The Alchemist's Apprentice Read online

  “I’ve been using cooling charms,” Cyanine confessed.

  “Bad idea,” I told her. “You don’t want to risk contaminating the salve with magic.”

  I poured the salve into a beaker, then looked around, silently cataloguing her collection of books and ingredients. None of the latter seemed to be particularly dangerous - she hadn’t purchased any Dragon Scales or Red Fire Berries - but there was still a risk of accidentally poisoning herself if she added the wrong ingredient at the wrong time. The herbs she’d collected were known to have adverse effects if treated wrongly, even if they weren’t as spectacular as some of the more exotic ingredients. Cyanine really had been incredibly lucky.

  “You’re a good brewer,” Cyanine said. “My aunt might offer you a job.”

  “Please don’t mention me to her,” I said, quickly. “She doesn’t want me working for her.”

  “She’s always complaining about her assistants being unable to follow simple orders,” Cyanine said. “You know better than that, don’t you?”

  I shrugged. Master Travis would have fired me long ago if he’d doubted my ability to follow simple orders. Cyanine’s aunt ... I wondered, absently, what she actually did . A Potions Mistress wouldn’t hesitate to fire her assistants if they couldn't follow orders. I made a mental note to look her up, then told myself not to be silly. There was no way I could stay in Bolingbroke Hall. Cyanine meant well - I was sure of it - but I couldn’t stay.

  And better not to tell her anything , I thought, as I checked the cooling salve. She might just decide she can’t allow me to steal from her half-brother .

  “It’s ready,” I said. “Let me see your arm.”

  Cyanine gritted her teeth as I uncovered her arm. The wound was still bleeding, despite my best efforts. That was a surprise. I’d thought I’d cleaned the wound properly. I checked the salve she’d made, sniffing it carefully. It didn’t smell as if she’d added something really dangerous to the mix. I frowned, puzzled. Perhaps she’d simply managed to stop her blood from congealing altogether.

  “Hold still,” I warned. I found a cloth and cleaned the arm, then started to carefully cover the wound with salve. “This may sting ...”

  Cyanine said a word I wouldn’t have dared say in front of my mother. “It does sting,” she said, gripping my forearm tightly. “Why ... why does it sting?”

  “Because your magic is reacting to the magic in the salve.” I studied the wound for a long moment. It was healing nicely, but slowly. “How often do you use it?”

  “Too often,” Cyanine said. “He just ... he just hurts me.”

  “I think you were using it too often,” I commented. I let out a long sigh of relief as the skin knitted itself back together, the bruise fading away until it was gone completely. “You were actually building up a resistance to its effects.”

  “I didn’t know that was possible,” Cyanine said. “It wasn’t mentioned in the book.”

  “It isn’t commonly advertised,” I said, darkly.

  I felt a pang of bitter grief. I’d asked Master Travis, once, why every healing potion in the shop smelled awful and tasted worse. He’d said, when he’d finished laughing, that he didn’t want anyone to like taking potions. His customers might complain about the taste - one particular customer had insisted, week after week, that her potion tasted like rotting fish - but at least they weren’t becoming addicts. They’d sell their own children into slavery to buy more potion if they did.

  And people like Zadornov exploit it , I thought, grimly. I hadn’t forgotten his threat to feed me something to make me compliant . He wouldn’t have to force me to drink an obedience potion to turn me into his slave. He’d just need to make me dependent on something only he could supply. How many people have the nerve to withstand the cravings long enough to break the addiction?

  Cyanine giggled. “It worked!”

  “Of course it worked,” I said. I remembered myself suddenly and flushed. I’d been so wrapped up in brewing the salve, the first thing I’d brewed for weeks, that I’d forgotten where I was. “Young Mistress.”

  “I won’t forget you,” Cyanine said. She ran her hand down her bare arm. “And if you need anything ...”

  “You need to go for a shower,” I said, looking at the clock. “Your tutor will be here soon.”

  Cyanine turned and hurried to the bathroom. “Play with the potions,” she called, as she closed the door. “Brew something new!”

  I had to smile at the offer, even though I knew there was no time. I had to clean up the bloodstained cloths and wash them before it was too late. The tutor might ask questions if he saw the blood and ... I snorted, rudely. I was being daft. If I’d seen the bruises, he would have seen them too. He’d just decided it was better to keep his mouth shut than risk involving himself in family drama. I’d seen too much of that attitude in Water Shallot. It was disappointing, almost, to know the aristocracy was no better.

  And there’s nothing here that can help me , I thought, as I picked up a cloth. I couldn’t brew a way into Reginald’s chamber ...

  I stopped, dead. I was wrong. There was something in the room that could help me.

  I stared down at the cloth. The blood. Cyanine’s blood. Reginald’s half-sister’s blood. It wouldn’t be an exact match for Reginald, of course, but they did share the same father. And their father was the master of Bolingbroke Hall. The family resonance would be practically identical. I could use the blood to open the chamber, if I managed to trick the wards into thinking that I was Cyanine. It might work. There were limits to how far Reginald could tighten the wards without arousing suspicions. His father was far too indulgent, but even he would be concerned about a completely private chamber. Jill had warned me that nowhere in the hall was truly private.

  I could do it. I could make it work.

  And yet ... my heart started to pound as I realised the dangers. This was no minor prank, no experiment that could go wrong ... this was an attempt to use a blood sample to circumvent the hall’s defences. If I was caught, I was dead. House Bolingbroke would never forgive me for using Cyanine’s blood, for anything. Even having the sample alone would be an automatic death sentence. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry as I looked at the bloodstained cloth. If I was caught ...

  I’ll have to hide it somewhere , I thought. I tried to think of a good place, even though I knew it was futile. The wards might detect the blood as soon as I took it out of Cyanine’s room and sound the alert. And even if the wards didn’t react, there was too great a chance that someone else would stumble across my hiding place. There was nowhere I could put it where I could guarantee it wouldn’t be found. And if it does get found ...

  I hesitated, caught between hope and fear. If it worked - if I managed to get into the chamber - I could grab the notebook and run. Zadornov wouldn’t have a chance to betray me or kill my family. But if it failed, if I got caught, no one would ever see me again. My hands trembled. I hadn’t felt so scared since the first time Master Travis had allowed me to brew unsupervised. If ... if ... if ...

  I have to do it , I told myself. I put the bloodstained cloths in my bag, after carefully tearing off a strip for later use. I’d have to reckon with Zadornov even if I didn’t get caught .

  Cyanine returned, looking clean and fresh. “Did you brew anything?”

  “Nothing new,” I said. “I had to tidy up the room.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Cyanine said. “Mother won’t be inspecting the place for a week.”

  I cocked my eyebrows, despite the yawning pit of fear in my stomach. “How do you know, Young Mistress?”

  “Mother is still annoyed that two of her guests wore the same dress from a supposedly exclusive designer,” Cyanine said. “The society pages were very uncomplimentary.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I started to giggle. It was ... it was absurd . I’d assumed that someone had complained about the food, or the lack of dancing, or ... I hadn’t imagined it was something so petty. Lucinda h
ad been on the warpath because a couple of aristocrats had worn the same dress? It was truly absurd.

  There was a knock at the door. “My tutor,” Cyanine said. “You’re dismissed.”

  “Yes, Young Mistress,” I said. The tutor was a rat-faced man in a black suit. I disliked him on sight. I’d never had any illusions about how little the teachers in Water Shallot had cared for their charges, but surely an aristocratic tutor could do better. “I’ll see you later.”

  I stepped out the door, half-expecting the wards to stop me in my tracks. If they detected the blood ... I had an excuse, I thought, but not a very good one. It might just get me dismissed instead of being executed on the spot. And ... nothing happened. The wards didn’t react at all.

  But that doesn’t mean you’re safe , I reminded myself. As long as you have a sample of her blood, you’re at terrible risk .

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Rebecca,” Jill asked , that evening. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah,” I said. We’d spent the afternoon dusting the house’s vast collection of vases, which wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t been on tenterhooks. The boom could come down at any moment and I knew it, yet ... there was nothing I could do to escape. “I’m just feeling a little bit unwell.”

  “It’s probably the dusting,” Jill said. She cocked her head, looking at me for a long cold moment. “Or did something happen?”

  “One of the ... young gentlemen put his hand up my skirt,” I said, flatly. It wasn’t true, although I had the feeling it was just a matter of time. “And I was just feeling jumpy ...”

  “I don’t blame you,” Jill said. “Just be careful. You don’t want to wind up in the family way.”

  I nodded, grimly. Reginald’s mother had been minor nobility, according to Jill. Not noble enough to marry into House Bolingbroke - although Lord Anton had already been married when he’d sired Reginald - but noble enough for her son to be considered nobility too. But a maid? I shuddered, remembering the one time I’d discussed marriage and pregnancy with my mother. It hadn’t been a pleasant conversation.

  “They might pay you off,” Jill said. “Or they might simply kick you out.”

  I lay back and pulled the covers over my head, trying to block out her words. I knew the dangers - I knew she was trying to warn me - but I also knew that the real problem had nothing to do with the young gentlemen and their wandering hands. I’d hidden the blood sample in one of the heavier vases, after covering it with a protective spell, but I was all too aware that it might be detected at any moment. The armsmen would have no trouble tracing the blood to Cyanine, then deducing what had happened. I’d have no time to run before they caught me.

  It felt like hours of tossing and turning before I finally managed to get to sleep. Jill’s snores pervaded the room, mocking me. I wanted to shake her awake, just so I could get some sleep myself, but it struck me as pointless. I wasn't going to sleep anyway, despite the busy day; I’d make her angry for nothing. And, when I did get to sleep, it felt as if I hadn’t slept at all.

  “You might want to take the day off,” Jill said, as I stumbled out of bed. “You really don’t look well.”

  I shook my head and staggered into the shower, where I washed myself with cold water and changed into a clean dress. I didn’t feel any better as we went to breakfast, even after I poured several cups of coffee down my throat. Cook noticed that something was wrong and slipped me a nutrient potion, a kind gesture that almost had me tearing up. Lucinda, by contrast, seemed to delight in snapping orders at me. I was almost relieved to spend the next few hours helping her inspect the lower bedrooms, even though she had a knack for spotting dust that no one else could see. I followed her around like a lost puppy, my mind elsewhere. I needed an excuse to get into Reginald’s room.

  It came two days later. “Lucinda says you’re going to be doing Simon’s room while the family is at lunch,” Jill said, after breakfast. She didn’t sound pleased. “And I’m going to be doing Reginald’s room.”

  I met her eyes. “I owe you a favour,” I said. “Do you want to swap rooms?”

  Jill nodded, without hesitation. I didn’t blame her. Reginald’s room was a nightmare even if one didn’t trigger a trap and get turned into an earthworm. I shuddered at the thought of being caught again - or even being alone with him - but I had to put the blood sample to use before it decayed completely. Besides, I did owe Jill a favour. She’d covered for me when I’d nearly broken a priceless vase.

  “I think I’ll be owing you a favour,” Jill said, frankly. “Just make sure you get everything done before he returns from lunch.”

  “I will,” I said. I hoped it was true. Cleaning the room itself wouldn’t take long, but I had no idea how long it would take to get into the secret compartment. And that was assuming that everything went according to plan. My imagination had insisted on providing hundreds of ways the whole escapade could go horribly wrong. “Just don’t let Simon catch you alone.”

  “He’s not as bad as some of his cousins,” Jill said. “Reginald is the worst.”

  “You’re talking me out of doing you a favour here,” I warned. “Better be careful what you say.”

  Jill stuck out her tongue. I laughed, then started to gather the cleaning supplies as the dinner bell began to chime. Reginald was going to be busy for hours. The simple - and private - family dinners had been replaced by large gatherings, presided over by Lady Antonia and Wesley Bolingbroke. I had a feeling, from what I’d overheard in the kitchens, that the dinners were now exercises in genteel torture. I wished Reginald a very long lunch indeed.

  My heart started to pound - again - as I recovered the bloodstained cloth and walked to Reginald’s room. The door was firmly closed, but it opened on my touch. I took a long breath and stepped inside, looking around carefully to make sure he’d gone to lunch. There was no sign of Reginald, but I heard the sound of running water from the bathroom and hesitated before knocking loudly. There was no reply. I peeked inside and saw the tap, merrily dripping away. I scowled as I turned it off. Reginald simply didn’t know what it meant to be poor.

  Bastard , I thought, as I turned my attention to the empty wall. The glamour was still there, a faint blur that seemed to shimmer in and out of existence every time I looked at it, but I could see the door beyond. The glamour couldn’t fool me if I knew the door was there. I tensed, reaching for the cloth and allowing my magic to interact with the blood. If this goes wrong ...

  Sweat prickled down my back as I inched closer. Master Travis hadn’t taught me much about working with blood, pointing out that any potion that used human blood was dubious at best - and therefore subject to strict controls - or outright forbidden at worst. It was one of the most versatile ingredients in the world, he’d said, and yet it was also one of the most dangerous. A potion made with someone’s blood might not explode, but it could be impossible to counteract. I wished, suddenly, that I knew more. Master Travis had been right. There were gaps in my education that would take years to fix.

  Reginald’s wards suddenly snapped into my awareness, bearing down on me with terrific force. I held my ground as I held the cloth forward, allowing the wards to get a good look at the blood. Reginald couldn’t have tightened up the wards too far, could he? I didn’t believe it possible, yet ... there was no way to be sure. I felt powerful magics shimmering around me - I had the sense of a key turning in a giant lock - and braced myself, an instant before the wards faded into the background. I nearly collapsed in relief as the doorway snapped into existence. I’d done it!

  I inched forward, reminding myself to beware of other traps. Reginald might have one or two other tricks up his sleeve. The door was locked - another physical lock, I noted - with a complex charm layered over the metal. It didn’t seem designed to keep someone from opening the lock with a spell. I started to cast an unlocking spell, then stopped myself. It was too easy. Instead, I took a hairpin out of my cap and carefully picked the lock. The door clicked open, the ch
arm fading away. I allowed myself a moment of relief as I saw the trap. Anyone who cast an unlocking spell would trigger another spell lurking in the wood around the physical lock ...