“This afternoon?” Master Travis looked shocked. “You’re leaving the shop this afternoon?”
“I have to buy food,” I reminded him. Normally, I left an hour early to buy food, then met Ginny for a snack. “We’re short on everything except rice and potatoes.”
“It’s Friday,” Master Travis said. He rubbed his forehead. “I thought it was Wednesday.”
“You’ve been very busy,” I said. I was tempted to order him to bed, but I knew he wouldn’t listen. “Can I go shopping this afternoon?”
“You probably should,” Master Travis said. “And see if you can find out the truth behind the rumour.”
I nodded, although it was probably impossible. The original rumour might be completely true, but - as it moved from person to person - it would mutate into something that would be completely unrecognisable. A girl walking out with a boy, purely as friends, would come home to an irate mother who’d heard her daughter was on the verge of running away and marrying her friend. Ginny might know the truth - a lot of rumours passed through the Hiring Hall - or she might not. She wouldn’t know if she was telling me the truth or merely something she thought was the truth. It might be weeks or months before the full story emerged, if it ever did.
We ate a quick snack, then Master Travis went back upstairs and left me to handle the afternoon customers. I feared that he’d forget to come down at five, when I had to go out and shop, but he came down as planned and took his place behind the counter. I found my cloak and hurried out of the shop, heading down to the grocery stalls. I’d have preferred to go in the morning, but that was impossible as long as Master Travis was wrapped up in Reginald’s project. There was no way he was going to allow himself to be distracted for long.
I purchased a small amount of food and drink, placed it in my carryall and then walked down to the Hiring Hall. Ginny was already standing outside, waiting for me. She smiled, then locked her arm in mine as we walked to the food stalls. The smell of cooked meat greeted us, the cooks shouting and waving to attract our attention. I had to smile. The benches were already crammed with people eating their fill, but the cooks wanted more. But then, their food was relatively cheap. They needed to keep a steady flow of customers if they wanted to balance their books.
“I had a busy day,” Ginny said, as she ordered a helping of sliced meat and bread. “There was a special order for servants.”
“Ouch,” I said. “And were they satisfied?”
“We won’t know for a while,” Ginny said. “They want the servants to go up north.”
I frowned as I placed my own order for chicken and rice. Up north ... Caithness was up north. It was a curious coincidence, if indeed it was a coincidence. I mulled it over as I took my food and followed Ginny to the nearest table. A handful of boys made eyes at us, but Ginny shook her head firmly. The last thing she needed was rumours about her conduct when she was planning to marry her boyfriend.
“That’s odd,” I said, once the hunger pangs were satisfied. “What’s happening up north?”
Ginny smiled. “No one’s quite sure,” she admitted. “ Something happened, but all my usual sources are very tight-lipped. Even the People’s Enquirer and the Daily Blabber have been quiet and you know what they’re like.”
“The story probably doesn’t include naked women,” I said. The People’s Enquirer was notorious for publishing photographs of nude women. It was strange how the broadsheet managed to remain in business, given how many people hotly denied reading it. “You couldn’t get anything from them?”
“I have a friend who works at the Blabber ,” Ginny said. “She’s normally willing to spill the beans. She has a terrible case of verbal diarrhoea. And when I spoke to her this afternoon, when it became clear that something had happened, she clammed up. I didn’t believe that anyone could shut her mouth. Word must have come down from On High. No one, but no one, is talking.”
“Strange,” I mused. “What do you think it means?”
“There’s a request going through for housekeeping staff with good characters,” Ginny said, as she dipped her lamb in spicy sauce and nibbled it thoughtfully. “All of whom must be willing to spend at least six months away from civilisation. They’re certainly going to be quite some distance from Shallot.”
I nodded. It was an article of faith amongst city folk that Shallot was the only real outpost of civilisation in the country. Even Tintagel, the capital, couldn't compete. I doubted that anyone really wanted to visit Caithness. A border city might find itself on the front line if the frequent diplomatic incidents between Tintagel and Galashiels turned into war. And besides, they might be a long way from the city. It might not be easy to visit Caithness for a day.
“And no one is talking,” I commented. “Are you having any luck?”
“We could fill their request in an afternoon if they hadn’t been so very particular ,” Ginny said. “How many servants of good character want to move to Caithness? They’d probably do better recruiting up there.”
I nodded. Who’d want to go to Caithness?
“I don’t know anything else,” Ginny said. “The request was vague about precisely where they’d be going, too. It could be anything from a governor’s mansion to a crumbling old manor where the family stashes its embarrassments.”
“I would have thought they’d rely on old retainers for that ,” I said. “They couldn’t afford the rumours getting out, could they?”
“You’d think,” Ginny agreed. She smiled, delicately. “Perhaps it’s a school.”
“They’d have said that, wouldn’t they?” I finished my chicken and pushed the plate aside. “I thought the kids had to make their own beds.”
“Lots more to do in a school,” Ginny said. “But yes, you’re right. They’re recruiting for a house, not for a school.”
She finished her meal and stood. “I hear a young man has been visiting your store,” she said, as she gave the plate to a passing attendant. “Do I hear a wedding song in your future?”
“No,” I said, tartly. Ginny knew how annoying I found Clive. Besides, Clive had been visiting the store for years . No, someone had to have seen Reginald . “There’s no wedding song in my future.”
“A shame,” Ginny said. “I hear he’s quality.”
Reginald must not have been as secretive as he’d thought , I mused. Technically, there was nothing wrong with Reginald visiting the shop; practically, people would talk. It was all the gossipmongers ever did. And who knows what they’re saying now?
“He’s just a customer,” I said, as we walked down the streets. “And nothing more.”
Ginny stopped and turned to me. “Be careful,” she said. “I hear he’s got a bad reputation.”
I frowned. “What sort of reputation?”
“Nothing too specific,” Ginny said. “But amongst those who know, he’s got a bad reputation.”
I could believe it. “What else do you know?”
“Let’s just say that it’s quite hard to find staff for Bolingbroke Hall,” Ginny said. “They wouldn’t even have come to the Hiring Hall if they weren’t desperate. And yet, their turnover rate is quite high.”
“I see,” I said. That was odd. The Great Houses were normally maintained by lesser family, not hired hands. House Bolingbroke had problems. I wondered just how many of them were Reginald’s fault. “But you don’t know anything specific?”
“No,” Ginny admitted. We crossed the road and headed down to the canal. “But there’s no such thing as smoke without fire.”
“There are spells that make smoke without fire,” I pointed out.
“Yeah,” Ginny said. “And you know what I mean.”
“I do,” I confirmed. I didn’t need her to tell me that Reginald was bad news. “But we have to work with him.”
“Watch your back,” Ginny advised. “And tell your master to watch his too.”
Chapter Eight
“The rumours are not very clear,” I told Master Travis over dinner. “But so
mething clearly happened near Caithness.”
“I see,” Master Travis said, when I’d finished. “But no one knows anything specific.”
“No one I know,” I confirmed. “Not about what happened at Caithness and not about Reginald personally. And that means that someone paid a great deal of money to shut the rumourmongers up.”
“Probably,” Master Travis said. He took another bite of his food. “But it proves nothing.”
“No, Master,” I said. “Should we really be getting involved with these people? Reginald and Zadornov?”
Master Travis gave me an odd little smile. “Do we have a choice?”
“Not now,” I said, after a moment. “We took their money.”
“You know as well as I do how desperate we are for money,” Master Travis said. “And Reginald’s project is fascinating.”
“Yes,” I said. “What is it?”
“We’ll talk about it later,” Master Travis said. “Success ... suffice it to say that success will put my name amongst the greatest magicians of the decade.”
If you say so , I thought. Master Travis was a skilled brewer, but he would have to do something very spectacular to knock Caitlyn Aguirre off the front page. And if Reginald lets you tell the world what you’ve done .
I kept that thought to myself, even as I felt my stomach begin to tighten. Reginald’s project might be legal, but that might be only because no one had ever thought to ban it. Magus Court didn’t have the time to write laws forbidding something that wasn’t even theoretically possible. That might change, after Reginald put the project to use. Whatever it was... it might be legal, but it would definitely alarm the lawmakers. He wouldn’t have come to us if he could have worked with a Potions Master in North Shallot.
Master Travis finished his plate and leaned back with a contented smile. “That was nice,” he said. “Thank you.”
I felt a flush of warmth that had nothing to do with the heating charms I’d cast around the room. “Thank you ,” I said. “It was fun to try something new.”
“Meet me in my workroom when you’ve finished cleaning the plates,” Master Travis said, as he stood. “We have matters to discuss.”
I nodded and hurriedly finished my own dinner. I’d tried a new recipe, one that combined cream with onions and sauce to produce a unique taste. The mashed potato - I’d made more than I needed - would be saved until tomorrow, where I’d cook it with bacon and eggs for a good start to the day. Hopefully, Master Travis would eat before he vanished into his workroom. I washed the dishes, put them aside to drip dry and walked down to the workroom. The wards were tightly in place, but the door was open. Master Travis was sitting at a table, studying his notebook. A small crystal pendant lay beside him.
He didn’t seem aware of my presence, so I cleared my throat. “Master?”
Master Travis looked up. “Ah, Rebecca. Close the door and take a seat.”
I did as I was told and sat down, facing him. The chair wasn’t very comfortable, but I found myself relaxing anyway. Master Travis’s workroom was a fascinating environment. There was never any shortage of things to look at and admire, from the large wooden table - scorched and pitted by a hundred experiments - to the bookshelves groaning under the weight of hundreds of books. I’d been allowed to read some of them, from time to time, and it had only whetted my appetite for the remainder. There were recipes in some of the volumes I wanted to try to brew for myself.
Master Travis said nothing for a long moment. I waited, trying to be patient. The notebook lay open in front of him, but the writing was so erratic that I couldn’t hope to read it upside down. Besides, he’d scribbled down everything in code. I felt a twitch of irritation, mingled with wry understanding. Master Travis would hardly be the first magician to encrypt his personal notebook. Magicians seemed to spend half their time spying on each other. The apothecary’s wards were strong, but there was no such thing as an impenetrable defence. It wasn’t impossible that someone had found a way to subvert the wards.
And all the really ancient magicians didn’t bother to document their experiments , I thought, recalling Master Travis’s lectures on the subject. The ancients had often left a certain ingredient out of the recipe, just to make life difficult for their successors. Guessing how much of a certain ingredient you need is a good way to end up dead .
“Rebecca,” Master Travis said. “Take a look at this.”
He held up the pendant. It sparkled under the lantern’s light, producing an endless series of flickers that caught and held my attention. I stared, unable to look away. My body grew tired, sagging within the chair. I was dimly aware of Master Travis speaking to me, but I couldn’t make out the words. The light held my attention and ...
... I snapped awake, suddenly. I’d fallen asleep. I’d fallen asleep in front of Master Travis and ... I swallowed hard, silently grateful that I had a decent master. A servant who fell asleep in front of a harsh master would be lucky if she wasn’t kicked out of the house. I’d had a long day, and I’d slept very poorly the previous night, but what did that matter? I’d simply collapsed in his chair.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered, embarrassed. “Master, I ...”
“Don’t worry about it,” Master Travis said. “You looked as if you needed a rest.”
I shifted, uncomfortably. My body ached as I moved. My finger hurt, although I wasn’t sure why and the pain faded almost as soon as I took note of it. The chair hadn’t been the best place to sleep. How long had I been asleep? The clock said that it had been at least a couple of hours, but it felt as if I’d only dozed off for a second. I yawned, helplessly. It was something else a servant wasn’t supposed to do in front of her master, but I couldn’t help it. Master Travis didn’t seem inclined to comment. I silently blessed him as I gathered myself. He was a kind man.
“Thank you,” I managed, finally.
Master Travis nodded, then stood and headed over to the other table. I watched as he pulled jars of expensive ingredients from the shelves and carefully measured out the quantities, then started to pour them into the base liquid one by one. It was always a pleasure to watch him brew. He made it look fascinating - and easy. I relaxed into the chair as Master Travis lit the fire under the cauldron with a match. He’d warned me, more than once, not to use magic anywhere near a cauldron. It might set off an explosion.
“This potion requires a degree of preparation before you light the fire,” he said, without looking at me. “The ingredients need to blend together first .”
I watched as he heated up the liquid, stirring carefully. No one knew precisely why certain potions required five clockwise stirs when they started to boil and others required seven counter-clockwise stirs, but there didn’t seem to be any way of avoiding it. Potions, particularly the more powerful potions, could be finicky. The ancients had had some way of calculating the precise infusion of magic - or so the Guild of Potions Masters agreed - but no one knew what it was. We had to proceed by trial and error. You could calculate everything perfectly and the potion might still explode in your face.
“This should be ready for tomorrow,” Master Travis said, as he finished. “You can bottle it up in the morning.”
“Yes, Master,” I said. The potion needed to cool overnight, then. “What is it?”
“A modified wit-enhancing potion,” Master Travis said. “It should help those poor students in need of a boost.”
I frowned. The potions did make the drinker cleverer, at least for a few hours, but the effects didn’t last. Master Travis had forbidden me to drink them myself, pointing out that it was better to develop my intellect the hard way than rely on potions. It was all too easy to become dependent on the potion to maintain one’s place in the class. Smart students were smart enough not to buy the potion in the first place.
The Alchemist's Apprentice Page 8