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Reaching the promontory, with the sheer cliffs at his feet and the ocean meeting the sky at the horizon, a plan congealed, as it always did when he gave himself the freedom to think. His apprentice needed a firmer hand. Starting today, there would be no holding back. He would shape the boy into enough of an alchemist to fit his needs. Zayan must be ready when his plan reached its final act.

Despite his decision, his chest still roiled. He needed a distraction before confronting Zayan, or he may do something he would regret. Perhaps a visit to his other apprentice was in order. His work was proceeding apace, although it was merely traditional chemistry, nothing special. But it was sufficient to keep the lad interested and engaged until he played his own starring role in the Great Work.

Bluebeard stepped down the trail and back to the castle, feeling far more settled now that he had an actionable plan for addressing Zayan’s shortcomings.

“Mage Bluebeard!” Thomas said as he entered the laboratory. He was fiddling with a rack of test tubes from the liquid chromatography equipment. “You’re just in time! Would you like to help me assay the new prep?”

Thomas reminded him so much of his own early days, and his sheer excitement when he joined the insular community of alchemists at the inception of the discipline. Excitement and tempers ran high in those heady days as they uncovered the very nature of the world, interpreting and expanding the seminal work of the ancient Greeks. Thomas exuded the same joy, the same freedom of inquiry, that permeated his work back then.

“My pleasure,” he answered truthfully, feeling the tension in his shoulders unwind. Visiting his apprentice was the right choice.

Thomas laughed and said, “If I did this correctly, it will be your pleasure, literally.”

He sorted through the tubes and said, “The peak should be about here. Try this one first, and give me a rating for it. Zero for nothing, five for, excuse my language, full-on orgasm.”

Sniffing the first tube was mildly pleasurable, but that might be the faint organic perfume of the solvent.

“Zero,” Bluebeard reported.

The next tube was stronger, with a burst of euphoria, like the rush of a plummeting roller coaster.

“Let’s say three.”

“Great. Prepare yourself. This should be the wingding.”

He took a whiff and sure enough, the pleasure flooded from his nose into his brain, swirling his head with white light and bringing him gloriously to full mast.

“Ahhh, five,” he said as Thomas gently extracted the tube from his hand before he dropped it. He flew on wings of that ecstasy for a few moments, feeling it peak and then slowly subside. He didn’t ejaculate, and strangely didn’t feel the need for that familiar completion. The pleasure seemed disconnected from the usual biological response. When viewed critically, this was a major advantage. He could easily ride the wave again and again, with no refractory period to interrupt the pleasure. As he came back to his rational self, all he could think was: This will sell itself.

His apprentice then asked, turning beet red, “Um, Mage Bluebeard, did you get, um, you know…?”

Bluebeard had to laugh at his shy apprentice. Bodies were just bodies, and he never could fathom what all the fuss was about. “Yes, Thomas, I have a full erection, but it didn’t bring me to completion.”

“Um, good. Mission accomplished, I guess?”

“Apparently so. How are you progressing? Your extracts are obviously coming along, and Hoyle tells me you’re making some gains in characterizing the compounds.”

“I think so. With this prep, I think I have it almost down to the essentials. It was clear from the beginning that the major active ingredient is dopamine. That was a surprise, and it wasn’t. It makes sense for the orgasm, but it’s not volatile, so the delivery was always a question. Still is, frankly. There’s some other stuff going on in this mix, interesting stuff I don’t yet understand, that delivers the dopamine to the right place. That’s still a work in progress.”

“Sounds like progress. Can you spare this five-star sample? I think it’s something my new bride would enjoy.”

If he thought Tom had blushed before, it was nothing like this. The poor boy flushed all the way to the roots of his hair.

“I guess so, I mean, sure, of course. Let me find a stopper, and it’s all yours.”

Bluebeard left with his bottle of liquid pleasure, wondering what they would call it when it finally went to market…but he had people for that. He found he was feeling much more himself. There’s nothing like a dose of orgasmic ecstasy to smooth out the day. Maybe that could be turned into a jingle. Reaching the stairs to the subterranean laboratories, he chided himself for his lack of seriousness. It was time to set aside these fancies and get back to the important work. He had an apprentice to school.

Upon entering the laboratory, he saw that the floor was swept clean of broken glassware and the distillation table was back in tidy order. Zayan was at the furnace, back facing the door, intent on a crucible positioned perfectly in the glowing coals. Bluebeard lingered in the doorway, holding the door open to avoid any extraneous noise, and willing the boy forward. He could feel it, even from the far side of the room. Zayan’s focus was impeccable. He watched as his apprentice tipped the crucible precisely as he had taught, distributing the material evenly along the sides. After a few silent moments, a faint sizzle marked the end of the calcination, and Bluebeard at last let the door swing closed.

He strode over to the furnace as Zayan extracted the crucible and scrutinized the results.

“This is acceptable,” he said, noting the pure white color and fine crystalline texture. Truly, he couldn’t have done better himself. Now it was time to continue his schooling. “Next, we progress to the sublimation.”

CHAPTER 17

“What happened to your eye?” Tom asked.

“A little accident in the lab,” Zayan answered, still smarting from his latest training session with Bluebeard. It seemed like these sessions had been more about Bluebeard’s ego and less about mentoring. Why was he staying? He asked himself that question every day, after every cruel word and angry blow. It was the money, of course. He now had two bags of gold tucked into his sock drawer, more money than he’d ever seen in his life. As a dishonored chemist, he didn’t have any prospects on the other side, in the real world, and here, he was rapidly becoming rich. Maybe with three bags of gold in hand, he could pack his clothes and call it quits. But he knew himself well enough to realize that three, or four, or a dozen bags wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him, if there was the promise of more.