The Alchemist's Apprentice

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  I sighed and tried to get comfortable as the carriage turned a corner. A detective might have been able to guess where we were going, if he’d memorised a map of the city and took pains to count all the twists and turns, but I had no idea where we were. Still in Water Shallot, I was sure, unless I was wrong about the guardsmen on the bridges. But ... had I been arrested? No, the City Guard and the Kingsmen wouldn’t have needed to snatch me off the streets in a carriage. They’d just have grabbed me, slapped on the cuffs and marched me down to the nearest guardpost. Whoever had yanked me off the streets wasn’t connected to the City Guard. The list of suspects was relatively short.

  Zadornov , I thought, as the ache in my back grew stronger. Who else can it be?

  There didn’t seem to be any other solution. Reginald might have wanted to grab me, just to tie up a few loose ends, but he could let the City Guard do the work and take me into his custody later. He and his goons wouldn’t need to snatch me off the road either. No, Zadornov was the only logical suspect. My blood ran cold. I didn’t know what Zadornov wanted, but I doubted it would be anything good . Master Travis was dead. I just hoped that whatever bargains Master Travis had made had died with him.

  The carriage rattled again, then came to a halt. My captor took his feet off my back and stood, tapping an odd pattern on the wooden door. It opened a moment later, revealing the interior of an old warehouse. He jumped down, then caught me by the arm and dragged me out of the carriage. My legs felt wobbly, but I shied away from my captor when he offered to help me stand. I didn’t want him any closer to me than strictly necessary.

  “This way,” he grunted.

  I followed him through an iron door and up a flight of rickety stairs that rattled unpleasantly under my feet. They felt as if they were caught in a draft, although the air felt as cold and still as the grave. I tried not to think about what would happen if I fell backwards, when my hands were tied behind my back. The bonds remained completely unbreakable, no matter how hard I wriggled. I tried to summon the magic to cast a spell, only to have it instantly squelched by the building’s wards. Or perhaps by the rope itself. I’d heard stories about cuffs that made it impossible to use magic.

  We stopped outside another iron door. “I’ll be waiting outside,” my captor said, as he pushed open the door. “Don’t try anything stupid.”

  I stumbled inside and looked around. It was a small bedroom, complete with bed, mirror, wardrobe and a door that - I assumed - led to the bathroom. It made my garret look tiny. A blonde-haired girl wearing a green dress sat on the bed, her eyes terrifyingly old. I shivered, realising that she’d seen terrible things. I didn’t want to think about what might have happened to her.

  “I have orders to wash and dress you,” she said. Her voice was utterly toneless, as if she was no longer capable of feeling or expressing emotion. “Come here so I can free your hands.”

  I glowered around the room as she carefully freed my hands, then tried to cast a small spell. It failed, again. The room might look nice, but it was heavily warded. A prison in all but name. The girl gave me a reproving look, as if to question if I’d really expected the spell to work, then pointed me towards the bathroom. I opened the door and peered inside. The shower looked heavenly. I hadn’t seen anything like it outside the public baths. And here I wouldn't have to compete with the other women to use it.

  “I know how to wash and dress myself,” I said, as the girl pushed me into the room. “I’m not a baby.”

  “I have my orders,” the girl said. “Get undressed.”

  “I can do that on my own,” I said, firmly. I didn’t want to leave my dress unsupervised, not when I had money and a handful of potions vials in my pouch. Not, I supposed, that it mattered. It wasn’t as if I could stop them taking everything I carried, if they wished. “Let me get showered and changed in peace.”

  The girl hesitated - it dawned on me, suddenly, that she was afraid to disobey her master - and then stepped out of the bathroom. I closed the door, noted the absence of a lock, and undressed quickly. The shower was as good as I’d hoped, a constant stream of hot running water that washed away the dirt and grime of the past few hours. I wished I could spend longer under the shower, but I didn’t dare. Instead, I left the shower running and climbed out of the bathtub. Hopefully, I’d have a chance to count my money before the girl returned to urge me to hurry up.

  Twenty-seven coppers, eighteen silvers and three gold coins , I mused, as I carefully returned the money to the pouch. Enough to keep me going for a while .

  I turned off the shower and dried myself rapidly. The girl returned, a long red dress slung over one arm. I resisted the urge to point out that I’d never wear anything like it in public as she passed it to me, then waited until I put it on. It felt as if I was removing my identity and replacing it with another. I looked nice, I admitted as I peered at myself in the mirror, but I was no longer Rebecca . I was ... I wasn’t sure what I was.

  Picking up the pouch, I slipped it into place as I followed the girl into the bedroom. A pair of slippers waited by the door. I put them on, just as a sharp knock echoed through the room. The door opened a moment later, revealing another man in a grey overcoat. He looked more like an accountant than a thug, although he moved as if he knew how to handle himself. I could sense the magic on him from right across the room. A magician, then. And a very well-trained one.

  “This way, please,” he said. It was polite, but I knew it was not a request. He was certainly powerful enough to make me come if I offered resistance. “He wishes to see you.”

  I took a breath. “And who is he ?”

  The magician shrugged. “Why, Zadornov ,” he said. He gave me a puzzled look. “Didn’t you know?”

  Yeah , I thought, as we made our way along the corridor. I had the uneasy sense that I was walking to my execution. But I hoped I was wrong .

  Chapter Twelve

  “Ah, Rebecca,” Zadornov said. “Come on in!”

  I paused at the door as I looked around. Zadornov hadn’t summoned me to his office, not this time. Instead, he’d called me to his dining room. A candlelit table, a pair of comfortable chairs, a bottle of wine and two covered dishes that smelled heavenly ... I would have liked it, if I hadn’t had the feeling I wasn’t going to like what he had to say. And that I wasn’t a willing guest. I found it hard to imagine Clive hauling me off the streets just to take me home for dinner.

  “Come in,” he repeated. The door closed behind me with an audible thump . “We have a lot to discuss, you and I.”

  I walked slowly towards the table. Zadornov rose, as calmly as you please, and held out my chair for me. It was polite, the sort of etiquette that would please the aristocracy, but I didn't find it reassuring. Somehow, Zadornov managed to make the gesture seem threatening rather than flattering. I sat, uncomfortably aware that his hands were far too close to my slender neck. He could kill me with a blow.

  Zadornov took his own chair and opened the first dish. “This is from my homeland,” he said, as the smell of paprika greeted me. “I rarely get a chance to enjoy it with a beautiful girl.”

  I didn't believe it for a moment. Zadornov was a big man in Water Shallot. I would have been astonished if he had difficulty finding someone willing to share his bed, let alone his table. Zadornov had his fingers in every brothel on the island, from the high-class parlour in the north to the cheap knocking shops down by the docks. He could have whatever company he wanted and few would dare say no. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. I was alone in the world, utterly without protection. Zadornov could do anything to me and I knew it.

  “A basic chicken in cream?” I forced my voice to sound normal. “Or something a little more complex?”

  “Chicken cooked in an onion, cream and paprika sauce,” Zadornov said. He opened the second dish, revealing pasta and a small selection of vegetables. “Onions and cream are common here, as I’m sure you know, but paprika is a little harder to find. My cook spent a lot of money on this
dish.”

  “It smells good,” I said, for lack of anything else to say. Spices could be quite expensive in Shallot - the import tax was quite high - but Zadornov was a smuggler. I doubted he paid a single copper coin to Magus Court. “And the pasta comes from your homeland too?”

  “Indeed,” Zadornov said. “I’m surprised it hasn’t become more popular here. It is surprisingly cheap to produce.”

  “People prefer potatoes and rice,” I said. Rice was supposed to have come from my father’s homeland, a long time ago. “It can be hard to get them to try something new.”

  Zadornov cocked an eyebrow. “Speaking from experience?”

  I nodded, shortly. My stepfather and Master Travis had had one thing in common. They were both very reluctant to try new dishes. My mother liked to experiment, whenever she could scrape up the money to buy some spices from the market, but my stepfather regularly turned his nose up at her creations. I wondered, not for the first time, if my mother would have made a Potions Mistress, if anyone had given her the chance. The principles of cooking and brewing weren’t that different.

  “Please, eat,” Zadornov said. “I’m sure it has been a long day.”

  My stomach rumbled, reminding me that it had been hours since breakfast. I took a forkful, silently casting a spell to make sure it was safe to eat, then put it in my mouth. It tasted heavenly. Zadornov’s cook was a very skilful man. I had to keep myself from throwing my table manners to the wind and eating like a pig. Zadornov himself ate like a nobleman, cutting up his food and swallowing it in tiny chunks. I caught him watching me and blushed, then reminded myself sharply that this was not a friendly dinner. Zadornov’s smile was the smile on the face of the tiger. I might be the second course.

  “So,” Zadornov said, when he’d satisfied his hunger pangs. “I suppose you’re wondering why I called you here?”

  I took another bite, feeling my stomach start to churn. “Yes,” I said, finally. I didn’t think Zadornov would have bothered with dinner if he merely wanted me dead, but there was no way to be sure. He certainly wanted something . “Your invitation was very hard to refuse.”

  Zadornov chuckled. “Ratter was very surprised when you hit him with that spell. You would have broken free if the carriage hadn’t been designed to contain you.”

  “You could have just asked ,” I said. My body was still aching, despite the shower. “I would have come to you.”

  “I doubt it,” Zadornov said. His voice was suddenly serious. “Few people come to me unless they’re desperate. Or they think they have something I can’t refuse. Which one, I wonder, was Master Travis?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I forced myself to meet his eyes. “I didn’t know he knew you until you walked into the shop.”

  “Oh, everyone knows me.” Zadornov shrugged, dismissively. “And he owes me - owed me - a great debt.”

  I swallowed, hard. I knew Master Travis had seriously underpaid Zadornov for the potion ingredients. There had to be something else involved. A smuggler wouldn’t last long if he didn’t know the precise value of his merchandise, particularly to someone who had an interest in avoiding official attention. No, Master Travis must have offered more than mere money. I wondered, grimly, just what he’d offered to brew for the smuggler. There were a dozen potions that would have repaid Zadornov ten times over, if he sold them in the right place.

  “I see,” I said. “And what does he owe you?”

  “All in good time,” Zadornov said. He smiled, as if he knew something I didn’t. “Here’s a question for you. What - precisely - happened today?”

  I hesitated, unsure what to say.

  “I had your shop under observation,” Zadornov added. “I know that Reginald Bolingbroke and two other aristocrats entered the shop. Thirty minutes later, you ran out; the three young idiots followed, moments before the flames spread out of control. What happened inside the shop?”

  “They walked in and froze me,” I said. I described what had happened as best as I could, leaving out only the details of precisely how I’d escaped the freeze spell. “And they killed Master Travis.”

  “I assumed as much,” Zadornov said. “His wards would not have collapsed so completely if he hadn’t been killed.”

  “I know,” I said. The thought hurt . “And they’re going to get away with it.”

  “Perhaps,” Zadornov said. “Did you notice anything interesting about them? Do you know who his escorts were ?”

  “No,” I said. “I didn’t recognise them.”

  “Nor did my watchers,” Zadornov mused. “Interesting. Clearly very junior scions of the aristocracy, if they’re aristocrats at all. Anything else?”

  “Reginald used a spellcaster,” I said. The thought gave me a glimmer of hope, although I wasn’t sure what I could do with it. “Does that mean he isn’t a strong magician?”

  “Possible, but I doubt it.” Zadornov shrugged. “Master Travis’s wards would have stopped him if he’d attacked you directly, but a spell channelled through a spellcaster might have slipped through the chinks in your defences. I imagine Reginald used his early visits to the shop to parse out exactly how the wards were constructed.”

  I looked up. “There were holes in our defences?”

  Zadornov gave me a look that suggested he thought I was stupid. “You know there were holes in your defences,” he said, sarcastically. “How else could your master have been killed in his place of power?”

  “I know.” I looked down at my half-eaten food, feeling sick. “He’s dead and ...”

  Zadornov cut me off. “What was he doing?”

  I blinked. “You don’t know?”

  “No,” Zadornov said, sharply. “I don’t. My tame brewers were able to give me a list of suggestions, based on the ingredients he bought, but they weren’t able to give me a definite answer. What was he doing?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

  Zadornov’s eyes bored into mine. I felt like a mouse being watched by a snake.

  “You don’t know,” he repeated. “You lived and worked with him and you don’t know.”

  “No,” I said. My blood ran cold. Zadornov wouldn’t believe me, would he? He’d do whatever it took to force me to divulge a secret I didn’t have. I wondered if he had truth potion in his stockpiles, or if he’d just start breaking my fingers until I started telling him whatever he wanted to hear. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Interesting,” Zadornov said, finally. “What do you know about Reginald’s little ... project?”

  “It was illegal,” I said. “Or at least something that would get him into trouble if his family found out about it. He’d have no trouble finding a Potions Master in North Shallot if he wasn’t concerned about secrecy. And it was experimental, not a proven recipe. The recipe needed to be worked out in advance.”

  I winced. “Master Travis must have told him that he’d figured out how to actually brew the potion,” I added. “He told me he’d figured it out. Reginald struck the following day.”

  “He didn’t want any witnesses either,” Zadornov said. “Both you and Master Travis were meant to die in the fire. I wonder if he knows you’re alive.”

  “The City Guard is hunting me,” I said. “He knows.”

  “Perhaps,” Zadornov said. “Reginald could hardly show too much interest in the fire - a fire on the other side of the city - without revealing something .”

  He met my eyes. “What did he take from the store?”

  I felt a flash of guilt, remembering the money and vials in my pocket. “We didn’t have much worth stealing, not outside the ironhold,” I said, slowly. “And he didn’t have a chance to get into the ironhold before the shop burst into flames. I ...”