ginny said. “And he already has a multitude of contracts.”
“So do you,” I pointed out. I’d only met Rupert a few times, but he’d always struck me as a level-headed young man. He certainly hadn’t been anything like Clive. And he’d barely looked at any other girl when Ginny was on his arm. “Do you two have plans for the future?”
Ginny nodded towards the window. “Do you think I want to stay here forever?”
“No,” I said, feeling a pang. “Do you think you can move up in the world?”
“The demand for printers has never been higher,” Ginny said. “Rupert thinks he can take advantage of it to get a secure position. And if I’m his wife ...”
She winked at me, mischievously. I felt my tanned skin darken. I knew more than I wanted to know of the ways of the world, but I was still very young. And innocent, in some ways.
Ginny cleared her throat as my hot chocolate arrived. “And you? Do you think you’ll look for a man one day?”
I had to smile. “I don’t think so,” I said. “My father deserted me and my ste
pfather kicked me out as soon as he decently could.”
“True,” Ginny said. “Did your father even know he had you?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. I did know that my father had sailed home before I was born, but my mother would have known she was pregnant before then ... wouldn’t she? Would she have told her lover? I thought so, but she’d never told me. “My stepfather, on the other hand, is a bastard.”
“At least he made sure you found a good place to work,” Ginny said. She took a sip of her hot chocolate. “Others aren’t so lucky. Kyle, for instance.”
I shuddered. Kyle’s master beat him regularly, often drawing blood. I’d seen the scars.
“He could probably do with some healing salve,” Ginny added, diffidently. “If you happen to have any on hand ...”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I didn’t blame Ginny for asking. “But it wasn’t my stepfather who sent me to Master Travis. It was the luck of the draw.”
The Alchemist's Apprentice Page 3