The Curious Case of the Cursed Crucible

by Constance Barker

"All we have to do..." he'd said. As if that was ever going to be simple.

  Chapter Seven

  As Clarence drove back toward the house, I let my brain tumble through the mishmash of things we’d learned recently. Significant among those was that the playing field had changed. Even though it was good that we knew more about the game that was afoot, with Belial in the game, it seemed likely that we would have to contend with Ulrich or his minions at some point. That thought was a little unnerving. I could only hope that Bel was hunting this one for himself. We could talk with Bel.

  When we got back to Destiny’s Point, I was still going in circles, so I let Clarence in on my thoughts. “I wonder why Bel would want this old healing bowl? Even if he were dying, which I’m not sure he can do that—die, I mean. After all, he hasn’t ever been alive in the normal, human sense.”

  Clarence burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded.

  “People who spend their days looking for magic artifacts with the help of a ghost shouldn’t toss words like ‘normal’ around lightly.”

  He had a point. Edgar raised a finger. “Obviously this doctor’s bowl is worth something to people. Maybe Ulrich sees the ability to be able to offer dying people extra time a way of gaining leverage over them.”

  That was possible. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to a bowl, or with a bowl, to make it cursed?”

  “I don’t think we are after a bowl,” Clarence said.

  “I'm sure she said it was a bowl.” I said.

  He shook his head and started rummaging through some old books. I watched the dust rise up, catching the light. “I know it looked like one, but from the way she described it, and the way he used it... I think it’s a crucible.”

  “There’s a difference? I remember crucibles from high school chemistry class. They were little ceramic bowls, right?”

  “Bowls are... bowls. They hold things. Crucibles are used for melting things. The ancients made them of clay and the newer ones are made of porcelain, but some of the alchemists liked them to have thick metal walls... here is one.” He tapped the screen where he'd pulled up a picture of one. “They can be any size, of course, but jewelers and alchemists who traveled around a lot used smallish ones.”

  Edgar suddenly seemed interested. “Alchemists used them? Oh my.”

  “Okay, Edgar, what do you know? Earlier you hinted around about knowing an alchemist, and now you seem unreasonably interested.”

  He hesitated for a moment, then relented. “In my day, whenever that was, alchemy was very much in vogue. Everyone wanted to be thought of as being well versed in such magical things. Probably I knew quite a lot about it. I am, or was, after all, very fashionable, I think, and would have known about fashionable things.”

  “That’s it?” I was disappointed.

  Edgar shrugged. “As far as I know.”

  “Well, whether it is a bowl or crucible, with Ulrich’s nose poking into this, and based on what we know, it seems clear that the doctor himself is probably an alchemist.”

  “A successful one,” Edgar said.

  “But likely only because he stumbled onto the artifact. I’m guessing that the magic, or curse, is in that bowl.”

  “Crucible,” Clarence said. “It’s a crucible, not a bowl.”

  Using my superior and far mature powers of persuasion, I stuck my tongue out at him. “Regardless. We are looking for a vessel, an alchemical artifact.”

  Edgar nodded. “Very true. And I can imagine that Ulrich thinks it will help his search for immortality.”

  “Immortality?”

  “Certainly. Alchemy enthusiasts are typically doing their research with one or more of three possible goals in mind: they want to learn to turn lead into gold, they are searching for a panacea that cures anything, and an elixir that gives them immortality.”

  “Ulrich is an alchemist?” Clarence asked.

  Edgar nodded. “Of course. It’s likely that he’s become one through his association with Bel.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Most people who dabble in the stuff seriously do it because they hope to gain something significant. Alchemy is a lot of work after all. Since Ulrich has power and money, immortality is the alchemy goal he’d value most. Of course, he wouldn’t know that immortality isn’t everything that those alchemists think it is.” Edgar looked wistful and lost in thought. “In fact, immortality might be less of a desirable goal if people understood what it’s all about—the reality of it.” There was a sadness in his voice that made me want to ask him if he was all right, but he caught himself. “Well, what do we do now?”

  Clarence pointed to our map with all the pins in it. “Well, this alchemist, if that’s what he is, seems to be steadily headed East. All the most recent cases we tracked have progressed in that direction.” He snapped his fingers. “I just remembered. There’s an antique fair going on to the East of here as well. How fortunate is that?”

  “Until you unload the car, there’s no room for anything,” Edgar said. “And as much as I’d like to help, solid objects tend to slip right through my hands.” He giggled happily.

  “An antique fair? You want us to go to it on the same trip? You mean that we get to risk life, limb, and being bored out of our skulls during a single venture? Wow. Lucky us.”

  “She is getting rather cynical,” Edgar said.

  “And she isn’t even all that good at it,” Clarence agreed.

  They stared at me. “This crucible... several people, including Bel, want it and we want it too. So you are saying we need to find it first and then take time out to do our shopping.”

  Clarence clapped his hands. “Exactly!” he said. “That’s the plan,” Clarence was enjoying himself far too much.

  Chapter Eight

  The antique fair Clarence had picked out turned out to be a bit of fun. At least once we arrived, looking around didn't seem like as bad an idea as I’d expected it to be. It wasn’t crazy busy and there was a large variety of mostly household stuff.

  Shortly after we began prowling through the vendor’s tables and displays, Edgar’s face brightened.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I sense that there is an artifact here,” he announced.

  “A real one?”

  “It isn’t anything very powerful, but I can feel it.” We followed him as he wound through the various objects and tables, finally stopping at a table covered with antique silverware.

  “None of this is to my taste,” I said. “The patterns are rather busy.”

  “Victorian,” Clarence said.

  “That one,” Edgar said, pointing.

  “The fork?” I asked.

  ‘The fork.”

  Clarence looked at it and scratched his head. “I suppose thirty-five dollars is reasonable for a sterling silver Victorian salad fork.”

  “It’s an artifact?”

  “No,” a lady said, coming up to us. “It’s a Pompadour patterned luncheon fork. Made by Whiting Silver of Massachusetts between 1895 and 1898.”

  “My mistake,” Clarence said. “It’s a fork, Cecilia.”

  Edgar whispered in my ear. “That particular fork, Cecilia, is a cursed fork if ever I’ve encountered one. I have no inkling of the nature of the curse, but it is most definitely cursed.”

  “So you probably don’t want to use it to eat lunch,” Clarence said.

  “Probably not the best idea.”

  “It’s an antique,” the woman said.

  “We’ll take it,” I told her, digging out my wallet and handing her two twenties.

  As she left, Clarence looked around. “There are some non-cursed items of interest here as well.”

  “That has to be the easiest acquisition of any artifact so far,” I said. When the woman returned with my five and handed me the fork, I felt some energy emanating from it.

  “Maybe you can tuck that away somewhere safe?” he asked. “I’ll go negotiate a price for the less dangerous it
ems.”

  “Good idea,” I said. I got out Edgar’s pen box and tried it. It was too long to fit squarely, but by angling it I could get it inside and shut the lid.

  “That’s better,” Edgar said.

  “So are we done?” I asked as Clarence returned.

  “I think we are,” he said, and we started toward the exit. Halfway there, Edgar stopped.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Another artifact,” he said. “This one is more powerful than that fork, too.”

  “Where is it?” Clarence asked.

  “It’s moving,” he said, pointing toward another aisle. We headed that way and ran into a tall, thin, pale man with no hair. “Belial,” I said. “What are you doing here? Are you following us?”

  He turned and smiled. “Well, hello, Cecilia. What a coincidence. And no, I wasn’t following you, not at all. I didn’t know you’d be here. I was heading to the East, as I’m sure you were, and sensed an artifact at this fair. I was moving toward it, closing in on it, when the emanations suddenly stopped.” He grinned. “I assume that you got to it first and have now secured it.”

  It was a reasonable explanation, as explanations about the hunt for cursed objects go, but I wasn’t satisfied. “Do you expect us to believe that?”

  He frowned. “I’ve always been honest with you, Cecilia. Because we work for different sides, you tend to assume the worst and that’s unfair.”

  “I can’t imagine that Ulrich sends you after innocuous items, Bel. What exactly does the fork do that he’d want it? Edgar said it isn’t very powerful.”

  Belial laughed. “You have it all wrong, Cecilia. Ulrich didn’t send me after the fork. He didn’t send me anywhere. At the moment I don’t have a mission at all. I’m on my own time.”

  “You’re on vacation?” Clarence asked.

  “I suppose that would be an apt word for it, but I don’t really see it that way.”

  “Then?”

  He sighed. “It’s been my habit to use my free time to travel and educate myself. It’s not anything new; I’ve been doing that since I was born. It was very important to my father that I be well traveled.”

  “Really.”

  “You know, this world changes so much every century or so that it’s worth seeing it all again.”

  “And Ulrich is happy with that? I’m surprised he doesn’t keep you locked up between missions.”

  “Like a ghost in a pen box?” Edgar asked pointedly.

  “Later, Edgar,” I said.

  Belial shrugged. “Perhaps Ulrich isn’t pleased to have me out and about, but he knows that I cannot stay away very long.”

  Clarence rubbed his chin and wrinkled his nose. “You say that, but we know that you are hunting an artifact.”

  Bel looked at him in surprise. "I am?"

  “We met a woman who said you questioned her about a traveling doctor and his tool—a crucible.”

  Belial nodded. “That’s quite true. But in this specific case, I have a personal interest in the crucible. I'm not chasing artifacts for Ulrich Steele.”

  “That’s a relief,” I said.

  “Does this mean we aren’t on opposite sides then?” Clarence asked.

  Bel smiled. “I suppose that is exactly what it means. In truth, I try not to be on or off anyone’s side. Of course, under the circumstances, it doesn’t always work out that way.”

  I understood what he meant. “I imagine that’s an occupational hazard for a homunculus, right?”

  Suddenly Bel stiffened. “I would prefer that you didn’t use that word. I find it harsh, unflattering, and coarse.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

  He shook his head. “Of course not. You wouldn’t know.”

  Clarence took his phone out of his pocket. “A call?” I asked.

  “I have it on vibrate,” he said.

  Just then a chime went off in Bel’s pocket. He gave us an amused glance and took out his phone. “Some kind of news alert?” I asked them.

  “Based on keywords,” Bel said.

  “About miracle cures?” Clarence asked.

  He smiled. “Exactly. You caught me.”

  Clarence grinned back. “Mine too.”

  Bel saw the way I was looking at him. “You seem surprised,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I rely on getting alerts on a smartphone?”

  “I think that’s exactly right... that I am surprised.”

  “Why?”

  “Somehow, for some reason, I would have expected that you might be out of sync with modern technology.”

  “Really? You are the one who keeps pointing out that I’m a product of science. Why would I be reluctant to use it?”

  “It was just an assumption,” I said. “Obviously an incorrect one.”

  Clarence was calling up a map. “At any rate, it seems that we might all be headed to the same place. Shall we go together?”

  Bel smiled. “A good idea. I think I’d enjoy the company.”

  Neither of them seemed inclined to tell me what this news alert said, specifically, and I wasn’t about to ask. Pride makes you behave stupidly. And with that, the three of us headed off to investigate whatever lead had suddenly arisen.

  I’d was sure I’d know the details soon enough. What was less certain was if I’d like what I learned.

  Chapter Nine

  On the way to wherever we were going (Clarence seemed to be enjoying leading the way and telling me nothing), I had a chance to think more about Belial. I’d reacted badly to the news that he was on the same track and that wasn’t fair. Although he was technically Ulrich’s minion, when we'd encountered him before, he’d demonstrated that he wasn’t really an enemy.

  Of course, I could say the reverse about Lila Twill. We involved her in our efforts and although she was technically a friend, she always had her own agenda and she served it at our expense a time or two. Other times, she came through big time.

  It seemed like our team was often less an actual team a more a conglomerate of people with similar, although potentially conflicting, goals.

  So it was a bit nerve-wracking. Bel said he wasn’t on a mission for Ulrich, but it seemed clear to me that he was looking for the crucible.

  “What’s your interest in it—the crucible?” I asked him. I’m not good at subtle. I think that’s because I’m impatient and subtlety requires coaxing answers from people.

  “How did you know that’s what I’m looking for?” he asked.

  “That woman described it to us,” Clarence said. “Cecilia keeps calling it a bowl.” He couldn’t resist the disdainful jibe.

  Bel sighed. “I wish I was better at convincing people to talk to me. They just won’t open up. I suppose that my manner can be unnerving to them. I’m told I have an unusual demeanor.”

  “That’s a good word, unusual,” I said. “But if she didn’t tell you what it was...”

  “How did you know to look for a crucible yourself,” Clarence asked, rudely finishing my question.

  He ran a hand over his head. “The truth is that I’ve been looking for the crucible for some time now. I was pretty sure it was causing these short-term cures, so I came looking.”

  “How did you know about it?” I asked before Clarence could.

  “Well, you see, it once belonged to my father’s hero. I’ve had several occasions to see its effects before.”

  “Really?”

  “Certainly. This artifact is the crucible of Nicolas Flamel.”

  I snorted. “Of course, good old Nick Flamel. Who could forget him? Wasn’t he the guy who invented the bunsen burner or something else absurdly important?”

  Bel looked horrified. “Oh no, Cecilia. Not at all. You have that all wrong. The Bunsen burner was invented by Robert Bunsen in the 1800s. He was able to take advantage of the city-wide installation of gas for lighting in London, in the 1800s. Nicolas Flamel lived and made his discoveries in the 1400s.”

  I shook my head. “Of course. How could I ever c
onfuse those two?”

  “Nicolas Flamel was a French scribe whose most important achievements weren’t acknowledged until after his alleged death.”

  “Alleged?”

  Bel smiled. “Many years later, people came to believe that he had secretly been a great alchemist. Perhaps the greatest of all time.”

  I smiled. “Oh, I see. Of course, he was an alchemist. Isn’t everyone?” I didn’t see, not really.

  “It wasn’t until as late as the seventeenth century that stories emerged about how he had created the Philosopher's Stone, which turns base metals into gold. Of course, it was a process, and at first, the best he could do was to turn them into silver, but he got the hang of it and moved on to gold. Later, it was said that he and his wife Perenelle achieved immortality through an Elixir of Life they created.”

  “Hence, the alleged death,” I said.

  “Precisely.”

  “Well, if the dude became immortal, perhaps we should track him down and talk to him,” Clarence said.

  “I’m afraid that would be difficult. Very challenging. If he is still alive, no one knows who he is. He hid his tracks.”

  Suddenly, my brain kicked in. “I know why that name sounded familiar. Now I know who you mean,” I said.

  “You do?” Bel seemed surprised.

  “Sure. Flamel... he was the creator of the eponymous alchemical substance in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.”

  Bel smiled. “Ah, yes. Well, art often takes from the real world, you know.”

  “And you think that the world of cursed objects is the real world?” Clarence asked.

  We ignored him. “So what’s the connection to, and your interest in, the artifact?”

  “At some point, my father got his hands on the crucible—Flamel’s crucible. I have no idea how, but I know it was important to him. You see he was a tad obsessed with the idea that it was possible to become immortal. That mattered far more to him than being able to transmute lead into gold. Still, the same tools were involved and once he obtained the crucible he spent years trying to duplicate the process for making the elixir.”