Page 17 of Bluebeard’s Key

Bluebeard narrowed his eyes, but seemed to be mollified by his quick apology.

“Sit,” Bluebeard growled. “As I said, we have much to discuss. I will be attending to other matters for most of the month, but the early stages of your training do not require my direct supervision.” He pushed the pile of books across the table and continued, “You will begin with the basic techniques of fermentation, distillation, sublimation, and crystallization. I’m certain you have performed these procedures with modern equipment?”

This was all familiar, so he answered, “Yes, all of these, in high school and college classes, and some on my own.”

“Your task is now to train yourself in these procedures using proper alchemical tools.”

He had questions, but after Bluebeard’s outburst, he kept them to himself and answered, “It sounds fascinating. It will be my pleasure.”

“Start with something amusing. Fermentation and distillation are the natural places to start your training, so ask my cook for some molasses and craft us some rum. The techniques are spelled out, with illustrations, in the practicum volume, here on top. Now, let me show you to your laboratory.”

CHAPTER 12

Tom’s meeting with the Mage had lasted all of five minutes, and nearly all of his questions were left unanswered, but at least he had a lab…an empty lab, but a lab filled with promise. Wide windows on the courtyard side streamed with morning light. The two side walls were freshly painted, with hookups for plumbing and an encouraging number of electrical outlets, and the rear wall was rough stone, basically the inner side of the castle wall. It couldn’t be more perfect, and he simply couldn’t wait to fill it with equipment.

Zayan said, leaning bonelessly in the doorway of Tom’s new lab, “You have to see my lab.”

How did Zayan do it? No matter what he was doing, Zayan oozed sex appeal. He was certain he could snap a photo of Zayan right then, standing and smiling, and instantly get a million likes on any social media platform. Not that he could test that assertion, since he still didn’t have any connection to the internet. Or any social media profiles.

“Is it better than mine?” Tom asked, waving his hands to encompass the room and attempting to sound sarcastic.

Zayan surveyed the empty room and laughed, saying, “At least you have some natural light, and it has lots of, um, potential. But mine has a medieval charm all its own.” He walked across the room and took Tom’s hand. “Come on. We’re going to the dungeon.”

“No way!” Tom said, liking the feel of that hand. It was good to have a friend amid all the strangeness—at least he thought they were becoming friends. “There’s an actual dungeon? I swear, this gig keeps getting better and better.”

“Come and see for yourself.”

Zayan dragged him to the gatehouse and into another claustrophobic staircase, leading him down the spiraling stone steps into inky gloom. It was almost completely dark when they reached the bottom, and Zayan played it up, making him wait for the big reveal. Zayan flipped a rocker switch with a loud clunk, illuminating torchiers on the stone walls and revealing a line of Gothic columns supporting the ceiling. Rustic armoires and shelves gleamed with archaic equipment on all sides. Looking around, he found that it was spotlessly clean, with no cobwebs or dust. With very little thought, the reason was clear. Thierry’s fastidious magic obviously extended all the way down into the dungeon.

“Where’s the iron maiden?” Tom asked, only half joking. This dungeon had the perfect atmosphere for a classic torture chamber, even if the rack and manacles were lacking.

“Just wait. It gets better.”

An ornate wooden door with iron hardware held pride of place at the center of the wall next to the staircase. Tom wandered over and ran his hand over the handle and lock, forged in the shape of a beautiful woman, like a ship’s masthead in miniature.

“I think that’s Bluebeard’s lab. It’s always been locked, and he hasn’t shown me what’s inside.” Zayan walked over and put a hand on his back, saying, “Come on, I’ll show you mine.”

Zayan kept his hand there, resting on his back, guiding him to the opposite wall. Zayan seemed to be touching him a lot today. Maybe it was the excitement of their new labs, but maybe it was more. Thinking about it, Zayan had been touching him ever since they arrived, as they dished up their breakfast that morning, as they walked back to their rooms, when they ran into each other in the courtyard. Did it mean something? He was always lousy at reading people. Maybe Zayan was simply being friendly. He always seemed to be in a good mood, and maybe that was his way of sharing it. Whatever it was, it felt great.

The opposite wall had three doors, less elaborate but still strong and sturdy. Zayan guided him to the furthest one, subtly stroking his back on the way, and pulled out his ring of keys, unlocking the heavy iron latch with a satisfying click.

“Here it is,” Zayan said, waving him in with a grand gesture and flipping on the lights.

“No way!” he repeated, Zayan’s warm hands momentarily forgotten as he surveyed the room. He’d seen pictures in his history-of-science class, but he’d never seen a real alchemical laboratory. And based on the state of the equipment, it was a well-used laboratory. The circular room had a huge stone furnace on the far wall. Rough tables, stained and battered from long use, stood around the room, covered with all manner of crucibles, jars, beakers, alembics, and glassware whose function was not immediately obvious.

“Is that a Moor’s-head still?” he asked in wonder, running his hand over the chipped ceramic curves of the beast. It was delightful! Chemistry started as alchemy, and here it was, still being used.

“I guess so?” Zayan said, somewhere between proud and incredulous, approaching and once again laying his hand on his shoulder. “Bluebeard says he’s going to train me to use it all. I’m sure I’ll be making gold in no time.”

Tom didn’t quite know what to do about all the touching. Was Zayan interested in him as more than a friend? Maybe he came from a touchy family, and this was normal to him. Should he touch him back? How could he do that without seeming creepy? When Zayan touched him, it felt so casual and natural.

Tom broke away and moved to the walls, which were lined with shelves of chemicals, leaving that challenge for later and trying to focus his attention on the huge bottles of copper sulfate and ammonium chloride and five types of sulfur. A glass-stoppered flask of mercury, gleaming in the laboratory light, sat next to a bottle of bright red cinnabar. This was a well-stocked alchemical laboratory, with all the classic alchemical materials, but damn, everything was toxic. Right there on the upper shelf, there were three bottles of varied arsenic salts, each one enough to kill them all ten times over.

“Watch your step,” he said, picking up one of the dusty bottles. “There’s some nasty stuff down here. Lots of those historical alchemists didn’t fare too well when they started playing with compounds like this.”

“Of course,” Zayan said, taking the bottle from him and placing it back on the shelf, and touching his bare forearm in the process. Zayan continued, “I took all the safety classes in college, so I know all about that. I’ll be sure to wear my personal protective gear, and there’s plenty of modern ventilation down here.”

He nodded at this, loving Zayan’s fingers on his arm, and said, “This is so great. Any idea what you’re going to do?”