The door opened at my touch, revealing a darkened chamber. I hesitated, then muttered a simple lighting spell under my breath. The room was suddenly bathed in bright light. I stared, feeling sick. It was a chamber of horrors, a nightmare of potions and magical devices and worktables covered in half-completed and ... I stumbled backwards as the stench struck me. Reginald had been experimenting with something very dangerous. I knew it. And he’d been doing it under his family’s very nose.
The notebook , I thought, as I scanned the bookcases. Where is the notebook ?
I inched forward, barely heeding the danger. Master Travis’s potions workroom had been very well organised, with everything in its place, but Reginald’s workroom was a horror. I peered at a decanter filled with bright red liquid - too bright to be blood, I told myself - and shivered at the lack of concern he’d shown for basic safety precautions. Even his half-sister had done a better job. I studied a vat full of ... something , trying to figure out what it was before I did anything else. But nothing came to mind.
I moved from table to table, wondering how Lord Anton had managed to birth such a monster. One table was covered with the remains of dissected animals, another with pieces of meat and half-chopped herbs... it looked as if Reginald was trying to harvest his own potion ingredients. I studied something that looked like a hairless dead pig, puzzling over what Reginald had been trying to do. It might have been a monument to Reginald’s cruelty, and I had no doubt that the poor creatures had suffered before they died, but it was too well organised to be just cruelty. And yet, I had no idea what he’d had in mind. I couldn’t think of any potions that involved porcine organs.
A small collection of books lay on a desk. I stepped forward and peered down. Four of the five books were nasty , with unpleasant auras that pervaded the room. I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t sensed them earlier. The two visible titles spoke of the Dark Arts, of magics forbidden even to the aristocrats. A third book was open, displaying a potions recipe. I scanned it quickly, silently relieved that I didn’t have to touch the book. But I couldn’t figure out what the recipe actually did .
Reginald must have some idea what it does , I told myself. There was no header, no list of preliminary preparations. The original writer had simply launched into the recipe, clearly assuming that anyone who tried to brew it would already know what it did. But I wouldn’t unless I tried to brew it myself .
I forgot the Dark Arts book as I saw Master Travis’s notebook, looking thoroughly out of place as it sat next to the forbidden tomes. I reached for it automatically, sitting down as I flipped it open to the final page. The encoded notes looked like a potions’ recipe, but it was impossible to read. Master Travis had hidden his secrets well. I couldn’t even make out the ingredients, let alone the quantities. I allowed myself a tired smile. Reginald was going to have real problems translating the notes into an actual potion . Without the key, the code would be practically impossible to break.
“Rebecca,” Master Travis’s voice said. “Listen.”
I jumped, glancing behind me. But there was no one there. The voice - the memory of his voice - had been so close . And ...
... He holds up the crystal in front of me, then tells me to forget ...
... The memories surfaced one by one. Master Travis had hypnotised me. He’d put me into a trance and then taught me something , before telling me to forget. I’d thought I’d fallen asleep! No wonder he hadn’t been angry at the blatant disrespect. He’d deliberately put me to sleep, then ... feelings of panic and betrayal warred with puzzlement in my mind. What had he done to me? And why had the memories started to unlock themselves now?
I took a long breath, telling myself to be calm as another memory surfaced. Master Travis had shown me the notebook, while I’d been in a trace, and taught me how to decrypt the code. The memories had been locked away ... I wondered, suddenly, if it had truly been the first time he’d hypnotised me. He could have put me in a trance at any moment, then ensured that I never had any reason to wonder what had happened. Reginald had tried to use a spell to make me forget, but this was different. My own mind had collaborated in devising excuses ...
“Master,” I said, out loud. “What did you do to me?”
I looked down at the notebook. The code was as impenetrable as ever ... no, it wasn’t . It was simply another language. I forced myself to read the first line, watching as Master Travis’s handwriting suddenly became comprehensible. A long list of ingredients, followed by a handful of instructions; I found it almost impossible to parse them out. Master Travis hadn’t written down everything . I was no expert, but I was sure something was missing. Master Travis might not have trusted his code to remain unbroken forever. He’d been careful not to write down anything too incriminating.
My lips quirked at the thought. Master Travis had included a dozen volatile ingredients, each of which - alone - would be cause for concern. I could see why the City Guard and the Kingsmen might want to put the potion on the banned list, even though I still couldn’t figure out what the potion actually did . Brewing the potion was going to be incredibly difficult. I looked at the walls, sensing the wards behind them. Were they strong enough to contain an explosion? Reginald would be lucky not to blow himself up if he tried to make the potion. I had the feeling that the entire hall would be in trouble if he tried.
And it isn’t as if he has to go to so much effort for an explosive , I thought. I could think of a dozen recipes that would be both easier and safer to brew. What does he actually want?
The puzzle nagged at my mind. Something had to be missing. But what? Half the listed ingredients were on the banned or restricted list. Master Travis had had to turn to Zadornov to supply the damned things. Reginald ... did he have contacts? Or could he simply ask for a hundred Dragon Scales and be sure of receiving them? I looked around the makeshift lab, wondering just how much it had cost. Reginald had splashed out hundreds, perhaps thousands, of golds on his hobby. I felt a pang of envy. What could Master Travis - and I - have done with that sort of money?
Human blood , I thought, as the instructions slowly began to make sense. The potion calls for human blood .
It felt right, I thought, but it wasn’t more than a tiny piece of the puzzle. Master Travis seemed to have blended three or four different recipes together, carefully working his way through the separate mixtures until they blurred into a single potion. One of them was definitely a healing and regeneration potion - I was sure of that, if nothing else - but the others were harder to identify. One of them might be a modified brain-sharpening potion, yet it was strong enough to be dangerous to whoever took it; the other two looked lethal, as if they were nothing more than expensive poisons. I shook my head in disbelief. There were easier ways to commit suicide. And I was fairly sure that Reginald wasn’t suicidal.
I studied the notebook, trying to make sense of the puzzle. Two of the four potions were definitely lethal; a third was almost as bad. And the fourth was a healing potion ... was it meant to counteract the lethal effects of the first three? It made a certain degree of sense, I supposed. Master Travis had told me that there was a cure for lycanthropy, but it was so potent that it killed the drinker. Could Reginald be a werewolf? The thought crossed my mind, then vanished just as quickly. An aristocratic werewolf would be exiled to the countryside. Lord Anton wouldn’t have allowed a werewolf, even one who happened to be a bastard son, anywhere near his family seat. The risks were simply too great.
And Reginald would have ways to moderate the effects, if he really did have lycanthropy , I thought. There were ways to calm the disease and render the wolf harmless, even though - as far as I knew - there was no real cure. He wouldn’t need to risk everything on an untried potion.
The thought hung in my mind for a long moment. Master Travis had brewed a lethal potions’ mix, then worked a healing spellform into the brew to give the drinker a reasonable chance to survive. What was it? I couldn’t imagine anything worth the risk. And yet, Reginald clear
ly could . He’d stolen the notebook, burnt down the shop and invested thousands of golds in his mad scheme. He could clearly think of something worth the risk. What was it?
A hand fell on my shoulder. I yelped in shock as I was yanked backwards, landing hard on the floor. Reginald stood above me, one hand raised in a casting pose. Ice ran through my veins as I saw his eyes. There was no mercy to be found within his blue orbs. He was going to kill me ...
I’d been caught. And I was dead.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“You,” Reginald snarled . His hand moved in an intricate pattern, casting a spell. I could feel the wards shifting uncomfortably, like naughty children who’d been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. “What are you ...? How did you get in here?”
I stared up at him, helplessly. I’d thought I had longer ... no, I’d allowed myself to get distracted. The memories had made it all too easy to lose track of time. I kicked myself, mentally. I could have taken the notebook, walked out the hall and lost myself somewhere in North Shallot before the alarm could be raised. Instead, I’d been caught. I remembered Jill’s warnings and shuddered. I was completely at Reginald’s mercy. Somehow, I doubted he would be so kind as to send me to the butler for punishment.
“Answer me,” Reginald said. His handsome face twisted as he glared down at me. “How did you even get in here? Who sent you? Answer me!”
I said nothing. I tried - desperately - to think of a plan. But nothing came to mind. This was Reginald’s place of power. My little spells weren’t going to do more than irritate him. I thought, briefly, about hurling a fireball into his stockpile of ingredients, but I was sure the wards would snuff the fireball out before it could set off an explosion. Besides, Reginald was heavily protected. I wasn’t sure if the blast would kill him.
“Damn you,” Reginald snarled. He reached down and yanked at my cap. It came free, black hair spilling down around my face. “I should have ...”
He stared at me, his face lighting up with sudden realisation. “You? The shopgirl?”
I glared at him. Reginald had spoken to me countless times. He’d been crude and rude enough to make a grown man blush. Clive, for all of his faults, had never been anything like so unpleasant, so convinced that I would titter like an idiot and throw myself into his waiting arms. Reginald had killed my master and ruined my life ... and he didn’t even remember my name . I really was nothing to him. No wonder he hadn’t recognised me, even after I’d tripped his defences. Ginny had been right. He’d spent so much time looking at my chest that he couldn’t be bothered looking at my face .
Reginald reached down, grabbed me by the collar and yanked me to my feet. Magic spun around us, pressing down on me. My feet were suddenly stuck to the floor. I wasn’t sure if I could escape by jumping out of my shoes, or if I was trapped permanently, but it hardly mattered. Reginald could stop me in my tracks before I even got halfway to the door. I took a breath, forcing myself to calm down. There was nothing to be gained by panic. Master Travis had told me, often enough, that a mistake in brewing could be corrected if one reacted calmly.
But some mistakes can’t be corrected , I remembered. I shivered, helplessly. He knows who I am now .
Reginald sat down on a hard wooden chair, resting his hands on his lap. “I have some questions for you, Rachel. And I will know if you lie.”
“My name is Rebecca,” I snapped. It was foolish - I was at his mercy - but ... “Who do you think I am? Rachel Griffin?”
Reginald ignored my jab. “You will answer my questions,” he said. His voice was calm, very composed. “And if you lie ... believe me, no one will ever find the body.”
No one will ever find the body anyway , I thought. Reginald’s wards were growing stronger. I had no trouble understanding how he’d managed to conceal the chamber of horrors within the hall. No one would have been able to find it unless they’d known where to look. He can just turn me into a mouse and throw me to the cat .
“Fine,” I said, putting as much insolence into my voice as I could. My stepfather would have clouted me on the spot. “Whatever you say.”
Reginald showed no reaction. “How did you even get into the hall?”
I felt the wards pressing closer, just waiting for a lie. “Someone was bribed to write me a good character,” I said, vaguely. “And the Hiring Hall assigned me to Bolingbroke Hall.”
“Clever,” Reginald said. There was an amused contempt in his tone that made me want to lash out at him, even though I knew it would be futile. “And how did you manage to get yourself assigned to Bolingbroke Hall?”
“You’re having problems attracting and retaining trained household staff,” I pointed out, dryly. “And my character claimed that I had experience working in aristocratic households.”
“And darling Lucy was too desperate to inspect your character properly,” Reginald said. It took me a moment to realise he meant Lucinda. “What a terrible mistake on her part.”
His eyes suddenly bored into mine. “Why did you come here? Why?”
I felt a hot flash of bitter hatred. “I want the notebook,” I said. “It’s mine by right.”
Reginald cocked an eyebrow. “I paid your master five hundred golds, in advance. I’d say it was mine by right.”
“You killed him,” I accused. Something clicked in my mind. I chose my next words very carefully. “You can’t read the book, can you? You killed the only man who could decrypt the book for you!”
Reginald lifted his hand, casually. “Do you know what I could do to you?”
“Yes,” I said. I tried to muster the magic to break free, but the wards snuffed the spell out before it could even take shape. “But you still can’t decrypt the book.”
Reginald held up a hand. The notebook flew off the table and landed in his palm. I watched, helplessly, as he flipped through the pages, from a handful of notes Master Travis hadn’t bothered to encode to a long list of encrypted recipes. His face darkened as he worked his way towards the end of the book. I found it hard not to snicker, even though it would probably have earned me an instant death sentence. Reginald had all the answers in his palm, but he couldn’t use them. He’d killed the one person he’d known could read the book.
He looked at me. “Why did you want to steal the notebook?”
“Master Travis named me his heir,” I said, carefully. “Everything he owned is mine.”
Reginald’s eyes narrowed. “You took an immense risk for an encoded notebook you can’t even use? If you’d been caught ... you’d be lucky if you were sent straight to Skull-Crusher Island. You’d spend the rest of your days breaking rocks. Or maybe my father would simply arrange for you to be enslaved. That would be a sorry end.”
He smiled at me. “You can read the notebook, can’t you?”
I felt my heart sink. The hell of it was that I hadn’t realised that most of the notebook was encrypted. Zadornov had told me to recover the stolen book or else. I’d never considered that it would be useless . Perhaps, at some level, I’d known it wouldn’t be useless. Master Travis had taught me how to read it, after all. He’d just made sure I wouldn’t know what he’d taught me until I held the notebook once again.
The wards pressed down, forcing me to speak. “Yes.”
Reginald let out a delighted chuckle. He clapped his hands with glee. “And you can brew the potion?”
“... Perhaps,” I managed. “I don’t even know what it does !”
“Travis wouldn’t have told you,” Reginald said. “He seemed to believe that you’d be better off not knowing.”
He studied me for a long cold moment. “Perhaps we could make a deal.”
“A deal,” I repeated. Too many people were offering me deals. I didn’t trust Zadornov to keep his deal. I certainly didn’t trust Reginald to keep his. And yet, I had a nasty feeling that I had no choice. There was no wriggle room in the hidden chamber. Reginald could kill me at any moment and he knew it. “What do you have in mind?”
Reginald
stood and walked over to me, his eyes studying my face. “You know what it’s like, don’t you, to be a bastard? To be denied respect and recognition because your parents weren’t married. I imagine it must have been worse for you. Your father was very clearly a stranger to the city.”
The Alchemist's Apprentice Page 28