Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (35 page)

Lairn
Ronan sat on his cot, hands clasped between his knees. He looked much
better than when Iathor'd first seen him – exhausted from
hiding and alchemically dosed into sleep – but was still a
rabbity man with a long nose, slightly prominent front teeth, a weak
chin, and unremarkable blond hair. His eyes were pale blue, without
grayish tinges to silver them, and he flicked his gaze around like a
hunted creature.

Thioso,
by contrast, was a hound secure in his home. He sat on a heavy chair
that was probably bolted into the floorboards, lest some stronger
prisoner try to use it to escape. "Lairn, tell Sir Kymus what
you just told me, hm?"

Iasen's
former student glanced up as if Iathor might stoop down and rend his
throat, before mumbling, "I-I'm not sure I should. Really. I
shouldn't have said . . . I was mistaken . . ."

Iathor
rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Journeyman
Lairn. My brother has sufficiently displeased me that he'll not be
allowed to mentor a field mouse. You're removed from his service and
tutelage.
If
you cooperate, I hope to assign you to the
Herbmaster, Keli Greenhands, so you may learn enough of herb-witchery
to apply your mind to new combinations of the two disciplines. If you
obstruct me, I'll do what's necessary to ensure you don't become a
rogue
alchemist." He leaned on the small, bolted-down
table. "Is this clear?"

"I-I . . ."
Lairn looked over to Thioso. "You said–"

The
watchman spread his hands to the sides, palms up. "Said I'd do
what I could if you helped me. Your teacher's run out on you, Lairn.
Found something better to do'n rile younger sons to complain about
your imprisonment."

In
a moment of angry paranoia, Iathor ordered, "Journeyman Lairn,
look at me." When the other man did, Iathor said, "Are you
Iasen's dramsman?"

Lairn's
eyes opened wide, and he cringed back. "No! Wha-why? How could
you think–? No!"

Iathor
sighed in relief. There'd been no characteristic flaring and
contraction of the pupils, at least, and Lairn didn't seem likely to
enjoy lying enough to do so without internal conflict. "Then
that's one thing Iasen's not guilty of. I hope I'll not need to offer
the option myself."

"No!"
Lairn nearly yelped. "I'll cooperate! I . . .
Please, it wasn't that much, I didn't realize it was wrong, your
brother said everything'd be fine, it wasn't my fault, it was some
rogue herb-witch, that's why the man keeled over, it wasn't my brew,
I just had to stay quiet, tucked away and he'd smooth everything
over, the girl would be sentenced, not me! He'd fix the house, I'd
come back, I'd make enough to cover the orders, just like before the
experiment went bad and I had to try to get the stink out and that
went bad as well and I couldn't stay there, but all the tools were
there, all the ingredients, it's not my fault, I swear, I didn't mean
to brew up that stench, I'm
sorry
, I–"

"Back
to before," Thioso said, with quiet firmness. "What were
you doing for your teacher?"

"Making
him potions, the Vigor, the Lasiari, the color-changers –
sending them to Cym, just that! He told me to! And I could work on my
own projects! I'm
sorry
about the dog racing and the horses
and the cockfights, I'm
sorry
, I just needed to relax and
someone bought all the promise-notes and started demanding more, I
had to hide, had to make more potions to sell here, I'm so sorry! I
thought it was all right, Master Iasen was selling them in Cym, and
he'd not do that if it hadn't been cleared! He's your
heir
,
Master Kymus, he's a master, he wouldn't do something wrong, so it
was all right for me to do it, and I had to buy materials, emerald
salts, and the man kept wanting the money from the promise-notes, not
the potions, not
those
potions, he said, but I paid him, I got
money from lenders, several lenders so they couldn't demand it all,
and paid him back. And–"

Iathor
interrupted, trying to temper his voice. "Color-changers. To
Cym. What color-changers?"

"The
ones for hair and skin and eyes, Master Kymus. Blond and red for
hair, pale for skin, and green for eyes – lovely green, just
like grass. He wanted me to make teas for those as well, so they'd
bleach slowly over time, that's one of the things I was trying when
the potion boiled over and scorched and the other one combined badly
and started burning, I'm so sorry, I thought I could make a clae-fog
and take all the burn-smell away! But it smelled even worse and I
took it off the hearth but it kept getting worse and worse and the
fire went out and I couldn't even
stay
there, and the messages
kept coming, wanting more potions or money or both . . ."

Iathor
held up a hand to stop the babbling flow. "Do you know who my
brother was selling potions to, in Cym?"

"No,
Master Kymus, he never said, I never asked, I'm sorry, I didn't know
it'd be important, I was so busy refining–"

Again,
Iathor held up his hand. "Did my brother send you letters?"

"Ah,
no, Master Kymus. Not unless he wanted different amounts of potions
than I'd shipped previously. I wrote to him about my debts, but he
didn't send any letters back that he'd even
got
mine, and I
just had to make more potions, and the money he left ran out because
of the bad races, I was sure some of them'd win and then I'd have all
I'd lost and more, but they just didn't, not enough, and I don't
know
what Vigor'd do to a horse, and didn't dare give the man any because
what if it
died
?"

"Mm.
True." The man needed a keeper. Dumping him on Keli would be
more than Iathor wanted to burden the Herbmaster with. On the other
hand, unless Master Fantho was actually biased toward Iasen –
which he doubted, for as Baron Fantho, the man was conscientious and
dependable – he'd the resources to keep Lairn both safe, and
away from the rest of the world. "And my brother told you to
hide? From
me
?"

"He . . .
he said it wasn't my fault that Darul had gone mad. It was some
barbarian's fault, and she'd be put in the work-gangs or made a
servant for the man's family and I'd come back to your brother's
house and no one'd know. He said he'd find the teas and get rid of
them! That it was bad enough an herb-witch was involved, and you'd
not want more scandal, Master Kymus!"

"I
find that truth, applied quickly and quietly in the right areas, is a
better protection against scandal than concealing vital information."
He regretted the need to conceal matters from Darul's sister. "I
trust that in the future, you'll come to
me
with unexpectedly
difficult situations?"

"
Yes
,
Master Kymus, I just didn't know, I thought your brother'd know best,
he's your heir–"

"He
is my heir only if my son cannot take that title." The annulment
of his marriage was an infuriating possibility. "Iasen has
overstepped his authority. The guild will hold trial, once he's
brought back from Cym."

Thioso
asked, "He's done enough for guild justice, then?"

"Vigor
is a promising youth potion, but the guild hadn't been apprised of
its existence, nor had its sale been approved – and certainly
not in quantity. Lasiari is an aphrodisiac; those potions are more
restricted in use and sale. Likewise, my brother hadn't informed the
guild his student was researching them. Further, he's ignored his
responsibilities to his student. Finally, and most politically
messily, he's almost certainly gone to try something that could
endanger the very guild itself."

Thioso
scratched his straw-colored beard. "And what would that be? I
don't know your guild's politics, Sir Kymus."

From
the watchman's mild tone, Iathor suspected he knew more than he
claimed. He answered anyway. "If my marriage is annulled, my
heir declared bastard, we're back at the prior dilemma: neither of us
with a legitimate heir. And the reasons for my insistence on an
immune wife are still in effect. The bloodline has been weakened by
wives who are merely
tolerant
, able to resist
most
potions. I'd not found a woman even as tolerant as my own mother, in
all my years of looking. If my children – or Iasen's –
cannot resist the dramsman's draught, they cannot inherit, by the
laws of Cymelia and the Alchemists' Guild both. The titles of Lord
Alchemist and Guild Master may only be held by someone with
alchemist's immunity, lest the guild be plunged into chaos and
intrigue as the ambitious seek to poison or use loyalty potions upon
each other."

"Seems
a bit far-fetched," Thioso said.

"It's
happened," Iathor replied. "I accompanied my father to
Shoaleigh, two years before he retired to the Kymus barony, for
we
were the only ones who could straighten out a branch of the guild
there. Even then, the rogue master tried to dose us, thinking our
vaunted immunities wouldn't protect us, nor our tongues alert us to
danger."

Thioso
asked, "What happened to the man?" It sounded more curious
than mild.

"My
father bound him to Shoaleigh's city-prince, after consulting the
earls and army generals. None of them believed their city-prince
would seek to subvert them and put himself at war with the rest of
Cymelia." Further, both Iathor's and his father's draughts had
been used. The rogue alchemist had become Iaren Kymus' secret
dramsman first, with instructions to inform the Princeps should he be
commanded to anything which seemed a threat to Cymelia or its
rightful rulers.

"Hm.
And your brother's not that much younger than you, Sir Kymus?"

Iathor
shook his head. "Slightly less than two years. He takes more
Vigeur than I, but even for us and the doses we can endure, youth
will eventually require more of the potion than we can survive, just
as it does for anyone. I don't know if Lairn's Vigor tea has a more
indefinite effect." If it did, and was no more expensive than a
Vigeur elixir . . . Its inventor could become highly
wealthy, and the guild as well. Iathor chuckled dryly. "With
enough success at that little brew, you could be Sir Ronan, Lairn. If
you don't spend your fortune betting on horses and dogs."

"Ah . . ."
The rabbity journeyman had returned to his prior uncertain,
stammering state.

Or
lose it to the forceful and persuasive.
Iasen could be very
persuasive, though. Lairn might be of simply average willpower, with
the foolish assumption that because he was trained in alchemy, he was
also expert at judging animals' abilities. Iathor sighed, and leaned
more upon the table. "Lairn, when Thioso pronounces you
sufficiently cooperative, I'll have one of the guild's masters take
you to his home. I want you protected from anyone else who might
consider you owe a debt – and kept out of trouble until you
prove you can keep yourself from it. I'll ask the Herbmaster to take
charge of your studies. I cannot promise you'll not talk to a judge.
While I hope matters won't come to that, I'll want your testimony
that you gave the man alchemically-laced tea."

"C-can't . . .
the girl . . ."

"That
herb-witch is my new wife, Journeyman Lairn. I believe her when she
tells me she'd not meant to dismind the man." He brushed at his
hair beside his left ear, to draw attention to the golden piercing
wire. "I'll not sacrifice you to a lie, Journeyman, but I'll not
exempt you from your share of the matter, either. I may want your
testimony as to the moneylender's character."

"Ah . . .
Oh." Lairn pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them,
looking suddenly like a
young
rabbit, not so far from his
apprentice years as stress had aged him.

"Besides,
Watchman Thioso wouldn't let me throw you to a judge. He's his own
theories. Don't you?" Iathor looked at Thioso.

"Frequently,
Sir Kymus." Thioso patted Lairn on the shoulder. "Think you
can tell all this to a scribe again? A bit slower, though. They don't
write so fast as you can spin a tale. Once you're done, I could let
someone take you back into the world, eh?"

Lairn
bobbed his head. "I-I could do that."

"Good
man." Thioso clapped him on the shoulder again before standing.
"Sir Kymus, could I get a ride to my own office? It's a wretched
walk, and my lunch is there."

"Indeed.
After I've dropped you off, I'll send someone for Journeyman Lairn.
Master Fantho, or perhaps Mathus." Mathus would likely try to
claim Lairn for himself, but it'd be equally hard for Iasen to pry
the journeyman away from their vain cousin. Iathor looked at Lairn.
"One of those two, the Herbmaster, or a note in my own hand if
it's someone different. You shall not return to my brother's home
again."

"Y-yes,
Master Kymus," Lairn said.

Iathor
nearly left, but paused. "The teas – are they made with
smoking or a binding solution?"

"Smoking,
Master Kymus." The journeyman revived slightly. "Put the
powder in a bowl, seal in the tea, then heat the bowl from beneath
till just before the powder catches flame. I left a jar of Vigor
powder in the workroom, but . . . Master Iasen wrote
that . . . that I'd taken it, and I hadn't, I swear it
was there when I left. I'm not a thief!"