The Gorgon's Blood Solution (2 page)

“Where have you been?” Phillippe asked discreetly, without looking up from his activity, as he measured out some finely ground ingredient.  “You’re late again, you know.”

“Only a minute late,” Marco said casually.  He didn’t feel compelled to answer to Phillippe, who had only limited authority over him.   The two were not close, but they were not antagonists either; they simply saw the world differently.  Phillippe was old enough – and far enough along in his apprenticeship – that he tended to look at things from the perspective of a shopowner, perhaps trying out the role that he hoped to someday fill in his own dreamed-of shop.  The senior apprentice also seemed to feel some degree of real affection for Master Algornia, and spoke up on behalf of his master from time to time.

Marco certainly held no dislike for Algornia, nor for Phillippe.  They were both fair to him, and though he didn’t think he was learning the real secrets and interesting alchemical formulas fast enough, he couldn’t really complain.  He was asked to work and produce a lot, but he knew apprentices in other businesses who had conditions much worse than his.  And Algornia did have a pretty grand-daughter who came to the shop often, though she was not easy to talk to - someone Marco could daydream he would run into on the Bridge of Kisses someday if she smoothed out the abrasive edges of her personality.

Both apprentices focused on their tasks.  Marco counted out the legs, then used the mortar and pestle to grind the fine gray powder, which he set aside in a small bowl, and covered with a cloth.  Counting the legs had been time-consuming, as he had expected, so it was nearly an hour later when he covered the result of his work and went back to the front of the shop to find Algornia and get direction on what to do next.  He knew he was going to be told to fix a batch of fulminating silver, then fix sugar of lead, then carefully mix those ingredients with the centipede powder, quicksilver, and creeping vine leaves to create the breeze powder.  It would take him until well after nightfall, so he knew he was going to miss the precious hours before sunset when so many of his friends usually gathered in St. Andrian’s square to gossip and frolic and show off for any girls in the vicinity.

“Master, I’ve finished my task.  Am I done for the day?” he asked in a carefully rehearsed voice, while his eyes had a look of contrived innocence, an expression that had no impact on the wise Algornia at all.

“If I were not such a gentle, kind, and loving master, I would smack you on the back of the head,” Algornia answered, not even turning to face Marco as he stooped over a case full of lapis lazuli, silvergrains of luna, and other rare elements.  He rose up and locked the case shut, then turned to look at Marco.

“There’s something I need done.  God forbid that I might have to let it lie in your hands,” he muttered.  “Let’s go see Phillippe,” the master ordered, and proceeded to lead the curious Marco back into the work room.

The senior apprentice did not look up from his delicate work, even as he noted the two shadows that stood behind him for several seconds.  “Hmm?” he murmured.

“Phillippe, I just received an urgent order for a love philter that is needed tomorrow for dinner.  Can you complete it for me tomorrow morning?” Algornia asked.

Phillippe continued to stare down at his table top for a few seconds more, then it was evident that the question had penetrated his attention.  He placed a finger on top of a vial as a place-keeper to remind him of where he had interrupted his activity, and looked up as he partially spun around to face his two visitors.

“Another philter?  By tomorrow?” he tried to clarify and focus as Algornia nodded patiently.  “I,” he paused, “I have five more steps on this philter for Gracious Viadellia.”  He stopped and considered.  “No,” he said after a quick pause, “I won’t have time to finish this and start another, and I can’t really stop this one right now, since I’ve started the third phase.  Can you do it master?”

“I unfortunately have a commitment at the palace at midnight that is going to prevent me from taking on the chore,” Algornia answered.  “And I forgot we had the contract to serve Viadellia,” he admitted.  His eyes shifted from staring at a spot on the wall to looking at Marco.  The master gave a sigh.

“Marco, there’s a way we can make this work, but you are going to have to do your very best – better than I’ve seen you do so far,” he told Marco, his eyes drilling into Marco’s as he reached his conclusion.  “Are you ready to start to become a real alchemist?”

“Yes master,” Marco answered with a combination of excitement and fear.  He felt a strange thrill of unexpected confidence run through his soul; he knew he could do it.

“Clean up your table top and put away all these things, then come see me,” Algornia ordered.  “I’ll go try to prepare a few things.  Carry on with your work, Phillippe,” the alchemist told the two apprentices, then he turned and walked out of the bright space and headed back to the cool, dim interior of his shop.

“I’m going to do a philter!” Marco blurted out excitedly.  “I didn’t think I’d do one of those for another year.”

“You’re not ready,” Phillippe said flatly, as he turned and bent over his work space, his finger rising from the ingredient he needed to attend to next.  “Don’t mess it up,” he added without looking over at Marco.

Marco hardly heard the comments at all, as his excitement threw him into a frenzy of whirling thoughts.  He sat back down on his stool and stared blankly at his table top, then began to carefully put away the empty containers and the waste and the processed results of his last hour’s labors.  Five minutes later he stood up from his stool and his uncluttered work space, and hurriedly walked past the silent Phillippe to go begin his introduction into the world of higher knowledge-based alchemy.

Chapter 2 – The First Love Philter

Marco found Algornia carefully measuring out a sparkling, coarse dark powder into one of four small ceramic bowls that were lined up on the counter where Algornia usually talked business details with customers.  The wooden board that usually hung outside the door to denote the shop was open was inside, and the room was even dimmer than usual because the shutters had been closed to prevent anyone from looking in through the windows.  The result was a dark, cool room where the fragrances of the various chemicals and supplies created a pungency that delivered an immediate impact on the senses of one who entered the room.

Marco didn’t even notice the room’s odor as he watched with fascination while Algornia meticulously leveled off the contents of the small bowl, then re-stoppered the beaker the powder had come from.

“Here, carry these to your work table and wait for me,” Algornia commanded.  “And don’t spill a speck of any of them, or the formula will suffer, and the cost will come out of your allowance,” he said sternly.

Marco stood hesitantly for a moment, considered how to pick up and carry the four bowls with the least chance of trouble.

“Make two trips if you have to,” Algornia spoke helpfully, and Marco bent to pick up two of the bowls, relieved to have the suggestion.  He carefully shuffled his feet as he carried the two bowls to his table, then stepped around Phillippe and hurried back to the front room.   He fleetingly thought about how often he had ignored the opportunity to observe Phillippe produce a love philter, and he resolved to watch more in the future.

“Here,” Algornia motioned to the other two bowls, as he finished filling one with corrosive sublimate, a substance Marco had learned to make during the previous fall.  It was a smelly and tedious process of production.

“Isn’t that poisonous for human consumption?” Marco carefully asked as he watched Algornia close the small wooden keg.

“Yes it is,” the master agreed.

“Is it safe to mix into a philter then?” Marco asked.

“Absolutely not!” Algornia exclaimed.  “Surely you know that by now, after a year and a half of work here.”

“I do,” Marco agreed, subdued and confused by the mismatch of words and deeds.  Why would Algornia be preparing the poison for the philter if he thought it was inappropriate?

“We’ll use the sublimate to purify the sal petrea so that we can refine the philter at the end of the process.  You knew that already, didn’t you?” Algornia asked.

Marco ducked his head and picked up the bowls without answering, wishing to avoid revealing his ignorance – though the words did resonate strongly for some reason – then carried the bowls back to his table.  As he sat them down he saw that Algornia had followed closely behind him.

“Here,” the master said, “go bring these items back to your table,” he handed a list of ingredients written on paper.  “I’ll go take care of a matter and meet you back here soon.”

Marco looked down at the nearly dozen elements that he had been assigned to gather, then looked over at Phillippe, who obliviously continued to focus on his own delicate work.

Marco suddenly felt a momentary flicker of doubt that he could manage to remain so focused for so long on the specific steps that the other apprentice seemed to so meticulously carry out.  Counting centipede legs wasn’t something that required a lot of focus, compared to the way that Phillippe seemed to strenuously examine every move he made.

Algornia was gone, Marco realized with a start, and that spurred him to pass back through the work room to the warehouse behind it, where countless common alchemical items were stored on the series of shelves that filled the room.  Most of the items on the list were materials that Marco had never used before, and he realized that he was going to have to take time to possibly look at every shelf, even the high ones that the ladders were a necessity to reach.

He knew where the philosopher’s wool was, so he gathered that and carried it to his table, then returned to the warehouse and began to search for the rest of his ingredients.  Evening began to fall, and he needed to use a lantern to light his way for the last three items, but he felt relieved when he found them after sunset, and returned to his table to find Algornia present and Phillippe temporarily gone.

“Right now, let’s get started,” Algornia said promptly.

“What about dinner, master?” Marco asked, reflecting on the rumbling that he had felt in his stomach for the prior half hour.

“We’ll have time for that later, when the first reactive phase is underway.  In the meantime, you need to listen to instructions on what to do,” Algornia told him in a tone that clearly brooked no debate.  “Here is the first thing to do,” the master told him, and he picked up a small tin box that Marco had retrieved from the warehouse, which he placed on the floor far to the left of Marco’s desk.  He proceeded to take every subsequent ingredient that needed to be used, and lined them up in the order of the steps that Marco would follow, as the apprentice began to furiously scribble notes while he slowly edged along the long chain of activities.

“Now, get the first steps underway,” Algornia commanded.  “Then you can go upstairs and ask Flavia,” he referred to his crotchety housekeeper, “to fix a bite of supper for you before you come down and move the preliminary steps forward.  I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Forty five lonely minutes later Marco was busy.  Algornia was gone, Phillippe had not returned, and three processes were underway to transform Marco’s collection of materials into the more complex materials he would need to have to make the philter that was the ultimate goal.  Marco though, found that his notes seemed to miss some information about some of the steps that he needed to take, steps that must have seemed obvious at the time Algornia was describing them, but that seemed less evident as he advanced through his process.

He decided to stop and go upstairs, where Flavia silently gave him a spiceless, tasteless bowl of stew, and then he returned to resume his efforts to create the building blocks of the love philter that he needed to mix together.

There were some things his notes made clear needed to be done, so he put some steps on hold and moved on to the things he could prepare, but in another hour’s time, long after the time he would have returned to his bedroom if he had been out with his friends in the square, he was out of steps he was willing to carry out, and he sat down to wait for Algornia to return.  He sat and waited, rested his head on his hand, then he closed his eyes and quickly nodded off.

“What’s happening here?” he heard Algornia’s voice ask, and his head snapped up.

“I was waiting for you to give me some advice,” Marco spoke up quickly, hoping he sounded alert.

“My advice is that you become a butcher,” Algornia said unkindly, looking at the numerous incomplete activities that Marco had scattered around the work room.  “Tell me what you have and why.”

Another hour later, after much restructuring, redirection, and a few uttered curses, Algornia left the shop to go to bed, and Marco restarted his efforts, carrying out multiple tasks simultaneously.  By the time the sunrise began to illuminate the square outside the shop, Marco was asleep, satisfied that he had carried out creation of his philter precursors, and would only have a few hours’ work to successfully complete the project the next day.

Alchemy, Algornia insisted and lectured, was about purification.  It was the search for perfection, purity, the heart of goodness; it was about finding the path to salvation within one’s self, the old merchant had even gone so far to say once, in the midst of an exasperated lecture to Marco.  At the end of the path of true alchemical research, which Algornia so truly loved to dabble in, there was the discovery of purity in one’s own heart and soul – so the master had told Marco repeatedly.  A great alchemist would achieve great discoveries, and produce great transmutations, only after he had achieved the greatest task of purifying his own soul.

All such talk was wasted on Marco though.  While he was interested in the prospect of changing lead and other base metals to gold – something he had yet to see any true evidence of, despite the myths that his friends persisted in repeating, that it was possible – he was more interested in simply learning the exciting and mysterious and potentially lucrative formulas that he knew Algornia knew.  He wanted to someday be his own master, and have his own shop with apprentices to do all the work, and to make all the money he dreamed of by selling solutions to the public.  And a part of him did occasionally wander off in a flight of fancy to fantasize about preparing a love philter that he could use to enchant each and every pretty girl who caught his fancy.

Typically, Algornia sighed, usually about ten minutes into each such lecture on the spiritual purity that Marco needed to pursue, then ended the discussion with a muttered, “why do we waste youth on the young and shallow?”  Then he would give Marco a new assignment to do something mundane, tell the boy that someday he would understand or would give up alchemy, and leave the work room to return to the front of the shop.

And so it was that when Marco sleepily awoke the next morning, he didn’t automatically think about the purity of his soul, or examine how profoundly he had considered his formulation, or pray that he could find peace through focusing on perfection in his duties.  All he thought about was working through the rest of the process so that he could give a finished product to Algornia, and then be free to frolic with his friends during the festivities that would take place throughout the city in celebration of St. Resturian’s Day.  Resturian was the patron saint of the city, and the saint of hidden surprises.

He rose from his pallet, then sat on the edge of the padding and tried to focus his attention.  Marco had slept in his assigned pallet in the back of the alchemy shop in order to b
e closer to the love philter.  It had been an unusual experience; he seldom slept on the pallet any longer.  For the past several months he had slept in the hidden room he had discovered and furnished under the pier at the wool merchants’ docks.   The small, windowless cubbyhole must have been used as a temporary storage place at some time in the past, or perhaps had been built for the use of small ships whose decks were below the level of the dock.  But no one seemed to use it or know of its existence, and Marco had happily furnished it with castoffs – a little at a time – so that he now had a tidy little room, a place all of his own.  He enjoyed going to his room in the evenings, after whatever other activity was done, and relaxing, lighting a tiny lantern so that he could relive his adventures from the day by the wavering red glow the battered oil lamp cast around the room.

He knew there were several procedural steps he needed to carry out for the love philter early in the morning, so that he could finish the various intermediate steps he was taking in parallel to produce refined ingredients for the project.  When those steps were finished, he would have the final ingredients he would need to then combine in a precise series of further steps to finish the philter by early afternoon. 

He rose to his feet, then stretched and yawned.  Ten steps took him from his bed to the tables where the various precursors to the love philter were strewn carefully about.  He stood motionless, letting only his eyes rove from dish to beaker to flask to pot, as he took in the array of preparatory activities that had come to a halt just a few hours earlier, and he tried to remember how they would all fit together.  After five minutes he realized he had a good recollection of what to do.  He carefully lit a burner beneath a pot, then set the ingredients in place to heat up.  After that, he mixed two oils and a powder together, then set them aside.  He opened the piece of paper that held the precious strands of Angelica’s hair, and held the hair up in the air, letting the sunlight daintily reflect off the golden gossamer, letting himself admire the hair for long moments as he imagined the girl’s lovely face.  He carefully put the hair down and began to finely chop it into a nearly powder-like consistency, then set the results aside.  He turned off the burner and then began to create a compound with the last batch of the prepared ingredients.

When those tasks were done, he looked up and saw that the sunlight coming through the window had moved far across the room.  He further observed that Phillippe had come into the room and carried away his own prepared materials, moving to another workspace presumably, and had never managed to catch Marco’s attention while doing so.  He couldn’t
believe he had been so focused on his work that he had failed to miss the entrance of Phillippe.  He couldn’t believe that he had failed to notice how hungry he felt.

He had time to eat a hasty brunch, he felt sure.  He’d made good time during his morning work, and only had to now combine his finished components – in a precise pattern – in order to finish the thick liquid potion that would be delivered to Countess Houbertine.

Marco walked towards the back portions of the shop, back past his sleeping pallet, past the dim interior work room where he saw Phillippe’s back hunched over his work bench, and across a narrow, walled yard to where the kitchen and food stores were kept.

He burst into the kitchen, expecting to see Sarah, Master Algornia’s slow-moving cook, a middle-aged enormous woman who prepared splendid meals, and sampled them in an ample manner throughout the day.