by Sam Gayton
Her shape began to change.
“The moon was in her skin and hair,
The stars were in her eyes.
Said she, ‘You loved me everywhere
Across the seven seas and skies.
And o! you saw through my disguise,
You saw through my disguise.’ ”
“I know those whalers,” said Noah. “I sell them my roses sometimes, to give to their sweethearts. That’s Captain McNulty.” He pointed to a red-bearded whaler with bloody gums, picking a fish bone from his teeth with the end of his harpoon.
“Would he help us?” said Lettie. “Is that why the Wind has led us here?”
“He doesn’t know how to do much, apart from hunt, kill, and spit.”
Lettie pulled a face as Captain McNulty spat the fish bone down the throat of a smuggler holding a high note. He laughed as the poor man choked.
“He’s horrible!”
“The other whalers aren’t much better,” said Noah, pointing out each one and naming them. Blubber Johnson was giving one of Noah’s polka-dot roses to a girl on his knee and Grot-Nose Charlie was on his seventh pint of ale. The Creechy twins were having a fistfight with the barman. Stoker Pete was arm wrestling three men at once.
“I don’t think there’s anyone in there who can help,” said Lettie to Noah, although in truth she wasn’t looking at the whalers. She was looking for Da.
Suddenly, the door of the Clam Before the Storm opened, and out flew a man who landed like a sack on the street. Whoever had thrown him stood silhouetted in the doorway.
“We gamble with shillings here, Henry, not pebbles!” growled the silhouette. “If you don’t clear your debts by sunrise, I’ll be round to your inn for payment in kind. I’ve had my eye on your last rug for a while now.”
“Yes, Mr. Sleech,” said the figure on the street.
The silhouette shut the door.
The man on the street looked at Lettie. It was her da, Henry. He was drunk and red-eyed and his bow tie had been ripped from him. He reeked of ale and tears. It took him a time to recognize her.
“What are you doing here?” he slurred.
The Endless Inflation of Blüstav the Alchemist
“Promise!” Da said suddenly. He never stammered when he was drunk. “You’ve broken your promise! You shouldn’t be here!”
Lettie faced him, full of anger and dread. “You’re not supposed to be here, either! You stay out all night gambling and drinking, and that’s not what a da is meant to do!”
Lettie’s own words shocked her, because they were true. Once, Da had been there for her. He had taken care of her. But that was years ago.
Did that mean he didn’t love her anymore? She thought about whether she loved him back, and she realized that it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter and she didn’t care.
“You’re not my da,” she said with a lump in her throat. “All you are is trouble.”
Lettie stormed off with tears in her eyes—she didn’t know where she was going. She was sick of greedy, selfish grown-ups who did nothing but cheat and lie and steal and take her home piece by piece.
“Lettie, come back!” cried Noah.
“Who are these boys?” said Da, rubbing his eyes. “And why are they all speaking at once?”
“Stop talking nonsense,” Lettie turned and shouted. “You’re drunk!”
She ran to the jetty, Da stumbling after her and Noah following behind, keeping an anxious distance.
“No!” said Da, grabbing her arm. “Well, yes, I am drunk. But your ma—”
“If Ma saw you now, she’d box your ears. I’m out here because I met someone who knew her. I’m chasing a clue. What have you ever done, all these years? Gamble away our home, bit by bit! You should have been out here, looking for her!”
“Your ma’s note says—” he began, his voice trembling.
“You don’t believe Ma’s note,” said Lettie. “You don’t believe she’s coming back, do you? If you did you’d still tell me stories about her. You’d look after me, and you’d look for her.”
Da began to cry; great big drunken tears that spilled over the red rims of his eyes. He sat down—a big sack of beer and debts—with his legs dangling over the edge of the jetty.
“I don’t feel well, Lettie.”
“Good.” She turned her back on him and stared out at the churning sea. “I hope you’re sick all over your lucky socks.”
“And I’m seeing things too.”
“Well, I hope you see Ma and she beats you black and blue.”
“No, it’s not Ma this time. It’s a man. He’s walking across the water . . .”
“Well, I hope it’s Jesus and he tells you off.”
“He’s carrying a suitcase.”
Lettie whirled round. “Where?”
But she’d already seen him: it was the Snow Merchant, walking over the waves. He had plugged up his mahogany suitcase with newspaper and grease, and he held a pipette of æther. He was using the æther to freeze a path across the sea toward Noah’s boat.
“I don’t believe it!” said Da. He slapped himself across the face. “I’m hallucinating.”
“No, you’re not,” said Lettie quietly. “I see him too.”
She turned and frantically waved at Noah to come over.
Da rubbed his eyes. “No, Lettie, you don’t understand. I’m seeing your ma’s old master. Master Blüstav. She went off with him one day, and I never saw either of them again. Now here I am, watching him walking across the water. I really have had too much ale. My brain’s a muddle . . .”
He shook his head violently.
“That didn’t do any good, I’m still seeing him.”
“Da, listen . . .” Lettie tried to make sense of him and her own confusion. Blüstav the Snow Merchant, Blüstav the Master Alchemist from the story, Blüstav the con man . . . if Da was talking sense, they were all the same person.
And he was getting away!
“Da, listen!” she yelled, taking him by the shoulder and shaking him. “Blüstav’s really there!”
“Impossible!” said Da.
“He is. I see him!”
“Me too!” said Noah, arriving beside her.
Da’s eyes widened. In them was something that Lettie had not seen for years and years.
Hope.
“Blüstav!” he called. “Blüstav! Where’s Teresa?”
Blüstav didn’t hear. He pushed his suitcase up onto the jetty and crept toward Leutha’s Wood.
“He’s not stopping!” said Da. “He’s running off, the scoundrel! Come back, you crook! What have you done with Teresa?”
Lettie wanted answers too. With the Wind tugging her along, her feet clunking on wooden planks, she raced down the jetty toward Leutha’s Wood.
“Blüstav!” Da shouted. “Where’s Teresa?”
“Where’s Ma?” Lettie found herself yelling.
Now that Blüstav had heard the shouts, he began running as fast as he could. But his mahogany suitcase weighed him down and they caught up with him quickly. He slowed to a stop, gasping for breath.
“We’ve got you trapped,” said Da.
Blüstav smiled. He coolly picked a frozen bead of sweat from his forehead and flicked it into the sea. A hand came out from his coat holding something. Lettie saw it too late. The bottle of gastromajus!
She yelped and jumped away, pulling at Da and Noah.
But Blüstav was too quick. He tipped the pink alchemical right down Da’s throat. Da fell back on the jetty, spluttering and gasping.
“That’ll teach you to trap an alchemist,” said Blüstav.
“What did you just do?” Lettie gasped, heart thumping. “He’s my da!”
“Not for long,” said Blüstav.
She gave him her most furious glare.
Blüstav’s hand twitched.
Perhaps he was thinking about tipping some gastromajus over Lettie, too.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” said Noah, snapping a huge thorn from his sta
lk and holding it like a dagger.
Blüstav shrugged, turned, and fled toward Leutha’s Wood.
“Come back!” Lettie roared. “You come back!”
She turned to where Da lay on the planks, gasping and pulling at his red hair. “What’s happening to you?” she said.
As if in answer, Da began to change.
It was the most frightening thing she’d ever seen. The alchemy was turning her da into a . . . what? His neck was stretching up and up and his skin was turning see-through green. And all the while he was shrinking, shrinking down. The air popped and crackled, and smoke began streaming from his ears and mouth. For a moment, Lettie was blinded. She waved her hands, coughing. Noah pulled her away from the green smoke and sparks.
Together, they looked down at Da. Lettie could scarcely believe what he’d become. She reached out to touch him and felt glass. It was smooth and cool. It was real. It had really happened.
Da had just turned into a corked bottle of beer.
Scooping up Da in her hand, Lettie chased after Blüstav.
Reaching Leutha’s Wood, Blüstav heaved his suitcase aboard and began unwinding the rope mooring the ship to the jetty, trying to set sail.
Lettie and Noah weren’t going to let that happen.
They jumped on deck as Blüstav wrestled with the rigging. Noah had his thorn, and Lettie had a plan.
Blüstav turned around, glaring. He rummaged in his deep pockets for his bottle of gastromajus.
But he had to find it first.
Lettie knew she had a few seconds before they were both turned into the contents of their last meal, and she made them count. As he whipped out the alchemical, she jumped for the suitcase.
“Stop that!” Blüstav shrieked.
But Lettie’s fingers were already wrapped around the rags jamming the holes, and with a sucking sound she tugged them out.
Blüstav pushed her away with his one free hand and she fell on the deck, hard. But the cloud was already spilling into the night. It was too late for Blüstav to plug the hole with his thumbs.
“You stupid girl!” he shrieked, dropping his bottle of gastromajus to the floor.
“Let that be a lesson to you,” said Noah, scooping it up. “No one tries to steal my grandmother.”
Blüstav ignored him. He was trying desperately to waft the two wisps of cloud back into his suitcase, but it was useless. More and more of the nimbostratus leaked out.
“Give up,” said Lettie. “You’ve lost!”
“I never lose!” Blüstav snarled. “Snow is mine, and I’ll never let it go!”
Frantically, Blüstav buttoned up his long coat to the neck and tucked the hem into his socks. Bewildered, she watched as he pulled the sleeves until they extended far past his bony fingers. Then he heaved the mahogany chest close and covered each hole with a sleeve. The snow cloud was still drifting out of the holes, but now it was funneling into his coat, which began to swell up like an inflating balloon.
“I see what you’re up to!” Noah said. He jumped forward, but the alchemist pushed him away easily and laughed.
“Snow belongs to me, and it always will!” he cried, his coat bulging around him. “Try taking it from me now!”
Blüstav gave a smile that said I’ve won.
Lettie saw why: now he hovered a finger’s breadth above the deck, and he was rising.
And rising!
“That’ll teach you to trap an alchemist!” he cried, feet kicking the air, the nimbostratus lifting him higher. “I always escape!”
Up he went, Blüstav the balloon . . .
Lettie looked on, dumbstruck and defeated, while Noah jumped and caught hold of Blüstav’s boot. But still the nimbostratus surged upward, taking Noah along too.
“What are you doing?” spat Blüstav.
“What are you doing?” Lettie echoed.
“Rope, Lettie!” he cried. “Rope!”
Lettie grabbed a length of rigging coiled in a pile and threw it to Noah. Lashing her end to the mahogany and lead suitcase, Noah tied his to Blüstav. With a jerk, the rope went taut and the alchemist hung in the air, suspended and swaying, with Noah holding on to his boots.
Blüstav was a strange sight, coat puffed up, arms and legs wriggling. He swore and cursed, but Lettie could only smile as the cloud in his coat rumbled, and he flashed blue.
“Not that good at escaping, are you, Blüstav?” she giggled.
Blüstav yelped as the angry cloud thundered inside his coat.
“You—AH!—stupid—AH!—girl!”
“Blüstav the balloon,” Noah said, dropping back to the deck.
“Now we’ve caught him and the nimbostratus. That was quick thinking, Noah.”
They both stood, gasping with adrenaline and exhaustion. After a while they began to laugh. It was half-past midnight. The new day was minutes old, and already they had stopped a robbery, run with the Wind, trapped an alchemist, and rescued a grandmother. And now, finally, Lettie was going to get some answers.
“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Blüstav.”
“I think,” he said, bobbing nervously, “that before I do that—AH!—you should cast off.”
And he looked down the jetty.
To where the Goggler and the Walrus were coming clomp clomp clomp over the boards, toward Leutha’s Wood.
“Oh, no,” said Noah.
The Goggler had stuffed one hand into her pocket. It jangled faintly with loose change. In the other, she held the last silver pistol. The Walrus’s head was steaming with anger and tea. It was hatred that had a hold on them now, Lettie realized, as much as greed.
“They don’t just want the snow cloud,” she said. “They’re out to get revenge.”
“So am I, when this nimbostratus stops—AH!—electrocuting me,” replied Blüstav through gritted teeth. “But for now, I suggest we escape, together.”
“Why don’t we just leave you behind?” said Noah, jabbing at Blüstav with his thorn.
Blüstav, though his hair stood on end and his teeth buzzed with electricity, tried his best to smile.
“If you throw me overboard, Lettie will never know what I know about her mother.”
Noah scowled. “That’s why you revealed you knew her, so if you were caught, you’d have something to bargain with.”
“Ma, me, and snow,” said Lettie. “I want to know everything. Everything, Blüstav. Do you swear?”
He nodded frantically. “Yes, yes, I—AH!—I swear!”
The crones were close enough to shout now. The Goggler cursed Blüstav in Bohemian and the Walrus cursed in Laplöndi.
“Do we have—AH!—a deal?!” he shrieked.
Lettie looked at her da; a green bottle in her hands. She looked at the Walrus and the Goggler running toward them, greedy and vengeful. She looked at Noah. He looked back and nodded.
Lettie gulped. “It’s a deal, Blüstav. Now let’s get out of here.”
And all at once—the Wind began to blow.
“Alchemy is a pretty kind of game,
Somewhat like tricks o’ the cards, to cheat a man
With charming.”
Ben Jonson, The Alchemist
CONTENTS
1. Shaking Out the Truth
2. The Making of Snow
3. The Distant Rising Smoke
4. Four Drops of Æther
5. An Itchy Nose Saves the Day
6. Noah Grows a Blazing Pip
7. Where the Wind Blows
8. The Ship Sinks
9. A Little Imagination Is Required
10. Up and Away
Shaking Out the Truth
It was one o’clock on a blustery Albion morning. The moon was the color of rust, and the sea was the color of coal as Leutha’s Wood drifted from the harbor into the world beyond. It was Lettie’s first time at sea. Standing on deck, watching the lights of Pickle Lane and Vinegar Street fade and disappear, she wondered where they were heading.
They were picking up speed.
“The Wind has helped us so far,” he shouted, pulling on the rigging and tying complicated knots. “And something tells me those old crones aren’t going to give up that easily.”
Lettie shivered in her deerskin coat. He was right. The Walrus and the Goggler hungered for snow and they would never stop until it was theirs.
“The Wind will steer the ship,” said Noah. “I’ll take care of the sails, and you can deal with Blüstav!”
Lettie grimaced. That was the one good thing: at least they had the alchemist trapped.
“Do you want to give me your da?” said Noah. “I think I’ve got a shelf I can stick him on. He’ll be safer there.”
Lettie handed Da over and Noah took him inside. Then she looked up at Blüstav. The cloud wasn’t so stormy now and he bobbed on his string, glaring at her.
“Those crones will come after us, you know,” she said. “They want the snow cloud all to themselves.”
“They can’t have it!” he snapped. “Neither can you! It’s mine! Argh! ”
The cloud rumbled. A spark crawled across his coat like a blue spider.
“We’ve got a deal, Blüstav. Tell me the truth. Why come here to give me snow? What has this got to do with Ma?”
“Everything,” he answered miserably. “Everything. This is all her fault.”
Lettie trembled. She looked at him fiercely. “Tell me.”
“Where to begin?” said Blüstav. “What do you know about your mother?”
Lettie hardly dared breathe; afraid she might miss a word. “I know her name was Teresa, and she lost a game of chess to my da, and she was learning the pianola, and she built our inn with alchemy. I’ve got her eyes.”
“And her coat,” said Blüstav. “She was wearing that the day we met. Listen, girl, I came to sell you snow for one simple reason: you are Teresa Peppercorn’s daughter. She was stubborn, smart, and questioning, just like you. And, when I first met her, she was in a lot of trouble.”
Blüstav paused, and Lettie could see a quickness in his eyes. A craftiness.
“I rescued her,” he continued. “We were in Petrossia, you see, prisoners of the czar. An hour away from execution, we were. But, of course, the czar couldn’t keep a master alchemist like me in a cell for long—”