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“So, you’ll be transmuting lead into gold?” She said this jokingly, but there was still that kernel of scrutiny in her eyes. “Making homunculi? Brewing up the Elixir of Life?”
“Something like that. The Mage still hasn’t clued me in on the specifics. Like I said, I’m still learning the basics.”
“Sounds fascinating!” There she went again, gushing like an excited schoolgirl, and she even reached over and took Zayan’s hand. Tom wasn’t great at reading people, but even to him, it seemed odd. “I’d love to see your laboratory, if I’m allowed.”
“Of course! I don’t see any reason why not. Drop by when you’re free. It’s down in the dungeon, under the gatehouse. Not hard to find.”
“And my husband works there, too?”
“Well, he’s training me now, so yes, but I think he does most of his own work in his lab.”
“And where is that?” She said it calmly, as if the answer didn’t matter, but her eyes told a different story. Why was she watching this conversation so carefully? It seemed innocuous, but something was off. Or maybe he was imagining it all. Everything about Greenhaven and the castle was throwing off his normal instincts.
Zayan answered, barely looking up from his lunch, “Also down in the dungeon, but I haven’t seen it. He always keeps it locked.”
Just then, another swarthy fellow entered the deck with a beer in hand, and sat with the other two. Tom was almost certain it was the belligerent father who was at the castle the night of the wedding, and they weren’t even trying to hide their antagonism now. All three fellows had scowls fixed directly on their table.
Tom said, nodding over to them, “Charlie, have you noticed the guys over in the corner?”
“Got it covered. Their bark is usually worse than their bite, but it looks like they’ve been drinking. Let’s finish up and head back home.”
CHAPTER 16
Bluebeard fought back his temper. Was he ever this green? He scraped the immaculate powdery residue from his own crucible for the fifth time. His, naturally, was perfect, but the same couldn’t be said for his apprentice’s calcination. At least it wasn’t tar this time, but Zayan’s product had a vile green tinge, a telltale sign of indecision.
He tamped down his simmering rage and said, “I’ll say it again, and you’ll listen this time. Intention, intention, intention! In your mind, you must picture the product and hold it fast throughout the entire calcination. This isn’t mundane chemistry. Alchemy is subtle, the admixture of practitioner with practice. Nature delights in Nature.”
He could already tell, as they added the sulfur and cinnabar on the sixth try, that Zayan was losing focus again. Failure was never easy, and thus, Bluebeard never allowed himself to fail. His credo must be instilled in his apprentice. Failure was never an option.
He watched as Zayan consigned the mixture to the flames, feeling himself the smooth melding of natures as they combined, but as the sulfur liquified and hissed, he felt the moment Zayan lost his intention.
“Attention! Intention!” he shouted, and Zayan gave him an angry scowl.
Zayan shouted right back, “I know! You’ve spouted those damn words at me enough times!”
The mix blackened around the edges, then the center flared brilliant green, congealing into a tarry mess.
“You must feel it. Sulfurs have great affinity with one another, making substances divine. They’re sensitive and will respond to your every demand, but languish at your every lapse. Listen to them, and listen to me, or you will never learn!”
In his anger, Zayan fumbled the crucible, nicking it against the furnace and chipping the edge.
“Careless! Will you ever amount to anything? I don’t see a shred of talent in you.”
Zayan’s eyes were fiery in the glow from the furnace as he threw the tongs to the floor, clenching his fists.
“Maybe you’re right! I never signed up to be an alchemist, or a boy toy for your other project, whatever the hell it is. I’ll leave now and save you the trouble of kicking me out.”
This was intolerable! After all the work he’d already put into this miserable wretch. His anger flamed red, and he backhanded the boy, sending him reeling across the room into the distillation table. Alembics and catchbottles crashed to the floor, shattering.
“Look what you made me do!” he accused. Seeing Zayan there, defiant with his rebellious bluster, sent sheer fire through his chest. He had to put distance between them, or he would surely kill the talentless urchin.
He turned his back without another word and slammed the door open, stomping up the staircase and into the afternoon sun. He strode out the front gate in a fury, finding his wife in conversation with Thierry.
She asked, “Giles, dear, is everything…?”
But he interrupted, growling, “Not now,” and stormed on.
He left the road and followed the rocky trail that led to the cliff promontory. That always calmed his anger, far away from the irritants of the castle. What was he going to do with the lad? As he navigated the sandstone scarps of the trail, he surveyed his options. On paper, Zayan was perfect, with fluid morals and a modicum of talent in chemistry, and he already had the innocent Thomas wrapped around his finger. But to bring his plan to fruition, Zayan’s mundane experience in chemistry must be expanded to include the Great Work, or all his machinations would be for nought.
