Elixir
An alchemist can find far more interesting potions to dose an enemy with than mere poison . . . But can he make a love potion work the way it should?
Carrying an armload of props backstage at the opera is as good as a basket in a marketplace. No one paid a bit of attention to me. Plus I’m short enough to overlook, which is useful for a man like me.
The star tenor was standing impatiently as the costumers made last minute fixes so the curtain could go up. His assistant stood by with the honeyed tea to make his throat ready for the opening aria.
As I went by I popped the lid of the vial held in my fist. My magic turned the contents to mist and wafted them into the teacup. The tenor would spend acts three and four in the privy.
I don't know who wanted him offstage. The understudy? A rival theater? A jealous lover? Gods knew he had enough of the latter. It was all the same to me. I'd gotten the money in advance.
The problem with getting paid is it’s not safe for me to meet the actual client. It’s too easy for the Inquisitors to extract what they know. I have to have trusted intermediaries. Family.
Which was why my young cousin Porth was in my kitchen, sipping my wife’s best tea, and wondering why he’d been invited to visit. What would be important enough to pull him away from opening his new store?
“I know you’re a busy man,” said Porth, “but I hope you’ll be able to supply me with some samples of your alchemical work. Even if they don’t sell they’ll bring people in to contemplate them. I need to attract as much traffic to my store as I can or it won’t last long.”
I slid my tea cup aside to make room for a sample case. Porth gasped as the case flipped open.
“This is Forget,” I said as I pointed to an elixir shedding a gentle white glow. “If someone concentrates on a memory as they drink, it will be lost forever.”
My finger moved to one with gleaming flecks in blue liquid. “This will suppress all pain until two sunsets pass.” Then I described the gold, purple, and black elixirs.
Porth’s mouth worked for a few seconds before he said anything. “Cousin Olo . . . this is too much.”
“Possibly. Guard them well. The ingredients cost more than building your shop.” I pulled the vellum inventory from the lid.
The youngster let out a soft “By Livo” when he saw the numbers.
My wife Amie refilled his tea cup. “Think of the attention they’ll draw,” she counseled.
“I am. I’m also thinking of the interest I’ll owe you.”
I smiled. “I’ll be collecting the interest in services. Alchemy is not my only art.” My hand twisted, making grains of sugar float out of the bowl and dissolve in Porth’s cup.
“So it’s true! You’re the Great Poisoner.”
“Who’s been saying that?” I demanded.
“Ah—just a few in my generation.”
I glared at him but he didn’t offer any names. “Make them stop. No matter how careful they think they’re being they could be overheard. I don’t want my head ending up on a pike.”
“Yes, sir.” Porth’s knuckles were tight on his tea cup. He cast a worried glance at the drink.
“Stop fretting. You’re family.”
“Yes, sir. It’s just—well, you could kill anyone, effortlessly.”
“Don’t talk like I’m some master assassin. I don’t poison people any more. It’s been over a decade since the last time.”
“Oh. So . . . how many have you killed?”
I sighed. Why do they always ask this? I’d tell him to stuff his morbid curiosity, but asking him to be my sales representative requires establishing trust. “Three.”
“Four,” said my wife as she set out some biscuits warm from the oven.
“I’ve only poisoned three, Amie,” I said firmly.
“You still killed that fellow as thoroughly as if you had poisoned him,” she said.
Porth was so fascinated by this he took a sip of his tea without flinching at it.
I cast my eyes up at the ceiling. Nothing helpful was written on the beams. “It was a truth potion. I didn’t know he was about to give a public speech.”
Porth thought on that a moment. “How’d the truth kill him?”
Amie answered him. “The King wants his Prime Minister to keep secrets.”
“Clatheros’ ‘I suppose you’re wondering where the taxes go’ speech? That was you?”
“Yes,” I gritted out.
“Well.” He sipped more tea. “If it’s any comfort I saw his head on its pike. He seemed proud of himself.”
“Of course he did. The potion hadn’t worn off yet.” I drained my cup. It didn’t wash the taste of the confession out of my mouth.
Amie, bless her, diverted us back to business. “When you find clients for him you need to watch for such complications. Avoid the most important people. Rich merchants and lower nobility are the best clients.”
Porth, no fool, understood at once. “Finding clients . . . are all the family’s shops fronts for you?”
“Most. Tuvel and Hamar don’t have enough wit for me to trust them,” I said.
“I see. I’m not sure I have enough. How do I even suggest it to them?”
Amie said, “Encourage your customers to talk about their troubles. Listen for trouble with other people. Then ask if something might help. If a young lady is being forced into a marriage she doesn’t like, wonder if the young lord might have a bout of madness when meeting her parents, or in the ceremony. A business rival might fall ill at a crucial moment. And so on.”
There was a meditative silence.
At last Porth asked, “Are there potions you use that aren’t on the usual list?”
“They’re all on the list,” I said. “But sometimes the side effects are more useful than the normal purpose. The hangover cure makes people see odd colors. Used that on a painter while he was doing a portrait.”
Porth frowned. “Why?”
“I don’t know. ‘Why’ is your job. I just want to know who and what and when. Where and how I’ll figure out on my own.”
“Which of us is responsible for ‘how much’?”
Now we were talking business.
My next business conversation was a week later. Uncle Bekar ran the magic materials shop in the Palace District. He’d brought me some of my most profitable assignments. He’d been passing up opportunities. The Inquisitors sometimes sent proxies to fish for criminals. The family didn’t need money enough to take that risk.
I led Bekar into my study. Amie left a teapot on my desk and closed the door behind her. What she didn’t hear she couldn’t be forced to reveal in court.
Bekar studied the bookshelves. He wasn’t looking at me. Bad sign. He took ‘Uses of Basilisk Blood’ down, flipped through a few pages, and reshelved it. “I’m not sure about this one, Olo,” he said at last.
“Inquisitors?”
“Worse. Politics. Remember when you did the itching on that diplomat?”
I nodded. Turakmorn had been pushing for the right to pursue ‘bandits’ over the border. I’d helped push back on that. Or so I surmised later.
“It’s the same client. This time he wants you to go after the Lavarian Chancellor.”
Their equivalent of our Prime Minister. “If they want truth potion I’m not doing it.”
“No. You’re to irritate him while he’s negotiating with the Prime Minister.”
I sat up. “Marriage negotiations?” Our King’s sole heir was a princess the same age as Lavaria’s crown prince. Speculation had been rife that they were about to marry.
Bekar nodded. “I can’t imagine what else it could be.”
“Conjoining the kingdoms. No more wars with Lavaria. I’ve never been happier to hear a rumor come true.”
“No more wars if they negotiate a good treaty.” My uncle didn’t share my hope.
“Fine. Can I pick how to bother him?”
Bekar shook his head. “The man was very specific. You’re to put salt in the Chancellor’s tea.”
“Salt?”
“Salt. As in the cooking ingredient. I checked.”
I glanced around the study. Three of the four walls were covered with alchemy books. Normally at this point in the conversation I’d be looking up what potions would give the desired effect. One with an hour or three delay before it took effect would be best.
Not this time.
“I’ll have to be in the negotiation room while they’re talking.”
“He gave me directions to the room.”
I frowned at my uncle. “Why are you bringing this one to me? It feels more suspicious all the time.”
Bekar answered by taking a velvet bag from under his vest. He upended it over the notebook lying on my desk. Chiming music filled the room as gleaming coins slid out.
I flung my hands to keep them from rolling over the edge. Coins struck my palms with the density of real gold. I shoved them back into the pile.
Being paid in gold wasn’t new to me. But this was more than I could count by eye. I’d have to sort it into neat stacks before I could estimate the total.
“This doesn’t make you suspicious?” I croaked.
“Of course it does. But he just dropped the bag on the counter and walked out. He didn’t want to hear a no.”
I patted at the pile to neaten it a bit. The coins all shone yellow. No hint of dilution with silver or copper.
Bekar continued, “He promised the second half after the treaty was signed. And I’ve already taken my third out.”
“All this, for salt?”
My uncle shrugged. “One clause of the marriage treaty could be worth a hundred or a thousand times that.”
“All right. I’ll do it. When?”
I walked in the waiter’s shadow, moving my arms and legs with his. It’s not invisibility but it helps keep people from noticing me which is all I need. The waiter placed the pot of tea and two cups on the table. Tea gurgled and splashed as he filled the cups. “Will there be anything else, gentlemen?” he asked.
“No, thank you, Jamis,” answered the Prime Minister.
I used the distraction to duck under an end table and hide under its drape. My gift won’t make me invisible but it guides eyes away from me. Footsteps and the click of the door closing told me the waiter was gone. The Prime Minister and his guest, Lavaria’s Chancellor resumed discussing the marriage treaty. “Clause Twenty-Seven has an unfortunate ambiguity. It could be interpreted as giving equal status between Eqetas and Contessas.”
As they blathered on I peeked out. I had to see the exact location of the tea cup before I made my move. The Chancellor’s cup clinked as he put it down on the table. Now, I thought, before he takes another sip.
I poured the packet of salt into the palm of my hand and flung it toward the cup. Then it hissed through the air as my magic carried it the rest of the way and dissolved it in without a ripple. I’d made sure it was salt. Bought it myself and tasted it to make sure someone hadn’t slipped me poison as part of an elaborate plan.
Ducking back under the side table’s drape I froze. No need to chance discovery now. A slurp told of more tea being drunk.
“Ah. Salt. You were right, Gustav. A very talented man. I’d no idea he was here.” The Chancellor’s words froze my blood. He was expecting it? How? And why?
“Please come out, Goodman Fustare,” said the Prime Minister. “You auditioned for a new role. Successfully.”
Well, no point in making them shake the furniture. I slid out from under the endtable and stood. The two statesmen applauded me gently. My skin heated in a blush. It felt like mockery.
“Please don’t misunderstand us, sir,” said the Prime Minister. “We went to the trouble of this arrangement because we are in most desperate need of your talents. Please, join us.”
I pulled out the empty chair at their table and sat. “Are you in need of an alchemist, my lords? I must tell you I will not poison.”
The Prime Minister pulled a document from the piles on the table. It rattled as it landed in front of me from the weight of all the seals and ribbons attached to it. “No, you don’t poison any more, which I admire. Here is a pardon for the first poisoning you did. Oh, don’t look so shocked. It’s been long known. But the city constables, the rival gangs, and Verfer’s own heir agree you did the world a service by removing him.”
I examined the pardon. It looked real.
“If you help us, I have pardons ready for the other poisonings, and for Clatheros’ death.”
And if I didn’t cooperate I could be prosecuted for them. “What do you want me to do, then?”
The Prime Minister and Chancellor stared at each other, neither wanting to be the first to speak. At last the Chancellor sighed. “Goodman, you might know the Prince and Princess will marry soon, creating a combined kingdom on their inheritance.”
I opened my mouth to let loose a sarcastic remark about everyone in both kingdoms talking about nothing else and then closed it firmly. The Prime Minister could pardon me for crimes I’d done. He could also have me executed for no reason at all. Best to be polite. I cleared my throat and said, “I have great hopes it will keep us all safe from the menace of Turakmorn, my Lords.”
The Chancellor nodded. He slurped more tea, not minding the taste of the salt. “Yes, one of many great benefits we anticipate. There is but one problem. Well, two problems.”
“They hate each other,” said the Prime Minister.
I looked from one to the other. “Who hate each other, my lords?”
“The Crown Prince and Crown Princess, of course. Who else would we care about?” The Prime Minister swept a stack of draft treaties from the table in his frustration.
“He is a great hunter and can race his own hounds to the fallen prey. While Her Highness wrote an essay on the Miracle of Blood so wise the Archdruid commended it to the Theological College. After the first meeting they both proclaimed their hatred for each other. In private, thank all Gods.” The Prime Minister pulled on his hair, which was not sturdy enough to stand such abuse. I could hear his teeth grinding as well.
“The boy told me, ‘I shall make whatever sacrifice my Kingdom demands of me. But couldn’t I die in battle instead?’ I do believe he meant it,” said the Chancellor.
I held up my hands in surrender. The waiter jacket I’d borrowed squeaked in protest as I stretched it. “My lords, I have no gift for guiding recalcitrant teenagers. How can I be of help?”
The Prime Minister leaned forward, making the table creak under his weight. “They’re willing. But not eager. A pair of youngsters in an unhappy marriage foretells trouble. The kind of trouble you’ve profited from. This seems a perfect time for a love potion.”
Not realizing I’d moved I was on my feet. The chair clattered as it landed behind me. “A love potion! Do you two fools know nothing?”
Alarmed, the politicians put hands on their hidden daggers and scraped their chairs away from the table.
“Love potions are alchemy’s trap for fools,” I continued, an outraged professional in full lecture mode. “Whenever they’re used it goes wrong. Lords in love with chambermaids, or maidens with sorcerers. If it even gets that far. We’re all taught of the witch who brewed a potion and cooked her stew on the same stove. Her cat knocked a spoon from one to the other and she spent the rest of her life in love with the damned creature. Do not ask me to administer a love potion.”
“But surely there are successes,” said the Prime Minister.
“To bend a soul against its will can be done for an hour. To hold it bent, to pretend an outside will is its own, is as dangerous as bending a tree to touch its roots.”
The anger drained out of the last words as I remembered these men could have me executed.
“We do bend trees so, when the need arises,” said the Chancellor mildly.
“Aye, to make siege engines,” I retorted. “Where would this potion catapult your Prince?”
The men exchanged glances. The Prime Minister took his turn. “What would happen if a happily married couple were dosed with a love potion?”
“Nothing. They’re already following their will.”
“And an unhappily married pair?”
I shrugged. “It’s been tried. Sometimes they end more content. More often the strains become breaks. One partner coercing the other into a tighter bond is counter to the one’s will.”
“But if it was applied to them equally, by neutral outside party?”
“That . . .” Honesty compelled me to answer, “That would be a situation for a success. In theory.”
The Chancellor spoke again. “Then do you not owe it to the knowledge of alchemy to make the attempt?”
“You would wager the future of two kingdoms on an experiment?”
The Prime Minister broke in, his voice dry. “We are already wagering the kingdoms on the chance that the Prince and Princess will have offspring that may hold the loyalty of both lands.”
Sheaves of documents rustled as the Chancellor stirred them. “Our labors here are to prepare for such a chance.”
I didn’t have an answer to that. The politicians sat still, confident that the silence worked to their side of the argument.
They won.
“They must be alone. Anyone breaking in on them could divert the magic.”
The noblemen relaxed. “An isolated guest house has been set aside for the honeymoon. We’ve stocked it well enough to need no servants for the first night and day. The guards have been warned to stay well clear of them.”
‘Guest house’ means something more elaborate when one is a guest of the King and Queen. As royal mansions went it was on the small side. An ambassador and his entourage would be comfortable.
I hid in the manicured shrubbery while the ceremony and celebration went on in the city. It gave me a splendid view of the parade of carriages that delivered my future sovereigns to their temporary abode. The guards who’d been occupying the house emerged to welcome them with a sword arch.
Amazingly, the parade and most of the guards were gone again in less than an hour. Once they were out of sight I began working my way in.
The guard at the kitchen door was distracted easily enough. The lack of servants made it easy to sneak through the kitchen. My target was a tapestry in the back hall.
A legacy of the house’s use for diplomats was a set of passageways through the ceiling. Eavesdroppers used them to hear the ambassador’s plans for the next round of negotiations. I planned to sprinkle the potion down from the grille in the newlyweds’ ceiling.
I hoped I’d get there while they were still talking.
Dodging the hallway guard worried me. An alarm there could disturb the prince and princess. I’d have no chance to do my mission then. And they’d regard it as a bad omen. Last thing that marriage needed.
As it turned out the guard was asleep in a chair.
Made my life easier but I wasn’t relieved. I was indignant. For all the taxes I pay the guards should do their damn jobs.
Behind the lion and unicorn tapestry was a panel that slid aside. I went up the ladder rungs, closing the panel behind me.
The passageways doubled as ventilation. Grilles in the side of the roof let in air and moonlight. Much nicer than my usual working conditions, other than only having eighteen inches between ceiling and floor.
The prince and princess were in the ‘Ambassadorial Chamber’ at the far end of the house. That let me ignore the cross-ways to listening posts over the lesser chambers.
The third intersection I could not ignore.
A man came out of it. He held a glowing stone in one hand. It illuminated brows like a mountain range and a nose that could cut paper. A Turakmorni. Likely an assassin.
The long arms reached toward me. The man was foot taller than me. Must be flexible as an eel to squeeze through these passages.
When he held the glowstone up to my face I squinted. My eyes couldn’t adjust to the light that fast.
The Turakmorni’s scarred face split in a wide grin. “Local boy, are you? Which one are you here for?”
I said nothing, too shocked to understand the question.
“Look, my job is to ruin the marriage. I can kill either or both and be paid. So I don’t mind working with you. We can both be paid.”
My mind started working. “The prince,” I said in a whisper as low as his. “Don’t want damned foreigners ruling us.”
The grin widened. “Very well. The prince dies. The princess lives. My word on it.”
He held out his empty hand. I shook it. There were two slim daggers strapped to his forearm. The end of a blowpipe showed over his shoulder.
“Now—after you,” he said.
I wouldn’t expect an assassin to be trusting enough to turn his back on me.
Slithering down the passageway in absolute silence was slow work. I made it slower to get time to think. I needed to stop the Turakmorni, but still needed to dose the prince and princess.
And stay alive. Staying alive was what I wanted most.
I’d expected to deal with guards but not by killing them. My sap was useless. Sleeping powder was hard to administer to someone below my feet.
Or was it?
As we reached the turn to the Ambassadorial Chamber I fished a packet out of my shirt pocket. As I turned in to the cross passage I untwisted the packet, dropping the powder just out of sight of the assassin behind me. Then I squirmed to put my whole body past the powder.
The assassin’s face appeared around the corner. I waved my hand. The powder flew at his face.
For a moment I couldn’t see him through the cloud. Then it settled. I could see his mouth pressed tightly closed. A hand clamping his nose shut. And hard, angry eyes.
I scuttled down the passageway, sacrificing silence for speed. Light shone through the listening grille ahead.
As I reached it an iron hand seized my ankle. I grabbed the edge of the grille, popping the thin metal out of its frame as I pulled myself forward.
The hand tugged me back. I flung myself through the opening.
My roll broke the fall, helped by the thick carpets.
The Turakmorni flipped in mid-air to land on his feet. He yanked a foot-long blade from a thigh sheath. “You first, betrayer,” he snarled as he lunged toward me.
A gold candlestick struck the side of his head, sending him boneless against the wall.
Crown Prince Hedron stood with the candlestick ready to strike again. Any sculptor would give a tooth to carve him in that pose.
“My deepest thanks, Your Royal Highness,” I stammered. “And my apologies to both Your Royal Highnesses for disturbing you.” My hands faced empty palms out. I stopped talking. It wasn’t helping.
Hedron’s free hand was smothering burning fringe on his wedding doublet. He’d used a candlestick with a lit candle in it.
Crown Princess Varintha held a dagger so thin I could only see it by reflected candlelight.
Neither seemed inclined to accept my apology.
Hedron shoved the assassin onto his back with a bare foot.
I noticed the princess was barefoot as well. At least they’d made it that far. Both still wore several layers of wedding finery.
“A Turakmorni assassin,” said Hedron. “It’s obvious what he’s doing here. Why are you here?”
If I was smart I would have spent some of the past two weeks preparing a clever and convincing answer to that just in case. Not being that smart I was left with the truth.
“Your Prime Minister and Chancellor hired me to give you a present.”
I paused. Prince Hedron lifted the candlestick two inches.
“They were worried about your fondness for each other. I’m an alchemist. They want me to administer a love potion.”
The vials were in a pouch over my heart. I opened it to display the rose pink potions.
The princess demanded, “If you met Prime Minister Telarano, describe him.”
She wasn’t satisfied until I talked about the moles on the man’s neck. The prince believed me at the Chancellor’s eyebrows.
“Love potions are famous for their unreliability,” declared the princess.
I agreed, and described my argument with the politicians. “If there is no one else around it should work. And I’d intended to not be seen. Again, my apologies.”
“Distracting the assassin earns you some forgiveness,” rumbled the prince.
Varintha’s dagger pointed at the vials, then at a table by the foot of the bed. It held a bottle of wine and two clean goblets. I scooted over on my knees and laid the potions on it.
“You want to let him go, then?” asked the princess.
He replied, “Someone has to remove the Turakmorni.”
“True.” Her dagger pointed at the assassin, then the door.
I rose to my feet and bowed. “I thank Your Royal Highnesses and wish you the blessings of all the gods.”
That son of a bitch was heavy. Prince Hedron had to hold the door for me. I staggered out, trying to not trip on the hanging limbs.
I was panting by the time I reached the sleeping hallway guard. The thump of dropping the assassin didn’t wake him. The Turakmorni must use strong sleep powders. I used the guard’s ascot to tie the assassin’s hands behind his back. The feet I secured with his belt.
Then, as quietly as I could, I made my way back to the Ambassadorial Chamber. Careful not to cause a creak in the wood, I pressed my ear to the door.
The argument seemed to be winding down. They both sounded tired.
“If we can’t be sure if it’s poison or not,” said Prince Hedron, “then we don’t dare drink it.”
Princess Varintha answered, “Perhaps it is poison. But if the choice is poison, or living with you without a love potion, I shall drink the poison.”
That produced a bellowing laugh. “My wife, that is the first thing you’ve said I agree with.”
I heard pouring wine. The softer splash of vials being emptied into the goblets. A clink of glass.
“To marriage,” they said together.
For more fantasy adventures, read my novel The Lost War.
It was supposed to be a weekend of costumed fun. Instead these medieval historical reenactors are flung into a wilderness by magic they don't understand. They must struggle to survive and deal with monsters who consider them prey . . . or worse.
Wonderful details and humorous quips... a charming adventurette! Well-spun, Dungeonmaster!
what a nice smile-inducing ending
just right