Page 10
He unlocked his laboratory door with the Key, the golden key at the center of his entire empire. Once again, he admired its beautiful craftsmanship and its deadly purpose. Centuries before, he had commissioned the Key from a local sorcerer, long passed to the grave, styling it in memory of his lovely Annabella, with a rose in full bloom decorating the grip, surrounded by four understated thorns. In repose, these magically spelled thorns were inconsequential, gentle additions to the sculptural flower, but when released through treachery, they were quick to taste the blood of disobedience. His wives, without exception, had always disobeyed him, and in consequence, felt the wrath of the Key.
He took a moment to finger the other keys. Two new keys hung on the ring, made of iron, which opened the refurbished laboratories: a chemical lab for Thomas in the courtyard, and an alchemical lab down here in the dungeon, opposite his, for Zayan. Soon, perhaps already, his two apprentices would be falling in love.
After locking himself in his laboratory with a firm quarter-turn of the Key, he moved to the putrefaction vessel.
“I apologize, my dear Annabella,” he said, nodding to her across the room in the crypt. Even after all these years, she was lovely in death. “I know the smell is fierce, but it’s a necessary inconvenience.”
Well used to the malodorous effusions of alchemy, Bluebeard scorned the masks hanging on the wall. The fumes were merely unpleasant, not life-threatening, and besides, he had the varied fumes of the Great Work to thank for his most unique feature, his arresting blue beard.
He stirred the oily mixture, assessing the consistency. The sulfur was doing its job, as always the vital ingredient, and it looked nearly ready to add the antimony and arsenic. He touched his finger lightly to the surface, and a tarry drop adhered to his fingertip. Bringing it to his nose, it sent a delightful shiver of abject terror down his spine, like a scream waking him in the night. Across his body, he felt his hairs stand on end and his knees went watery, all of their own accord.
“This is delicious, dearest,” he said, exulting in the waves of primal fear. “My art has come so far since you left me. Truly, I wish you were here to savor this experience.”
He wiped his tarry finger on a rag and set to enriching the mix. More nightshade, of course, to strengthen the potency, and a few preliminary grains of arsenic. He’d have to send Hoyle to the caves for purified water when he proceeded to the distillation, but that could wait. The mix still had days before it would reach maximal potency.
As he stirred and tinkered, improvising pinches of this and that, the troubles of the day washed away, incorporated into the bubbling mix, leaving him well pleased and feeling much more himself. When the terror felt like it could continue putrefying on its own, he turned finally to his own needs, pulling the last bottle of Elixir out of his pocket.
“To you, my treasure, my Annabella, my world,” he toasted to her silent visage, raising the bottle to his lips and feeling the glow of life return to his bones. With this new vitality, he was almost looking forward to his wedding night.
CHAPTER 7
Finally, after Thierry left, Tom flopped down on his ornate canopy bed and found a moment to ponder his situation. Nothing about this job was what he expected, and it had thrown him completely off balance. Motorboats that, what, teleport? To a fairytale kingdom with castles and horses? His new employer was a mage, a magician? It was too much to wrap his scientific mind around. He couldn’t simply believe it without seeing it for himself. A little voice nagged: But you already did see it, firsthand, in the boat. But maybe it was a trick, although he couldn’t fathom how it could have been done.
Before he went completely bonkers, it was time to do what he did best. He needed to be critical, be a scientist, and see what he could discover. The simplest thing first. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, hoping that his GPS app could give him some clues, but there was no signal. Why was he not surprised? Maybe castle walls block cell signals. This was the first time he’d ever had the opportunity to test that hypothesis, since he’d never been in a castle. Maybe there was a signal outside.
He levered himself off the bed using the bedposts (carved with dragons, naturally), slunk through the common room watched by dozens of antique portraits, descended the first spiral staircase he’d ever descended, and finally pushed through the postern doors, finding them on the first try. Still no signal. A wide stone walkway led him around the side of the castle, but not to any signal. When he turned the corner and reached the south side, he was faced with a wonder. An enormous greenhouse with a filigree of iron and glass covered most of the castle wall. Phone forgotten, he dashed straight for the doors, hoping he didn’t need one of the keys on Thierry’s keyring to get inside.
The door opened easily, and for the first time since getting off his flight, he felt at home. This, he understood. The greenhouse, at least what he could see of it, was crowded with plants known for scents and essential oils: lavender and roses, scented geraniums, jasmine and something that could be a vanilla orchid. It was beautifully tended, but there were no great surprises.
“Hello?” he called, hoping he wasn’t intruding.
The same couldn’t be said when he passed through the next glass door and emerged into a drenchingly humid room. A fetid odor filled the cloying air, catching at the back of his throat and making him gag. The source was easy to find. A small planter, enclosed on all sides by glass, held a creeping vine, colored a sickly yellow ochre and covered with wicked red thorns. He’d never seen anything like it. The vine extended throughout the enclosure, tangling across the dirt and creeping up the walls. Something that probably used to be a rabbit lay in one corner, covered with vines. As he watched, they slowly writhed, tightening around the neck of the carcass, squeezing slowly, tighter and tighter. The thorns dug into the putrid flesh, and Tom struggled not to retch as the entire head tilted, slowly but implacably separating from the body.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” a voice said from behind him, and Tom nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around and found a bearish man in a flannel shirt, with a big beard that matched his robust belly, holding a perfectly unremarkable clay pot of frilly white cattleya orchids. He set down the pot and joined Tom at the enclosure. “It’s a particularly dynamic species of strangle vine. I’ve been looking for one for years, and finally the rumors paid off. I’m still struggling with feeding it, though. As you can see, it’s getting chlorotic. I would have thought all the iron in the blood would help, but now I’m not so certain.”
“I’m assuming it’s dangerous?” Tom asked, tapping on the glass.
“Very! But that’s what makes it interesting. Let’s just say you want to steer clear of those thorns. You must be one of the new apprentices. Thierry mentioned you were arriving today.”
“Yes, I’m Thomas Dalton, but you can call me Tom.”
“Any relation to the famous Dalton of atomic theory?”
Tom laughed at this and said, “You know, I hope so, but I’ve scoured my genealogy and never been able to make a definitive connection.”
“You’ll have to ask the Mage sometime. He has a mind for history. I hear you’re something of a chemist, interested in natural products. You’ve come to the right place. My name is Hoyle, and as you probably guessed, I’m in charge of all things botanical here at the castle. And, I know exactly what you’ll want to see.”
He guided Tom over to a stand of leathery pitcher plants with half a dozen flower spikes, each tightly covered with a plastic bag.
He asked, “Are you ready for this?”
Tom wasn’t at all sure, but he nodded his head. How bad could it be? At least these plants didn’t have deadly thorns.
Hoyle loosened the rubber band affixing one of the bags to the flower stem, then he wafted his hand across the opening.
Tom took a breath and was instantly overcome. The pleasure careened through his body, filling his head with stars. Wave after wave flowed, and he felt himself stiffening. His hips spasmed and bucked, out of his control, trying to find some satisfaction. Through the haze of ecstasy, he saw Hoyle jerk his hand enough to release his hold on the flower and let the rubber band snap closed.
Somehow, Hoyle had enough control to flip a switch next to the plant, whirling an overhead fan to life. Slowly, the overwhelming euphoria subsided, dimming to a general feeling of bliss.
