The Alchemist’s Apprentice

(The Zero Enigma V)

Christopher G. Nuttall

Book One: The Zero Blessing
Book Two: The Zero Curse
Book Three: The Zero Equation
Book Four: The Family Shame
Book Five: The Alchemist’s Apprentice

http://www.chrishanger.net
http://chrishanger.wordpress.com/
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Cover by Brad Fraunfelter

www.BFillustration.com

All Comments and Reviews Welcome!

Dear Readers,

I must apologise for the long delay between this book being announced as a forthcoming project and its appearance.  However, as I’m sure you’ll agree, I have a good excuse.

As you may know, if you follow my blog, my health began to deteriorate in November 2017 and, after a brief period when I thought the problem was behind me, started to collapse again in April 2018.  The doctors tried several possible approaches before discovering, thanks to a private MRI/CT scan my wife insisted I take, that I had lymphoma.  Chemotherapy was prescribed.  This may just have been in time to save my life.  I collapsed when I went for the first set of treatments, allowing the doctors to realise that I also had a nasty chest infection.  

I ended up spending three weeks in the hospital, having antibiotics fed into my system and my lung drained of fluid.  This was not a pleasant experience and I found myself being moved between the haematology ward and the high-dependency care unit, depending on my exact condition.  Eventually, they gave me the first treatment in two sections and - after my health started to improve - allowed me to go home.  I was not, however, in a good condition for some time afterwards.  The side effects made it hard to eat, at first, and then I caught a cold because my immune system had been badly weakened by the treatments.  It was some time before I was able to muster the energy to finish this book.

Obviously, I hope to regain full health once the treatments have been finished.  I have a backlog of story ideas I want to write, including the start of a new The Empire’s Corps arc and a couple of completely new universes that need developing.  (I spent a lot of time thinking of ideas while lying in that hospital bed.)  If you want to pray for me, please do.

I hope to finish the Invincible trilogy sooner rather than later, too, but I cannot guarantee anything.  Please bear with me.  

Thank you.

Christopher G. Nuttall
Edinburgh, December 2018

Cover Blurb

A Stand-Alone Novel set in The Zero Enigma Universe ...

Five months after the House War, the city of Shallot is on edge.  The Great Houses plot and plan against one another, while the magicians rebuild and the common folk fear another outburst of fighting.  And one young nobleman has a plan.

Rebecca is a half-caste shopgirl in an apothecary, dreaming of an apprenticeship that will allow her to rise out of poverty and finally make a name for herself in a city that has no use for her kind.  But when her master undertakes a commission for an enigmatic young nobleman, she finds herself drawn into a maelstrom of criminals, ambitious nobles and a plan that may shake the foundations of the Great Houses themselves ...
Historian’s Note

The Alchemist’s Apprentice takes place roughly five months after The Zero Equation and The Family Shame.
Prologue

I was twelve when I was taken into service.

It was no real surprise to me, not really.  My stepfather might have accepted me into his home, but he’d never really liked me.  There was no way a half-Hangchowese girl could pass for his.  My skin was pale enough to pass for a country girl and my name had been passed down from mother to daughter, but my almond eyes - slanted, the crueller kids said - proved my father had come from overseas.  He’d made sure I was fed and educated - the law demanded no less - yet he wasn’t going to waste any of his money on me.  I certainly didn't have enough magical talent to win a scholarship.  And so, as soon as I turned twelve, my mother wrapped my dark hair in braids, stood over me as I packed a bag with everything I’d need for a month and took me down to the Hiring Hall.

My mother ... I wasn't sure how my mother felt about me.  I wasn't even clear in the details of what had transpired between her and my father.  She seemed to love me, yet ... yet she hadn't kept my stepfather from ordering me into service.  Was I a reminder of something she’d prefer to forget?  Or was I merely old enough to earn my keep?  I’d been cooking and cleaning almost as soon as I’d learnt to walk, like every other girl-child born in South Shallot; I knew the basics of housekeeping better than many a grown woman.  My mother had taught me well.

I couldn't help feeling nervous as we stepped through the massive wooden door and looked around.  Normally, a girl who went into domestic service would find a placement through friends and family, but no one was willing to go out on a limb for me.  My stepfather certainly wasn’t going to waste his contacts ensuring I had a good placement in a decent home.  That was reserved for my younger half-sisters, assuming they didn't have talents of their own.  And yet, the Hiring Hall wasn't meant for young girls who wanted to go into domestic service.  Most of the people who came in search of a job were men from the countryside.  

“Be careful, Rebecca,” my mother said.  “You must get the right sort of job.”

My mother spoke briskly to the attendants, who gave me a marker to prove I was in search of a job.  They didn't seem surprised to see me.  I couldn't have been the only youngster who’d passed through their doors.  And yet, as my mother walked me around the hall, it looked as though I wasn't going to get a placement.  I was too young for some placements, too weak or inexperienced for others ... I’d never realised how limited my experience truly was until I needed a job.  The Great Houses, who might have trained me, never hired through the Hiring Hall.  They hired through family connections.

And then I saw Master Travis for the very first time.

He looked old, his chocolate-coloured face marred with the scars of a hundred potion explosions, his tattered brown robes covered with burn marks and marked with alchemical symbols I didn't understand until much later.  His gait suggested he was constantly on the verge of falling.  He was, as he walked over to us, more than a little frightening.  But he was also the only person who’d approached us.

“I need a shopgirl,” he said, bluntly.  His accent was pure Shallot.  I never learnt much about his family, though I had my theories.  “One who can read and write.”

“I can read and write,” I assured him, quickly.  I could too, although not as well as he might have wished.  My education hadn’t been that extensive.  I certainly hadn't done well enough to earn the chance to study for the financial or legal guilds.  “And I can serve customers too.”

My mother leaned forward and started to haggle.  My stepfather - damn the man - had insisted that I find employment in a place that gave me lodgings, even if I had to sleep on the cold stone floor.  Master Travis haggled back, although without the intensity I’d expected from someone who’d grown up in Shallot.  We’re a trading city.  Children learn to bargain before they reach their second decade.  By the time she’d finished, darkness was falling and I had a job.  Master Travis had even agreed to teach me some basic potions in exchange for a slightly reduced salary.  My mother had been insistent.  A young woman who could brew would have excellent marriage prospects, as long as she didn't set her sights too high.  It might just be enough to make up for my absent - and unknown - father.

“Come,” Master Travis said, once the contract was signed.  I was his now, at least until I turned eighteen.  “We have to go.”

The sheer enormity of what I’d done crashed down on me as I bid farewell to my mother and turned to follow him.  I might go back to my stepfather’s house for visits - and Master Travis had agreed to give me one day off per week - but I didn't live there any longer.  Master Travis’s shop would be my home for the next six years.  My heart was pounding like a drum as we walked out of the hall and down the darkening streets.  Master Travis walked with the utter confidence of a man who knew no one would get in his way.  I wished I felt so confident.  There were parts of the city my mother had told me never to visit after dark.

It felt as though we walked for hours before we crossed the bridge to Water Shallot and turned down a cobbled street.  The city was darker here, bands of sailors and tradesmen hanging around bars or roaming the streets in search of entertainment.  Most of the shops were closed, their doors covered with protective runes.  I stayed close to my new master as he stopped outside a darkened shop and pressed his hand against the doorknob.  It opened a second later, revealing a vast collection of alchemical ingredients.  I couldn't help thinking of a sweetshop.  And yet, the air smelled of herbs rather than sugar.

Master Travis lit the lanterns with a single spell.  I could see why he needed a shopgirl.  The counter was relatively clean - and the jars of herbs were properly sealed - but there was dust and grime everywhere else.  Something tickled the back of my throat as I looked around.  And yet, I was afraid to cough for fear I might set off a storm of dust.   

“You’ll sleep in the garret,” Master Travis said, pointing to a narrow staircase leading up into the darkness.  His voice was gruff, but I saw genuine concern on his face.  “Do you need something to eat?”

I hesitated - my stepfather might have fed me, yet he’d never bothered to hide that the only reason he was taking care of me was because the law insisted - but then my stomach rumbled loudly.  I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and that had been hours ago.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Take your bag upstairs,” Master Travis said.  “And then come down and we’ll get something to eat.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, again.

He offered me a lantern.  I took it and walked slowly up the stairs.  The building felt cramped, as if it was an oversized dollhouse rather than a real house.  I later discovered that it had been fitted into the gap between two apartment blocks.  The garret, at the top of the stairs, was dark and tiny.  I was a small girl, for my age, and it still felt as if I’d bang my head on the roof if I stood up too quickly.  There was dust everywhere.  The bed and chair looked as if they’d been designed for children, not adults.  I wasn't sure where I was meant to put my clothes.

But it was private, I told myself.  It was certainly better than the room I’d shared with my half-sisters.  We’d practically lived in each other’s clothes.

I put my bag on the bed and walked back downstairs.  I’d been sent away from home, and I’d be lucky if I saw my mother more than once or twice a month, but there were advantages.  I’d be away from my stepfather, I’d be earning money ... I might even be learning a new trade that I could use to support myself.  Perhaps, just perhaps, going into service wouldn't be so bad after all.  

And it wasn't.  It was the making of me, instead.
Chapter One

Potions have a magic all their own.

Master Travis told me, time and time again, that most magicians preferred to work with their own magic, rather than unlock the inherent power of everything from Nightmare Grass to Dragon Scales.  It was risky, they said, to brew a potion when the slightest misstep might cause an explosion that would blow both the magician and anyone standing too close to the next world.  And yet, I could never agree with them.  There was just something about watching a potion settle, the magical sheen growing more powerful as the unlocked powers blended together, that I found wonderful.  Master Travis never had to beat me to get me to brew.  The fascination of watching a potion come together was more than enough to keep me bent over the cauldron.

I felt his eyes on me as I carefully - very carefully - dropped a tiny cup of beetle eyes into the liquid, bracing myself to shout a warning and duck under the scorched wooden table if I felt a sudden surge in magic.  I had been working for nearly an hour, starting with boiling water and adding the remainder of the ingredients one by one; he’d watched me like a hawk, ready to snap a warning if I made a single mistake.  I didn’t resent his presence, even though I knew some people would feel he was denying me the chance to learn on my own.  The wards around the apothecary were strong, but nowhere near strong enough to keep an explosion from killing me or starting a fire if something went badly wrong.  I would be ungrateful indeed to complain about something meant to keep me safe.

The liquid bubbled, changing colour from yellow to blue.  A faint shimmer appeared on top as the magic shifted, before settling down.  I let out a sigh of relief - a stable potion would remain stable as long as no one did anything stupid, like hurling a fireball into the brew - and sat back on my chair.  My legs felt stiff and sore.  I’d been standing so still, they’d started to cramp.  I rubbed them as Master Travis checked the brew, carefully sampling it with a spellcaster of his own design.  I didn’t need him to tell me it was perfect.  I’d done everything right.

“Well done.” Master Travis gave me one of his rare smiles.  I’d never seen him happy, save for when he was brewing.  He’d put me in charge of the apothecary almost as soon as I learnt the ropes, a sign he trusted me.  “Good enough for the healing arts.”

I felt my cheeks heat.  Master Travis sold potions everywhere, but healers were very particular about when and where they bought potions.  I’d always had the impression that they had a small army of Potions Masters and Master Brewers tucked away, brewing whatever they needed.  But then, there weren’t that many students willing to seek a mastery in brewing.  It demanded dedication as well as skill.  A student who lacked perfect control over their magic was more likely to blow himself up than graduate.  But I had that perfect control.  Master Travis would hardly have let me brew some potions - minor ones, to be fair - if he hadn’t been sure I wouldn't blow up the apothecary.  I dreaded to think how much it would cost to rebuild the shop.

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

I played with my long black hair as he bottled and sealed the potion, affixing his personal design to the lid of each vial.  I didn’t feel any resentment.  Master Travis wouldn’t be able to sell the potions unless he vouched for their condition.  Even now, even after four years of comprehensive instruction, I wouldn’t be able to sell them myself.  Not to the healers, at any rate.  There were people who wouldn’t ask so many questions, but they wouldn’t pay so much either.  And the City Guard and the Kingsmen had no qualms about harassing unlicensed brewers.  They thought one of them would eventually blow up the city.

It felt strange to have my hair hanging freely, rather than in braids.  My stepfather - technically the head of my family, even though he was renting me out to Master Travis - had pushed me into adulthood as soon as he decently could, severing some of the ties that bound us together in a single blow.  My half-sisters envied my freedom, or what they saw as my freedom, but I wasn’t so sure.  And yet, it had its advantages.  I didn’t need a guardian looking over my shoulders, not now.  I could sign contracts on my own.  I could even undertake a formal apprenticeship without my stepfather’s permission.  Paying for it would be tricky - my stepfather had confiscated half my wages over the last four years - but I wasn't completely destitute.  And besides, I had a plan.

I lifted my eyes to look at Master Travis, feeling a surge of love for the old man.  He was my father.  Not my stepfather, who had washed his hands of me; not my real father, who had sailed away to Hangchow instead of giving me a family.  Master Travis had practically treated me as a daughter, not as a servant or a slave.  I’d seen the bruises on other girls - and boys - who’d gone into service.  And there were rumours of worse things than the occasional beatings.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the details.  It was enough to know that I had been spared such horrors ...

... And if Master Travis took me as a formal apprentice, my future would be secure.

The plan was simple enough, I thought.  I was a legal adult.  I could pledge myself to him for the five years it would take to qualify as a Potions Mistress in my own right.  I wouldn’t be a qualified magician, not like someone who’d graduated from Jude’s, but with his blessing and certification I would be able to set up my own shop.  Or stay with him, if he wanted.  The apothecary was big enough for two Potion Masters.  I wasn’t going to steal his secret recipes and spread them far and wide.  I just wanted a life of my own.

“Master,” I said, once he had finished sealing the potions.  “I ...”

A chime echoed through the apothecary.  I looked down, automatically.  Someone had stepped into the apothecary below.  Someone had ... I swallowed, hard.  It was nearly midnight.  Who would be walking the streets of Water Shallot at this time?  Not anyone with any good intentions, I was sure.  This late, the only people who would come visiting were landlords and protection racket thugs ... and the latter, at least, knew better than to threaten an alchemist.  Master Travis had friends in the community.  Very few people wanted to risk his ire.

Master Travis let out an irritated sigh.  “Go see who it is,” he ordered.  “I’ll finish here.”

“Yes, Master,” I said, standing.  “I’ll see to it, then close up for the night.”

I hurried down the darkened stairs, keeping one hand on the rickety banister to ensure I didn't fall and tumble right down to the bottom.  The lanterns below had come on, automatically, when someone entered the shop, but Master Travis had never bothered to illuminate the stairwell.  It would have disrupted his misdirection wards.  I took a moment to brush my hair back as I reached the bottom, then stepped into the light.  A young man was waiting for me, standing behind the counter.  He was examining the bottles on the shelves with a curiously bored expression.

I felt my temper begin to fray.  “Can I help you?”

He turned, slowly, allowing me to see his outfit.  He was quality.  He had to be quality.  No one else could afford a blend of silks and satins, let alone walk through Water Shallot without fear of attack.  The livery on his shoulder marked him as one of the Great Noblemen, from the Great Houses.  I knew them all, of course.  We all knew the Great Houses, even though they rarely deigned to look upon us.  My throat was suddenly dry.  If a Bolingbroke decided I’d insulted him, I was in deep trouble.  Even Master Travis would be unable to protect me.

I hastily dipped a curtsey, then went down on one knee.  I could feel his eyes, far less warm than Master Travis’s, studying me for a long moment before he let out an exaggerated sigh.  I resisted the urge to look up, terrified that he would find a reason - another reason - to take offense.  Master Travis might be a big man, in Water Shallot, but he couldn’t stand against a nobleman.  A word in the right ears might see him banished from Shallot - or dead.  And no one would care about a half-caste girl at all.

“You may rise,” the man said.

It took all my strength to stand on wobbly knees.  His eyes watched me as I moved.  I shivered as I felt them pass over my breasts, silently grateful that I hadn’t worn anything too revealing.  I looked back, careful not to meet his eyes.  He was handsome, with strikingly long blond hair and a smile that seemed to light up the room.  His clothes were cut to reveal his muscular arms and legs, suggesting that he wanted to show off his physical strength as much as his magic.  I didn’t dare try to probe his magical field, not when that too could be taken as an insult, but I was sure he’d be strong.  The Great Houses were always strong in magic.  The handful of low-power magicians born to their bloodlines were often quietly sent to the countryside before they could ruin their family’s reputations.

“I am Reginald Bolingbroke,” the young man announced.  He sounded as if he expected me to know him.  I didn’t, of course.  I might have memorised the livery, but I didn’t know Reginald Bolingbroke from the rest of his family.  It wasn’t as if I had time to read the society pages.  “And you are?”

I hesitated.  Up close, he didn’t look that much older than me.  I guessed he wasn't older than nineteen.  Wearing his hair long might be a fashion statement, proof that he didn’t have to care about what High Society found acceptable, or it might be a hint that he was more interested in men than women.  I didn't know for sure and I didn’t dare ask.  A nobleman would be expected to marry and have children no matter his personal proclivities.  There was certainly no way he’d be interested in me.

“Rebecca, My Lord,” I said, feeling his eyes lingering on my face.  “I greet you and ...”

“A very typical name for a very uncommon beauty,” Reginald mused.  “Your father is unknown, is he not?”

“Yes,” I said.  Four years of good food had done wonders for my development - I was no longer as scrawny as I’d been as a child - but it had also sharpened my features.  There was no mistaking me for anything, save for a fatherless half-caste.  “He went back home before I was born.”

“A mistake on his part, no doubt,” Reginald said.  “He should have acknowledged you before he left.”

I felt a pang of bitter shame.  No one cared about my looks.  Reginald might be as pale as the moon, but House Aguirre was as dark as the night and House McDonald had bright red hair and bluff cheeks that spoke of an origin somewhere in Garstang.  My looks didn’t matter so much as my lack of any recorded family.  I was a bastard, plain and simple.  And the only half-caste family I knew that had achieved any kind of success in High Society was House Griffin.  Their daughters knew their mother ...

And their father is one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, I thought, sardonically.  I imagine that helped a little too.

Reginald cleared his throat.  “I believe your master is expecting me,” he said.  “Perhaps you could call him.”

I blinked.  Master Travis wasn’t expecting anyone, as far as I knew.  Normally, visitors came in the morning or late afternoon.  Reginald was late.  Reginald was very late.  I wondered, suddenly, if he had a small army of bodyguards camped outside.  A powerful magician could defend himself, of course, but it would be better to deter attack rather than cause a mess that would require a great deal of expensive soothing.  I didn’t want to think about what might happen if Reginald took offense ...

“My Lord,” Master Travis said.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.  I’d been so intent on Reginald that I hadn’t heard Master Travis coming down the stairs.  I kicked myself, mentally.  I was normally more aware of my surroundings than that!  But Reginald had distracted and discomfited me.

“Master Travis,” Reginald said.  “I see you got my note.”

“I did,” Master Travis said.  “Rebecca, close the shutters and then go to bed.  If I don’t see you in the morning, open the shop as usual.”

“Yes, Master,” I said, obediently.  There was an edge in his voice that told me not to argue, not now.  Reginald’s presence didn't bode well for either of us.  “I’ll get right on it.”

Master Travis nodded, then led Reginald up the stairs and into his private chamber.  I felt a stab of envy, despite my fears, as the wards went up.  There was no way I could eavesdrop.  It hurt more than I cared to admit.  Master Travis rarely let me into his private chamber - normally, I was only allowed in to dust and then under close supervision - but he’d taken Reginald right inside.  I wondered if the young nobleman would appreciate the honour Master Travis had done him.  The private chamber was the heart of the building.  The wards around it were so strong that I doubted anyone could crack them without a great deal of effort.

Or an Object of Power designed to crack wards, I thought, as I pulled down the shutters to signify that we were very definitely closed.  But anyone who could get their hands on one of those wouldn’t want to steal anything from us.

I smiled at the thought, then hesitated at the bottom of the stairs.  Master Travis had told me to go to bed, but I wanted to stay awake and see what time Reginald left.  And yet ... this was serious.  Anything that involved a nobleman was serious.  I sighed and started to climb the two flights of stairs to my garret, closing the door behind me.  Master Travis would tell me what was going on tomorrow, if he was so inclined.  Until then, I’d just have to wait and see.

The lantern came on as I entered the tiny chamber, bathing the entire room in an eerie white glow.  I smiled as I sat down on the bed and started to undress, remembering just how long it had taken to get the spell right in the first place.  I hadn’t grown up with magic, let alone someone willing to teach me how to conjure properly.  It was sheer luck, I thought, that Master Travis had been capable of showing me the basics.  I wasn’t sure where he’d been taught - some of his spells were different from those in the books I’d purchased from the markets - but it didn’t matter.  All that mattered was that they worked.

I splashed water on my face, then drew the blind down and climbed into bed.  It was already far too late to stay up and read, although Master Travis would hardly check on me once I’d closed the door.  He’d simply make sarcastic remarks if I woke up with a headache, or failed to get the fire lit and breakfast started before he climbed out of bed himself.  I sometimes felt he wouldn't bother to feed himself if I wasn’t looking after him.  It was something that worried me, more than I cared to admit.  A full-time apprentice could hardly be a servant as well.

Perhaps we could take another girl into service, I thought.  It was an idle flight of fancy - I knew enough about the shop’s finances to know that Master Travis could hardly pay two sets of wages - but I clung to it anyway.  Or maybe I could have a longer apprenticeship.

I pulled the blanket over my head and muttered a single Word of Power, powering down the spell in the lantern.  The room plunged into darkness, broken only by a faint hint of moonlight coming through the overhead window and splits in the roofing.  Master Travis and I had spent months trying to fix up the roof, weaving spell after spell into the leaky wood, but he’d reluctantly conceded that it was probably beyond fixing.  The landlord, damn the man, was dragging his feet on any proper repairs.  

It felt like I hadn't slept at all when I awoke, sunlight streaming through the window.  I stood hastily, casting a quick spell to check the time.  It was six in the morning, but I could already hear the sounds of the city coming to life.  Down below, the milkmen would be rushing bottles of milk from the countryside to the cafes and shops before they opened for business.  I knew I’d find two bottles outside the door, waiting for me.  I pulled on my robe and hurried downstairs.  There was a note on the kitchen table, waiting for me.  Master Travis had ordered me to forget his breakfast and go straight to work.

Odd, I thought, as I dug up some bread and jam for myself.  What happened last night?

But the scrap of paper offered no answer. 
Chapter Two

It had often struck me as amusing that people were always writing plays and singing songs about the lives of shopgirls such as myself.  The life of a shopgirl has never been remotely glamorous.  As soon as the clock struck eight, I wolfed down the last of my breakfast and hurried down the stairs to the shop.  I checked the wards, opened the drawer to make sure the money was still there - Master Travis insisted that I count every last copper before I opened the doors - and removed the shutters.  A handful of eager customers were already waiting outside, their faces pale and worn.  Sailors and housewives, dockyard roustabouts and warehouse loaders ... people who couldn’t come to us at any other time.  It wouldn’t be long before they had to go to work, too.  I opened the door, dropped a curtsey to a housewife I knew would complain - loudly - if I didn’t treat her like a full-blooded noblewoman, then hurried behind the counter.  It was barely ten minutes past eight and my day had already begun.

There was nothing special about our first customers of the day, but I served them anyway: the woman who wanted a new perfume with a little something extra; the sailor who dared not admit to his mates that he was plagued with seasickness ... the aged loader who needed an energy potion to keep up with the younger men who would otherwise take his job and leave him out on the streets.  I felt sorry for him, but there was nothing I could do.  No matter how many potions he downed, he wouldn’t be able to keep up forever.  Master Travis had warned him that he was at severe risk of an overdose that would likely kill him, but the poor man had merely shaken his head.  He intended to keep working until he died.  I understood, better than I cared to admit.  There was no one who would support him when he was no longer useful.

“I’ll need five more bottles,” the sailor told me, as he purchased three bottles of Master Travis’s best anti-seasickness potion.  It had a fancy name, but none of the customers ever used it.  “Can I pick it up tonight?”

“Perhaps,” I said, checking the record book.  Normally, Master Travis would spend the morning brewing; I’d have a chance to brew in the afternoon.  Now, I wasn’t so sure.  “I’ll do my best to have it in your hands this evening.”

The sailor nodded and hurried out of the shop, almost knocking over the young woman who was waiting at the door.  I scribbled down a quick note, then found two bottles of face-changing potion for the next customer.  Master Travis had told me not to ask too many questions about what she did with the potions, although I’d heard enough whispers to have a good idea.  It just wasn’t something I wanted to consider.  I took her money, counted out her change and waved her farewell.  She left without looking back.

It was nearly an hour before I heard Master Travis coming down the stairs.  I allowed myself a moment of relief when he stepped into sight, carrying a plain black leather-bound notebook in one hand.  His personal book of experimental recipes was off-limits, I’d been told; I wasn’t allowed to pry without his supervision.  It irked me, sometimes, that my book of recipes was very definitely not off-limits to him, although I did understand his reasoning.  I might brew something that would send both of us to our ancestors.  I wondered, sometimes, if any of mine would be pleased to see me.

“Master,” I said.  He looked distracted.  I was sure he hadn’t bothered to eat.  “Can I get you a sandwich?”

Master Travis shook his head slowly, as if he had barely heard me.  “How is business?”

“We have five orders for tonight and two more for the following day,” I said, reaching for the record book.  “Do you want to brew them ...?”

“Not now,” Master Travis said.  “I’ll be in the ironhold.  I may be some time.”

I blinked in surprise.  Master Travis had a reputation for brewing and supplying potions on time.  It wouldn’t look good if the customers had to wait an extra day.  I could understand spending a few minutes in the ironhold - the iron-lined chamber below the shop, where our most dangerous potions and their ingredients were stored - but longer?  The ironhold had always creeped me out.  I’d had nightmares about being trapped in there after Master Travis had first shown me the chamber, then warned me about the wards.  There was no way to get out without help from the outside.

“We have to have the potions ready today,” I said, carefully.  “Master ...”

“You can brew them this afternoon,” Master Travis said, with a dismissive wave of his scarred hand.  “I have something else to do.”

Something to do with Reginald Bolingbroke, I guessed.  He must have offered you a great deal of money if you’re turning your back on your customers.

“Yes, Master,” I said, softly.  “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Master Travis nodded and walked into the rear of the shop.  I heard the iron door clang as he stepped through, hurrying down the stairs to the ironhold.  I checked the wards, then stepped into the back of the shop to put the kettle on.  Master Travis would want some tea or coffee when he resurfaced, I was sure.  He’d certainly never objected when I offered him a cuppa while he was brewing.  I knew better than to interrupt him when he was brewing something delicate.

I poured two mugs of tea when the kettle boiled, slapped a stasis charm on Master Travis’s mug once the tea had brewed, then walked back into the shop and started to check the shelves.  Master Travis had never let me simply sit behind the counter and read, unless I was reading a potions textbook.  Besides, there was always something to do in the store.  I made careful notes of which jars and vials were starting to run empty, then compared them to our stockpile on the upper floor or in the ironhold.  We’d need to order some more bat’s wings and rat eyes, I noted.  Thankfully, there was no shortage of either.  It was a great deal harder - and considerably more expensive - to order the rarer ingredients from the Desolation.  Jude’s and the other magic schools kept putting the price up.

The wards quivered as someone entered the shop.  I looked up and tried to keep the dismay off my face.  Clive was a broadsheet boy, the same age as myself ... and, ever since I’d started to wear my hair down, he’d made a whole string of crude advances.  He was handsome enough, I supposed, but he just got on my nerves.  But I had to be civil to him as long as he was in the shop.  Master Travis would not be pleased if I alienated a potential customer.

“Rebecca,” Clive called.  “You’re looking as pretty as ever.”

“Thank you,” I grated, biting down the urge to tell him that he looked like a pig.  I wished I could turn him into a pig.  Master Travis had told me, when I’d asked about such magics, that my power wasn’t developed enough for such spells.  “What can I do for you?”

Clive leered.  “You could come out on a date tonight.”

“I have a prior engagement,” I said, primly.  It was true.  I’d arranged to meet a friend for coffee.  “Did you bring us anything or are you just wasting my time?”

“I suppose I’d better apologise to the waiting crowd,” Clive said.  He turned and bowed to the empty air.  “I offer my most sincere apologies for making you wait.”

I glared as he turned back.  “Do you have anything for us?”

“Oh, one or two things,” Clive said.  He opened his bag and produced a handful of papers.  “Your weekly issue of Society Pages, your daily issue of Local News, a special edition of Potions Masters Quarterly and a couple of letters.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the broadsheets and dumping them on the counter.  Master Travis would want to look at them in the evening, before he went to bed.  “You can go now.”

Clive bowed.  “But why would I want to leave my lady-love?”

“I’m sure she’s wondering the same thing,” I snapped, tartly.  Perhaps I should throw a bottle of perfume potion over him.  A week smelling like a young woman would teach him a lesson, I was sure.  Only the thought of Master Travis’s anger kept me from turning thought to deed.  “Why don’t you go find her?”

“I did,” Clive said.  He dropped his voice until he was practically whispering.  “You could marry me, you know.  My parents wouldn’t object.”

My temper snapped.  “Get out.”

Clive looked surprised.  “But, Rebecca ...”

“Get out,” I repeated.  I gathered the wards, feeling them pulsing around me.  Clive was no more a qualified magician than I was, but I knew he could feel them too.  “Now.”

“As you wish,” Clive said.  He threw a bow, as if he were a pureblood nobleman.  “But I will not be defeated in my suit for you.”

He left the shop, trying hard to look as if he’d left of his own free will.  I glared after him as I slowly released the wards, allowing them to fade back into the ether.  Clive ... the hell of it, the bitter hell of it, was that it was the best marriage offer I was likely to get.  Clive’s family was too poor to give much of a damn about heritage.  I was tempted to believe they’d accept a fatherless half-caste girl rather than risk their son remaining unmarried.  But I simply didn’t like Clive.  His bluster might impress some girls.  It didn’t impress me.

And marrying him would be an admission I’d never get out of Water Shallot, I thought.  Clive’s wife would never be allowed to have a life of her own.  I’d seen enough housewives, their eyes filled with quiet desperation, to know I never wanted to join them.  The men weren’t much better.  A single mistake - or even growing too old - would mean joining the beggars on the streets.  I shuddered to think what happened to men who failed to repay the loan sharks.  If I married him, I would be trapped forever.

I pushed the thought aside and opened the first broadsheet.  I’d never really understood why Master Travis subscribed to Society Pages, unless he intended to use the paper in his water closet.  The men and women described within its pages were so far above me - and Master Travis - that they might as well be on the moon.  I had no idea what Mistress Marlena had paid to have her daughter described as a society beauty - the poor girl was remarkably plain, if the picture was to be believed - but it was probably more money than we earned in a month.  And why did I care about their lives anyway?  It wasn’t as if I had a hope of joining them.

A thought struck me and I flicked through the pages.  Perhaps there was something about Reginald Bolingbroke within the paper.  I found nothing about Reginald personally, but I did find a note about Henri Bolingbroke.  Henri - Reginald’s brother, I guessed - had been killed during the House War, five months ago.  His family had just finished a period of official mourning for the young lad, described as a pleasure to all who knew him.  The writer went on in increasingly florid terms, while I rolled my eyes in disgust.  I didn’t know what the Great Houses had been fighting for, when they had their war.  All I knew was that they’d devastated parts of the city and killed hundreds of innocent civilians.  No one had held a funeral for them.

Henri must have been Reginald’s older brother, I figured, although the article didn’t mention Reginald at all.  The writer specifically states that Henri was the Heir Primus, the next Lord Bolingbroke.  He won’t be inheriting now he’s dead.

I shrugged, put the broadsheet aside for Master Travis and opened Potions Masters Quarterly.  The special edition talked about the discovery of how Objects of Power were made and just what changes Potions Masters could expect, if Objects of Power became commonly available once again.  It was intriguing, I had to admit, but I’d heard enough to suspect it would be a long time before the price dropped to the level we could afford to buy charmed spoons and cauldrons.  There was one person who could make Objects of Power, just one.  If she made one a day - and I had no idea if that was even remotely possible - she could only make three hundred and sixty-five Objects of Power in a year.  She couldn’t come close to meeting demand.  The article writer didn’t say as much, but he seemed to agree.  He concluded by urging the Guild of Potions Masters to do everything in their power to discover new Zeros.

The wards shifted, again, as Master Travis emerged from the ironhold and clumped up the stairs.  I hurried into the backroom to get him his tea, which he took and sipped gratefully.  I promised myself that I’d cook him something simple for lunch, if he took over the counter for half an hour or so.  He normally did, but this was very far from a normal day.  I could sense the protective charms he’d layered over the notebook without even having to touch it.

“Letters,” Master Travis said.  “Did we get any letters?  From Kirkhaven?”

“I don’t think so,” I said.  The postal service was unreliable outside the city, particularly near the border.  Master Travis had a correspondent somewhere up there, but his letters were frequently delayed or lost altogether.  “There’s only two letters and I think they’re both from the city.”

“People who could just walk over and have a chat if they wanted,” Master Travis said.  He cradled his mug in his hands, sipping daintily.  “Did you check the shelves?”

“Yes, Master,” I said.  “We need more of ...”

“We need more of a great many things,” Master Travis said.  “Dragon Scales and Cockatrice Blood, among others.”

I blinked in surprise.  Dragon Scales were highly volatile.  Any potion involving Dragon Scales was prone to exploding if the brewer looked at it the wrong way.  Most Potions Masters wouldn’t touch such brews for love or money.  Cockatrice Blood wasn’t so dangerous, but it was extremely rare.  The vast bounties paid to anyone who brought home a dead Cockatrice weren’t always enough to tempt hunters into trying their luck.  Master Travis couldn’t afford more than a vial or two a year.

“I don’t know how we’re going to afford it,” I said, carefully.  What was Master Travis trying to brew?  I couldn’t think of anything that involved both Dragon Scales and Cockatrice Blood.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what else Master Travis was going to be buying.  He might have to mortgage the shop.  “Master ...”

“Master Reginald has put me on retainer,” Master Travis said.  “He will be funding the purchases from his own pocket.”

I swallowed.  That didn’t sound good.  The dangerous thing about working with such exotic materials was that the brewer could do everything right and still wind up with nothing more than a colossal explosion.  Potions Masters had been arguing for decades in the letter columns about why this might be so, although no one seemed to have come up with an answer.  I’d never been tempted to experiment myself.  Master Travis wouldn’t be tempted either - or so I’d thought.  Reginald must have offered him a lot of money.

It might not be a bad thing, I thought.  There were reasons to be optimistic.  If we had enough money in the funds, we wouldn't be scraping so desperately each month to pay the suppliers.

“I’ll be working upstairs for most of the day,” Master Travis said.  “You can handle the shop, can’t you?”

“Yes, Master,” I said.  I held out the record book.  “But we will be unable to brew the potions our customers want.”

Master Travis scowled as he read my scrawled handwriting.  “We’ll close the shop between two and three,” he said, after a moment.  “You can brew the potions then.  Simultaneously.”

“Yes, Master,” I said, doubtfully.  There weren’t any real problems in brewing the various potions simultaneously - it wasn’t as if I was going to brew something that required constant attention - but it was still a bad habit.  Master Travis had told me never to brew more than one potion at a time unless I was in a hurry.  “I should be able to brew them all on time.”

“Of course you can.”  Master Travis gave me a warm smile.  “I have every faith in you.”

I hesitated.  Was this a good moment to ask about an apprenticeship?  Perhaps not.  Master Travis’s letter hadn’t arrived - and besides, his mind was clearly elsewhere.  Whatever Reginald wanted, it was a real challenge.  I hadn’t seen him looking so distracted since he’d brewed a set of very complex potions for the local builders.  He’d practically locked himself in his chambers until the potions were ready.

“You said I could go out tonight,” I reminded him, instead.  “Can I still go?”

Master Travis thought for a moment, then nodded.  “Have fun,” he said.  “Just remember to be back before eleven.”

“I’ll be back well before then,” I promised.  It was dangerous for a young girl to walk the streets alone after dark.  I knew better than to take the risk.  “Now, can I get you something to eat?”
Chapter Three

It was still bright outside when I closed the shop, grabbed my cloak and hurried out of the door, sealing the wards behind me.  Master Travis was still in his workroom, either brewing something or digging through his collection of reference texts.  I’d heard him mumbling to himself as I passed the door but he hadn’t come out, even when I offered him a snack.  In the end, I’d left it on the table before going back down to the shop.  I hoped he’d have eaten it by the time I got back.

The streets were just starting to fill up with people as I made my way down towards the handful of coffee shops at the edge of Water Shallot.  Workmen were heading home, paying little attention to the handful of street performers trying to earn an honest wage; five or six ladies of the evening were leaning against the stone walls, trying to make eye contact with men who might be interested in their wares.  I shuddered, drawing my cloak tighter around myself as I hurried past.  The ladies affected a kind of glamour, but I knew - all too well - that there was nothing glamorous in their lives either.  Their pimps eyed me as I walked past, their eyes sending trails of slime running down my body.  I would sooner die than fall into their hands.  They’d use me up, then leave me to die.

I felt better as I reached the main street and headed down towards the bridge leading to South Shallot.  The area was slowly being gentrified as merchants and other “new men” who’d struck it rich - and yet were unable to move into North or South Shallot - started to buy land and redevelop it into something more suitable for their new status.  I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, even though I’d been born and bred in Water Shallot.  On one hand, the gentrified quadrants were safer than the rest of the island; on the other, the newcomers were driving up rates and forcing those who couldn’t pay to move further into Water Shallot.  It might only be a few years before Master Travis and I were either forced to pay higher rates ourselves or find somewhere new to live too.  I’d heard enough angry mutterings about rebellion to fear for the future.

A passing City Guardsmen eyed me sharply, as if he didn’t think I had the right to be there, then shrugged.  I kept my face impassive as I walked past, trying not to show my humiliation too openly.  There weren’t many half-castes and almost all of them lived in the poorest districts of the city.  I wondered, sourly, if I’d been on the verge of being arrested just for existing, even though it made no sense.  A common thief or pickpocket would hardly want to be someone as noticeable as I.

The people in the gentrified quadrant were better dressed than me - or anyone else I knew, save for Master Travis himself.  They wore fine clothes and walked around as if they were lords and ladies without a care in the world, although I had no trouble picking up the subtle signs that they were new money.  They wouldn’t have tried so hard to look posh, as if they’d made it, if they had any doubts about their status.  I also had no trouble spotting a handful of pickpockets working the crowd.  Someone was about to lose his wallet, if I was any judge.  It wasn’t people like me the guards needed to watch.  

My breath caught in my throat as I spotted a pair of Hangchowese men walking down the streets.  Might one of them be my father?  I pushed the bitter thought aside a second later as the men passed, without even a sideways glance at me.  My father had gone home before I was born, my mother said.  I didn’t even have a picture!  I wanted to shout and scream at the two men, but what was the point?  They probably didn’t even know my father.  It wasn’t as if I knew everyone who looked like me.

I forced myself to calm down as I reached the coffee shop and stepped inside.  Ginny was sitting at a table by the window, a mug of hot chocolate resting in front of her.  I smiled at her as she stood to greet me, holding out her hands to give me a hug.  She looked good, I thought, although she had the advantage of working in an office rather than being a housekeeper and shopgirl wrapped into one.  I’d met her by accident, but we’d hit it off straight away.

She was a tall girl, with long red hair that fell down to the small of her back and a nice smile that caught the eye and pulled it towards her.  Her freckled face and bright green eyes gave her an exotic air, like mine, although there was no question about her ancestors.  Ginny’s family had come from somewhere up north, she’d told me, but she fitted far better into Shallot’s melting pot than I.  She had no trouble reciting the names of everyone all the way back to her great-great-grandmother.  

“You’re looking good,” Ginny said, as we sat down.  “What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Liar,” I said.  I’d brushed my hair back and washed my face, but I hadn’t had the time to change clothes.  I was lucky Master Travis didn’t mind what I wore, as long as it covered most of my body.  The dress might have been passed down from my grandmother - or so I’d been told - but it was still wearable.  And it was dark enough to hide the stains from potions accidents.  “I look awful and you know it.”

“You look pretty,” Ginny insisted.  “Have you found a new lad?”

“I haven’t found any lad,” I said.  There were potions that could only be brewed by virgins.  I qualified.  “And I’m not looking either.”

“That’s what they all say,” Ginny said.  “And they always change their minds.”

The waitress appeared at my shoulder and coughed, lightly.  I hesitated - coffee shops weren’t expensive, but my allowance was very small - and then ordered a hot chocolate.  I didn’t need anything else.  Master Travis and I would eat late at night, when I got home.  I had a feeling that Master Travis wouldn’t bother to eat, let alone go to bed.  He was very interested in his new project.

“Speaking of lads,” Ginny said.  “Did you bring ...?”

“Yeah,” I said.  I reached into my handbag and produced a small vial.  “You remember how to use it?”

“Of course,” Ginny said.  “One drop in a glass of water and you’re covered for a day or two.”

I nodded, curtly.  Ginny had asked - begged, really - for me to supply her with a contraceptive potion.  It was easy to brew, but it was expensive.  Ginny hadn’t been able to promise me anything in exchange, apart from future favours.  I wondered, wryly, if I’d ever be able to collect.  Ginny was in no position to give me the one thing I truly wanted.  

“Thank you,” Ginny said.  “I’m sure Rupert will thank you too.”

I smiled.  “Are you and Rupert getting serious now?”

“We’re going to get married, once I turn twenty-one,” Ginny said.  “We haven’t told our parents yet.”

“I suppose not,” I said.  Ginny was nineteen.  Old enough to marry, with her father’s permission, but too young to marry for love.  “Is Rupert serious too?”

“He’s opening his own printing business and he needs an assistant,” Ginny said.  “And he already has a multitude of contracts.”

“So do you,” I pointed out.  I’d only met Rupert a few times, but he’d always struck me as a level-headed young man.  He certainly hadn’t been anything like Clive.  And he’d barely looked at any other girl when Ginny was on his arm.  “Do you two have plans for the future?”

Ginny nodded towards the window.  “Do you think I want to stay here forever?”

“No,” I said, feeling a pang.  “Do you think you can move up in the world?”

“The demand for printers has never been higher,” Ginny said.  “Rupert thinks he can take advantage of it to get a secure position.  And if I’m his wife ...”

She winked at me, mischievously.  I felt my tanned skin darken.  I knew more than I wanted to know of the ways of the world, but I was still very young.  And innocent, in some ways.  

Ginny cleared her throat as my hot chocolate arrived.  “And you?  Do you think you’ll look for a man one day?”

I had to smile.  “I don’t think so,” I said.  “My father deserted me and my stepfather kicked me out as soon as he decently could.”

“True,” Ginny said.  “Did your father even know he had you?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.  I did know that my father had sailed home before I was born, but my mother would have known she was pregnant before then ... wouldn’t she?  Would she have told her lover?  I thought so, but she’d never told me.  “My stepfather, on the other hand, is a bastard.”

“At least he made sure you found a good place to work,” Ginny said.  She took a sip of her hot chocolate.  “Others aren’t so lucky.  Kyle, for instance.”

I shuddered.  Kyle’s master beat him regularly, often drawing blood.  I’d seen the scars.

“He could probably do with some healing salve,” Ginny added, diffidently.  “If you happen to have any on hand ...”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I didn’t blame Ginny for asking.  “But it wasn’t my stepfather who sent me to Master Travis.  It was the luck of the draw.”

Ginny nodded, slowly.  “Not all men are like that, you know.”

“I know.” I felt a flash of sudden bitterness.  “But my parents aren’t going to contract a marriage for me, are they?”

“They might,” Ginny said.  “You do have some advantages.”

I shook my head.  My stepfather wasn’t going to pay a dower for me.  He’d be furious at the mere suggestion that he should pay my dower - let alone pay for a wedding - when he had daughters of his own.  And he certainly wasn’t going to enter into marriage negotiations for my hand either.  His daughters came first.  He’d stand to gain a great deal more if they, rather than I, got married.  It wasn’t as if I was going to urge my future husband to support him.

Not that it matters, I thought, wryly.  My stepfather talked often of going into business himself - he worked down at the docks - but there was no way he’d be able to raise the money to open a shop of his own.  Anyone his daughters are likely to marry is unlikely to be able to actually help him.

“Not enough to matter,” I said, firmly.  “And how many prospective husbands would overlook my ... my blood when they marry me?”

“You never know,” Ginny said.

“I suppose not.”  I took a sip of my hot chocolate.  It was nice, but not the sort of thing I’d drink on my own.  I could buy several bags of tea leaves for the price of one bag of chocolate beans.  “Are you really going to quit the Hiring Hall?”

“If Rupert opens a shop, someone is going to have to be there and take the money,” Ginny said.  “And things will be tight for a while.  I dare say we won’t be able to hire a shopgirl for a few years.”

If at all, I thought.  There weren’t many Potions Masters in Water Shallot, but there were quite a few printers.  Rupert was going to be competing against older, better-established, businesses right from the start.  Even with Ginny’s help - and her contacts - it was going to be hard to find any traction.  You’d need to spend a great deal of money before you could start to make money.

“And besides, there have been changes in the hiring rules,” Ginny added.  “You know we have to test everyone for magic now?  Anyone who scores above ten or fifteen pulses on the scale has to be sent to Magus Court.”

I cocked my head.  “That’s odd,” I said.  Ten or fifteen pulses was respectable, but hardly anything special.  I was probably somewhere around twenty.  A full-fledged magician like Reginald would probably be somewhere between fifty and a hundred.  “Did they say why?”

“No.”  Ginny smirked.  “Half the city is going to be heading to Magus Court.”

I grinned.  Shallot had long been famous for its magicians.  There weren’t many people who rated below ten pulses.  Magus Court was going to have a lot of visitors.  It still struck me as odd, though.  What could they possibly want with so many low-power magicians?  It wasn’t as if there was a shortage.  

“It’s getting a little harder now,” Ginny added.  “Do you hear the whining about the servant problem?  All those upper-class ladies moaning because their servants are not properly respectful to their exalted rank?  You just can’t get good servants these days.”

“Oh, what a shame,” I said.

Ginny giggled.  “There was a girl I placed only a fortnight ago.  Good character, good references ... very eager to work.  She left a week after she started and do you know why?  They made her up a bed next to the dogs!  It wasn’t as if they didn’t have the space to give her a room of her own.  I suppose they thought they were putting her in her place.”

I rolled my eyes.  Master Travis had given me the garret, which was practically a palace compared to sharing a room with my half-sisters.  It was small and cramped, and I was at risk of banging my head against an oak beam if I stood up too quickly, but it was mine.  Master Travis had made it clear that he wouldn’t enter the room unless it was an emergency.  I would have happily traded half my wages for that assurance of privacy, if he’d asked.  He’d never even thought to ask.

But I might have had second thoughts now I know the value of money, I thought.  There had been a time when I’d thought that a single silver was a veritable fortune.  Now, I knew that Master Travis had to pay over a hundred silvers per month to keep the shop.  It might have seemed better to keep the money rather than be assured of privacy.

“They do have other options,” I said.  “Don’t they?”

“Depends.”  Ginny shrugged.  “It’s a delicate balancing act.  The girl can find employment elsewhere, if she looks.  Lots of shop-jobs going around now, as you know.  But she won’t find someone who will give her a place to stay.  Not now.”

I nodded, sourly.  A servant who was dismissed had no hope of receiving a good character from her former mistress - and one who left, without notice, would have to fight to get any sort of referral.  Legally, a mistress was supposed to give a written character; practically, it was hard to force them to write one.  Not for the first time, I reflected that laws meant to help the poor actually made life harder for them.  A serving girl might be able to take her mistress - or her former mistress - to court, but there was little hope of a fair judgement.  A well-connected lady would have no trouble getting the case thrown out, perhaps with some penalties thrown in for the unfortunate girl.

“It’s easier to place men,” Ginny said.  “But it’s harder to find boys who want to be bootblack boys when they can go to sea instead.  Or join the army.  They prefer to be shouted at by sergeants than lords and ladies.”

“I don’t blame them,” I said.  I could see at least one advantage to the military life.  “They might become sergeants one day.”

“Perhaps,” Ginny said.  Her lips curved into a smile.  “All those parades ... it really did something to the men.”

I snorted.  The aftermath of the House War had seen the king’s finest troops patrolling our streets.  I’d kept away from them, but others had been more impressed.  The prospect of a uniform, three square meals a day and a career someone could be proud of sounded better than a life spent working by the docks or carting goods around the city.  I didn’t really blame the young men for being interested.  Perhaps I would have been interested too, if I’d been a man.  But I had a feeling the recruiting sergeants would have turned a great deal nastier as soon as the new recruits were in barracks.

“Maybe,” I said.  I checked the clock on the wall, then rose.  It was later than I’d thought, late enough that I had to hurry to get home before night fell.  Master Travis would need his dinner.  He’d eat if I had to feed him with a spoon.  “I’ll see you later this week, perhaps on Saturday?”

“Sunday,” Ginny said.  She smiled, a warm smile I knew had nothing to do with me.  “I’m walking out on Saturday.”

With Rupert, I thought, trying to suppress a pang of jealousy.  Ginny was one of my few real friends and now she was slipping away.  And then you’ll be married and you won’t have any time for me any longer.

Ginny touched my hand, lightly.  “I’ll see you then,” she said.  “And good luck.”

“Thanks,” I said.  “Good luck with Rupert.”

“We don’t need luck,” Ginny said.  “We just need a lot of money.”

I laughed.  “Money can’t buy you everything,” I said.  “But it can sure make life easier.”

“How true,” Ginny said.  “How true.”

I grinned, then hurried home.  
Chapter Four

I barely saw Master Travis the next few days.

He got up early, he worked in his workroom - barely eating the food I put in front of him - and went to bed late.  He seemed to spend most of his time scribbling notes, inscriptions that appeared to be deliberately encrypted.  I did everything I could to make up for his absence, to the point of taking an hour off to refill our stocks, but it was starting to wear on me.  I’d grown too used to being able to brew without feeling pressured to hurry.

Or being able to refer difficult customers to Master Travis, I thought one morning, as a particularly argumentative customer glared at me.  She seemed to think that her beauty potion, which she had bought at huge expense, should have given her the pick of the young men around her.  He always knows what to say.

“And I’m telling you the potion did nothing for my looks,” the woman thundered.  “I demand to speak to your master.”

I told myself, firmly, that there was nothing to be gained by telling her that nothing short of a minor miracle would do anything for her looks.  There was no point in putting lipstick on a pig.  The hell of it was that she wasn’t actually ugly - a diet would have worked better than the potion - but her face was permanently twisted into an ugly sneer.  If she tried to be more positive, perhaps she’d look more positive.  But she wouldn’t welcome that advice from me.

“My master is busy at the moment,” I said, instead.  “He’ll be able to see you later in the evening.”

“Hah,” the woman snapped.  “I shall be sure to tell all my friends about your inexcusable conduct.  The Lord of the Docks is a personal friend of mine and ...”

I tuned her out as she turned and crashed through the door.  It wasn’t the first time I’d heard grandiose claims of political connections - and threats of ruin - and they no longer terrified me.  Master Travis had told me, when I’d fled to him in a panic, that very few of our customers had any real connections at all.  Even if they had, he’d pointed out that they could hardly bring a complaint without admitting where they’d been going.  The woman’s reputation wouldn’t survive a rumour that she’d been patronising an apothecary in Water Shallot.  Who knew what she might have been buying there?

Beauty potions are merely the tip of the iceberg, I told myself, as I savoured the silence.  The empty shop felt heavenly, even though I knew that no customers meant no money.  She might be in the market for a love potion instead.

I smiled, although I knew it wasn’t really funny.  A basic love perfume was harmless, as long as the wearer was careful, but one of the stronger love potions could be really dangerous in the wrong hands.  Master Travis had told me there were some recipes that could not be countered, let alone cured.  The victim would never be able to free himself from the potion’s influence.  Even a hint of a rumour that someone had used such a potion could utterly destroy their reputation.   Master Travis had told me that I’d be kicked out on the spot if I tried to brew a fixation potion.  They were just too dangerous to be used.

The door opened, just as I was contemplating another mug of tea.  I squelched my annoyance and studied the newcomer with interest.  She - I was sure she was female - was wearing a hooded cloak that concealed everything, save for her face ... and that was covered by a protective glamour that was flickering slightly as it interacted with the shop’s wards.  It was a crude piece of work, I noted, but it was strong.  Most glamours failed the moment they came into contact with Master Travis’s protections.  I tensed, barely resisting the urge to take control of the wards or summon Master Travis.  There was no visible threat, but that didn’t mean that one wasn’t there.

“Come on in,” I said.  It was raining outside, great sheets of water crashing to the ground and splashing down the gutters.  No doubt the mystery woman had passed completely unnoticed as she made her way down to the shop.  The handful of people I’d seen passing the windows were either wearing cloaks themselves or simply using magic to banish the rain.  “What can we do for you?”

“You can turn off your wards,” a light voice said.  It was surprisingly high, but unquestionably female.  She sounded younger than I’d thought.  “Please ...”

“I can’t do that,” I said.  It was true.  Only Master Travis could take the wards down completely.  “But I can guarantee your secrets are safe with us.”

“You don’t understand,” the girl said.  I mentally revised my estimate of her age downwards again.  “I can’t afford to be caught!”

“I think you’ll find that’s true of most of our customers,” I said, dryly.  We wouldn’t have stayed in business for so long if we’d been in the habit of betraying our confidences.  Master Travis had made it clear that I wasn’t to share anything I learnt about our customers to anyone.  “You have my word, for what it’s worth, that your secrets are safe.”

The girl inched forward.  “I have a list of ingredients,” she said.  “Can you supply them?”

A hand emerged from her cloak, holding a sheet of paper.  It was very good quality paper, I noted; the pale hand belonged to a girl who had to be at least two or three years younger than me.  I thought I caught a glimpse of red curls behind the glamour as I took the paper and scanned it thoughtfully, but it was hard to be sure.  The glamour might have been designed to trick anyone trying to peer through it into believing that they had peered through it.  I put the thought aside and studied the list.  It was hard, very hard, not to laugh.

The girl’s voice was hushed.  “Can you supply them?”

“Yes,” I said.  Meadowsweet and calendula, beeswax and base liquid ... a handful of primed oils ... it wasn’t going to be difficult.  The girl was planning to make a healing salve or I knew nothing whatsoever about potions.  “We have more than enough of each of these in store.”

I hesitated.  “Do you want us to provide the salve directly?”

The girl flinched, as if I’d reached across the counter and struck her.  “No, please.  Just the ingredients.”

“As you wish,” I said.  I turned to the jars and started pouring out the ingredients.  Master Travis had a standing order for meadowsweet and calendula, along with hundreds of other staples of the brewer’s trade.  “The oils have been prepared by us personally.  Is that going to be a problem?”

“No,” the girl said.  “Just ... give me what you have.”

I finished bottling and bagging the supplies, then put them in a cloth bag.  The girl took them gratefully, counting out the money from a simple leather purse.  My eyes narrowed when I saw it.  The girl was clearly from a wealthy family, which made her request for potions ingredients all the stranger.  There were quite a few apothecaries in North or South Shallot she could have visited without risking Water Shallot.  The dangers were considerable.  It certainly didn’t look as if the girl had brought any bodyguards.

“Thank you,” the girl said.  She turned to head to the door.  “I ...”

She stopped, dead.  “I can’t be seen here,” she said.  She sounded panicked.  “I ... he can’t see me here!”

I looked past her.  Reginald was strolling down the street, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.  I couldn’t see any bodyguards, but that was meaningless.  They might well be following him at a distance.  Besides, his livery was protection enough against most streetpads and thugs.  No one wanted to bring the Great Houses down on their heads.  But the girl - the girl I was increasingly convinced came from a Great House herself - wasn’t wearing any livery.

“Stay in the corner,” I said, altering the wards slightly.  Reginald shouldn’t be able to see her.  “You can slip out after he enters and ...”

The girl opened the door and scurried off down the street.  I opened my mouth to shout after her, then decided it was none of my business.  Getting caught up in the affairs of the Great Houses was a good way to end up dead.  Reginald’s handsome face didn’t change as he walked up to the door and stepped inside.  He smiled at me as I stepped out from behind the counter and curtseyed.  I resisted the urge to say something nasty as he looked down at me.  He seemed to like seeing me on my knees.

“Rebecca, is it not?”  Reginald’s smile grew wider, but there was something in it I found distantly unpleasant.  “And who was that most ... curious ... customer?”

“I can’t tell you,” I said.  I stood, even though he hadn’t given me leave to rise.  I didn’t like him looking down at me.  “We don’t talk about our other customers.”

“Come now,” Reginald said.  He reached out and touched my chin, lifting my head until I unwillingly met his eyes.  “There are no secrets from me.”

I forced myself to stay in that position, even though etiquette demanded that I drop them in the presence of my betters.  “If I told you about her, might I not tell her about you?  Or anyone about you?”

Reginald’s face reddened.  “And if I told your master to beat you for cheek,” he snarled, “what would he say?”

I managed - somehow - to hold his eyes.  “My master can beat me for cause,” I said.  It was true, even though Master Travis had never laid a finger on me.  “But he cannot beat me for following his orders.”

“Really?”  Reginald took a step forward.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I said, although I wasn’t sure.  Reginald could bring a lot of pressure to bear, if he wished.  “I’m sure.”

“Hah,” Reginald said.  “And are you sworn to secrecy?”

“Yes,” I said.  I had the feeling he meant something different - a magically-binding oath, perhaps - but I didn’t care.  I’d given Master Travis my word.  I wanted it to mean something, even if it was just between the two of us.  “And I won’t break my word.”

“How fortunate for your master that he has such a loyal servant,” Reginald said.  His eyes bored into mine.  “Such a strong spirit buried in the body of a slave.”

I felt my cheeks heat.  I hoped my tinted skin was dark enough to keep him from seeing it.  A slave?  I wasn’t a slave!

“And yet, you might be surprised what I can do,” Reginald added.  “Do you want to know what I can do?”

I took a step back, breaking eye contact.  “I won’t break my word,” I said.  “Not even for you.”

Master Travis came down the stairs before Reginald could think of a retort.  “Ah, Reginald,” he said.  “Thank you for coming.”

Reginald looked, just for a second, as if he wanted to make a smart remark.  “I came as you requested,” he said, coolly.  “Do we ... I’m ready.”

I felt a stab of betrayal.  Master Travis had invited Reginald to the shop?  I told myself I was being silly, that we needed the money Reginald could provide, but it still felt as if he’d done something wrong.  I didn’t want Reginald anywhere near me.  But what could I do about it?  

“Very good,” Master Travis said.  “If you’ll come with me ...”

He turned and led the way up the rickety stairs.  I felt another pang, this time of envy, as Reginald followed Master Travis into the darkness.  I’d barely seen my master over the last few days, yet he showed himself at once when Reginald appeared?  It wasn’t fair ... I reminded myself, sharply, that life wasn’t fair.  If it was, my father would never have left my mother and I would never have grown up with my stepfather.

But I wouldn’t have met Master Travis either, I thought, as I turned back to the jars.  And I would never have discovered a talent for potions.

I put the thought aside as I counted the unopened jars.  The mystery girl had bought almost our entire stock of beeswax.  I’d have to make sure we ordered more.  We had a good stockpile of potions and salves made with beeswax, and the other ingredients she’d purchased, but some of our customers preferred to purchase the raw ingredients.  Others simply didn’t have the time to brew themselves.  I found it incomprehensible, but I supposed I should be grateful.  If people brewed their own potions - or found a way to reuse potions like they reused clothes - we’d have to close the shop.  We wouldn’t make any money.

Who was the girl?  The question echoed through my mind, but there was no answer.  She’d clearly believed that Reginald would recognise her - he’d asked about her, which made me wonder if he’d seen through her glamour - but that meant nothing.  Or at least not very much, I supposed.  Reginald Bolingbroke and Caitlyn Aguirre were about the only people in High Society I knew by sight and that was only because the former had visited the shop and the latter’s face had been splashed across all the broadsheets.  But Reginald presumably knew far more people in High Society.  It was truly said that you hadn’t arrived in High Society until the Great Lords and Ladies knew your name.

It doesn’t matter, I told myself.  Reginald’s reaction had unnerved me more than I cared to admit.  It’s better not to know for sure.

I was midway through drafting a letter to our suppliers when I heard Reginald clumping down the stairs.  He came into view a moment later, his face deathly pale.  His right hand was pressed against his left elbow.  I stared, then hastily looked away.  Reginald would not react well if he thought I was laughing at him, or taking pleasure in his pain.  I watched him leave the shop without even a glance at me.  I should have been relieved, but ... there was something alarming about his pose.  It bothered me.

“Rebecca,” Master Travis called.  “Come up here, please.”

I checked the wards, then made my way up the staircase and into the workroom.  Master Travis was seated at his table, carefully sealing a small collection of vials filled with a blood-red liquid.  I stared, torn between horror and awe.  Blood ... Reginald’s blood?  Master Travis had warned me to be careful - very careful - when working with blood.  I found it hard to believe that he’d taken blood from Reginald, or that Reginald had given it to him.  And yet, what else could it be?

My voice shook.  “Master ... is that blood?”

“Yes,” Master Travis said.  He smiled, rather thinly.  “Like most bombastic young men, Master Reginald grew faint at the first sight of a needle.  It was all he could do to remain still while I drew the blood from his veins and transferred it into a bottle.”

“Ouch,” I said.  Master Travis had taught me how to draw and store blood, but he’d made it clear that I wasn’t to experiment without supervision.  He’d also shown me how to use magic to cut the link between me and my blood, just to make sure it couldn’t be used against me.  I wondered if Reginald had used such charms himself.  “Is it ... is it linked to him?”

“It’s his blood,” Master Travis said, evasively.  “And we have to be very careful with it.”

We could use it to curse him, I thought.  There were a number of blood-based potions and curses in the books.  A simple spell would put him out of our lives forever.

I ran my hand through my dark hair, dismissing the thought.  Reginald was powerful in his own right.  If we managed - somehow - to get a curse through his personal defences, his family would spare no effort to track us down and destroy us.  They’d probably be able to break the curse without raising a sweat.  Rumour had it that the Great Houses had vast stockpiles of spellbooks dating all the way back to the Thousand-Year Empire itself.  They could certainly crush a tiny apothecary without even noticing.

“Take the blood down to the ironhold and secure it within the safe,” Master Travis ordered, once he’d finished sealing the vials.  There was no name on them, nothing to suggest who had provided the blood.  I doubted it would matter, if someone went looking.  The blood would only resonate with Reginald and his closest relatives.  “And don’t do anything else with it.”

“Yes, Master,” I said, putting aside a handful of foolish ideas.  “What ... what are you doing for him?”

“Better you don’t know,” Master Travis said, curtly.  He scribbled a note in his book.  “It’s something that might change the world.”

His lips curved into a cold smile.  “Or at least Reginald’s world.”

I kept my thoughts to myself.  Whatever Reginald wanted had to be illegal - or at least highly dubious.  There were plenty of Potions Masters in North Shallot, but they all had ties to the Great Houses.  Reginald’s secret would be out within the hour.  But what would he do to us to keep the secret?   I didn’t think he could be trusted.

But I couldn’t say that to Master Travis, not when he was clearly fascinated by the project.  

“Yes, Master,” I said, instead.  “And afterwards, may I cook dinner for you?”

“Tend to the shop,” Master Travis ordered.  “I’ll eat tonight.”

I eyed him, concerned.  “I’ll hold you to that,” I said.  “I’ll cook your favourite.”
Chapter Five

The next few days would have been enjoyable, if I hadn’t been so worried about Master Travis.  He’d practically spent the entire time in his workroom, barely surfacing once or twice to eat and sleep.  I ran the shop, wrote and signed the letters to our suppliers myself and fretted about him.  I would have basked in my new responsibilities if I hadn't been so concerned.  The older man was practically wasting away.  

“You can’t force someone to take care of himself,” Ginny said, when I confided in her.  I had to invite her to the shop.  There was no way I could go out.  “And he’s clearly very busy with something else.”

“I know.” I couldn’t give her any details.  “But what is he doing?”

“Some magicians, particularly research magicians, get very involved in a project,” Ginny pointed out.  “And they don’t come up for air until they’re done.”

I nodded, curtly.  Master Travis had told me, once, that he’d been a researcher ... but he’d had to leave at very short notice.  It galled me, sometimes, that I knew so little of his life before I’d gone into his service.  His dark skin might indicate a connection to House Aguirre or one of the other darker-skinned families, but it might also indicate an origin in one of the southern cities or even North Cairnbulg itself, on the other side of the Inner Sea.  I didn’t really believe the latter - Master Travis had shown no interest in joining the community of expats from North Cairnbulg - yet I had to admit it was possible.  I had no real interest in joining the community of half-castes either.  

Maybe he was brewing something illegal, I thought.  It was rare for a full-fledged Potions Master to turn evil - they rarely had any trouble making a very good living - but I could understand one getting in over his head and crossing the line without even noticing.  Or something that was retroactively declared illegal ...

The days slipped by slowly as we inched towards high summer.  I did the best I could to keep the shop running, barely noticing when children were released from school for the holidays ... and promptly put to work by their parents, who couldn’t afford to have children lollygagging around when they could be earning money.  I ignored the children on the street, the few times I got to leave the shop; their presence was a grim reminder that I could have gone further in school, if my stepfather had agreed to pay.  I tried not to dwell on what might have been and thought about the future instead.  When Reginald’s project was finished, I told myself, Master Travis would take a break.  And then I could ask him about an apprenticeship.

I was sitting at the counter, daydreaming about Rebecca the Potions Mistress, when the door opened.  I looked up, irked.  It was rare to get many customers between ten and twelve in the morning.  Clive was about the only person who visited us between ten and eleven and I’d already had quite enough of him.  But the visitor wasn’t Clive.  I stood, hastily, as the newcomer stepped into the light.  He carried himself like an important man.

“You must be Rebecca,” he said.  His voice carried an odd accent, a little like the hunters who prowled the northern edge of the Desolation and then returned to sell their wares in Shallot.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

I studied him with interest.  He was taller than me, muscular with broad shoulders, a pale face with dark hair cut so closely to his scalp that he was almost bald.  His clothes marked him as a manual labourer, but they were made of fine cloth that no labourer could have hoped to buy with less than a decade’s wages.  I felt a flicker of puzzlement as he looked back at me.  Our visitor was sending some very mixed messages.  A nobleman, pretending to slum with commoners?  Or someone who wanted me to think he was a nobleman?  But only a nobleman could afford such an outfit for day-to-day life.

“Thank you,” I managed.  “And you are ...?”

“Zadornov,” the visitor said.  He gave a self-effacing smile.  “You may have heard of me.”

I nodded, feeling ice starting to trickle down my spine.  I’d heard of Zadornov, all right.  Everyone in Water Shallot had heard of Zadornov.  He was a crime boss, with his fingers in half the city’s crime ... yes, I’d heard of him.  It crossed my mind, just for a second, that the man in front of me might not be the real Zadornov, but I doubted it.  Quite apart from the clothes, no one in their right mind would take Zadornov’s name in vain.  They were still talking about the unspeakable horrors Zadornov had inflicted on the last person who’d defied him.

“I’ve heard of you,” I said, dumbly.  Should I curtsey?  Or ... or what?  I found myself utterly unsure of what to do.  Zadornov was here?  What did he want?  I could barely force myself to look at him.  I didn’t dare meet his eyes.  “I ...”

“Rumours of your beauty have travelled far and wide,” Zadornov said.  It took me a moment to realise that I was being teased.  “But they don’t do you justice.”

I swallowed, hard.  Zadornov actually sounded sincere.  But I was all too aware that a crime boss would be a very good liar.  Besides, no amount of beauty would make up for my heritage.  I’d considered forging a family tree, once upon a time, but how could it pass muster?  My face alone was a dead giveaway.  And I couldn’t change that for long.

“Thank you,” I said, finally.  I knew how to handle Clive, but Zadornov?  Master Travis’s reputation might protect me ... or it might not.  “I didn’t start the rumours.”

“Rumours are rarely true,” Zadornov agreed, gravely.  He gave me a broad smile.  “And in this case, they understate your beauty.”

I flushed.  The rumours about Zadornov were terrifying.  If they were understated ... I gritted my teeth, reminding myself that I was behind powerful wards.  I was in no immediate danger, unless Zadornov had an Object of Power that could bring the wards crashing down.  And I doubted it.  Rumour claimed that Zadornov had a vast collection of working Objects of Power, but I didn’t believe it.  A cache of weapons and tools from the Thousand-Year Empire would have brought the Great Houses down on him like a ton of bricks.  That rumour, at least, was probably untrue.

“Dame Rumour is often a liar,” I said, carefully.  “And beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Then consider yourself beheld,” Zadornov said.  His smile grew wider for a second, then dropped away.  “But I do wish to speak to your master.”

I hesitated.  “Master Travis is busy ...”

“He’ll see me,” Zadornov said, with quiet confidence.  “Call him.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.  I reached for the wards, using them to send a message.  Master Travis would either come down or tell me to handle it myself.  I hoped he’d come down.  I had no idea what I could say to Zadornov if Master Travis was too busy to see him.  “I’ve told him.”

Master Travis came down the stairs a moment later.  “Mr. Zadornov,” he said.  “Thank you for coming.”

Zadornov dropped a half-bow.  “You did call me, Master Travis.”

I blinked.  Master Travis had called Zadornov?  First Reginald, now Zadornov?  I was starting to think that no amount of money was worth the potential danger of getting involved with noblemen on one side and crime bosses on the other.  But there was no way I could say that in front of Zadornov.  Master Travis might refuse to listen to me, whatever I said.  The lure of enough money to further his research without running the shop had to appeal to him.  He would have told Reginald to get lost if he hadn’t been tempted.

“Yes,” Master Travis said.  He looked at me.  “Rebecca, close the shop and make two mugs of tea.  The special tea.  Bring them up to my workroom when they’re ready.”

“Yes, Master,” I said, dropping a curtsey.  I had the idea that showing anything less than proper respect to my master in front of Zadornov would be a mistake.  “I’ll bring them up in five minutes.”

Master Travis nodded, then led Zadornov up the stairs.  I watched them go, then put up the closed sign on the door.  It was unlikely anyone would come until twelve, when the workmen took a break for lunch, but there was no point in taking risks.  If Master Travis wanted me to wait on them ... I went into the backroom, put the kettle on and dug the special tea out of the cupboard.  It came from Hangchow and cost nearly twenty times as much as a normal bag of tea leaves.  Personally, I’d always considered it a waste of money.  Master Travis certainly didn’t demand it every day.

He’s trying to impress, I thought, as I poured water into our finest mugs.  Zadornov was going to be disappointed if he expected fine china.  I added a small plate of biscuits, more in the hope that Master Travis would eat than any belief that Zadornov would be impressed, and then carried the tray upstairs.  But what does he want with a criminal overlord?

The two men were seated in Master Travis’s workroom when I entered, talking in hushed voices.  I didn’t know why they bothered.  The wards were more than strong enough to keep me - and any intruders - from hearing their conversation.  I placed the tray on the table, then stepped back and dropped another curtsey.  It was something I’d learnt from watching the girls at the coffee shop.  Master Travis had never expected me to pretend to be a servant from one of the Great Houses.  He certainly hadn’t taught me the forms.

“Thank you,” Zadornov said, kindly.  He took his mug and sipped with every evidence of enjoyment.  “The tea is excellent.”

“You are more than welcome,” Master Travis said.  He met my eyes.  “I’ll ring if I need you.”

It was clearly a dismissal.  I dropped yet another curtsey, then hurried out of the room.  The wards snapped back into place behind me.  I felt oddly excluded, even though I knew I should be grateful.  The less I knew, the less I could tell.  And yet, I had the feeling that innocence wouldn’t be much of a defence.  A serving girl was practically considered nothing more than an extension of her master’s will.

I swallowed my irritation as I walked back down the stairs, made myself a mug of tea and reopened the shop.  No one entered, to my private relief.  I tried to concentrate on reading a potions textbook, or checking the shelves once again, but my thoughts refused to focus on my work.  Zadornov was upstairs, talking to my master.  What was he doing?  It was all I could do to keep myself from fretting openly.  I didn’t want to show any kind of weakness in front of Zadornov.  And yet, it would be pointless.

It was nearly twelve when I heard the sound of two men walking down the stairs.  I braced myself, unsure what to expect, as they reached the bottom.  Zadornov looked pleased, his face twisted into a wry smile; he nodded to me as he walked past the counter and through the door.  Master Travis’s face was completely expressionless.  I tried to hide my fears as he sat down on a stool and took a deep breath.  I’d seen him look alarmed before, when a potion started to destabilise, but never fearful.  What had they discussed, in the workroom?  I suspected there was no point in trying to ask.

“It’s nearly twelve,” Master Travis said, finally.  “We’ll have customers coming in.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

Master Travis sighed.  “Are there any special orders?”

I blinked.  “Yes, Master.  I brewed them yesterday evening.  They’re in the backroom, waiting.”

“Very good.”  Master Travis looked somewhat regretful.  “When you’re finished with the afternoon rush, come up to my workroom.  I have something for you.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.  “I put chicken and rice in the preservation chamber for you, if you want to eat ...”

“I will,” Master Travis said.  “Come upstairs when you’re done.”

He headed up the stairs, just as the first customer entered the shop.  I sighed, then went to work.  Lunchtimes were always busy, even though few of the customers could afford to stop to chat.  I found what they wanted, took their money and then moved to the next customer.  It helped keep my mind from wandering.  

Master Travis had been dealing with Zadornov.  What did it mean?

It wasn’t a relief, for once, when the lunchtime rush finally came to an end.  I closed the door, primed the wards to alert me if there was someone waiting outside, then hurried up the stairs to the workroom.  Master Travis had started to put together a collection of ingredients, weighing them out for a potion.  I tried to figure out what he was doing, but nothing came to mind.  It was tempting to speculate that he was planning to brew two or three potions at once.

“Rebecca,” Master Travis said.  “I have a present for you.”

I blinked.  My birthday hadn’t been that long ago.  Master Travis had given me a small collection of books, almost all on potions.  He did have a habit of passing his old textbooks down to me, whenever he bought the latest version, but I didn’t think he’d bought any new books over the last few months.  Besides, last week he’d been complaining about the editors of The Potion Lists.  They’d brought out a new edition without much in the way of new information.  The irony, he’d groused after reading the book, was that if they’d waited a few months they would have been able to cram the edition with new information.

Master Travis opened a small box and held it out to me.  A silver necklace, with a handful of gemstones attached to the chain ... it looked normal from a distance, as far as I could tell, but there was a faint air of magic around the metal.  I looked closer and realised that one of the spells was an obscurification charm.  It would be very hard for someone to actually see the necklace unless their attention was drawn to it.  I knew it was there and yet my eyes kept trying to slip over the necklace as if it wasn’t there at all.  It was all I could do to keep looking at it.

“I meant to give this to you earlier,” Master Travis said, regretfully.  “But it took longer to make than I expected.”

I stared.  “You made it?”

Master Travis snorted.  “I might be a Potions Master, rather than a Forger, but I am not completely deficient in skills.  Forging the necklace itself wasn’t difficult.  The real trick was weaving the protective enchantments into the gemstones.  They had to work together without cancelling each other out.”

I picked up the necklace and examined it carefully.  The obscurification charm made it hard to see the other charms, but - bit by bit - I managed to parse them out.  Protective spells, mostly.  I’d been warned to be careful of charmed necklaces - there were too many horror stories about the Necklace of Queen Antonia, which turned the wearer into a helpless slave - but this one seemed safe.  There didn’t seem to be anything that would interfere with my magic.

“Thank you,” I said, genuinely touched.  I hung the necklace around my neck, marvelling at how the chain expanded to allow me to get it over my head, then contracted again once it was securely in place.  Master Travis had done a very good job.  “I’ll wear it always.”

“Make sure you do,” Master Travis said.  His voice was quiet, but earnest.  “You may need it.”

I shivered.  Zadornov had been here.  Zadornov and Reginald.  I had the feeling that the necklace wasn’t so much a gift in its own right as an attempt to protect me.  The spells woven into the gemstones would give me some protection.  I just wasn’t sure it would be enough to protect me from either of them.  It wasn’t as if Master Travis had been able to give me an Object of Power.

“Thank you,” I said.  Master Travis cared.  It felt good.  My stepfather’s only present had been a declaration that I was a grown woman - and therefore no longer his responsibility.  “I’ll do my best for you.”

Master Travis’s face darkened.  “The day after tomorrow, I want you to go down to the docks,” he said.  “I have a package that needs to be collected.”

I winced.  “From Zadornov?”

“From Zadornov,” Master Travis confirmed.  He looked as if he had bitten into something sour.  I was sure he didn’t want to send me.  “And I can’t go in person.”

It was hard to keep my face expressionless.  Master Travis was far less recognisable than I, although I had to admit I wasn’t the only half-caste in Water Shallot.  Most of them worked down at the docks, where strong arms were more important than good breeding.  It was odd to realise that I was probably luckier than most of them, even though I didn’t feel lucky.  I had the makings of a trade that would keep me alive, if I managed to complete an apprenticeship.  And yet, walking right into Zadornov’s lair ...

But I had no choice.  “Yes, Master,” I said.  “I’ll do as you wish.”
Chapter Six

“Hey, lovely,” a sailor called.  “You want to come and play?”

I gritted my teeth and ignored the half-drunk man as I made my way slowly down towards the docks.  The street was lined with pubs, where sailors and longshoremen were drinking away their pay packets before stumbling home to their wives.  I could have kicked myself for not braiding my hair, even though it was technically illegal.  Everyone would have come to my defence.  The sailor would have been beaten halfway to death for catcalling at a girl in pigtails.

The stench of rotting fish seemed to grow stronger as I walked past the pubs and down to the warehouses on the edge of the dockyards.  There were fewer people in sight now; a handful of armed guards, a number of longshoremen working overtime, a handful of prostitutes ... I frowned as I caught sight of a woman wearing a captain’s uniform.  The four men who accompanied her were clearly her subordinates.  I felt a flicker of envy, wishing that I could go to sea.  The sea didn’t care about your blood and neither did most of the sailors.  But it wasn’t easy for a woman to climb from sailor to captain.  I’d been told that very few women were even hired as midshipwomen or common sailors.  

I put the thought out of my mind as I turned into an alleyway, cursing under my breath.  I’d been warned, time and time again, not to go into alleyways, not when people with bad intentions might be waiting.  But Zadornov’s instructions had been quite clear.  I readied what little magic I had as the darkness enfolded me, bracing myself for attack as my eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness, but there was nothing ... save for a single warehouse door.  It was completely unmarked.  I paused, wondering if I’d reached the right address, then knocked on the metal door.  It opened a moment later, revealing two armed guards.  They both carried spellcasters as well as swords.

“Well,” one guard said.  He leered cheerfully at me.  “And who might you be?”

“She’s here to see the boss, fool,” the second guard said.  He was a walking slab of muscle, just like his friend, but at least he seemed to have a working brain.  “We were told she’d be coming.”

“Oh, yeah,” the first guard said.  “But we have to search her first.”

I took a step backwards.  “Zadornov said ...”

“The boss said that no one gets to enter without being searched,” the second guard told me, sharply.  “But don’t worry.  It won’t be that bad.”

“Unless we make it bad,” the first guard said.  “How about it, honey?”

The second guard elbowed him, none too gently, then stepped forward and frisked me with calm efficiency.  His eyes just seemed to slide over the necklace, as if it wasn’t there for him.  Perhaps it wasn’t.  I’d tried to show it to Ginny, but she hadn’t been able to see the necklace unless I called her attention to it.  She’d practically forgotten it existed as soon as she looked away.  The guard seemed to have the same problem.  I was surprised.  Surely, they’d have been trained to watch for obscurification charms.

“This way,” the guard said, when he’d finished.  “I’ll take you to the boss.”

I followed him through an interior door and into a maze of corridors.  The warehouse wasn’t a warehouse at all, not on the inside.  It felt more like an apartment block, although there was hardly anyone in sight.  I found it hard to believe that a man like Zadornov would live in such a place, even though I could see some advantages to his location.  The City Guard rarely patrolled the dockyards.  They knew better than to show themselves unless they came in force.  Even the Kingsmen would think twice before venturing onto the docks.  They represented authority, and authority was something most of the inhabitants hated.  

The guard led me through a door and into a large room.  It would have been a nice room, I thought, if it hadn’t been crammed with couches and the air hadn’t been thick with sweet smoke.  A chill rang down my spine as I realised what was happening.  The men lying on the couches, breathing deeply from long pipes, were addicts, enslaved to Opium or Cocaine or whatever else they were smoking.  Master Travis had warned me, more than once, that it was terrifyingly easy to brew a potion that would addict the drinker with only a single drink or two.  Opium and Cocaine, shipped from the Far East, weren’t quite as bad, but they were dangerous.  A man could go into a drug den on Monday and emerge on Friday, completely convinced that it had only been a few hours.  I tried not to look at the withered men as we passed.  They were so out of it that their eyes didn’t follow me.

I took a deep breath as soon as we left the smokers behind, relieved beyond measure that the wards kept the smell confined to the room.  I was going to have to wash my clothes - and hair - thoroughly the minute I got home, before Master Travis smelled the drug on me.  I’d known servants who’d been dismissed for visiting drug dens, even if they hadn’t inhaled.  Master Travis wouldn’t be pleased, even if he didn’t dismiss me.  The risk of contaminating the potions I would be brewing tomorrow was too high.  Perhaps it would be better if I threw the tattered dress out completely.  It wasn’t as if it had cost me a hundred gold coins.

We stopped in front of a wooden door.  The guard knocked, then said something in a language I didn’t recognise.  The door opened a second later, revealing a comfortable sitting room.  Zadornov was seated in an armchair, reading a broadsheet.  A light-skinned woman was standing behind him, her arms clasped in front of her.  She was dressed as a servant, yet there was something about her that bothered me.  I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Ah, Rebecca,” Zadornov said.  He gave me a warm smile.  “Come on in, please.  Tea or coffee?”

I shook my head as the guard nudged me into the room.  I knew better than to drink anything Zadornov’s men had prepared, even though I had no reason to think he’d try to drug me.  It was all too easy to slip a truth potion - or something nastier - into a mug of tea, one carefully brewed to be tasteless.  Zadornov had to be curious about why Master Travis wanted ... well, whatever he wanted.  And I wasn’t sure what Zadornov had demanded in return.

“Take a seat,” Zadornov said.  It was an order, however kindly phrased.  “We have much to discuss.”

I sat in an armchair, wishing it wasn’t so comfortable.  I needed all my senses about me.  “I don’t have any authority to discuss business with you.”

“Oh, I know that,” Zadornov said.  “I was wondering what you intended to do after your service ended.”

I blinked.  That was the last question I’d expected.  “I don’t have any real plans,” I said, carefully.  I wasn’t about to share my hopes and dreams with him.  “It depends on when I’m released from service.”

“Indeed,” Zadornov said.  “A pretty and charming - and intelligent - girl like yourself always has options.”

“Maybe,” I said.  There were options, but not many of them.  If I completed an apprenticeship, I would have a chance to move up in the world; if I didn’t, for whatever reason, I would spend the rest of my life in Water Shallot.  “I do have options.”

“I hear you’re a skilled brewer,” Zadornov said.  “And that you brew most of the potions in your shop.”

“Not most of them,” I said, a little flattered despite myself.  “I brew the basics.  Master Travis handles the more complex potions.”

“It isn’t something to sniff at,” Zadornov said.  “A skilled brewer can go a long way.”

“Yes,” I said.  A thought crossed my mind.  If Zadornov knew I was a brewer ... who had told him?  Clive?  Or Master Travis?  It wasn’t as if I was allowed to put my name on the bottles, once they were filled and sealed.  “I hope to go a very long way indeed.”

Right out of Water Shallot, I added, silently.  Zadornov might be playing the genial uncle, but I couldn’t allow myself to get too comfortable.  And a very long way from you.

Zadornov smiled at me.  “Would you like a job?”

I blinked.  “A job?”

“I need a skilled brewer, one who knows not to ask too many questions,” Zadornov said, calmly.  “And I would be quite happy to overlook any ... irregularities in your qualifications.”

I was surprised he was so ... overt about his work, although neither of us had any illusions about just what he did for a living.  The hell of it was that it was tempting.  If I had a secure place, and money, I could forge a life for myself.  I might even be able to pay for a proper apprenticeship, if Master Travis refused to take me on as a student.  But it would come at a high price.  I had no illusions about just what Zadornov would expect me to brew.  There were potions - and drugs - that made Cocaine and Opium look harmless.  And even if he didn’t want me to brew drugs, he’d want me to brew potions he could use to expand his options.  I dreaded to think what he could do with some of the recipes in Master Travis’s textbooks.  Some of the potions were really dangerous.

“It would have to wait until I was released from service,” I said, slowly.  I wanted to throw the offer back in his face, but I knew better.  Zadornov’s goons would kill me - or worse - if I offended their master.  “Right now, I am Master Travis’s girl.”

“Indeed,” Zadornov said.  “But you will have time to decide, while you wait to be released.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, with the private thought that I would sooner marry Clive than work for Zadornov.  “I’ll have time to decide.”

Zadornov must have sent a signal, probably though the wards, as the door opened a moment later.  I looked up to see a pretty girl, her face utterly expressionless, carrying a large wooden box.  Her eyes met mine, just for a second; I recoiled at the sheer hopelessness in her gaze.  She placed the box on the table, dropped a curtsey to Zadornov and retreated as silently as she’d come.  The door closed behind her with an audible thud.

“Now, let us see,” Zadornov said.  He stood and strode over to the table.  “You do know what you’re buying, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said.  Master Travis had given me a list.  “And I have the money ready.”

Zadornov smiled.  “Don’t say that too loudly or they’ll all be wanting some,” he said, mischievously.  He opened the box, then nodded.  “Feel free to check the supplies.”

I rose and peered into the box.  Master Travis had unbent enough to tell me that Zadornov was a smuggler, as well as a crime lord.  I supposed that explained why Master Travis had made contact with him, although not why Zadornov had chosen to visit the shop instead of demanding that Master Travis come to him.  Maybe he hoped that Master Travis could be induced to brew something for him too.  I put the thought out of my mind as I checked the packets inside the box, comparing them to the list I’d memorised.  Dragon Scales and Cockatrice Blood were the least of it.  There were enough exotic ingredients in the box to keep us supplied for months to come.

And yet, these are all for Reginald’s project, I thought.  What the hell does he want?

“I took a dragon, when I was younger,” Zadornov said, wistfully.  “Selling its hide started my career.”

I glanced at him, unsure if he was telling the truth or not.  There were so many stories about Zadornov that it was impossible to separate fact from fiction, but he did look like someone born on the northern edge of the Desolation.  And I could easily believe that a dragon’s hide had yielded enough money to kick-start a criminal career.  There were very few curses that could penetrate protective garments made from Dragonhide.  But Dragonhide was rare because dragons - for some unimaginable reason - seemed to want to keep their hides.  For every hunter who returned with a dead dragon, a hundred never came back.  Zadornov had been very lucky.  No wonder he’d taken his reward and headed south.

“That’s impressive,” I said, finally.

Zadornov laughed.  “Most girls are more impressed,” he said.  “I like you, Rebecca.”

“Thanks,” I said, numbly.  If that was a good thing, I was the king’s daughter.  “I think you gave us everything on the list.”

“I should hope so,” Zadornov said.  “I do have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

I looked up at him.  “Where did you get them?  The ingredients, I mean?”

“That would be telling.”  Zadornov wagged his finger at me.  “Suffice it to say that no one will be looking for them.”

The schools, I guessed.  The schools purchased so many rare and expensive potions ingredients that they’d never miss a handful of bags.  Someone had sold them to Zadornov, then altered the records to prove they’d never existed in the first place.  Or something along those lines.  I felt a stab of envy.  The students were given, for free, ingredients that Master Travis and I would never be able to buy.  At least they’ll never have the chance to waste them.

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said.  I closed the box and lifted it, carefully.  It was alarmingly heavy, heavy enough to make it hard for me to get home.  But there was no choice.  I didn’t dare cast a lightening charm when it might react badly with the ingredients inside.  It was going to be nerve-racking enough to know that Master Travis was going to be brewing with Dragon Scales.  “I have to go home now.”

“You’re welcome to stay, for a while,” Zadornov said.  “I can talk about the job.”

I shook my head.  “Master Travis is expecting me home,” I said, as I counted out the money and handed it over.  “He doesn’t like me being out after dark.”

“A wise man.” Zadornov made the money vanish with practiced ease.  “I can have two of my men escort you home.”

“No, thank you,” I said.  “He would be very angry if I was late.”

“Ah,” Zadornov said.  “You should know that I wouldn’t rebuke you for coming home late.”

I had to fight to hide a smile.  No, he wouldn’t rebuke someone as valuable as a brewer ... even a half-trained brewer without any formal qualifications.  I had every confidence that he’d treat me with kid gloves, if I proved my value.  But there was still no way I wanted to work for him.  The mouth that spoke so pleasantly to me had ordered men and women beaten to death for failing to pay their debts.  Zadornov was a loan shark as well as everything else.

“I’ll be older then,” I said, as if I’d misunderstood.  “And I won’t have a curfew.”

Zadornov laughed.  “Let me have two of the lads escort you home,” he said.  “They can carry the box.”

“As long as they’re very gentle,” I said, conceding with good grace.  There was no point in pushing the issue any further.  “If they mishandle it ...”

“The ingredients are well-packed,” Zadornov said, dismissively.  “They should be fine.”

Two men appeared moments later.  Zadornov spoke briefly to them in a foreign language - I thought it was the same one the guard had used earlier - then kissed my hand lightly.  I blushed, helplessly, as I followed the guards down the stairs and onto the darkening streets outside.  The guards said nothing as we started to walk up the streets towards the apothecary, their faces grim.  Everyone else gave us a wide berth, yet I was aware of their eyes watching our progress warily.  I thought I knew what was going through their heads.  I was either someone going up in the world, someone who might be very important in the very near future, or someone who was about to go crashing down.

Zadornov had been right about one thing, I supposed, as we reached the shop.  His men did know how to handle dangerous boxes.  They came in, put the box gently on the counter and then retreated without even waiting for a tip.  I closed the wards behind them as Master Travis came downstairs, his nose wrinkling as he smelled the smoke on my clothes.  I hastily tried to think of an excuse, but it didn’t seem to be necessary.  Master Travis said nothing as he checked the ingredients.  Everything seemed to be in order.

“I’ll take these down to the ironhold,” he said.  I opened my mouth to suggest he should let me do it, but he spoke over me.  “You go have a bath.  Make sure you wash your hair.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.  It was embarrassing to be talked to as if I were a small child, but he had a point.  The smell alone might cause problems the following day.  “I might have to go to the baths tomorrow.”

“That might be a good idea,” Master Travis said, dryly.  We didn’t have a shower in the shop, just an iron washtub that had seen better days.  Going to the public baths was the only way to wash thoroughly.  “Just make sure you wash your clothes too.”

“Yes, Master.”
Chapter Seven

It was no surprise to me, the following day, when Reginald showed up.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, as soon as he stepped into the shop.  “How are you today?”

I kept my face impassive, somehow.  The truth was that I felt terrible.  I hadn’t slept well after returning from Zadornov’s warehouse.  My dreams had been filled with shadowy images of a life I would sooner die than live, a life where I was prepared to do anything just for another drug-induced high.  If I went to work for Zadornov, how long would it be before he forced me to take something that only he could provide?  It would keep me bound to his service until he died, whereupon I’d die too.

“Fine,” I said.  I dropped a curtsey.  “I’ll call Master Travis.”

“Oh, we can chat first,” Reginald said.  He was in a very good mood indeed.  “Would you like to take a stroll in the park afterwards?”

“No, thank you,” I said, gritting my teeth.  If only Reginald had stepped into someone else’s shop.  It wasn’t as if we were his only option.  “I have to work.”

“I’m sure your master would let you go out with me,” Reginald said.  “He could mind the store.”

“And then I’d pay for it,” I said.  I didn’t want to be alone with Reginald.  Either he’d be asking about the mystery girl - which would be bad enough - or he’d have something else in mind.  “Master Travis wouldn’t be making your potion if he was minding the store.”

“True,” Reginald said.  He leaned forwards, as if we were co-conspirators.  When he spoke, his voice was hushed.  “How long until he’s finished?”

“I don’t know,” I said.  “I don’t even know what he’s doing.”

“Really.”  Reginald didn’t seem to believe me.  “And you don’t have the slightest idea what he’s doing?”

I felt a surge of pure hatred that surprised me in its intensity.  Reginald had screwed everything up, the day he’d walked into our shop.  I wanted to draw the wards to me and lash out, but I knew it would prove fatal.  He was very well protected.  Reginald might survive - perhaps - but even if he didn’t, his family would take revenge.  There was nothing I could do to him.

“No,” I said, as I stepped back behind the counter.  “I don’t have the slightest idea what he’s doing.”

“How strange,” Reginald mused.  “And there I was thinking he confided in you.  But then, you are a mere serving girl.”

“A shopgirl,” I corrected, waspishly.  It wasn’t that much of a jump above serving girl, true, but the distinction was important.  Besides, it was head and shoulders above slattern or whore.  “I’m a shopgirl ...”

“You’re whatever he wants you to be,” Reginald said.  His gaze softened.  “You really have no idea what he’s doing?”

“None,” I confirmed.  He didn’t have to ask me twice.  “I don’t know anything.”

Master Travis appeared and beckoned Reginald upstairs before he could say anything else.  I watched him go, then turned back to my work and thought.  What was Master Travis brewing for Reginald?  Something experimental, I was sure.  Master Travis wouldn’t have bought so many exotic ingredients - and from Zadornov, no less - if he hadn’t expected some wastage along the way.  The cost had to be staggeringly high.  I was fairly sure Master Travis had made some other promises to the crime lord.  Zadornov was being grossly underpaid for what he had provided.  And then ...

It involves blood, I reminded myself, as I sat down on the stool.  And that means that the potion is personalised to Reginald.

There weren’t many possibilities.  A potency potion was possible, I supposed, but Reginald wouldn’t have to come all the way to Water Shallot to get one.  Besides, there was no real need to use a blood-based potion unless there was something seriously wrong and his family healers would have dealt with it long ago.  I knew a couple of recipes for strengthening potion that involved blood, but there were at least four other recipes that didn’t need blood to work.  Reginald would hardly take the risk of giving Master Travis his blood unless there was a pressing need.  But what?  I could think of a few potions that were classed as dark - and probably illegal - yet why would Reginald need them?  It made no sense.

But if it’s something experimental, there might not be a recipe in the textbooks, I thought, slowly.  Master Travis seems to be enjoying himself, even as he’s working himself to death ...

The door clashed open.  Clive stepped in.  “Hey, my lady-love,” he said.  “How are you this fine morn?”

I glared at him.  “Did you bring the letter?”

Clive hesitated.  “No,” he said.  “Is he ... um ... very upset?”

“Master Travis is not pleased,” I told him.  Master Travis had snapped at Clive, two days ago, for not bringing the expected letter.  It wasn’t entirely fair - Clive wasn’t likely to take the risk of sitting on Master Travis’s letter - but I found it hard to care.  “You might want to get out of sight before he takes his displeasure out on you.”

“He’ll be more likely to take it out on you,” Clive said, although he looked nervous.  “What is this letter, anyway?”

“I have no idea,” I said.  “But he wants it and he ...”

Clive cut me off. “The thing is, I’ve been hearing rumours about something happening up near Caithness,” he said.  “And that’s quite close to Kirkhaven.”

I shrugged.  I didn’t know much about geography.  I’d consumed everything I could find on Hangchow, when my mother had finally told me about my father, but I’d never been particularly interested in Tintagel or the surrounding countries.  I didn’t have to know more than the basics to understand how it could take days or weeks for supplies to be shipped from the Princedoms of Ardrossan to Shallot.  And I had no idea where Caithness was in relation to Kirkhaven.

“Maybe the postal service has been delayed,” I said.  “What do you know?”

Clive smirked.  “I’ll tell you what I know for a kiss.”

“From Master Travis?”  I pretended to recoil in shock.  “Dear me!  I had no idea!  Shouldn’t you be growing out your hair?”

“You ...”  Clive bit off whatever he was going to say.  His face reddened alarmingly.  “I meant from you.”

“You don’t have to hide from me,” I said, with mock concern.  “I won’t hold it against you.”

Clive took a long breath.  “Have you thought about my offer?”

“I gave it all the consideration it deserved,” I said.  It was perfectly true.  I’d given it no consideration at all.  “And the answer is no.”

“You may change your mind, when you are released from service,” Clive said.  “And I will wait for you.”

I met his eyes.  “And will your mother?  Your grandmother?  Your sisters?”

Clive looked down.  “I'm sure they will accept you ...”

I had my doubts.  My children would still bear the stigma of knowing nothing about their grandfather, let alone the rest of their maternal ancestors.  And while Clive himself might be so taken with me that he was willing to overlook such details, I doubted his mother and grandmother would be so obliging.  They had a duty to the family.  They wouldn’t want their grandchildren to have problems in the future.   They might even disown Clive if he married me.  It wasn’t as if his parents had approached my parents to arrange a match.

“They won’t,” I said, sharply.  I found myself suddenly unsure what to say, once again.  He might mean well, as annoying as he was, but good intentions paled next to the cold hard realities of life.  “Clive ...”

I heard someone moving upstairs.  “They’re coming down,” I said.  “You’d better go.”

Clive glanced at the stairwell, then turned and hurried out of the door.  I didn’t really blame him, even if he did think he was abandoning me to Master Travis’s tender mercies.  Master Travis had torn a strip and a half off him for not bringing the letter.  I made a mental note to discuss the rumours with Ginny.  If there was anything to them, she would know.  Ginny was always up on the latest gossip.

Reginald appeared a moment later, followed by Master Travis.  “Who was that?”

“The broadsheet boy.”  I looked past him, at Master Travis.  “He left a pair of broadsheets for you.”

“But no letter,” Master Travis said.

He shook his head.  “I should be finished in a fortnight, if the theory holds up,” he said to Reginald.  “If not ... you’ll hear about it.”

“And I’ll hear the bang if something goes very badly wrong,” Reginald said.  “I’ll see you in a fortnight.”

“Of course,” Master Travis said.

Reginald winked at me, then hurried out the door.  Master Travis scowled after him - I had the impression that Master Travis didn’t like Reginald any more than I did - and then picked up the broadsheets.  Neither looked particularly interesting.  I’d skimmed through a couple over the last few weeks, hoping for news of House Bolingbroke, but there hadn’t been anything beyond a handful of puff pieces.  Apparently, they weren’t doing anything that could be turned into a glittering story that made them sound like wonderful people.  It made me wonder just what they were doing.

“Clive mentioned a rumour,” I said, as Master Travis put the papers back on the counter.  “He said that something had happened near Caithness.”

Master Travis frowned.  “Details?”

“I don’t think he knew much else,” I said.  Clive might have known a little more, but I wasn’t going to meet his price.  “I can ask around this afternoon, if you like.”

“This afternoon?”  Master Travis looked shocked.  “You’re leaving the shop this afternoon?”

“I have to buy food,” I reminded him.  Normally, I left an hour early to buy food, then met Ginny for a snack.  “We’re short on everything except rice and potatoes.”

“It’s Friday,” Master Travis said.  He rubbed his forehead.  “I thought it was Wednesday.”

“You’ve been very busy,” I said.  I was tempted to order him to bed, but I knew he wouldn’t listen.  “Can I go shopping this afternoon?”

“You probably should,” Master Travis said.  “And see if you can find out the truth behind the rumour.”

I nodded, although it was probably impossible.  The original rumour might be completely true, but - as it moved from person to person - it would mutate into something that would be completely unrecognisable.  A girl walking out with a boy, purely as friends, would come home to an irate mother who’d heard her daughter was on the verge of running away and marrying her friend.  Ginny might know the truth - a lot of rumours passed through the Hiring Hall - or she might not.  She wouldn’t know if she was telling me the truth or merely something she thought was the truth.  It might be weeks or months before the full story emerged, if it ever did.

We ate a quick snack, then Master Travis went back upstairs and left me to handle the afternoon customers.  I feared that he’d forget to come down at five, when I had to go out and shop, but he came down as planned and took his place behind the counter.  I found my cloak and hurried out of the shop, heading down to the grocery stalls.  I’d have preferred to go in the morning, but that was impossible as long as Master Travis was wrapped up in Reginald’s project.  There was no way he was going to allow himself to be distracted for long.  

I purchased a small amount of food and drink, placed it in my carryall and then walked down to the Hiring Hall.  Ginny was already standing outside, waiting for me.  She smiled, then locked her arm in mine as we walked to the food stalls.  The smell of cooked meat greeted us, the cooks shouting and waving to attract our attention.  I had to smile.  The benches were already crammed with people eating their fill, but the cooks wanted more.  But then, their food was relatively cheap.  They needed to keep a steady flow of customers if they wanted to balance their books.

“I had a busy day,” Ginny said, as she ordered a helping of sliced meat and bread.  “There was a special order for servants.”

“Ouch,” I said.  “And were they satisfied?”

“We won’t know for a while,” Ginny said.  “They want the servants to go up north.”

I frowned as I placed my own order for chicken and rice.  Up north ... Caithness was up north.  It was a curious coincidence, if indeed it was a coincidence.  I mulled it over as I took my food and followed Ginny to the nearest table.  A handful of boys made eyes at us, but Ginny shook her head firmly.  The last thing she needed was rumours about her conduct when she was planning to marry her boyfriend.

“That’s odd,” I said, once the hunger pangs were satisfied.  “What’s happening up north?”

Ginny smiled.  “No one’s quite sure,” she admitted.  “Something happened, but all my usual sources are very tight-lipped.  Even the People’s Enquirer and the Daily Blabber have been quiet and you know what they’re like.”

“The story probably doesn’t include naked women,” I said.  The People’s Enquirer was notorious for publishing photographs of nude women.  It was strange how the broadsheet managed to remain in business, given how many people hotly denied reading it.  “You couldn’t get anything from them?”

“I have a friend who works at the Blabber,” Ginny said.  “She’s normally willing to spill the beans.  She has a terrible case of verbal diarrhoea.  And when I spoke to her this afternoon, when it became clear that something had happened, she clammed up.  I didn’t believe that anyone could shut her mouth.  Word must have come down from On High.  No one, but no one, is talking.”

“Strange,” I mused.  “What do you think it means?”

“There’s a request going through for housekeeping staff with good characters,” Ginny said, as she dipped her lamb in spicy sauce and nibbled it thoughtfully.  “All of whom must be willing to spend at least six months away from civilisation.  They’re certainly going to be quite some distance from Shallot.”

I nodded.  It was an article of faith amongst city folk that Shallot was the only real outpost of civilisation in the country.  Even Tintagel, the capital, couldn't compete.  I doubted that anyone really wanted to visit Caithness.  A border city might find itself on the front line if the frequent diplomatic incidents between Tintagel and Galashiels turned into war.  And besides, they might be a long way from the city.  It might not be easy to visit Caithness for a day.

“And no one is talking,” I commented.  “Are you having any luck?”

“We could fill their request in an afternoon if they hadn’t been so very particular,” Ginny said.  “How many servants of good character want to move to Caithness?  They’d probably do better recruiting up there.”

I nodded.  Who’d want to go to Caithness?

“I don’t know anything else,” Ginny said.  “The request was vague about precisely where they’d be going, too.  It could be anything from a governor’s mansion to a crumbling old manor where the family stashes its embarrassments.”

“I would have thought they’d rely on old retainers for that,” I said.  “They couldn’t afford the rumours getting out, could they?”

“You’d think,” Ginny agreed.  She smiled, delicately.  “Perhaps it’s a school.”

“They’d have said that, wouldn’t they?”  I finished my chicken and pushed the plate aside.  “I thought the kids had to make their own beds.”

“Lots more to do in a school,” Ginny said.  “But yes, you’re right.  They’re recruiting for a house, not for a school.”

She finished her meal and stood.  “I hear a young man has been visiting your store,” she said, as she gave the plate to a passing attendant.  “Do I hear a wedding song in your future?”

“No,” I said, tartly.  Ginny knew how annoying I found Clive.  Besides, Clive had been visiting the store for years.  No, someone had to have seen Reginald.  “There’s no wedding song in my future.”

“A shame,” Ginny said.  “I hear he’s quality.”

Reginald must not have been as secretive as he’d thought, I mused.  Technically, there was nothing wrong with Reginald visiting the shop; practically, people would talk.  It was all the gossipmongers ever did.  And who knows what they’re saying now?

“He’s just a customer,” I said, as we walked down the streets.  “And nothing more.”

Ginny stopped and turned to me.  “Be careful,” she said.  “I hear he’s got a bad reputation.”

I frowned.  “What sort of reputation?”

“Nothing too specific,” Ginny said.  “But amongst those who know, he’s got a bad reputation.”

I could believe it.  “What else do you know?”

“Let’s just say that it’s quite hard to find staff for Bolingbroke Hall,” Ginny said.  “They wouldn’t even have come to the Hiring Hall if they weren’t desperate.  And yet, their turnover rate is quite high.”

“I see,” I said.  That was odd.  The Great Houses were normally maintained by lesser family, not hired hands.  House Bolingbroke had problems.  I wondered just how many of them were Reginald’s fault.  “But you don’t know anything specific?”

“No,” Ginny admitted.  We crossed the road and headed down to the canal.  “But there’s no such thing as smoke without fire.”

“There are spells that make smoke without fire,” I pointed out.

“Yeah,” Ginny said.  “And you know what I mean.”

“I do,” I confirmed.  I didn’t need her to tell me that Reginald was bad news.  “But we have to work with him.”

“Watch your back,” Ginny advised.  “And tell your master to watch his too.”
Chapter Eight

“The rumours are not very clear,” I told Master Travis over dinner.  “But something clearly happened near Caithness.”

“I see,” Master Travis said, when I’d finished.  “But no one knows anything specific.”

“No one I know,” I confirmed.  “Not about what happened at Caithness and not about Reginald personally.  And that means that someone paid a great deal of money to shut the rumourmongers up.”

“Probably,” Master Travis said.  He took another bite of his food.  “But it proves nothing.”

“No, Master,” I said.  “Should we really be getting involved with these people?  Reginald and Zadornov?”

Master Travis gave me an odd little smile.  “Do we have a choice?”

“Not now,” I said, after a moment.  “We took their money.”

“You know as well as I do how desperate we are for money,” Master Travis said.  “And Reginald’s project is fascinating.”

“Yes,” I said.  “What is it?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Master Travis said.  “Success ... suffice it to say that success will put my name amongst the greatest magicians of the decade.”

If you say so, I thought.  Master Travis was a skilled brewer, but he would have to do something very spectacular to knock Caitlyn Aguirre off the front page.  And if Reginald lets you tell the world what you’ve done.

I kept that thought to myself, even as I felt my stomach begin to tighten.  Reginald’s project might be legal, but that might be only because no one had ever thought to ban it.  Magus Court didn’t have the time to write laws forbidding something that wasn’t even theoretically possible.  That might change, after Reginald put the project to use.  Whatever it was… it might be legal, but it would definitely alarm the lawmakers.  He wouldn’t have come to us if he could have worked with a Potions Master in North Shallot.

Master Travis finished his plate and leaned back with a contented smile.  “That was nice,” he said.  “Thank you.”

I felt a flush of warmth that had nothing to do with the heating charms I’d cast around the room.  “Thank you,” I said.  “It was fun to try something new.”

“Meet me in my workroom when you’ve finished cleaning the plates,” Master Travis said, as he stood.  “We have matters to discuss.”

I nodded and hurriedly finished my own dinner.  I’d tried a new recipe, one that combined cream with onions and sauce to produce a unique taste.  The mashed potato - I’d made more than I needed - would be saved until tomorrow, where I’d cook it with bacon and eggs for a good start to the day.  Hopefully, Master Travis would eat before he vanished into his workroom.  I washed the dishes, put them aside to drip dry and walked down to the workroom.  The wards were tightly in place, but the door was open.  Master Travis was sitting at a table, studying his notebook.  A small crystal pendant lay beside him.

He didn’t seem aware of my presence, so I cleared my throat.  “Master?”

Master Travis looked up.  “Ah, Rebecca.  Close the door and take a seat.”

I did as I was told and sat down, facing him.  The chair wasn’t very comfortable, but I found myself relaxing anyway.  Master Travis’s workroom was a fascinating environment.  There was never any shortage of things to look at and admire, from the large wooden table - scorched and pitted by a hundred experiments - to the bookshelves groaning under the weight of hundreds of books.  I’d been allowed to read some of them, from time to time, and it had only whetted my appetite for the remainder.  There were recipes in some of the volumes I wanted to try to brew for myself.

Master Travis said nothing for a long moment.  I waited, trying to be patient.  The notebook lay open in front of him, but the writing was so erratic that I couldn’t hope to read it upside down.  Besides, he’d scribbled down everything in code.  I felt a twitch of irritation, mingled with wry understanding.  Master Travis would hardly be the first magician to encrypt his personal notebook.  Magicians seemed to spend half their time spying on each other.  The apothecary’s wards were strong, but there was no such thing as an impenetrable defence.  It wasn’t impossible that someone had found a way to subvert the wards.

And all the really ancient magicians didn’t bother to document their experiments, I thought, recalling Master Travis’s lectures on the subject.  The ancients had often left a certain ingredient out of the recipe, just to make life difficult for their successors.  Guessing how much of a certain ingredient you need is a good way to end up dead.

“Rebecca,” Master Travis said.  “Take a look at this.”

He held up the pendant.  It sparkled under the lantern’s light, producing an endless series of flickers that caught and held my attention.  I stared, unable to look away.  My body grew tired, sagging within the chair.  I was dimly aware of Master Travis speaking to me, but I couldn’t make out the words.  The light held my attention and ...

... I snapped awake, suddenly.  I’d fallen asleep.  I’d fallen asleep in front of Master Travis and ... I swallowed hard, silently grateful that I had a decent master.  A servant who fell asleep in front of a harsh master would be lucky if she wasn’t kicked out of the house.  I’d had a long day, and I’d slept very poorly the previous night, but what did that matter?  I’d simply collapsed in his chair.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered, embarrassed.  “Master, I ...”

“Don’t worry about it,” Master Travis said.  “You looked as if you needed a rest.”

I shifted, uncomfortably.  My body ached as I moved.  My finger hurt, although I wasn’t sure why and the pain faded almost as soon as I took note of it.  The chair hadn’t been the best place to sleep.  How long had I been asleep?  The clock said that it had been at least a couple of hours, but it felt as if I’d only dozed off for a second.  I yawned, helplessly.  It was something else a servant wasn’t supposed to do in front of her master, but I couldn’t help it.  Master Travis didn’t seem inclined to comment.  I silently blessed him as I gathered myself.  He was a kind man.

“Thank you,” I managed, finally.

Master Travis nodded, then stood and headed over to the other table.  I watched as he pulled jars of expensive ingredients from the shelves and carefully measured out the quantities, then started to pour them into the base liquid one by one.  It was always a pleasure to watch him brew.  He made it look fascinating - and easy.  I relaxed into the chair as Master Travis lit the fire under the cauldron with a match.  He’d warned me, more than once, not to use magic anywhere near a cauldron.  It might set off an explosion.

“This potion requires a degree of preparation before you light the fire,” he said, without looking at me.  “The ingredients need to blend together first.”

I watched as he heated up the liquid, stirring carefully.  No one knew precisely why certain potions required five clockwise stirs when they started to boil and others required seven counter-clockwise stirs, but there didn’t seem to be any way of avoiding it.  Potions, particularly the more powerful potions, could be finicky.  The ancients had had some way of calculating the precise infusion of magic - or so the Guild of Potions Masters agreed - but no one knew what it was.  We had to proceed by trial and error.  You could calculate everything perfectly and the potion might still explode in your face.

“This should be ready for tomorrow,” Master Travis said, as he finished.  “You can bottle it up in the morning.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.  The potion needed to cool overnight, then.  “What is it?”

“A modified wit-enhancing potion,” Master Travis said.  “It should help those poor students in need of a boost.”

I frowned.  The potions did make the drinker cleverer, at least for a few hours, but the effects didn’t last.  Master Travis had forbidden me to drink them myself, pointing out that it was better to develop my intellect the hard way than rely on potions.  It was all too easy to become dependent on the potion to maintain one’s place in the class.  Smart students were smart enough not to buy the potion in the first place.

“They’ll be pleased,” I said.  I’d never really understood the urge to cheat.  I knew why students wanted their qualifications - it was their only hope of a good job - but there was no way to pretend to be competent if one wasn’t.  I shuddered to think what would happen if someone tried to brew a potion that was out of their league.  “But what will it do to their grades?”

“It depends on where and when they use it,” Master Travis said.  “I do offer good advice.”

He covered the cauldron and started to return the ingredients to the shelves.  “I miss the days when it was easy to experiment,” he added.  “These days, I have to pay for everything I use.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

Master Travis smiled at me.  “You will have some extra money of your own, when the project is completed,” he said.  “Without you, I couldn’t have done it.”

I looked up.  “Reginald’s project is finished?”

“Not quite finished,” Master Travis said.  “But I can see the endgame now.  The pieces are falling into place.  It was really quite a fascinating puzzle.”

I heard a hint of disappointment in his voice and nodded, understandingly.  The truly great potioneers loved solving puzzles, from finding a new cure for a disease to figuring out just what was missing from an ancient recipe.  Master Travis - and I - enjoyed trying to solve the mysteries.  But afterwards, when the puzzle was solved, it no longer felt like fun.  Instead, actually brewing the potion and testing it felt like hard work.  I knew it was a dangerous attitude - allowing one’s mind to wander while brewing was a good way to end up dead - but it was difficult to overcome.  Master Travis was old enough to feel that he was wasting his life by brewing the same potions over and over again.

Master Travis sat down, facing me.  I felt a sudden surge of affection for the old man.  Who else would have taught me the trade?  He could have just used me as a shopgirl and housekeeper, if he’d hired me at all.  I could have had a far worse master.  He was my father, in every way that mattered.  My stepfather was a pig.  There were times when I dreamed of turning him into one.  Or simply slipping him a potion that quelled his fires forever.

I took a breath.  “Master,” I said.  “Can I ask a favour?”

Master Travis lifted his eyebrows.  “It depends,” he said.  “If you want the next week off ...”

I shook my head, hastily.  “No,” I said.  “It’s something else.”

“Go on,” Master Travis said.  

“I ... I want an apprenticeship,” I stammered.  I knew I was asking for something big.  “I ... I want to be a Potions Mistress.”

Master Travis didn’t look surprised.  “You know it will be quite ... difficult to qualify?”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“You have a good - no, an excellent - base of potions knowledge,” Master Travis mused, slowly.  “Your brewing skills are very precise, for your age, although you haven’t been able to practice with some of the more exotic ingredients.  I fancy there isn’t a single recipe that you couldn’t brew, given time.  That said, you lack the comprehensive background in magic that you would have had if you’d gone to Jude’s.  You’d have to study hard to catch up.”

I felt my heart sink.  “Do I need it?”

“You might,” Master Travis said.  “Potions is normally a class on its own, but it does interact with a handful of other disciplines.  I never taught you how to forge and, while you don’t have to be a forger to qualify for an apprenticeship, an understanding of how the different materials interact can be quite useful.  And then there are charms that you can learn ... again, an understanding of the background would work in your favour.”

He met my eyes.  “You would have to work very hard indeed.  A five-year apprenticeship might not be long enough.”

“I will catch up,” I promised.  Master Travis hadn’t said no.  “I’ll study everything and ...”

“Good,” Master Travis said, cutting me off.  “I can take anyone I like as an apprentice, but it is the guild - not me - who will administer the final tests.  You can’t avoid going in front of a judging panel if you want your qualification to mean anything.  They should judge you on potions, and potions alone, but ... they may try to ask questions about how potions relate to other disciplines.  The questions can be quite hard to answer.”

I leaned forward.  “What did they ask you?”

“They wanted me to discuss how I could use a particular set of brews in defence,” Master Travis said.  He pointed a finger at me.  “And defence is another field you know very little about.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.  There was no point in denying it.  “But I can learn.”

“You will also be expected to complete a personal project in your final year,” Master Travis warned.  “You must either devise a new potion of your own or make a significant improvement to a potion already in common use.  It can be quite hard to do the latter, Rebecca.  The common potions are well-understood already.  Any improvements may already have been discovered.”

“Or come with unexpected downsides,” I said.  I had a feeling that I’d have to try to improve a potion that was already in the standard textbooks.  “What sort ... if there are downsides, what will they accept?  I mean ...”

Master Travis smiled, rather thinly.  “If it kills the drinker, they will be unamused.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.  “But ... I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s always a downside,” Master Travis said.  “An energy potion may keep you awake and active, but you’ll need to sleep when the potion wears off.  If you manage to extend the period of wakefulness, at the price of extending the period of sleep, you may manage to convince the judges to accept it.  But, if the benefits are very slim and the disadvantages very great, they may simply reject it out of hand.  Trying to brew a new potion is safer, as there are fewer requirements, but you will have to come up with an idea and then outline both the advantages and disadvantages of the recipe.”

He met my eyes.  “But no one will care if the recipe has no practical use.  It just has to be something new.”

I felt cold.  “What if ... what if I take an old recipe and make it work?  I mean, one of the ones from the old books.”

“You might manage to get it past the judges,” Master Travis said.  “They might well be pleased if the potion had a practical use.  But you would have to make it work first.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.  I had no illusions about how difficult that could be.  “If I have a year to work on it ... I can do it.”

Master Travis grinned.  It made him look years younger.  “There are Potion Masters who have been trying to get some of the more tantalising recipes to work for longer than you’ve been alive,” he said.  “Old Master Hubbard was obsessed with an invulnerability potion that he swore would change the world.  He spent years trying to figure out how to turn the recipe in the old books into something he could actually brew.  And you know what?”

I took a guess.  “He’s still trying to do it?”

“He tried until the day of his death,” Master Travis said.  He shook his head.  “Poor man.”

“Your Master?”  I couldn’t help asking.  “The one who taught you?”

“No,” Master Travis said.  “He was a renowned theorist in his day, back when I was a little boy.  His books were required reading at school.  And then he became obsessed and his writings dwindled away to nothing.  For nothing!  I don’t think he made any real breakthroughs - any new breakthroughs - before his death.”

He looked at me for a long moment.  “Rebecca ... I would be happy to take you on as an apprentice,” he said.  I felt my heart leap.  “I can take whoever I like as an apprentice, so your lack of formal qualifications isn’t a problem.  We can hire another girl once we have Reginald’s payment, someone who can take over most of your duties.  But you will have to work very hard to catch up with your fellow students.  You will need to master seven years of study in less than four.”

“I can do it,” I assured him.  I’d stay awake half the night if I had to.  “I can learn.”

“You don’t have the background or the experience to know how hard it will be,” Master Travis said, bluntly.  “And once you get started, you will be surprised by just how much work you will have to do.  It will not be easy.”

“Yes, Master.”

Master Travis cocked his head.  “Once the project is completed and we are paid, we can perform the formal apprenticeship rites,” he said, firmly.  “And find a new girl to run the shop.  You’ll have to teach her, of course.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Now, go to bed,” Master Travis said.  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I stood.  “Thank you, Master,” I said.  I felt happier than I had in years.  I wanted to dance and sing.  But it was late.  I needed to go to bed.  “I won’t let you down.”
Chapter Nine

“You’re awfully cheerful today,” Clive said, as he offered me the broadsheets.  “Is something wrong?”

I grinned at him.  I was in too good a mood to let him get to me.  “Master Travis has offered me an apprenticeship.” I couldn’t resist the chance to boast a little.  “I’m going to be a Potions Mistress.”

Clive looked downcast, just for a second.  I didn’t really blame him.  He could marry a shopgirl, but not a Potions Mistress.  I would have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t been so annoying.  He might have thought he was doing me a favour, when he offered to marry me, but it wasn’t anything of the sort.  I resisted the urge to rub salt in the wound even further.  I wasn’t a Potions Mistress yet.

“That’s good,” Clive said, finally.  “You’ll be able to brew potions for me.”

“Maybe,” I said.  I had no intention of staying in Water Shallot.  If I had the qualification, it wouldn’t be that hard to get a place in South Shallot.  I would have to work hard to pay off the mortgage, but I wasn’t scared of that.  I’d worked hard ever since I’d been old enough to help my mother wash the windows and scrub the floor.  “It depends on the future.”

Clive nodded, shortly.  “Still no letters from up north,” he said, lowering his voice.  “Is he still in a bad mood?”

“I don’t know,” I said.  Master Travis must have gone to bed at some point - at least, I hoped he’d gone to bed at some point - but he’d been up and in his workshop before I’d managed to get out of bed.  I’d made him breakfast and left it in the preservation chamber.  “He’s very busy at the moment.”

“I won’t hang around,” Clive said.  “Good luck if he is in a bad mood.”

He hurried out the door.  I rolled my eyes at his back and turned my attention to my work.  The morning customers had bought us out of a dozen different potions and someone was going to have to brew more in the evening.  I silently planned out the rest of the day, realising there would be no time to meet Ginny for coffee in the evening.  I’d be too busy replenishing our stockpiles.  I cursed Reginald under my breath as I listed the ingredients I’d need.  We were going to be telling some of our longest-serving customers that we couldn’t meet their needs.  There was no helping it.  I couldn’t brew and mind the store.

I felt the wards shimmer in discontent, a moment before the door opened.  I looked up and saw Reginald entering the shop, followed by two young men in aristocratic dress.  They both wore fine clothes, but neither of them was wearing livery.  Their eyes flickered from side to side, nervously, as the door closed behind them.  I hesitated, then came around the counter to drop a curtsey.  Reginald alone was dangerous.  The two men with him ... I didn’t know them.  But they held themselves like aristocrats.

“Rebecca,” Reginald said.  He held one hand in his pocket.  The wards shimmered again.  “I trust Master Travis is upstairs?”

“He is,” I confirmed, reluctantly.  I had never felt the wards react like that before.  It worried me.  “What can I do for you?”

Reginald drew his hand out of his pocket.  I had a second to recognise the spellcaster before he pointed it at me and snapped a single word.  My entire body locked up.  I couldn’t move!  I wanted to scream, but even that was denied me.  Reginald stepped forward, studying my frozen body with a dispassionate stare that worried me more than Clive’s sidelong glances, then shrugged.  Behind him, one of his cronies switched the sign in the door from OPEN to CLOSED.  

“Just stay there for a moment,” Reginald said.  His other crony laughed, as if Reginald had cracked the funniest joke in the world.  “I’ll get back to you soon enough.”

I struggled, but the spell held me tightly.  Panic yammered at the back of my mind as I realised I wasn’t breathing, although I didn’t seem to be in any danger of suffocation.  I tried to cast a counterspell, but it was impossible.  My magic wasn’t strong enough to cancel Reginald’s spell.  He’d used a spellcaster ... my mind raced.  What did that mean?  Did he have no power of his own?  Or was he trying to conserve his power?  Spellcasters were rare in Water Shallot.  It dawned on me, slowly, that he might have frozen me without triggering the wards and alerting Master Travis.  If he’d managed to slip something past our wards ...

The three men walked around me, out of eyeshot.  They knew where they were going, I realised numbly.  They didn’t waste time looting the shelves or trying to break into the cash drawer.  Instead, I heard them walking up the stairs.  I hoped - I prayed desperately to my unknown ancestors - that Master Travis had sensed them coming.  Reginald was probably a strong magician, but Master Travis was in his place of power.  He’d woven the wards into the warp and weft of the building itself.  It would take a very strong magician to dare challenge Master Travis on his home ground.

I reached out, desperately, for the wards.  But they didn’t come to me.  Reginald’s spell seemed to have blocked my magic as well as everything else.  I could still feel the wards, right at the edge of my awareness, but I was cut off from them.  No matter how hard I struggled, I couldn’t break free.  I couldn’t even send a warning.  Master Travis might be taken by surprise.

A thud echoed through the building.  I hoped Master Travis had stunned one or all of them.  It wouldn’t be easy to explain three dead aristocratic bodies, but we could do it.  Or merely dump the bodies in the canal and leave the City Guard to round up the usual suspects.  Or ... my mind raced, desperately.  What was happening up there?  I wanted to run and help my master, but I couldn’t move a muscle.  Reginald had frozen me good and proper.

He wants to steal from us, I thought.  It was the only explanation that made sense.  Master Travis wasn’t going to deny Reginald the fruits of his project, was he?  But Reginald had promised Master Travis a great deal of money.  Perhaps Reginald thought he could take the finished potion without paying, then leave the shop in ruins.  Our bodies might never be found.  But the potion isn’t ready yet ...

I cursed, mentally, as I redoubled my struggles to escape.  Reginald was going to be very disappointed, then angry.  He’d shown his hand, for nothing.  What would he do when he found out there was nothing to steal?  I doubted that Master Travis and I would enjoy Reginald’s anger.  It wasn’t as if Master Travis was going to brew the potion for him after Reginald had tried to rob the store.

I need to get out of here, I thought, as I heard another thud from the floor above.  My heart sank as I realised that Reginald and his goons were ransacking the workrooms.  They had to have knocked Master Travis out - I refused to consider that he might be dead - and started their search.  They hadn’t found the ironhold yet, but it was just a matter of time.  The charms hiding the door wouldn’t stand up to a careful search.  If Master Travis is injured ...

My mind ran in circles as the banging sound grew louder.  I heard something crashing down the stairs ... a book, perhaps.  What could we do?  The sign on the door said CLOSED.  No one was going to risk entering a magic shop without permission.  Even a simple apothecary had powerful protections to punish intruders.  And the charms on the window would keep passers-by from looking in.  I hoped, desperately, that someone would try to open the door, even though I knew it was unlikely.  We were alone.

The necklace grew warm, just for a second.  My body quivered - I felt uncomfortably warm, as if I’d stepped into a sauna - and collapsed.  I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming as I hit the stone floor.  My muscles ached, as if I’d been standing still for hours.  Pins and needles stabbed my body.  It was all I could do to force myself to stand up.  I wanted to stay on the floor until the sensation finally vanished.  But I knew I didn’t have time.

I looked at the stairwell and gritted my teeth.  A textbook, one of my textbooks, lay at the bottom of the stairs.  It had been in the garret ... I cringed as I realised Reginald and his friends were tearing apart my room.  They were going to be very disappointed, I thought savagely.  There was nothing in there but clothes and my small collection of books.  I didn’t think that any of them were rare, let alone unique.  Reginald could probably buy a dozen copies of each volume out of pocket change.

The wards flickered, suddenly.  I felt them brush against my magic, bearing down on me for a long moment before fading away.  The magical protections were starting to go haywire.  I swallowed, hard, as I realised what it meant.  Master Travis was dead.  He had to be dead.  The wards wouldn’t react so badly if he was merely stunned.  And they weren’t falling on me ... he’d keyed me into the wards, but he hadn’t designated me his heir.  I turned and hurried to the counter as the wards flared again.  If I was lucky, they’d go after Reginald and his goons first.

They’ll be coming down in a hurry, I thought, numbly.  I hadn’t even been born when Master Travis had set up the wards.  There was a good chance that whoever inherited the shop would have to hire a qualified wardsmith to dismantle whatever was left of Master Travis’s protections before he could move in.  Unless they’re already dead.

I yanked open the cash drawer without thinking - thankfully, the wards protecting the money were of a more recent vintage - and tipped the coins into a moneybag as quickly as I could.  It wasn’t much, but there was no time to go upstairs to the concealed safe.  The sounds from the floor above were growing louder, despite the wards lashing out in all directions.  Reginald was either brave or foolish enough to continue the search even though the wards might turn on him at any moment.  I tried to reach out to them, but my connection was gone.  The wards didn’t recognise me any longer.  Master Travis was definitely dead.

There was no time to mourn.  I grabbed a handful of ingredients and potion vials - some of them would be worth a great deal of money, if I sold them to the right people - and hurried to the door.  The wards lashed out at me, trying to trap me in the shop; I gritted my teeth, then forced the door open.  Something howled in my mind, an instant before the door unwillingly crashed open to allow me to escape.  A second later, the wards snapped out of existence completely.  I heard the sound of falling masonry as I fled onto the street.

That will surprise the bastards, I thought, bitterly.  Master Travis had used the wards to prop up the rickety building.  I wouldn’t be too surprised if the roof started to cave in as soon as the wards collapsed.  The floors weren’t too secure either.  They might find themselves trapped in the rubble.

It was quiet on the streets, but a handful of people stared at me as I ran out of the shop.  Everyone within a block or two would have felt the wards going haywire.  They knew me - they knew I wasn’t a thief - but I didn’t want to answer questions.  I had no idea what I’d say.  I forced myself to keep moving, crossing the road as I heard more banging and crashing from behind me.  I needed a chance to sit down and think.  I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get it.

“Fire,” someone shouted.  “Fire!”

I reached the other side of the road and turned.  The apothecary was on fire.  Flames were already licking the upper floor windows.  My heart plummeted.  Reginald and his goons must have set the fire.  I couldn’t think of any other explanation.  They’d found whatever they wanted to find - perhaps - and now they were trying to hide the evidence.  And then ...

My heart ran cold.  The ironhold.  If the flames reached the ironhold, the entire block would go up in a single massive fireball.  The Dragon Scales alone would be more than enough to knock down the building.  Their explosion would set off every other ingredient in the ironhold.  I hoped the wards were still in place, although I doubted they were strong enough to contain the explosion if everything went off at once.  Master Travis had designed them to redirect an explosion upwards, where the other wards could help dampen it, but the other wards were gone.  The more I thought about it, the less I wanted to be anywhere near the apothecary when the flames reached the ironhold.

The door crashed open, again.  Three dark figures ran out, their cloaks pulled tight to conceal their identities.  I opened my mouth to shout a warning, then closed it again as Reginald and his friends ran down the street at terrifying speed.  No one tried to stop them.  They were too busy watching the flames or organising bucket brigades.  A handful of young men were already bringing buckets from the nearest canal, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough.  The ingredients in the ironhold would defy any attempt to quench the blaze.

I waved desperately at the man who had assumed command - I knew him, vaguely - but it was already too late.  A thunderous roar echoed through the air as the building collapsed, dragging down the two neighbouring buildings with it.  I hoped the inhabitants had had a chance to run as the rubble crashed down, destroying the evidence beyond all hope of recovery.  The ironhold was either sealed or ...

The building exploded into a colossal fireball.  I turned and fled, running for my life as pieces of debris crashed down all over the street.  I heard people screaming behind me - I saw burning embers fly through the air - but I didn’t dare stop.  The ground shook below my feet.  I remembered, suddenly, the maze of underground tunnels, water pipes and warehouses below Water Shallot.  The explosion might have done far more than merely knock down a few buildings.  I couldn’t even begin to imagine just how much damage Reginald had caused.

I caught sight of a cluster of city guardsmen hurrying towards the apothecary and felt my heart sink.  I was going to be blamed.  Reginald and his family had more than enough clout to make sure I was blamed.  I was just a half-caste shopgirl.  No one would believe me if I told them Reginald and his goons had started the fire.  I’d be lucky if they merely enslaved me for the rest of my life.  I couldn’t let them take me alive.

My heart was pounding in my chest as I turned and walked away, not daring to run for fear it would catch their attention.  The City Guard had a nasty reputation for arresting people first and asking questions later, when they bothered to ask questions at all.  And when they realised what sort of ingredients had exploded and taken out a handful of shops, they’d hand the case over to the Kingsmen. I didn’t think the Kingsmen were any more likely to listen to me.  The evidence had been destroyed in the blast.  It would be my word against Reginald’s and no one would listen to me.

I stumbled as I reached the bridge across the canal, then sat on one of the hard wooden benches by the towpath.  My body ached, as if I’d aged fifty years in less than a day.  I rubbed at my arms and legs, trying to make them feel better.  It didn’t work, not at first.  I had to rub for several minutes before the uncomfortable sensation started to fade away.  And I had the feeling it would be hours before it was completely gone.

A barge was making its slow way down to the docks, towed by a pair of oxen; I considered, just for a second, jumping onto the barge in the hopes it would take me away from the apothecary.  But there was no point.  Even if the sailors didn’t catch me, it wouldn’t get me out of Water Shallot.  The only way to leave the island was to cross into North or South Shallot and that meant passing the guardsmen on the bridges.  I was far too recognisable for them to miss me.  My slanted eyes alone would draw their attention like flies to honey.  

They’ll be stopping all the half-caste girls, I thought, as the barge vanished into one of the canal tunnels.  And if they catch me, they won’t let me go.

I tried to think, but nothing came to mind.  I had nothing, save for a bag of copper and silver coins.  I had nowhere to go.  I had no hope of finding help.  No one was going to risk helping me, not if the City Guard had already ordered my arrest.  My friends were probably already being interrogated.  Ginny and the others were probably already regretting ever having set eyes on me.

And then it hit me.  Master Travis was dead.