The Alchemist's Apprentice Read online

  I shook my head. “I have to rest ...”

  Reginald rose. “You’ll brew,” he said. “Time is not on our side.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Why ...?”

  “My dearly beloved stepmother—” Reginald’s voice dripped poison “—has informed me that my father is ailing fast. He does not have long to live. And when he goes to join his ancestors, I will be told to leave the house. She offered me money to go quietly.”

  “Oh,” I said. “That was kind of her.”

  “Hah,” Reginald said. “Where would I go?”

  I said nothing as I headed to the door. Reginald had options. Reginald had hundreds of options. He could get an apprenticeship himself - he was clearly a skilled wardcrafter, even if he was largely self-taught - or he could dicker with his family to enter a trade or ... I dismissed the thought. Reginald would never be happy as anything other than an aristocrat, no matter what he did. There was no way he would open a shop. It would be a huge fall for him. And all of his former friends wouldn’t hesitate to rub it in as much as possible.

  He made no attempt to call me back as I hurried into my room, undressed as fast as I could and clambered into the shower. The hot water cleansed my skin, washing away the dirt and grime; I promised myself, silently, that if I managed to get a new shop, I was going to make sure it had a shower. I’d spent plenty of time at the public baths, but this was different. Just having it to myself was pure heaven.

  I dried myself, changed into my old dress and hurried back into the chamber. Reginald was still sitting there, working his way through a dozen books on wardcrafting and scribbling notes in a leather-bound journal of his own. I wondered what he was doing, but I didn’t dare ask. I was going to have to take a look at that notebook at some point and ... do something. I just didn’t know what.

  “Enough delays,” Reginald growled. “Brew.”

  “Yes, My Lord,” I said. I reached for the recipe and read through it again, making sure I knew how to fill in the holes. None of them were too complicated, as far as I could tell, but anyone without a passing knowledge of how Master Travis did things would be completely lost. “I’ll start at once.”

  A stinging hex flashed over my head and splashed harmlessly against the far wall. I cringed, not so much from the reminder that he could hurt me as the grim awareness that Reginald might just set off an explosion that would send both of us to join our ancestors. Which of us would be in worse trouble? Me, for never having paid homage to my ancestors? Or him, for betraying the family so badly? I had a good excuse, didn’t I? How was I supposed to seek their blessing if I didn’t know who they were?

  “Work,” Reginald growled.

  I curtsied, then carefully collected the tools and placed them on the table. Reginald had bought everything new, I thought; there was nothing that had been passed down from potioneer to potioneer. Master Travis’s scales had dated back hundreds of years, he’d claimed; I felt a stab of grief as I realised they were nothing more than dust and molten iron, lying in the remains of the apothecary. I wondered what had happened to the rubble. It had been weeks since the explosion. The landlord had probably sold whatever he’d been able to retrieve from the wreckage for scrap.

  Reginald watched me - I could feel him watching me - as I prepared the base liquid, then lit the fire under the cauldron. Master Travis had warned me, time and time again, never to use magic close to a potion before it was properly brewed. I sensed the wards, humming as they hung in the air, and hoped they wouldn’t destabilise the potion. If something went wrong, I’d have to dive under the table and hope for the best.

  Prepare the first set of ingredients , I told myself. I inspected everything, chopping up the softened unicorn horn and cleaning each of the Dragon Scales individually. Don’t miss out a single step .

  Reginald walked up to the table and sat down as I mentally plotted out the recipe, silently ticking off each step. There were limits to how much I could do in advance. The Dragon Scales could be cleaned, but they had to be kept apart from the remainder of the ingredients until the time came to insert them into the potion; the Dragon’s Heart would start decaying the moment I took it out of the preservation field, which meant I’d have only five minutes to prepare it for insertion before it was too late. The potion really was a finicky one. Master Travis had been a genius to even think about combining so many different mixtures into one brew.

  “This would be so much easier if we could brew the four sections earlier and then add them together,” I muttered. “Why don’t they go together?”

  Reginald sniffed. “Why don’t they go together?”

  I shrugged. There had to be a reason. Master Travis would not have purposely made it difficult to brew the potion. Even if he’d deliberately made it hard to brew, a skilled Potions Master would have no trouble undoing Master Travis’s dirty work. I made a mental note to start going through the books as quickly as possible. If there was a reason, I wanted to know what it was before I started wondering if I should brew the four potions separately. It looked so much easier.

  The cauldron bubbled as it came to the boil. I took a long breath, and tipped in the first set of ingredients. The liquid fizzed angrily, foul-smelling steam boiling up at me. I tried not to breathe as I reached for the stirrer and dipped it into the liquid, carefully counting each stir as I stirred counter-clockwise. When I reached ten, I pulled the stirrer out of the cauldron and cleaned it with a damp cloth. Magic crackled around the brew - I thought I saw blue sparks within the liquid - and then faded back into the background. I let out a sigh of relief. For a horrible moment, I’d thought I’d failed the very first step.

  Reginald cleared his throat. “Well?”

  I watched the liquid as it simmered. “That’s the first step,” I said. “Now, I need to get ready for the second step.”

  Reginald watched, silently, as I carefully sorted out the next set of ingredients. Master Travis had stipulated that they had to be added in a particular order, but he hadn’t been very clear on what that order actually was . I knew him well enough to pick out the weasel word that hinted there was something wrong with the list, yet I wasn’t entirely sure I’d compensated properly for his modifications. Some of the ingredients were standard - I could calculate which order they should be included - but others were dangerously unpredictable and had to be treated with extreme caution. Sweat trickled down my back as I bent over the cauldron, carefully feeling out the magic simmering below. I’d have only a second or two of warning before everything went to hell ...

  “They told us never to use Dragon Scales,” Reginald said, as I started to add the ingredients one by one. “Magistra Loanda said they were too dangerous.”

  Shut up, you idiot , I thought, willing myself not to be distracted. I’d heard of Magistra Loanda - anyone with an interest in potions had heard of Magistra Loanda - but there wasn't time! I had to concentrate. Let me think!

  The liquid started to bubble frantically. I sensed the magic surging chaotically, daring me to take another step. Gritting my teeth, I opened the preservation jar and removed the Dragon’s Heart. A foul stench filled the room. Reginald swore out loud as I grabbed the iron knife - I’d made very sure to keep it separate from the others - and chopped up the meat, then inserted it into the potion. There was a surge of magic, so powerful that I cringed back, then the brew settled. I looked up, impressed with the wards. It was hard to believe that the experiment hadn’t set off a hundred alarms ...

  I reached for the Dragon Scales, silently asking my unknown ancestors to accept me if I accidentally blew both of us into the next world. Magistra Loanda wasn’t wrong . Dragon Scales were dangerous . I’d only worked with them once, with Master Travis watching me like a hawk. My hand shook as I lowered the first scale into the liquid, bracing myself as the magic surged. I saw the spellform in front of me, taking shape ... and then it disintegrated. A loud hiss echoed through the room. I swore and ducked under the table. Reginald joined me a second later, our heads bumping togeth
er. And then the cauldron detonated. The explosion was so loud that I honestly thought it had deafened me for a moment.

  Then Reginald chuckled. “My wards held.”

  “Very good,” I said, waspishly. He deserved better praise, I admitted to myself, but I wasn’t going to give it. “My potion failed.”

  “Yes,” Reginald said. His eyes bored into mine. “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. Being so close to him was uncomfortable. I scrambled out from under the table, then stood. The cauldron was a blackened ruin. “The potion destabilised.”

  Reginald let out an angry grunt. “Can you make it work?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I just need some practice. And more ingredients.”

  His face purpled. “Do you know how hard it was to get some of those ingredients? And you want to buy more?”

  A thought struck me. “I can buy more for you,” I said. I knew who’d supplied Master Travis. It wouldn’t be that hard to dicker with Zadornov. And Reginald didn’t know enough to realise that I would be buying more than I actually needed. “I’ll just need money and a day off.”

  Reginald looked from me to the ruined cauldron and back again. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll give you the money. You can go buy the stuff tomorrow. And you will come back.”

  “Of course,” I said, mockingly. “Your geas will see to that, won’t it?”

  “Yes,” Reginald said. “And just so you don’t forget ...”

  He slapped me, hard. I stumbled back, falling over and landing on my behind. I tasted blood in my mouth as he marched forward until he was leaning over me, his eyes boring into mine. I wanted to run and hide, but I couldn’t move. His face was so close that I could smell the alcohol on his breath.

  “Succeed and you will be rewarded,” he hissed. The anger and desperation in his voice terrified me. He needed me and yet he was lashing out? His desperation might lead him to do something stupid. “Fail, and you’ll wish I’d killed you.”

  I had to fight to speak. “Yes, My Lord.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I felt uneasy the moment I stepped out of Bolingbroke Hall.

  It wasn’t something I could put my finger on, although it was too persistent a feeling for me to dismiss it as my imagination. I felt as if I was being watched, as if I was being followed, even though I knew I’d see nothing if I turned around. It was hard, so hard, to keep walking down to the gates, rather than turning and scurrying back to the hall as if my unknown ancestors were snapping and snarling at my heels like a pack of angry dogs. The sensation refused to fade as I stepped through the gates, trying to pull me back. It was all I could do to walk down the street. My legs kept threatening to betray me and march me back to the hall.

  I gritted my teeth as I walked onwards. The geas . It had to be the geas . Reginald hadn’t been exaggerating. I doubted I’d be able to break free, whatever I did. If I tried to escape, it would take full control and take me straight back to him. Reginald would not be pleased. He hadn’t wanted to let me out of his sight, not since I’d started brewing for him. He’d even ordered food to be brought to me, rather than let me eat with the other personal maids. I doubted that was a good sign.

  And he slapped you , I reminded myself. I’d rubbed salve on the bruise, but my cheek still felt uncomfortable. It was a grim reminder that Reginald could do a great deal worse. What will he do if he realises you’re plotting against him ?

  “Rebecca,” a voice called. I looked up and saw Clive at the end of the street. “You made it!”

  “Barely,” I said. I’d had to ask Staunton for my wages. Fortunately, the butler was less of a tightwad than Lucinda. “I thought I wasn’t going to get out.”

  Clive shot me an unreadable look. “More like something else wouldn’t come out.”

  I fought down the urge to snap at him. Clive was jealous? Of Reginald? Or ... I cursed under my breath. The last thing I needed was Clive acting like a bloody idiot. Why couldn’t he have gotten the message, right back when he’d started trying to court me? Why did he think I’d be so desperate to marry him - eventually - that I’d finally agree? And why did he have to act like he was doing me a favour?

  “It’s not like that,” I said, finally. “Did he agree?”

  “He’s waiting for you,” Clive said. “And I’m sure he’s interested.”

  I felt the geas grow stronger, constantly reminding me of its presence, as we walked further away from Bolingbroke Hall. Clive glanced at me a few times, his expression torn between concern and horror. He didn’t know about the geas - it wouldn’t let me tell anyone - but he knew that something had happened. I wondered what sort of rumours he’d heard when he’d last visited the hall. Lucinda would probably have gleefully told him the truth as she knew it. And Clive was probably feeling resentful.

  Idiot , I thought, controlling my anger with an effort. It isn’t as if we were pledged to each other .

  The unease only grew worse as we made our slow way to the cafe, where Zadornov was waiting. It was almost a relief when the waiter greeted me - and told Clive he had to stay outside - even though I felt worse the moment I stepped into the rear compartment. Zadornov was sitting at a table, alone. A single cup of coffee rested in front of him. He nodded politely to me as I entered, then motioned at the seat facing him. I sat, feeling torn between two irresistible forces. I had to find a way to balance them.

  “Order what you like,” Zadornov said. “And then ... we can talk.”

  I nodded, stiffly. The waiter took my order, then hurried away. I looked at Zadornov, trying to read his face. His expression was so tightly controlled that I could learn nothing from it. He’d come, as I’d requested, yet ... I felt the geas press down on me, again. If Zadornov could sense it, maybe he could remove it. But he made no move to do anything.

  “There have been developments,” I said. I had to be very careful. The geas would silence me if I said the wrong thing. “I need to purchase some ingredients from you.”

  Zadornov raised his eyebrows. “Developments?”

  “I ... ah ... managed to convince Reginald I can brew,” I said. The geas hissed ominously at the back of my mind, but made no attempt to silence me. “He’s had me brewing a handful of potions for him.”

  “I see,” Zadornov said. He studied me for a long moment. “And what, exactly , are you brewing?”

  “I can’t tell you,” I said. “He ...”

  The geas tightened, just for a second. I suddenly found it hard to breathe. Zadornov’s eyes narrowed, but there was no other reaction. Did he know the geas was there? Would he try to remove it? Or would he decide it wasn’t worth the risk? My legs trembled, threatening to move of their own accord and take me straight back to the hall. I wondered, morbidly, if Zadornov would try to stop me. Or if he’d just let me go.

  “A dangerous move,” Zadornov said, finally. His eyes never left my face. “But it does get you close to him, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I managed. “I know where he keeps the notebook. The problem is getting it out of the hall.”

  “And so you are working for him, until you can break free,” Zadornov said. “Or have you forgotten that he killed your adoptive father?”

  “No,” I said. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”

  “Including the money you owe me,” Zadornov said. He shrugged, expansively. “What do you want to buy?”

  I reached into my pouch and produced the list. I’d written out a list of everything I needed to brew Reginald’s potion, then added a handful of other ingredients for the concealed storeroom. Reginald had been reluctant, at first, to pay for them, but I’d argued that it would be a bad idea to provide anyone with the complete list of ingredients even if they didn’t have the slightest idea what the potion was for. He’d agreed at once, somewhat to my surprise. It wasn’t as if he knew who I was going to see.

  Zadornov took the list and skimmed it with a practiced eye. “You do realise how much these will cost?”