The Lady Alchemist

by Samantha Vitale

  Ruhen scrutinized Sepha—checking to see if she was stable, no doubt, because she was the most dangerous person on the boat—before asking Destry, “What’ll your mother do now that Sepha’s secret is out?”

  Destry and Henric exchanged glances.

  There was something new in Henric’s eyes, calculation or grudging regret, when he said, “If she’s not a secret anymore, she’s of no use to Mother.”

  “You don’t know that, Henric,” Destry said, but it sounded half-hearted.

  “Don’t I?” Henric said. Destry swallowed and looked away, and Sepha had the feeling that the siblings carried more secrets than she ever had.

  The shoulder-cannon was warm beneath her hands, the salty breeze languid and cool. The Magistrate had recruited Sepha for her own purposes, and Sepha had ruined that prospect. Now the Magistrate wouldn’t protect her, and the Military Alchemists would be after her. She needed a place to hide. Somewhere safe, out of the Magistrate’s long reach.

  A memory. The spark of a plan.

  “Take me to the Spirit Alchemists,” Sepha said.

  Destry looked back, surprised. “What?”

  “You don’t know what your mother will do with me, and I sure as After am not leaving it up to chance,” Sepha said, becoming surer of herself as she went on. “If you really mean me no harm, take me to the Spirit Alchemists.”

  Destry and Henric exchanged glances again.

  “See,” Henric said carefully, “the thing is …”

  “Aunt Isolde is as bad as Mother,” Destry said.

  “If not worse,” Henric finished.

  “But if I’m there,” Sepha said, undaunted, “your mother can’t get to me. And if your aunt doesn’t like your mother, maybe she’ll help me out of spite.”

  Destry hesitated.

  “It’s a good plan,” Ruhen said. “Let Sepha and me go, at least, and we’ll get there on our own.”

  There was that we again. Angry as she was, something inside Sepha went molten, and her contract thrummed with a wild rhythm.

  “They wouldn’t let you in without us,” Destry said. She and Henric exchanged another wordless glance. After a long moment, Destry said, “Fine. It’s better than nothing.”

  “Good. Thanks.” Sepha glanced at Ruhen, with whom she supposed she couldn’t rightly be angry just now. “Are you sure you want to—”

  “I’m coming with you.” There was a blazing fierceness in his eyes, and Sepha forced herself to look away.

  “Let’s get going,” she said to Destry.

  With a displeased nod, Destry cranked the engine, and they headed to Port Balarat.

  By that afternoon, they’d found a home aboard Our Dear Lady, an enormous cargo boat. Captain Ellsworth, whose bright red hair and eastern lilt labeled him Detenian, had proved to be none too selective about his passengers, as long as they seemed useful or could front an unreasonable amount of money for the voyage. With two Court Alchemists—Destry and Henric had both ditched their Military Alchemist jackets but kept their rings and holsters—and the enormous Ruhen in their party, Ellsworth seemed to know he’d get his money’s worth out of them. He hadn’t even asked for identification.

  While the mariners had claimed Destry, Henric, and Ruhen at once to help them carry out wildly interesting seafarer tasks, Sepha found herself on her hands and knees, scrubbing at a spot of sticky black sludge that had spilled onto the main deck. Fio was sitting not far off. She’d refused to let the mariners assign him work and had also refused to pawn her own work off on him. He had looked thunderously grim ever since they’d boarded the Dear Lady. Angry about leaving those homunculi behind, if Sepha had to guess.

  But now was not the time to think about that.

  From here, safely removed from the railing and the long drop to the water below, Sepha had a clear view of Port Balarat. Tall statues of Lael and Amin stood on either side of the market street leading up to the port, each reaching one hand toward the other so that they could touch palms above the center of the road. In all of the teeming crowd that mingled beneath Lael and Amin’s arms, Sepha hadn’t spotted a single Military Alchemist. Not one.

  Was that a good sign or not? Shouldn’t a rogue alchemancer be their top priority?

  A rogue alchemancer.

  So, she wasn’t even an alchemist at all. To think, the skill that had made her the proudest, the only thing she really liked about herself, had been a lie all the time. She’d known she was lying to everyone else; she hadn’t known she was lying to herself, too.

  But if she was truly an alchemancer, that meant her mother had been one, too. Alchemy always ran in families, sure as blue eyes and buck teeth, so alchemancy must be the same. Father wasn’t an alchemist. Wasn’t anything. Whatever she’d inherited had to have been from Mother.

  Mother, who’d been lovely and smart and perfect, if a bit strange and sad. Mother, who could’ve explained all of this to her, if she were still alive. Mother, who’d still be alive, if not for Sepha.

  Sepha waited for guilt to sting her, for tears to prick her eyes; but the guilt was less sharp than before, and the tears slow to come. The memory didn’t have the power it used to.

  Or maybe you’re just in shock, crooned the snide voice.

  It was probably right.

  The last twenty-four hours had been relentless. Sepha’s world was tipping and turning in a vertiginous whirl, and she was barely managing to stay upright.

  She plunged her scrub brush into the bucket of sudsy water and forced the brush across the thick sludge, loosening it slightly. She ignored the ache in her shoulders, the hole inside where her magic had been, the tether that told her Ruhen was several decks below.

  She scrubbed and did not worry about how she’d ever kill the magician with the Military Alchemists in pursuit.

  She scrubbed and did not wonder what else Mother had kept from her.

  She scrubbed and forced every thought out of her mind.

  “I thought I might find you here,” Destry said.

  She’d come upon Sepha, Ruhen, and Fio crowded together on the main deck, a few paces removed from the railing. The mariners had kept Destry, Henric, and Ruhen busy all day yesterday and this morning, too. Ruhen had only sat down beside Sepha a moment before, and he exchanged a wry glance with Sepha at the immediate intrusion.

  “You do have a talent for finding us,” Ruhen said, and Destry smirked.

  She strode over to where Sepha and Ruhen were sitting on a large shipping crate and leaned her hip against it. “Listen,” she said, leaning over Fio to get closer to Sepha and Ruhen. “Your plan with the Spirit Alchemists. I’ve been thinking, and it really might be the best place for you to be, Aunt Isolde notwithstanding.”

  “Why is that?” Sepha asked. She’d spent the day scanning the horizon, waiting for a ship, which in her imagination would be huge and monster-quick, to bring the Military Alchemists straight to her. But the sea had been empty, except for the Dear Lady and the occasional fishing boat.

  “The magician said he’d died and come back from the After, correct?” Destry asked.

  Sepha nodded, impatient. Ruhen fidgeted beside her, curling his fingers into fists and releasing them; he was impatient, too.

  “We need to know how his soul could have returned from the After. It’s a plane of existence, after all, just like Tirenia and whatever the magicians call their land. So, if a soul has returned from the After, then—”

  “Then it must’ve been alchemists who made it happen!” Sepha gasped.

  “Exactly!” Destry said, sounding pleased. “And this smacks of Aunt Isolde. Something about it—well, I don’t like it. Why would she be interested in retrieving souls from the After? And if she brought back a magician, why set him loose on Tirenia?

  “I think dear Aunt Isolde has designs against Mother again. If she’s toying with souls and summonings, it’ll be chaos. Look what just this one magician has done! She’ll be the death of thousands, s
end us all into ruin. I need to know if it was her, and I need to know why.

  “Once we’re there, we’ll have to get to the bottom of things quickly. And by the time we get there, I hope to have thought of a way to talk you out of trouble with Mother. I am still determined to have you at my side once I become Magistrate, you see.”

  Sepha blinked. Destry might still want her, but she wasn’t sure she still wanted Destry. Not after … everything. “Oh.”

  Destry’s expression tightened. She shifted her gaze to Ruhen. “You’ll be easier to talk out of trouble, especially if you manage to become a Court Alchemist after we sort all of this out. I’d be glad to have you with me, too.” She glanced at Sepha, clearly hoping to have won her over.

  Ruhen smiled, but something about it seemed forced.

  The silence went awkward. Sepha broke it. “Tell me why you kept everything a secret from me.”

  Destry’s eyes flickered, as if she couldn’t decide whether to be calculating or honest. After a moment, she sighed. “At first, I didn’t tell you because I thought you knew what you were, and I wanted to see how long it would take for you to tell me. When I realized you had no idea what you were, I still held back. I knew it would be a shock to you, finding out, and I thought it would be healthier for you to figure things out for yourself. Mother didn’t have any harm planned for you, and I really did think it would be for the best, you working with us. I’d planned on telling you everything once you realized what you were. Once you came to me for help. Whether you believe me or not, I truly meant no harm by it. I hope you understand.”

  Sepha understood. Of course she did. But she also understood that Destry had, on some level, viewed Sepha as a stratagem and not a friend.

  But that was Destry. That was Destry’s world. That was the only way Destry knew how to think, the only way she knew how to deal with people. Sepha couldn’t change Destry; she could only decide whether Destry was still worth being around.

  And she thought … she thought maybe she was.

  And now for Ruhen. “And you knew about all that?”

  He nodded. “When we realized we both knew about you, we started checking in with each other. Talking things through. I know you feel terrible, knowing we’ve been talking about you, but we just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  Sepha frowned down at her hands in her lap. “Is there anything else you two are keeping from me?”

  She looked up just in time to see Destry give Ruhen a significant look. Ruhen’s lips thinned. With a roll of her eyes, Destry said, “Fine, I’ll tell her.” Ruhen and Sepha both went tense. “Sepha, we both think you have the loveliest hair.”

  Sepha grabbed her braid with one hand. “If you don’t want to tell me, you can just say so,” she said, and Destry laughed. Ruhen hid his face behind his hands.

  “There you are!”

  Henric’s voice rang loud across the deck. He was approaching fast and was already within a few paces. He drew the mariners’ notice, and they saw Ruhen and Destry standing idle.

  “Ho! Ruhen!” cried one of the mariners. With a sigh and the lightest touch on Sepha’s elbow, Ruhen slid off the crate and jogged over to meet the mariner.

  “Destry,” Henric said, sending a disapproving glance toward Sepha. “Are you sure—about her?”

  “I would trust her with my life,” she said, placing the slightest emphasis on her.

  “And I would never dream of questioning your judgment in trusting an alchemancer who tricked our mother the Magistrate and used her unnatural abilities to gain both wealth and status,” Henric said. “But we’re taking on quite a lot of risk, you and I. Going to Aunt Isolde, bringing her.”

  “You didn’t have to come,” Destry said, crossing her arms.

  “Yes, I know,” Henric grumbled. He leaned against the chain-linked rail, unperturbed by the deadly drop behind him. “But you’re the only thing saving me from having to sign my future away to Tirenia. Nothing matters more than keeping you safe.”

  Tired of being discussed as if she weren’t there, Sepha said, “Not that you’ll believe me, Henric, but I have no interest in harming Destry. Or even your mother. I might be—what I am. But I’m Tirenian first.”

  Destry flashed a rare smile at Sepha and said, “See, Henric? Nothing to worry about. She’s Tirenian first, just like us.”

  “Destry! Henric!” another mariner shouted, and twin expressions of annoyance flashed across the siblings’ faces. With a nod at Sepha, Destry turned and left.

  Henric lingered long enough to say, “You really won’t harm her?”

  “I would never.”

  He gave her a searching glance, his green eyes nearly blue against the backdrop of the sea. Whatever he saw seemed to convince him that she was being honest. “Good,” he said, and stalked off.

  Leaving Sepha alone with Fio once again.

  Although Sepha’s list of things to fear was always growing, she didn’t put Fio on it. She was safe from him, even though he’d been doing things he shouldn’t be able to do for quite a while—coming and going as he pleased, when he shouldn’t be able to please in the first place. He was unusual and impossible, but that didn’t make him an enemy. She watched him from the corner of her eye, waiting for the next impossible thing, because he was a wonder and her only distraction. The only truly unhomunculus thing he ended up doing, near dusk, was to get up and trot away of his own volition.

  Hours later, Sepha was still on the Dear Lady’s main deck, staring up at a blue-black sky swollen with stars and moonlight. The night was cool and calm, and the sound of the ship’s great engine filled the air with a gentle, endless roar. The horizon was empty, the breeze soft and teasing, and Sepha felt nearly calm for the first time in … Gods! A while.

  Which should have been her first sign.

  Without warning, Sepha’s right hand cramped with a sharp, deep ache.

  The ship gave an almighty lurch, throwing Sepha from her feet. She fell hard onto the deck, and the deck’s scratchy coating gouged her skin.

  The Dear Lady gave a loud groan and tipped even more drastically, making Sepha slide uncontrollably down the deck’s steep slope. She scrabbled against the deck, slicing her skin open, but there was nothing for her to hold on to. Even the huge shipping containers were coming loose, crashing down the deck and plunging into the sea.

  Just when the metal railing and a long fall into the dark water were mere feet away, there was a loud, metallic squeal, then a rumble from deep within the boat, and the deck righted itself.

  Heavy-headed and disoriented, Sepha struggled to her feet and scrambled away from the rail. The wind was fiercer now—or was the boat merely going much, much faster?

  “All hands! All hands! Report to Main Deck!” blared the captain’s voice from the tinny loudspeakers. Then there was absolute chaos. A keening whistle sounded, and men and women poured onto the main deck, bursting through doors and clambering up ladders.

  A hand around her knee told Sepha that Fio had found her. He looked terrified, just like he had on the night of the library fire.

  The deck was teeming with mariners who were confused and afraid and glad to be alive. They were shouting, the alarm was blaring, the wind and water rushed and roared, and the magician was here. But why? What was he going to—

  Sepha went still.

  Destry and Henric were both on board.

  Both of the Magistrate’s heirs were in the same place, away from the safety of the Military Alchemists and the high Institute walls.

  “Sepha!” Henric growled from close beside her. She jumped. “What was that?”

  “It wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re asking!” she snapped. “Where’s Destry?”

  The tether rapidly tautened, and Ruhen materialized from the crowd. He looked terrified and relieved all at once.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Sepha waved a dismissive hand. “He’s here.”

  Ruhen’s e
yes widened.

  “Who’s here?” Henric cut in.

  Sepha ignored Henric. “We need to find Destry.”

  “And him,” Ruhen said. He tucked one hand around her elbow and swiveled his head, searching.

  “All hands!” bellowed a rough voice. She spun and saw that tall, ruddy Captain Ellsworth had leapt onto a wooden crate. “Everyone! To me!”

  The mariners milled over to him, crowding close. Sepha reached for Fio’s hand and joined the crowd, tugging Ruhen along with her. Henric followed. Destry was still nowhere to be seen.

  The wind ripped and roared, but the mariners were utterly silent, and stared at Captain Ellsworth.

  “Something’s afoot,” Ellsworth shouted, “and I don’t know what. But something’s changed our course. The rudder’s jammed, and the engine accesses are melted beyond repair.” The mariners shouted questions, but he silenced them with a sharp gesture. “I need the party of alchemists to join me immediately in the wheelhouse. Everyone else, secure what cargo you can! Now!”

  Without another word, Ellsworth leapt off his crate and stalked toward the cargo boat’s wheelhouse. Sepha and the others followed.

  The wheelhouse was a small, dim room. On one wall were gigantic maps of Tirenia and the surrounding Anguan Sea, and on the others were floor-to-ceiling windows that were sparkling clean, without so much as a stray fingerprint to obscure the helmsman’s view.

  The captain’s first mate and navigator, Ms. Elos, was hunched over a table near the wall of maps. Destry, looking pained and clutching her own arm, stood beside her.

  “Destry!” Sepha cried. “Are you all right?”

  Destry nodded, vainly attempting to suppress her grimace of pain. Before Sepha could ask what had happened, Ms. Elos spoke.

  “Captain,” said Ms. Elos, a statuesque black woman with close-cropped curls and a resonant voice, “we’re headed west-northwest. Straight for cleptapod territory.”