Arbiter's Word (Alchemist's Fire Book 1)

by Ogden Fairfax

  The tiny woman sighed and counted off answers on her minuscule fingertips. “If you insist, we can do it now, I suppose. First, screw your car and it's broken heat, I didn't approach you yesterday because you seemed to be having a rough enough day as it is between the concussion and getting fired, and then you tossed a couple twenty-pound bags of rice on me when I was about to introduce myself all cordial-like, and finally no, I'm not threatening you with this knife, I'm warning you against selling your gold to mortals.”

  I blinked and processed what she said. “O-kay, well, if you're not going to use that knife on me, you're welcome to sit up front and talk some more while we drive. Deal?”

  “Did you just propose a contract? You're not supposed to be able to do that yet.” the gem shop sprite shot a wary look at me.

  “A contract? No, I was just being polite. Are contracts, like, a fairy thing?”

  “Say the F-word again and I'll remove your eyelids.” I watched as the tiny woman lept to her feet and started to climb up the net-like storage area on the back of the front passenger seat.

  “The F-word?” I thought for a second, not wanting to lose my eyelids over a bad word choice. “The one that rhymes with 'dairy'?”

  “Really, cheese boy? You couldn't find another word that doesn't mark you as the packer-loving badger snot that you are?”

  “You sound like a vikings fan.” I said, holding my right hand out flat to give her a platform to use to reach the front seat. Rather than stand on it, she plopped her tiny tush right down and sat like it was a chair meant just for her.

  “Ooh.” she shivered and rubbed the upper arms of her little sweater. “You. Are. So. Waarrmm. Just a minute, I just, I need to set a second.”

  “Uh, huh.” I said, “Sure.” While she was distracted I started my car, which was difficult to do with my left hand. At that point, I noticed that her knife had been left in the back seat. I put the car in reverse and waited for her to give the go-ahead. When it was clear she was trying to warm up more, I rolled my eyes. “Here, hold still.”

  She started to sputter out protests and some very very vivid threats as I pinched the cloth at the back of her little sweater with my left hand and lifted her up. She swung a little fist that knocked my knuckle with an impressive little thump, I pulled the collar of my sweater forward, lowering her into the space between my t-shirt and the warmer material of my hoodie. She placed a good kick into my eyebrow and then into my sternum before I let my hoodie go and she was pressed to my chest. The moment she got the full brunt of my body heat, she stopped, groaning and twitching like a stunned animal.

  “Ooh, gosh, it tingles, ooh the circulation it hurts.”

  “Poor thing,” I intoned as much sarcasm as I could before asking “Where am I headed?”

  She began to shiver more as her body apparently gave up whatever process it was using to maintain a bare minimum of body heat.

  “B-b-b-barstow street.” she said through chattering teeth. “P-p-p-pizza place.”

  “Great. I guess I'm going to Barstow Street.” I was slightly amused at how completely she'd been disarmed by just the bit of warmth, but then again she'd said she'd been in my car for at least 48 hours with no heat. I was less thrilled with her hostile attitude and crude demeanor. On the drive over, she seemed to become more and more coherent with each passing minute. I felt a sharp pain leap into my head and looked down to see that she'd stretched her arms out wide and had placed a tiny hand on each of my collar bones.

  “Are you stealing my Azoth?” I asked, as if that wasn't the weirdest thing I'd ever said in my life.

  Immediately, her eyes widened and she looked guilty like I'd caught her stealing from a cookie jar.

  “Only a little. I almost froze to death.” she admitted.

  “It didn't feel like a little. That kinda hurt.”

  “What?! I hurt you?! I'm so sorry! Please don't tell the boss! It's bad enough it took me this long to bring you in, but she'll kill me if I mess up my first alchemist.”

  “Relax, I'm fine, just watch what you're doing. And so help me if you start crawling around in my shirt I will throw you right out the window.

  “No problem. I'm great right here.” She seemed to relax and settle back into a spot between my clothing.

  We came to a stop light and I frowned. “I never asked your name.” I said.

  “Call me Amber.” she said, groggily.

  “Okay, sprite named Amber, how come you were big when I saw you at the gem shop?”

  “Magic.”

  “And the glasses?”

  “Magic glasses.”

  “And the worry stones?”

  “Junk.”

  “And the lump of coal?”

  “Cheap junk.”

  I pulled forward and drove until we hit another red light. Barstow Street wasn't far away. Frustrated that I wasn't going to get to my own plans for the day until this was over, I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel.

  “Amber, who is your boss?”

  “Melancholy, queen of winter, soil, and stone, warden of the frayed.” Her words sounded like she was reciting the long title from memory.

  “Afraid?” I asked, not sure if I'd heard her right.

  “No, the frayed, as in the damaged and worn down.”

  “What does your boss want with me?”

  “To buy your gold and tell you the rules of the land. Maybe offer you teaching and a token.” Amber was answering my questions all dazed and monotone as if my body heat was like a truth serum.

  “So what would have killed me if I went to sell my gold like I planned?”

  “Golems, probably.”

  “Like, people made out of clay or stitched up bodies?”

  “Or bone or metal or statuary, yeah.” She yawned. “It's the rules.”

  “All right then. And your boss won't kill me?” I said, pulling into a spot in front of Perfect Pizza, the only pizza place on Barstow.

  “Not unless you're really really stupid.”

  “We're here.” I said. Amber shot up out of the collar of my hoodie like a rocket and started straitening her clothes.

  “Do I look okay? I don't still smell like boot, do I?” She looked really really nervous. I guess I could relate if I still had a boss to try to look professional for.

  “You're fine. Here's your knife.” I said.

  “You moron! Nobody carries weapons around the boss!” Amber threw the pen knife into the back seat where it stuck into the back rest like an arrow. “You're gonna get us both killed, I just know it.”

  13

  Amber climbed into the sleeve of my winter jacket before I got out of my car. Inside the pizza parlor was a front dining area with an archway through which I could see an arcade set up for kids. There was a row of booths along the rear wall, and I could see that three of them were occupied. Two pairs of stoic people in business suits sat across from one another in booths that were on either side of the one in the middle. From where I was, I could see that the lone occupant of the middle booth was a stunning woman in a silver blouse and slim black skirt. Her platinum-blonde hair was tied in a braid, and I saw from where I was that it was Dr. Peters. Her hair was lighter than I remember but it was definitely her. I cast one more look around the restaurant before concluding that there was nobody else in sight. No staff, no guests, just the private party, Amber, and me.

  I walked right past the “please wait to be seated” sign and made my way straight toward where the doctor was seated. On some level, I knew it was here I was here to see, but I knew for sure I was right when one of the suits left their booth and held up a hand to halt my approach. I wasn't an expert on guns, but if sprites and alchemy and golems were real, it was safe to assume there wasn't anything I could do to get past someone whose job was to protect the supposed 'queen of winter, soil, and stone.'

  The gorilla-sized bodyguard patted me down, stopping when he felt the lump on my arm that was Amber. The guy rolled up my sleeve enough to expose her feet, and
unceremoniously hauled her out and held her by the ankles.

  “That seems a little rude,” I commented. “She brought me here.”

  “Put me down you tectonic dickweed!” Amber squealed as she struggled to free her legs from his grasp.

  “Gerald, that's enough. Let her go.” Peters said without looking up from her plate of mini corndogs, and the guy let Amber go, dropping her on a round table to my right. She landed on the edge of a plate and it was catapulted up and off the table where it hit the ground with the clatter of solid plastic.

  “You okay, Am?” I asked.

  “Ow...” she let out a whimper of pain,, but otherwise said nothing. I was about to turn to look more closely but she waved me off with a tiny hand.

  “Mister Clarke, it's so good to see you're up and about.” Dr. Peters stood and sauntered over with a great deal of elegance and arrogance both. “I'm so sorry you felt the need to cut our last meeting short.”

  “You called my boss and got me fired.” I said, plainly.

  “I did. You would have quit anyway.” She smiled, walking past the bodyguard and giving me a winning smile. “Please, come have lunch with me. You and I need to talk some things over.”

  “You know, I've read a fair bit of fantasy novels, and no story ever gets better for the protagonist after they have a chat with anyone who calls themselves the queen of winter. You sent a pixie to bring me here,”

  “Sprite!” Amber called from her table.

  “Sprite, to bring me here, because there are rules I need to know about, right?”

  “Yes. I see your Kobold has filled you in on some of the details already.” Dr. Peters walked back to the booth, and I didn't realize I'd followed her until I was already seated.

  “I thought she was a sprite.” I said.

  “She is.” Peters said.

  “I am.” Amber said, weakly.

  “But you just called her a Kobold.”

  “That's correct. Kobolds are a kind of sprite.” Peters explained in a tone that was like a mother lecturing a child. “More importantly, did she tell you about why you can't sell your gold to mortals?”

  “Against the rules,” I said.

  “It opens up all sorts of complications. Where did it come from? Who gave it to you? Then there's taxes and accounting and blah blah blah. Here's something much simpler.” I watched as Dr. Peters reached into a purse that was sitting next to her at the booth and pull out a check printed on silver-edged paper. She slid it across the table toward me. The check was for a million dollars, and was made out to me. The memo field read “Sale of goods.”

  “That's a lot more money than the gold I have is worth.” I said.

  “People like us value gold much more highly. It is prized as a balance between potential energy, weight, and its price among mortals.”

  “So if I make gold, I'm supposed to sell it to you?”

  “You can sell it to me or any of the other courts. You can choose your own financial firm to manage your assets, and we'll send any payments owed you wherever you wish.” She rested her elbows on the table and then set her chin to rest on her interlaced fingers.

  “So you're allowed to sell gold to people outside the courts? What gives you the right and not me?”

  “The laws allow for court leaders to sell gold to mortals and grant permission for individuals to do the same.”

  “Can I have permission to sell my gold?”

  “No. You haven't proven that you can maintain secrecy of our kind.”

  “What other rules do I need to know about?” I asked, still not having touched the check.

  “All new alchemists are required to keep a Kobold appointed by the regional leader for at least a year. She'll teach you the ropes, well, anything you don't already know. She's able to make herself look like many common household items, or she can look human if that's easier for you.”

  “Actually it's not.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I have a girl. It's new, but I want it to last. Something tells me she'd be weirded out by having some other pretty girl hang around me all the time.”

  “You are free to manage your Kobold as you see fit, but you must accommodate one for at least a year. Your mortal relationships are not above the laws. That brings me to the next rule, which you've already broken.” Peters reached forward and placed a small box no bigger than a contact lens case on the paper-clad pizzeria table. As she brought her hand back, she grabbed a mini corndog off her plate and took a bite. “Mortavs, hmm, excuse me, mortals cannot know about your gift. They cannot know about the tablet you bought, or what you can do, or what you know. As easily as you seem to be adjusting to the way of things, most people would cause too much trouble if their worldview were altered enough.”

  “What happens since I broke the rule?” I asked. “If you're going to hurt Grace you might as well put me down right here.”

  “No, no no, Mr. Clarke, nothing so messy. Whenever you break a rule in a territory held by the court, you have the chance to make things right. Since you were unaware of the laws that govern our kind, the penalty is not so severe. But since you let the secret slip, you have to be the one to make sure it doesn't get out.” Peters tapped the little box again before grabbing a french fry off her plate. “Have her promise to keep your secrets while holding the coin in that box, and she'll be physically incapable of letting other mortals know. She will continue to be able to learn and understand what you know, but her knowledge will always be your responsibility until the day she dies. You, however, are bound by the old laws, and must keep your own mouth shut.”

  I took a moment and thought about it. “What happens if I say no? Or if she says no?”

  “Death.” Peters shrugged. “Now hold on, I see you getting angry, I'm not the one that's threatening you here. There are entities that have been tasked with enforcing the laws between mortals and alchemists since before written history. They don't answer to me, or to any other leaders of the other courts. They cannot be reasoned with, because once they are brought to bear by the will of the old laws, your time to make amends has run out.”

  “So something will come to kill us if I don't follow your rules. That's a pretty crappy choice you've given me. Especially since I only bought the tablet on a whim and figured stuff out by accident.”

  “The tablet was enchanted to be noticeable by someone with alchemical potential. It's one of the few ways we can safely find new alchemists.” Peters leaned back in her booth seat, sipping her soda through a straw. “The rest was all you. If you don't want to go any further, we can arrange for you and your girlfriend to forget everything and move on from there. Swearing on the coin to forget would also satisfy the law.”

  “So it's amnesia, death, or silence. Great” I said sarcastically. “How long do we have to decide?”

  “Midnight tonight. I've offered the coin, so that starts the timer. Speaking of offers, I'd like to offer you a token of membership into my court.”

  I let out a scoff. She'd just told me I'd be killed if I didn't follow some cosmic spooky alchemy rules and now she wanted me to join her fan club.

  “You can do great things by yourself as an alchemist, but none of the truly magical accomplishments are accessible to any alchemist outside the courts. If you join us, or any of the four courts, you gain access to teaching, resources, and a network of other members. You'll be able to take on magical substances and enchanting and so on. All of that is blocked from you though if you don't join.”

  “So, what, if I accidentally make a potion, I'm a dead man?” I guessed.

  “No, it's simply impossible for you do do it outside a court unless someone directly grants you the ability to do so. Without a court or a patron, you would be limited to the mundane materials of mortals.”

  “Let me guess, that offer has a time limit too?”

  “No, you're welcome to join me and mine any time you like, but if you attack us or something else prior to joining, that might change the terms of your m
embership. Same with any of the other courts.”

  Just then, the big guy who had frisked me and thrown Amber onto a table walked up and set my bag full of gold on the floor by our booth.

  “I thought I locked my car,” I muttered.

  “You did,” said peters, “but you didn't fortify it against alchemy.” Peters smiled.

  “I'm guessing newbies outside a court don't make it very long, huh?”

  “Most live out full lives, but fail to accomplish much. The few who realize their potential but don't enjoy the protection of a court tend to fall victim to more lawless entities in our midst.”

  I really didn't appreciate the implied threat Dr. Peters and her goon had just demonstrated for me. Furthermore, I couldn't stand the cliche I was in of being offered a bunch of binding boundaries from a pretty lady who called herself queen of ice or whatever. I picked up the box with the coin and then looked at the check, remembering my primary goal for today.

  “So, getting back to the gold thing, I can sell to you or any leader of the court?”

  “Yes, though I do have vendors you can work with, and with modern technology you can get your payments instantly.”

  “So what's with the paper check out of grandma's purse, then? Just being melodramatic?” Dr. Peters gave a polite smile.

  “Essentially, yes. How would you prefer to handle your payment today?”

  “I'll take the check for now. I'll get you some banking information next time.” I said, picking up the ornate slip of paper.

  “Are you sure you don't have any other questions?” Dr. Peters asked.

  “I think I'm good. I had other things I needed to do today.” I pulled out a pen and wrote my cell number on the back of one of those paper rings used to wrap around a set of silverware that was sitting on the table. “If there's anything you need to contact me about, you can call or text this number.” I said, and I tossed the curly piece of paper to the center of the table before I finished leaving the booth. The leather seat squeaked like a fart, and I resisted the childish urge to try to do it again to prove I hadn't just ripped one in front of the queen.