Herb-Witch (Lord Alchemist Duology) (46 page)

"She's
a mongrel! Like as not she won her guild rank on her knees! If she's
immune, put it about and let some
other
family dirty their
blood."

The
unlikely accusation was irritating, but Iathor caught himself before
snapping that Kessa was a tradesmaiden; she'd probably never
kissed
a man, let alone allowed anything else to weaken the potency of her
blood. That was her business, literally. Instead, he said, "If
she's immune, and some other man successfully woos her, then I'll
wait for her daughter. Or
her
daughter, if I must. But time
and misfortune are not on my side, no matter how much Vigeur I brew.
If there's another immune girl in Cymelia, I've not found her, and am
unlikely to do so. I'll not scorn this chance."

"Brother,
I . . . I'm
begging
you. Don't do this. Don't
make me call a callous, criminal dog a
sister
."

Callous?
When she explained the treatment for that accursed joy-powder,
knowing I'd be dismayed?
Her voice had been dull with something
besides old grief, that night. Iathor put steel in his voice. "If
you cannot be civil, should she become my wife, you can move to Cym
and I'll disinherit you. You'll be free to take a new name and woo
some proper, pale dramswife of your own."

"You
wouldn't!"

"I
will have my heir." Iathor couldn't make his voice go higher
than a deathly whisper. He remembered to add, "If she's immune,
and agrees."

"She
belongs in the work-gangs, not your bed! Turn her over to them! Give
up your investigation!"

Iathor'd
have to words with whoever'd been gossiping about Kessa's arrest, be
it apprentice or Thioso. "I'm convinced she brewed nothing to
destroy his mind. If she's immune, I'll not be dissuaded. If this is
all you can think of . . . Go home. This discussion is
over."

"Iathor–"

"Master
Iasen, this is guild business. I have spoken." Muddy, yes, but
guild business.

Iasen
squeezed his hands into fists, and relaxed them. "Give me Lairn
and I'll go."

"No."

"Blight
it, Iathor – we've washed
cats
together! Don't treat me
like this!"

When
the two young toms galloped through the potion they'd been making,
the door carelessly left open. "If you challenge my duty . . .
Iasen, this is as important to me as finding your true love is to
you. Stop fighting me!"

"Then
find someone you love, who loves you, and stop tormenting yourself
over whether the draught'd change her!"

"If
I find her immune . ..  I'll learn to love her."
Night-stalking ways, flaring temper, baffling fears, ugly eyes . . .
Liabilities and trouble, but matched with a protective streak for
those
she
loved, and sympathy for the young and sick. And an
herb-witch: political gain for both him and Keli.

"And
will she ever love you
back
?"

"That's
her choice." (She'd stared at him, in the color-bleached light
of the catseye ointment . . .)

"You've
gone insane, Iathor. I'll not let you do this to yourself."

"Iasen . . .
you're repeating yourself and getting less rational each time. I find
myself weary. Go home. Don't make my dramsmen escort you out."
Kessa and Jeck would surely be away by now.

"You
wouldn't."

"Don't
test me."

Iasen
frowned. "Fine. I'll be here in the morning for Lairn."

"I'm
locking the doors till noon. Don't bother till then." Iathor
shifted to give his brother
quite
enough space to pass into
the kitchen, where his dramsmen waited.

Iasen
called over his shoulder, "Morning!"

Iathor
called back, childishly, "Noon!"

"Morning!"
Iasen shouted from the kitchen.

Iathor
went to the doorway. "Noon!"

Iasen
shooed his dramsmen out the door and yelled, "
Morning
!"
He slammed the door.

Iathor
went to it, opened it again, waited until his brother was getting
into his waiting carriage, and yelled, "
Noon
!" Then
he
slammed the back door, and, for good measure, latched it.

He
heard something indistinct from the courtyard, but ignored it.

Tania
held out a plate with spicecake on it. "Extra dessert, m'lord?"

He
took it, feeling immature and vaguely confused at not being sent to
bed without supper, dessert, or even hope for egg-crepes in the
morning. "I hate it when we do that."

Tania
said, "We'll all be happier when he's back in Cym, m'lord. Will
you be working in your office, or shall I send . . .
Oh, no need. Hello, Brague."

His
dramsman grunted from the doorway to the main part of the house. Dayn
peered around the frame as well. "Would there be any dessert,
Tania? I've been smelling it all afternoon."

"Of
course. I cooked it especially fragrant."

And,
if Kessa'd not appeared and temporarily allied with him, Iathor
might've been deprived of spicecake entirely, as punishment. Having
it in his hand was a small consolation. "I've work to finish.
Thank you for the early supper for Miss Laita and Kessa."

"Oh,
'twas definitely my pleasure, m'lord." Tania dimpled at him.
"And we're all hoping for the best."

He
smiled at them all, and took his dessert to his office where he could
savor it without the irrational fear that someone would whisk it
away.

It
would've been better with someone to share the not-quite-illicit
spicecake. If not a decades-younger brother, back before they'd gone
to Cym, then perhaps a prickly herb-witch, who might (if he read
Laita's hints right) be no stranger to filching cakes herself.

Chapter
XLVIII

T
he
hired buggy arrived in the morning, surprisingly. Kessa'd expected to
be questioned about last night.

The
multi-colored brick offices were also disquieting. After Jeck'd
dropped them off at Kessa's shop, Laita'd said,
Even if you tell
him no, he'll stay in your life. You're his second heir.
Kessa'd
yelped and told her vixen sister to keep that idea to herself.
There'd be masters who'd sooner risk a non-immune Guild Master,
factions who'd think her their pawn . . . Even if
Iasen were alive, Kessa suspected there'd be a group, likely led by
Herbmaster Keli, who'd prefer
anyone
but Iasen as Guild
Master. And, of course, some who'd sooner see her dead.
If
anything happened to the Kymus brothers . . . The
Shadow-master'd choke and die.
The very idea was a nightmare, the
furthest thing from keeping her head down.

Kessa
pushed away the horrible thoughts as she pushed open the door.

Inside,
Nicia waited with Dayn and a tall, thin man dressed in gray, except
for his clashingly brown, battered boots. They were probably
comfortable. Nicia took Kessa's arm. "This is Master Iste
Zertheluse. Master Kymus asked Master Iste to take today's lesson."

So
Kessa wouldn't be sampling poisons today. Was she relieved, or
annoyed? She dipped a curtsey. "Good morning to you, Master
Iste."

"And
good morning to you. I've a note here." He took it from his
pocket. "In a terrible scrawl, Master Kymus directs me to assign
a suitably fascinating, hours-long preparation, have you evaluate the
ingredients, and record what you think the potion will do and why. He
hopes to show up around lunch, but don't count on it. He's sent his
dramsman to watch over matters and ensure you do not, I quote, 'brew
up iced alchemist-repellant in the basement.' I hope that makes sense
to someone, because I'm baffled."

Kessa
smiled, keeping her head down. Nicia giggled.

Master
Iste snorted. "I see it does. Come, I've a recipe copied by one
of my apprentices."

Kessa
dropped back so she could quietly ask Dayn, "Is . . .
was everything all right?"

He
thought a moment. "No one got thrown out of the house, and Lairn
didn't run off in the middle of the night."

"Why
would–?"

From
below, Master Iste rapped out, "Journeyman, if you'd kindly not
lag behind, flirting with the dramsman?"

For
some reason, Dayn burst out in quickly-smothered laughter. Kessa
snorted.
I like his dramsmen better than I like him, so why not?
Though Laita'd tried to reassure her:
"If Kymus were a brute,
it'd show on his staff. Bruises, and the little ones all timid."

In
the workroom, Master Iste produced another paper. The ink was smeared
in places. "This recipe should keep you gainfully occupied till
at least an hour past lunch. It'll require tending tomorrow, but my
apprentice can do that. If you don't understand something, or it
happens to blow up, my office is on the second floor, to the
immediate right. For translation of apprentice smear, knock. For
exploding preparations, screaming is acceptable. Any questions?"

Nicia
picked up the recipe, scanning it. "None here, Master Iste."

Kessa
asked, "Is there paper down here for notes, Master Iste?"

"Probably
not. I'll have an apprentice bring some. Anything else?"

"No,
Master Iste," Kessa murmured, Nicia echoing her.

"Then
I'll be in my office. Remember, knocking for minor issues, screaming
for explosions." He swept out, and Kessa glanced up to verify
that yes, his hair was graying to a pale match to his clothes.

"Do
alchemist apprentices really explode things so much?" Kessa
asked. Herb-witchery wasn't nearly so . . .
self-igniting.

Nicia
shrugged. "I don't know. I'd not thought so. Mayhap everyone
just remembers those instead of the ones that turn to sludge?"

"Probably."
Kessa looked over her fellow student's shoulder. "Does this have
enough
different ingredients?"

"At
least we shouldn't have to check the forms. All the names are spelled
out." Nicia ran her fingers down the paper, from ingredient to
ingredient.

"Considering
what he said about explosions . . . Might be safer to
check the forms to be sure the recipe's not sabotaged."

From
the doorway, Dayn said, "That
is
paranoid."

Kessa
slid him a look through her hair. "Never said I wasn't."

"True."
He slipped out.

"Some
of the forms might hint as to what they're for," Nicia said.
"Want to read them off?"

Kessa
took the paper and went to the chalk-board. "When Dayn comes
back, he can get the jars while I draw and you operate that device."

"I
can do what?" Dayn reappeared, bearing a stool.

"Get
the ingredients, please?" Kessa said. "They should be on
the shelves, and if you don't know your way around a workroom . . ."

"You'll
threaten to kick m'lord?" Dayn sounded unconcerned as he went to
the shelves.

"Well,
look
at him, anyway," Kessa muttered. "So,
waterflame salts."

Nicia
spun the wheels and gears of the geometry analyzer, Kessa chalked in
the forms thus revealed, and Dayn fetched containers from the
shelves.

When
they got to the emerald salts (named for their color when burned, not
because emeralds were involved), Dayn shook the little jar and
frowned. "I hope there's enough."

Kessa
opened it. The jar was close to empty: the white crystals in chunks
around the edges, and a fine dusting across the center. She checked
the notes. "We'll need more. Can we filch from the other rooms?"

"Probably,"
Dayn said. "Everything's replenished from guild stores. I'll get
some from next door."

"Thanks."
Kessa went back to chalking in forms.

They'd
gotten to essence of cinnamon before Dayn got back, frowning and
empty-handed.

Nicia
asked, "What's wrong?"

"All
the jars are nearly empty," Dayn said. "What are emerald
salts used for?"

Kessa
bit her upper lip. That chapter'd been assigned last fiveday.
"General body-affecting stuff. Strength potions contain emerald
salts."

Nicia
added, "It's in some disease-preventing brews as well. It has to
be used in small doses, though, or the body starts making stones
inside the organs."

Kessa
stared; fortunately, the other girl was looking at Dayn and only
glanced back after Kessa'd remembered manners. "The body can
make
rocks
?"

"Yes,"
Nicia said. "Body-stones are used in some preparations. They're
very hard to get, of course. The cost of dosing someone with the
potions of deepest sleeping, of painkilling, of the
bleeding-suppressors . . . Of someone who knows where
to cut, and then the healing ointments have to be administered to
each organ that was cut, in turn . . . Well, they're
very expensive, and most of the preparations aren't important enough
to be well-known. Master Peran told me about them, because
bone-setters are the ones who learn where to cut."