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

by Ogden Fairfax

  I looked up to see that Amber was asleep in the driver's seat, her penny-red hair hanging down over the center console like a curtain draped on the back of her head. I blinked and saw that we weren't parked at the boat landing anymore, but in a parking garage downtown. Over Amber's head I could see she'd stuffed a few duffel bags into the passenger's seat next to her, and several more were in the area behind the back seat when I looked.

  “Amber?” I rasped. The sound of my voice made her jump and end her sleepy breath with an unflattering snort.

  “Boss?” she asked. “You awake?” She moved her hair away from her eyes and looked at me.

  “Yeah. I'm up.” I said. “How long was I down?”

  “Eight hours.” she said, looking at the center dashboard. The clock read eleven A.M. “And you scared me half to death you fucking jackass.”

  “Sorry,” I said, not feeling energized from the eight hours I'd been unconcious. The reason for all of this suddenly came back to me. “Did I make enough?” I asked. “How much gold do we have?”

  “Boss, you made more than forty bars. You were in that lake for close to a half hour. There's more than a thousand pounds of gold in this car.

  “More than a thousand?!” I said.

  “I'm not sure if I should smack you for that stunt on Grace's behalf or wait for her to do it herself and ask for permission to join.”

  29

  We had an hour before the deadline, so Amber helped me move the gold I owed to the trunk. Although I was happy that I was able to meet her deadline, I was worried that she'd take this as an excuse to up the demand and set another impossible task in front of me. Doubt that I was doing the right thing started to creep into my mind, and Amber must have noticed the look on my face when we passed each other to grab the duffel bags that were in the front passenger's seat because she held up a hand to stop me.

  “You look like you're either about to shit your pants or puke all over me. What's wrong?” she asked.

  “I keep thinking I'm making a mistake. Do you think Peters is going to see this and decide to be harsher next time?” I asked.

  “Hmm, I wouldn't put it past her. She's kind of a bitch that way.” Amber put one hand on hr hip and rubbed her chin pensively. “You could always just give her half today and half tomorrow.”

  “I could, but that leaves Grace still without some of her memories.”

  “Not the important ones.” she said. “She'd be able to remember the first half of this week. I guess it's your call.”

  “Let's stop at my place and drop some of this off before we go to the meet.” I said.

  “There's no time.” Amber shook her head. “Traffic and weather reports say it's at least a half hour to get across town. By the time we get back, we'll be late.”

  I looked at the bags of gold in my trunk. Each one bore eight bars, making them heavy enough to be difficult to move for anyone but Peters' goons. The weight was enough to make the rear of my car noticeably closer tot he ground. At first I'd thought we should distribute the rest of the weight evenly across the car to reduce the tilt, but even with the other bars in the empty front-trunk of the electric car, the weight from the bags of gold was still immense. I sighed, knowing what I had to do but knowing I should ask one more question to stay safe.

  “Amber, remind me, what happens when an alchemist has too much Azoth?”

  “Don't tell me you're going to do what I think you're going to do.”

  “Just answer the question,” I said, firmly, before adding “please. I need to know to decide.”

  “Depends on the type and the amount stored for how long. You want the whole rundown or just Phlegmatics like you?”

  “The whole rundown, me last.” I said.

  “Okay, here' goes. There's three stages of overload. The more you're overloaded, the more likely you are to get to the next stage. You can't predict where the thresholds are but most people assume that it's proportional to the alchemist's initial limit. Stage three tends to have permenant effects even after you're not overloaded anymore. With me so far?”

  “Three stages, may or may not be based on my limit.” I said. Satisfied that I was understanding, Amber continued.

  “We'll start with Cholerics. Stage one, they become more energized and strong, even getting some minor health benefits. Since this isn't so bad, they tend to overload most often. In stage two, they start to have shorter and shorter fuses until they snap. If they ever hit stage three, they start to go berserk even when not overloaded. Got it?”

  “First they beef up, then they hulk out, then it's Jekyll and Hyde.” I summarized. Amber nodded, smiling at my analogy. “I'm not super smart but I'm well-read.” I shrugged.

  “Sanguines are all about shmoozing. Without overloading, they're good at reading body language and manipulating people without even talking. At stage one, they start to catch glimpses of peoples' thoughts, and strong emotions can be overwhelming. At stage two, they get something like psychic empathy and start to crave it. At stage three, they start to become obsessive, stalker-y freaks who need to know all their victim's buttons.”

  I nodded to show that I was still following.

  “Melancholics are best at body alchemy, and before overloading, they lose some of their need for food, sleep, and so on as their body converts Azoth internally a little bit. At stage one, they get very good at monitoring whatever they consider their “territory”. At stage two, they start to become more reclusive, needing even less food and becoming more protective of their stuff.. At stage three, they lose most connection wth other people, and alternate between being feral or going into a fugue-state and focusing on alchemy for days at a time.”

  “And Phlegmatics?”

  “As they near their limit, they get more efficient at the fundamentals and get better at problem-solving. Stage one lets them sense Azoth and lets them surpress instincts like fear. Stage two--”

  “Hold up, what other instincts?” I interrupted.

  “Fear is the biggest one, but pretty much any primative urge.”

  “Like attraction?” I said.

  “Yeah.” She nodded.

  “What kind of Alchemist are you?” I asked.

  “None. Kobolds usually can't do alchemy, so my limit is determined by my amulet. It's like a balloon. Ha, or a condom. Strain it too much and it breaks leaving me fucked.” Amber fingered the amulet nervously.

  “Why's that?”

  “Because I tied the warmth I use for sustenance to my Azoth, and the amulet is basically my stomach, now. Sure, I can sit by a fire or on one of these seats and warm up but it's like a wine snob just sipping and spitting. Nothing stays.”

  “So if it breaks, you'd starve. Shoot. What's your limit?”

  “Remember how I told Grace it's about density? Think of it this way. If an ounce of saltwater is one point, I can hold about a thousand points. Unlike you, though, converting to more dense stuff isn't a one-to-one exchange. You could turn twenty ounces of water into an ounce of gold, but it would take about twice that for me. But it doesn't go both ways. An ounce of gold is an ounce of Azoth if I absorb it. And I slowly use up Azoth to keep warm. Chance, we only have a little time, are you going to tell me your idiotic plan or not?”

  “It depends. Do you think Peters would be able to sense a lot of Azoth on me?”

  “Probably not unless she was wearing enchanted lenses like my glasses. A sanguine might, but not Peters. As skanky as she acts toward you, she's just angling for her court.

  “What if she wore contacts?” I asked.

  “Contacts won't work for the enchantment, since it needs to be glass to work.”

  “Can I borrow those glasses for a second?” I said. Amber took them out of her pocket and handed them over. As I felt the weight of the heavy lenses in my palm, I could instinctively tell what I needed to call them to create my own pair. More importantly, I thought I could figure out what to make to counteract what they did.

  “Do they need to be so thick?” I s
aid, handing them back.

  “No, but the thicker they are, the stronger their ability to see Azoth and sense alchemical signatures. Now stop stalling and tell me your plan so I can get back to telling you how it's fucking crazy.”

  “I'm going to hand over six hundred pounds today and buy Grace some time. I'm going to absorb the rest and--”

  “And explode your brain.” Amber tried to cut me off.

  “--and use it to resist anything Peters tries to pull as well as make sure I'm not going in unprepared.” I said.

  “So, what, you're just going to take another dip in the lake tomorrow? I almost starved making the potions it took to bring you back.”

  “So I make potions ahead of time. Come on, there's no time to argue. Just follow my lead.

  Despite Amber's attempts to convince me that having her absorb gold was a waste of my Azoth, I handed her two bars of gold and told her to top herself off. I hadn't ever really tested what my exact limit was at that point, and I was sure I could tell my limit had grown even more since Amber had put the symbols in my body. Taking care to empty myself of energy by turning the last bits into a tiny marble of osmium, I started to pick up gold bars and absorb them back into Azoth. As each bar flowed into my energy reserve, I took note of how close I'd felt to the black-out drunk sensation I'd felt on my first night with the tablet. I was able to absorb nearly two hundred and fifty pounds of gold before I felt really unsteady. I noticed that once the initial dizziness faded, however, I would eventually regain my balance and be able to absorb a little more.

  Together, Amber and I had put away most of the excess gold, but we were still over by seventy-five pounds, and I only wanted to hand over six-hundred today. With the gears of my mental machinery tuned by the extra Azoth, I could see my next step clear as day. I needed to create some stuff to use up my Azoth some more. I conjured a bunch of things I could think of that would be useful today. Much of it would have been cheaper to buy with money, but with Amber's training on making complex shapes of matter, I found that it was simpler to make it with Azoth. One by one, I created the tools that would ensure I made it through the day and got Grace's powerful mind back on my side.

  30

  We managed to get to Perfect Pizza with ten minutes to spare. Although the sun was lower in the winter sky, a lack of clouds meant the sunlight shone off every snowbank and shiny surface downtown. After parking and opening the trunk, I reached for the reinforced duffel bag that contained six hundred pounds of gold. I'd broken the gold back down into my usual one ounce bits, so Peters didn't think I could make whole bars at a time. I'd had to personally craft the bag it was all in by weaving kevlar fibers and thin steel strands into the already strong material, and the only reason I could lift it was because I'd managed to find a recipe for a short-term strength potion in the area of my mind that held Peters' recipes.

  As my Azoth-fueled mind had flicked through the imaginary pages of Peters' gift to me, I realized that it wasn't very impressive. A few potions, basic enchanted items, and most types and shapes of basic matter. I would have been surprised to find out that Peters had made a recipe book with all her actual knowledge and then used alchemy to forget the recipes she didn't want me to know at the time. It would have allowed her to hand over all her knowledge and tell me it was everything she knew “at that time” and still be telling the truth. Of course, the elixir of life she promised was there, but I had no intention of using it. Still it had a high Azoth cost, and I knew a single dose of it would save someone's life if they were on death's doorstep. So I had one dose of it in a little glass vial like the perfume or cologne samples I sometimes got in the mail.

  Although the potion to let me lift the bag gave me strength, it didn't give me agility or dexterity of any kind, so I was still moving like my clumsy normal self. As I carried the bag on one strap over my shoulder, it caught the sunglasses I'd put on to combat the glare of the bright sunlight. I just hoped that the bloodshot look in my eyes seemed like it was because I was tired, not because I was nearly full to the brim with Azoth.

  Amber followed close behind, wearing a variation of her professional outfit that featured a grey suit vest that acted more like a bodice over her white button-down shirt since it had a neckline that seemed designed more to accentuate her chest than cover it up. She looked like what someone from the renaissance thought futuristic clothing might be like. Her shining high heels clicked against the slushy sidewalk and past me as I opened the door to Perfect Pizza for her. She was clearly trying to seem more confident and self-assured than I think either of us felt, and it was a small comfort to know I wasn't walking into the ring completely alone.

  Just like last time, the place was empty, no staff or customers to be seen. I hadn't been surprised though, since a sign on the front proclaimed the store to be closed for a private function for today's date. Also like last time, Peters and her goon squad were seated in the side dining area within sight of the arcade machines, and all of them were on and trying to lure the absent customers with previews of gameplay. Unlike last time, Peters wasn't seated at a booth along the far wall. Instead, several tables had been pushed together to make a long banquet table that could have easily seated all her goons if they weren't already standing around the edge of the room like secret service agents. Peters herself was busy playing a pinball game dressed in a backless silver gown that hugged her curves like it was painted on. When I was far enough into the room to see past the chest-high wall between the dining room and arcade, she waved a hand over her shoulder, somehow sensing we were there.

  “Gustav, good to see you, as always.” I said, and offered my hand to shake his. I knew full well his name probably wasn't anything like Gustav, assuming he was even human and had a name in the first place. For all I knew, he could have been a well-made golem compared to the guy who had broken into my home. Gustav's expression actually turned to one of surprise when I used the name, however, but he quickly crushed the emotion as his professionalism took over. I grinned. “Your name is actually Gustav? I was totally guessing. All this time I've just been calling you “Goon Leader” in my head. Would it be better if I called you Gus?”

  Gustav ignored me as he approached. I could feel that the strength potion was almost worn off, so I let the bag fall to the ground with a metallic clank. The impact caused some of the gold nuggets to dent themselves as it impacted the floor, but I didn't care, and Frank didn't seem to either. Frank took a step forward, wordlessly gesturing for me to spread my arms and be ready to be frisked like last time. When he didn't find anything other than my phone or wallet, he handed them back to me and let me pocket them as I entered the room. Amber, to her credit, didn't make any comments when it was her turn to be frisked.

  Once he was finished with checking us for weapons, Gustav reached for the bag and lifted it up off the ground with one hand. It didn't even seem like it took him any effort to lift the massive bag of gold, and he just went back to his post and silently stood with the bag in his arms.

  I looked at each of the rest of Peters' bodyguards in the eye before walking to the long frankenstein's monster of a table and took a seat in the middle of the closest side. In the distance, Peters just kept playing the game of pinball and didn't pay us any attention. Amber sat next to me, impatiently looking at her nails while we both wait for her highness to earn a high score or whatever she was doing to show she was the one in control here. At five minutes to noon, I put a hand to the side of my mouth and called over to her.

  “I brought your stuff. Do you want us to just leave?”

  “Patience, dear boy,” I heard her call back without turning away from the pinball game. “Almost...got it!” she said, bouncing triumphantly as the light-up display on the machine flashed and it played a victorious little tune. Peters walked toward us, and I could see that her dress sported a deep neckline that dropped to her navel. As she walked, the movements of her body seemed to want to push the fabric off of her. Uncaring at how close her movements brought her to pra
ctical nudity, she walked over to the table and sat down across from us. I'd expected her to do the supervillain thing and sit at the head of the table, but I guessed this was either a practical or tactical decision she was making.

  “I didn't pick you for a pinball fan, Peters.” I said,

  “Weren't you going to call me Melanie? And oh yes,” she said, beaming through pale pink lips that matched her fair skin and even lighter hair. “I just love the sounds and the lights. I think what amuses me most is that it's all about timing. Press the button too soon and the ball flies weakly upward. Press too late and you're sure to lose it.” Her voice was husky with excitement, as if pinball actually turned her on.

  “I bet you're one of those people who puts a few cards under the front legs to subtly tilt the game in your favor.” I said.

  “I've never heard of such a thing.” she said. “Does it work?”

  “On older machines, yeah.” I said. “Newer ones have sensors to tell if the game is jostled or bumped.”

  “Ahh,” she said. “Yes, I see what you mean. Well, although you know me to secure an advantage when I make deals with you, pinball is something I hold too sacred to exploit such an unfair strategy.”

  “Speaking of deals, I brought your first installment.” I said. “Six hundred pounds.” Beside me, I could feel Amber tense up as she sensed things were properly underway. Peters looked over to Gustav, who hefted the bag and nodded. He seemed to agree with my estimate.

  “My my, you've outdone yourself. However did you manage?” she asked.

  “I didn't rest until I made all I could..” I said, taking off my sunglasses. Her eyebrows raised when she saw my bloodshot gaze.

  “My goodness, she really means that much to you, doesn't she?” Peters said, doing her best to bring a sickly-sweet sympathetic tone to her voice. Since I was so full of Azoth, I was able to see the blatant manipulation for what it was. Every movement, every word, her outfit, even sitting close enough for me to smell her perfume was a concious effort to sieze control. But none of it affected me. Each element of her act was almost a caricature of what she was intending. For the first time in our interactions, I felt completely in control over myself. Rather than the aluring jewel of sex and power she was trying to portray, she seemed more like a bad actor in a film where the director keeps telling the stars to “ramp up” their performance. On some level, I knew that if I was at the low levels of energy she'd seen me at before, she'd have bowled my willpower over in an instant. I found myself wondering how a Sanguine alchemist with more aptitude for manipulation would compare to what I was witnessing.