“Indeed, no matter how good the recipe is or how well-executed it is, there is always some chaotic influence. Often this is within acceptable limits, but sometimes the deviation is so great that the result becomes unusable. Or even dangerous.”
“But why?” Kraghtol asked, genuinely interested and absentmindedly feeling his eyebrows. “I mean, the recipe is very simple. And I have done it quite a few times now, always doing the exact same thing.”
Mrs. Hawke hesitated, and if Kraghtol was not mistaken, she measured her next words carefully now. At the same time, he could have sworn he detected a hint of excitement in her voice as she answered.
“The answer to that question is simple, but only if you have a deeper understanding of the underlying concepts governing our trade. These concepts, however, are not something students learn in their first years at the school. And,” she added, “they are nothing I am supposed to teach.”
“But you know them?”
She laughed a small, humorless laugh.
“Of course. Do you think just because I teach the basic courses, I didn’t graduate with the highest honors? Sometimes, it’s not talent or hard work that decides what happens after you graduate.”
Kraghtol was surprised to hear this much passion from Mrs. Hawke. It was as if she had dropped her facade for just a few momentsto show him she was human, and he thought she was just about to go on, when she suddenly paused and shook her head.
“No, I am afraid your curiosity has to wait until your lectures on higher alchemy.”
The teacher did not seem willing to give a less cryptic answer, and when a voice from behind interrupted their conversation, she used the opportunity to leave the classroom along with Kraghtol, who wasn’t much wiser.
“Krasen.”
The melodic voice was unmistakably that of Valir, and Kraghtol turned around, curious about what the noble had to say to him. Since the night of the solstice, he hadn’t seen Valir and assumed Valir was too embarrassed to speak of the events.
“Yes, Valir? What is it?”
Valir’s face was flustered, showing unmistakable signs of embarrassment for a second, before he straightened his back and answered in his usual haughty tone.
“As I have been made aware of, the rules of courtesy dictate that I must extend my gratitude for your assistance on the night of the solstice.”
That came as a surprise. His voice was low enough that no one else could hear it, and for a moment Kraghtol considered asking him to repeat it louder. But that would have been just petty, and he was better than that.
“You mean to thank me? That must have been hard for you. You’re welcome.”
Kraghtol could not suppress the grin forming on his face as he noticed Valir fiddling with his signet ring.
“And don’t worry. I told nobody about what you said that night.”
“What I —”
The noble’s head was red as a tomato now as he searched for words.
“You must forgive me, but I cannot recall any details of the evening. Whatever I might have said in that state was nothing but the inebriation speaking and must not be taken seriously.”
At least the first part was a lie, and they both knew it. It was clear Valir remembered at least parts of what he said and sought refuge in his stilted words. Not that Kraghtol hadn’t considered exposing the arrogant man with what he had said that night, but it just wouldn’t have been right, regardless of the satisfaction it could bring. In a way, he felt bound by the same confidentiality he would give to a patient, no matter how little Valir deserved that.
“I understand.”
Valir’s relief was obvious. With a small, courteous nod, he fled the scene, leaving behind a still-grinning Kraghtol basking in schadenfreude just a moment longer before he returned to his project.
After he had produced enough glowing potion to light up the old workshop at the base of the clock tower, he could start cleaning it out. This too proved more difficult than expected since he had to be careful not to be seen when carrying out the debris and dirt. Some items were in better states than others, including a surprisingly well-preserved massive wooden desk, but nothing was clean enough for him to use for his future practice. Over the course of the days, he got rid of whathe could and moved the bigger and heavier items to a side room that used to be a bedroom.
It took him longer than expected, but finally, in the first week of the second month, the room had taken on an acceptable state. It was still cold, and even though the glowing jars lit up the place just enough to work, there was no way he could make a fire here without anyone noticing. Until he learned a recipe to produce heat alchemically, this would have to do.
Getting patients had been a bit of a riddle, but in the end, Kraghtol confided in Mrs. Brott, enough to let her slip a word or two to her own customers, many of which belonged to the poorer inhabitants of the Crafters Quarter, about his ‘Freeday practice’. He trusted his landlady enough not to tell any guild officials or orderkeepers.
Come next Freeday, he nervously paced up and down the cleaned room, waiting for his first patient to arrive. Now that it was actually getting real, he was not so sure anymore that all of this was such a good idea. Wasn’t it stupidly risky? Wouldn’t the orderkeepers find out, eventually?
A knock on the secret door interrupted his rising panic, and Kraghtol dashed forward, only to hesitate slightly before opening it. His anticipation quickly gave way to surprise when he recognized the person entering.
