Fallen Magic

Beth pressed her hand in just the right place on the table to put out the enchanted fire beneath the glass bowl she was using as a smaller cauldron. The purplish-brown liquid in the bowl was still bubbling from the heat, but it would cool quickly.

It had taken her a while to come up with any sort of idea and a while longer to find what she needed in the ordered chaos of the lab, but she’d made it work: a simple modification of the recipe for a brew that would chase away tiredness and give the drinker the energy to keep working. It wouldn’t change the effectiveness of the mixture, if she had it right, but the brewing took less time and the taste would be sweeter.

She was feeling a little tired herself, now she thought of it; she yawned and stretched her arms. As she looked up she noticed that Isabelle had moved to sitting on another table just in front of her, and she wasn’t alone.

Beside her, leaning back against the metal, was a boy about their age, or possibly a little younger; he was short and skinny, with curly brown hair that made Beth wonder what it would be like to run her hands through it – she almost jerked her gaze away at that thought – and dressed in plain white clothes that didn’t quite fit him, his shirt untucked.

He was watching her, but looked away when he saw that she’d noticed him and poked Isabelle’s hand.

“You’re done, then,” said Isabelle, her own eyes fixed on the glass bowl.

“Yes. Who’s your… “ she fumbled for the right word. “Assistant?”

“This is Jack,” said Isabelle. “Jack, my apprentice, Beth.”

“Pleased to meetcha,” said Jack. She couldn’t quite place his accent. Somewhere down south, out in the country, at a guess.

“Is he?” Beth asked. “Your assistant?”

“Sort of.”

“Jack is my test subject,” Isabelle explained.

“Test subject?” repeated Beth.

“Well, someone has to check if these things we make actually work.”

When Isabelle put it like that, it sounded so logical. They’d never been allowed to test anything on humans in class, though. When one of the boys had asked, Mr Gordeau had replied that he didn’t need any incidents of poisoning in his class.

“Isn’t that… dangerous?”

Something flashed across Jack’s face, faster than Beth could read, and then he said “Only if Isabelle makes a mistake.”

“And I,” said Isabelle, “do not make mistakes.”

“So you trust Isabelle,” Beth said after a moment. “But do you trust me?”

Jack met her eyes and stared at her in silent challenge. “Do you trust yourself?”

She hesitated. This felt like a test, or a trap, but she couldn’t tell what the right answer was. Say no, and it proved she didn’t believe in her own abilities and didn’t think she had what it took to become a Master of Alchemy; say yes, and it proved she was a reckless fool who was prepared to put someone’s life at risk out of a misguided desire to prove herself.

“Isabelle,” she asked, “do you think I made a mistake?”

“You didn’t while I was watching,” Isabelle replied. “Your brew looks how I would expect a successful brew to look. But some flaws can be near-impossible to see, and I was only in the room for half of the time you were working.”

So no getting out of the trap that way. Forget that, then; she should just answer honestly. It wasn’t a complicated recipe, and there were only a couple of steps that differed from the established one, neither of which should introduce any toxins. But that was assuming she had executed it correctly… Gordeau had only occasionally found cause to complain of her work.

She was reasonably sure she hadn’t made a mistake. Sure enough to stake a life on it? She opened her mouth to say yes, imagined the consequences if she was wrong, and shut it again.

“If it would put you more at ease,” said Isabelle, “I can prepare antidotes to the three most likely toxins you could have accidentally created. It won’t take long; two of them are common enough I have pre-prepared antidotes and the third is simple enough to brew.”

Beth nodded. “That would help. Yes. Thank you.”

Isabelle jumped down from her perch, humming a tune to herself, and began fetching bottles and jars from the shelves on the walls. She didn’t seem to be paying attention to the labels or even looking along the shelves to find the ones she needed.

“Don’t try to talk to her for a while,” Jack advised. “It’s a kind of trance she has when she’s working. You do it too,” he added.

“I – do I?”

“You didn’t notice Isabelle leaving for ten minutes, or coming back with me.”

“No,” said Beth thoughtfully, “I didn’t. You know Isabelle well, then?”

He shrugged. “As well as anyone not in the Guild. I’ve been working here three months, same as her.”

“She’s – “ in the Alchemists’ Guild, then? Beth stopped herself from asking that, because it was a stupid question: only the Alchemists’ Guild could certify that someone was a Master.

Isabelle had found the ingredients she needed and was unscrewing the first jar.

There was a moment’s silence before Jack asked “So how’d you come to be here?”

Beth sketched out her story again for him.

“The Guild’s too secretive, if you ask me,” he observed. “People should at least know how to contact them without being an alchemist themselves. Try telling Isabelle that, though. She worships the ground it’s built on. Alchemy isn’t a job for her, it’s her entire life.”

“What about you?” Beth asked. “How did you end up here?”

Jack shrugged. “It’s a job, isn’t it? Three meals a day, a roof over my head. Isabelle isn’t a bad person to work for.”

It wasn’t hard to fill in the gaps in that brief story. Beth knew how poor people were in some of the old farming villages, now that magic was turning what had once been a day’s work for a family into an hour’s casting for a magician. She supposed that maybe this was a better existence than scraping to find enough to feed yourself.

The silence that fell between them wasn’t an awkward one. Beth was hypnotised by the sight of Isabelle working, how smoothly she moved and how precisely she diced roots and measured out powders. She had a habit of tapping her foot against the floor to measure out time. It was graceful, almost like a dance.

“Am I really like that?” Beth asked.

“Well, not exactly the same, but… I’m not an alchemist, I don’t really know what it’s like. I’m just watching from the outside. But to me? It seems like nothing matters to her except what she’s making. That’s what’s the same.”

Reading between the lines: she wasn’t the same fluid, graceful dancer as Isabelle. That was about what she had expected. Graceful was one word you could never have used to describe Beth.

“She says you’re good,” Jack said suddenly.

“Good at alchemy? I barely did anything more than what I’ve been taught.”

“You’d have to ask her for the details, but she seems to think that you could become an excellent alchemist with the right training.” He hesitates. “She’s worried about that. She’s never taught anyone before.”

Beth nodded. So she wasn’t the only one feeling as if she’d been left in a maze at night without a torch. Isabelle did a much better job of hiding it than she did, though.

“My brew has probably cooled by now,” she said. “I should distil it.” She glanced around for the right vessel and found a glass bottle of a capacity about the same as the bowl she’d been working with. Isabelle had removed the cooling liquid from the fire to heat her own mixture, which was currently a bright green, and set the bowl to one side.

It was easy to find a funnel and use it to pour the mixture from bowl to bottle without spilling a single drop. The liquid was a little thicker than water, but not so thick it would need to be diluted. A little of it clung to the edge of the bowl; she made a note to ask Isabelle about how they were meant to dispose of alchemical waste.

“Well,” said Isabelle suddenly, “that’s ready, then.” She’d decanted a small vial of antidote, now a much paler shade of green, from her own metal bowl and fetched two other glass bottles.

No excuses now, then. Beth fetched a shot-glass and poured a dose of her brew into it. She held it out to Jack. “Enjoy,” she said.

He took it, tilted back his head and downed it in one gulp.

“Cooking isn’t all that different from alchemy, if you think about it in the right way,” said Isabelle. She was certainly talented at both, at least if this stew was anything to go by. “And I’d far rather this than whatever the barracks’ cook comes up with. I have heard interesting stories about army food.”

“The captain said we weren’t supposed to fraternise with the soldiers, though,” Beth pointed out.

Isabelle laughed a little. “There are rules and there are rules,” she said. “The former can be bent a little on occasion. You’ll have to get used to my doing that.”

“What’s the difference?” Beth asked.

“Rules are things Isabelle doesn’t want to follow,” Jack said flatly, “and rules are things she does.” He ladled another spoonful of stew onto his plate. He’d eaten nearly as much as Isabelle and Beth put together already.

Isabelle didn’t seem angry with that assessment. In fact she laughed a little and said “Something like that.”

“So what are the – “ Beth began, but she was interrupted by a loud knocking. Not at the door to the sitting room in which they sat, but at the main door to the building.

“I’ll get it,” said Isabelle, getting to her feet. “Jack – “

He was ahead of her, still holding his bowl of stew as he practically sprinted to the door while she followed at a more sedate pace.

Beth narrowed her eyes as she watched them go. They’d both been perfectly friendly to her, congratulating her on the successful test of her brew and being encouraging about her prospects of becoming a proper alchemist, but she couldn’t shake the feeling there was something she was missing, that she wasn’t really one of them.

It was hardly her first time on the outside looking in, though. She could make it work.

She heard voices outside: Isabelle sounding cheery and enthusiastic, a soldier speaking in clipped monosyllables. Then footsteps, and Isabelle poking her head back around the door.

“It’s for you, Beth,” she said. “The Administration Department would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

“I’ll just finish eating – “

“And in their language, ‘at your earliest convenience’ means ‘right now, however inconvenient it is’. So I suggest you don’t keep them waiting.”

Beth sighed, set down her fork and marched over to the front door.

The soldier there was young and familiar from somewhere. He was, Beth realised a second later, one of those who’d met her carriage when she’d arrived only a few hours ago. Not the one who’d carried her trunk.

“Miss Quint,” he said, nodding to her.

“I’m sorry,” Beth admitted, “I don’t remember your name.”

“Renard,” he replied. “Shall we go?”

It was strange, being escorted through the compound. It was a little like how she imagined walking out with a gentleman would be, if her family were rich enough and she interesting enough for a gentleman to walk out with her. But it was also completely different, because Renard marched as if he were alone, keeping half a step in front of her and not even turning to look at her.

They walked back towards the compound entrance for a little while and then turned right and stopped at a building different from the others Beth had seen: it had two stories, and was painted a dark grey which seemed in remarkably good condition. Another soldier stood guard outside it; he and Renard saluted each other at precisely the same moment, and then Renard turned and marched away.

“Miss Quint,” said the new soldier. “Please follow me.” He opened the door and led her inside and up the stairs to a narrow hallway carpeted in pale grey. Half a dozen doors opened onto it, and she was directed to the second on the right. “Do make yourself comfortable,” the soldier said. “Mrs Marling will see you shortly.”

It wasn’t the sort of room you could make yourself comfortable in, Beth noted sourly as she shut the door behind her. There was no natural light, and the artificial light was barely brighter than in her carriage. The only seating was a pair of hard wooden chairs in the centre of the room, facing the door opposite. Beth sat down, thinking longingly of her half-eaten stew. So she could be summoned from her meal instantly, and yet this Mrs Marling felt entitled to make her wait?

Her mood didn’t improve over the few minutes it took before a young woman in grey opened the door and invited her in.

The next room was a small office, without affectations except for a large black filing cabinet and a desk of expensive-looking wood.

“Thank you, Angela,” said the woman sitting at it. “See yourself out. Miss Quint, do sit down.” This must be Mrs Marling, then. She was about fifty at a guess, wrinkles beginning to form on her face and curly brown hair flecked with grey; she wore a frilly white blouse and rimless spectacles.

Beth sat down in the chair indicated, which was at least nicer than the ones in the waiting room, and tried to pretend she wanted to be there.

“I’m Maria Marling,” the woman said, “director of alchemy. That doesn’t mean I’m an alchemist, just that I’m the one assigned to make sure your master has everything she needs to work productively. I trust you’re settling in well?”

“I – yes, Mrs Marling. Thank you.” She could do this. Just be polite and keep her answers short and it would soon be over.

“And how have you found Miss Froment? Your master, Isabelle,” she added on seeing Beth’s blank look.

“She’s… nice. I think there’s a lot she can teach me.”

“Have your lessons started already?”

“Yes. Sort of. She had me experimenting.” Mrs Marling didn’t immediately reply, so Beth felt compelled to continue “I think she wanted to get an idea of what I already know.”

“Was she impressed?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t say, really. Jack seemed to think she was, though.”

“Who’s Jack?” Mrs Marling asked mildly.

“Her test subject.”

“I… see.” Beth had the sudden sense that she’d said something wrong, though she wasn’t quite sure what it was. “A word of advice, if I may?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t bother getting too close to your subjects. This is a military research laboratory. Miss Froment’s assignment – and yours, now – is to create weapons.” She paused and smiled a little. “Deadly weapons.”