Alchemist's Due

Leckin gnashed his molars on his goza as he inhaled from it. The goza hissed as the device took in oxygen and transmuted it into something more precious, more tantalizing. He had packed about 30 milligrams of Seer's Eye into the goza, enough to render a 6'0″, 210-pound soldier immobile. But for the 5'8″, 165-pound svelte alchemist it was his morning pick-me-up.

He liked smoking first thing in the morning. To be honest, he liked smoking any time of day, but he especially liked smoking in the morning as he scribbled in his journal. The compound opened his mind and made epiphanies easier to come by. Not easy, by any means, but easier.

His variation of Seer's Eye was different from what the common citizen would fill their pipes with. It was better than the finest cut connoisseurs would have Citadel arch-alchemists brew for them. Rumor has it that Leckin communed with the founder of the compound, the god of knowledge himself, Ro'cast, and was instructed on what ingredients to use to exalt his blend.

When smoking Seer's Eye, every cell seemed to open wide, ready and willing to take in all information by any means. Leckin's senses were heighten to a maddening extent. As he wrote in his journal, with every pen stroke he could feel the pen's point ripping apart the filaments, making its mark on the parchment. Though several feet away, the fire from his fireplace radiated brilliantly against his skin. It was a wonder he managed to write anything with the cacophony of percolating potions, brews, and distilling tonics. Although there was an odd rhythmic rapping amongst the usual sounds of his apothecary. He stopped scribbling for a second to isolate the sound. His ears strained and there it was again. It was a knock coming from the front door.

He set his goza down and tied his cardigan in a presentable fashion. Who's to say would be at the door. It could be a covert dignitary, willing to slum it for a taste of Leckin's wares, or even more precious still, his knowledge. He ambled to the door and gently pulled it open.

There was no dignitary at the door, only a young woman with uncertainty in her large hazel eyes.

"A blessed Sol to you," said Leckin to the young woman.

"Indeed," the young woman replied. "A blessed Sol to you, as well, Master."

Leckin's face scrunched up at the woman's attempt at formality. He waved his hand as to dismiss it all together. "No need for all that," he said. "There are no masters within these walls."

The young woman tangled her fingers together in front of her stomach. She seemed to shrink maybe two inches into herself.

"There are only students and teachers here," Leckin finished.

The young woman scrunched the hem of her skirt up to her right upper thigh and produced a small sack. The familiar jingle of coins rattled from it.

"...And the occasional purchaser, it would seem," he said with a smile.

The woman tried to return the gesture, lifting the corners of her mouth causing her cheeks to dimple. But the smile did not reach her eyes. Leckin stepped aside from the threshold, allowing the woman the ability to enter.

"Please, step inside, not much for you out in these streets."

Though the young woman wore hard bottomed sandals, she stepped so lightly that her footfalls were silent. Leckin pondered for a moment if he had been propositioned by an apparition, but the warmth of her aura indicated the contrary. Leckin closed the door.

"So, what do I owe the honor of you coming here, today?"

The young woman pushed the coin sack towards Leckin, forcing him to take hold of it. It had a decent weight to it.

"I'm from Master Maiard's establishment. I'm here to pay the alchemist's due to start work proper there."

"Ahh," Leckin was all too familiar with dealing with Maiard. Such an unsavory type, even by Leckin's standards. "I take it you're here for your first batch of tincture, correct?"

The young woman averted her eyes from Leckin. Her sand-colored skin flushed as her eyes glistened. When she nodded, a tear fell to the floor.

"Now, now," said Leckin. "No need for tears," though Leckin was fully aware her response was valid. "Please. Have a seat with me."

The two sat in a cozy corner next to a ceiling high bookshelf. Draped from the shelves were various herbs for decor and drying. The young woman's eyes drew across each shelf; the different color tomes, the script on them gilded in gold, it was truly a sight to behold.

"You read?" asked Leckin, folding his hands in his lap.

"I know the letters, Sir... But I can't make sense of them together," she said.

Leckin grimaced at the "Sir" the young lady ascribed to him. But who was he to blame her? His hair was the stark color of wisdom. He shouldn't fault the girl for her respect. "Leckin's the name," he said. "If you are to refer to me, I prefer it just be my name. Alright?"

"Of course." Her voice was softer now, as though she was resigned to being mishandled.

"And what's your name, rabbit? I've gifted you with mine and here you leave me at a disadvantage."

"Oh, I'm E-Eman," there was a quiver in her voice.

"Eman?" Leckin cocked his head to the side as if to allow the name to settle in his ear.

"Yes, s--... Yes, Leckin." She shifted in her seat.

"Hmm..." his cheeks hollowed as he clenched his jaw and pursed his lips. "Rather exotic name, yes?"

"If you insist."

Leckin drummed his thumbs against the arms of his chair. "I take it the den sisters have gone over what it is I'm brewing for you, correct?"

"Yes. A tincture to ensure I can work without--burden." Her eyes drifted away from Leckin when speaking of the "burden."

"When are you due to begin work for Maiard?"

"Within the fortnight." She fidgeted in her seat. "I may be young, so it may be silly of me to fret about the future, but will your tincture be effective permanently?"

Leckin's brows lifted and he waved both hands. "No, no, no, Eman. Of course not. When the time comes when you obtain a pardon from Maiard, or you just find yourself out of his employ, so long as there are no underlying health issues, you will be fine."

Eman nodded as she folded her lips. "How soon will it be until my tincture is ready?"

"It'll be done by this afternoon." He gestured to his apothecary behind him. He craned his neck around his seat to look at some of his instruments piping away. "Thankfully I just got a shipment of the more troublesome ingredients come in this week." Leckin turned back towards Eman. For the first time since she stepped foot into his home her eyes danced at the sight of his apothecary. Rarely when a woman from Maiard's came to get their tincture were they interested in anything other than the transaction. "Would you be interested in watching the process?"

The question seemed to break Eman out of her trance. "Oh, no, I couldn't. I'd be nothing more than a burden."

"Quite the opposite," Leckin assured. "You could be a great help to me." Leckin rose from his seat and made his way over to his workstation. He turned to face Eman and toss his head to beckon her to his side. She obliged his request.

"Now," Leckin began, "This tincture is meant to promote health and ensure..." Leckin folded his lips as his chest caved slightly, causing his shoulders to slump. He swirled his hands in front of him as if to conjure the most appropriate verbiage for the situation. "Um, 'masculine deposits' aren't viable, let's just say." He frowned at the notion of it all. He found it difficult to meet her gaze despite her having hopelessly large eyes. Though the glint of curiosity within her eyes drew his attention, even with his apprehension.

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly, almost indistinguishably. A far more subtle display than the smile she offered upon first meeting him, but it reached her eyes this time. His care was noted, and more importantly appreciated. He was the kindest individual she had met during her six months in Sinoth. Though his demeanor suggested he was at home with the rabble that made up Sinoth's denizenship, his grace distinguished him from the rest.

She ambled over to his side by the workstation. The counter was made of a sturdy wood with a hypnotic swirling grain to it: as if all those years of alchemic combustion etched its way into the wood. She tentatively rose her finger to trace the intricate pattern but caught herself. She clasped her hand over the other drawing them to her chest. "My apologies," she said quietly.

"No, feel free to touch. You won't damage it." Leckin said with a soft smile.

Eman eased her delicate fingertip to the wood and allowed her finger to be guided by the grain. She let out a sigh. "This coloration," she said. "I've never seen any like it in the countryside of Akeith. I actually haven't seen this coloration anywhere in Temek, now that I think about it."

"Seen much of Temek?"

"No... Only what's in eyesight from Trader's Way."

"I suppose it's all the same," said Leckin. He opened one of the apothecary drawers adjacent to the workstation and retrieved a fistful of large, dried evergreen leaves. "This wood didn't come from Temek, it's from Cegree."

"Cegree!" Eman nearly squealed the name. The mere utterance of the place seemed to not only spark her interest but, also, ignited her youthful exuberance she long thought extinguished since moving to Sinoth. "Oh, what's it like?" she asked, her expression wide and wistful. "I heard they had trees are as tall as the Temekean Palace. And their wine is as bold as their warriors, yet it glides and sizzles on the tongue like their coveted dancers." Eman's stared into the distance. "I always dreamed of visiting one day when I grew up... But..." Eman winced, and she shrugged her shoulders. As quickly as she was swept away in fantasy she anchored back down into reality.

Leckin's eyes held on her during her entire display. "Well, yes, their trees are rather tall. It's a lush region, altogether. And their mead is indeed jubilant. I guess it reflects its brewers rather well."

Though Eman's exuberant demeanor drained to a reserved resignation, her eyes still burned with the desire to learn from Leckin. "Have you been?" she asked.

"Lived there for maybe six, no, seven years. I studied at their capital's Citadel. Before my... hasty departure."

"Why did you leave?"

Leckin's mouth stretched outwards as he hissed in air and let out a groan. "Ugh, a story for another time, maybe," he said with an uneasy chuckle. "Anyway," he presented the fistful of leaves to Eman. "This here is Holy--"

"-- Weppes," Eman finished.

Leckin's brows furled, and he leaned back. The corners of his mouth turned downward, and he nodded gently. "Very good. You're acquainted?"

"Yes, it grows in abundance where I'm from," said Eman.

"Ah, yes, you did make mention of being from Akeith. It flourishes nicely and naturally out in that area. For me, however, I must cultivate it here because I use so much. Do you know what it is for?"

"My Eldermother used to brew a tea whenever I had a fever. Sometimes she'd grind it into a paste when I had a minor scrape or scratch."

"Yes, Holy Weppes is a general healing herb. It's damn near a cure-all. It will make the base of your solution." He closed the drawer containing Holy Weppes and opened another. The contents within sprung out of their confines: dried muted yellow blooms. The blooms were nearly white the pigment of the flower was so faint. "Flos Trimphalis," he said. "Otherwise known as Victory's Bloom." He walked towards his windowsill that hosted an array of plants and blooms in a planter.

"Victory's Bloom?" Eman's eyes narrowed, and the bridge of her nose scrunched up. "Victory's Blooms are as bright as canaries."

"Yes, while alive," he pulled an athame from his waistband with his left hand and rummaged through his plants with his right. Once he found what he searched for, he used his athame to harvest the plant. He turned with a stem that sprouted little bursts of solshine all throughout. He returned to his workstation and handed the stem to Eman. "Unfortunately, once dried they lose their vibrance but none of their potency, thankfully."

"What's it do?"

"A plethora of things, but for this particular concoction, it counteracts more baneful ingredients to keep you safe."

Eman didn't react to Leckin's statement.

"More... harmful to you," he clarified.

The severity of what he said finally dawned on Eman. "Harmful?"

"To ensure you don't fall with child, there are aspects of this concoction that are typically poisonous."

Eman's eyes widened, and she took a step back from him.

"Now, don't worry. I'm a professional and have been doing this for decades. Ask any of your den sisters, none of them have ever taken ill over my treatments. In fact, I've cured them of many ailments that come along with living here in Sinoth."

Alarm still rested on Eman's face.

"Your apprehension is warranted, rabbit. But I assure you, you are in good hands." Leckin gestured just past Eman. "Would you hand me that flask beside you there?"

Eman fulfilled his request with a jolt. And the morning went on as such; Leckin would pull out an ingredient here, a tool there, and tutor the young woman in anything she wished to know. He even answered questions she didn't even realized she had.

The brewing session was nearing its end when Leckin uncrated the final ingredient. In the wooden crate, carefully packaged and inside a glass container was a single flower: root, stem, leaves, and bloom. Leckin turned to retrieve his protective gear but seemed to have misplaced his tongues. Eman kneeled next to the crate and peered inside.

The roots were thick and coiled in a chaotic manner. The stem and jagged leaves were a deep evergreen color. It's blossom though... The deepest crimson that Eman ever bared witness to. The petals ends curled slightly and had a smokey black hue to them. This flower's petals were hellfire incarnate. Yet, there was such an allure to it, Eman couldn't help but reach out for the plant. Before the tip of her nail could caress just the glass containing the plant, Leckin snatched her hand back and held it to him so firm that Eman froze in place.

"That'll be a mighty fool thing for you to do, girl." He could barely breathe he was so tense. "You know what that is?"

Eman shook her head.

"That's Certus Mortem, otherwise known as 'Assassin's Delight' or 'Sadrin's Kiss.'" Leckin helped Eman to her feet and escorted her a few steps away from the crate. He took out a handkerchief and doused it with some solution and handed it to Eman. "While I have this glass container open, you keep that over your nose and mouth until I say otherwise. Understood?" He held eye contact until Eman acknowledged and accepted her instructions. She nodded and placed the handkerchief over her mouth and nose.

Leckin doused a mask with the same solution he doused Eman's handkerchief with and put it on. He also donned a set of goggles and gloves. He eased the glass case open and immediately a spicy, pungent aroma filtered through Eman's protection and singed her nose and scratched at her throat. She coughed, in turn.

"Wait," said Leckin, as he handled the sample of certus mortem. He popped the cork on a vile and drop the sample inside. He quickly filled it with alcohol before replacing the cork. He secured the plant by replacing the glass case over it. Once done, he removed his protective gear. "When this dissolves, we need only three drops to complete your solution." He placed his eyes on her. "You can remove your cloth, now."

Eman obliged and gave several hardy coughs to clear herself of that awful plant. She took a step forward. She looked around Leckin to see what the sample did inside the alcohol. It was dissolving into a swirl of red at the bottom of the vile, but its influence was steadily taking hold of the rest of the alcohol, staining it crimson. "How long will that take, Leckin?"

Leckin pursed his lips and shrugged. "Maybe another 15 to 20 minutes. Enough to indulge an old man with a snack, perhaps."

Leckin retrieved a tray of tea and sweet cakes from his kitchen and brought them over to his sitting area with Eman. He served her cup and placed the tray on the end table to allow her to take as many sweet cakes as she desired. He reclined into his seat and took a sip of his tea. He exhaled heavily at the warmth of the liquid. "You said you arrived in Sinoth about six months ago, correct?" He blew over his cup to cool the tea further.

Eman nibbled at the corner of her cake and gave a gentle nod. "Mmm hmm."

"And during this entire time, you've resided in Maiard's establishment?"

"Yes, Leckin." Crumbs spilled from her lips; she brought her hand up to cover her embarrassment.

Leckin gave a soft chuckle. "And yet, you're just now starting to work for Maiard proper in the brothel. I've never known Maiard to be the charitable type, what have you been doing during your stead there?"

Eman chewed and swallowed her sweet cake before speaking this time. "There are many girls with children there. I watch over them during the day as their mothers sleep, and oftentimes tuck them in bed. After that, I serve as the scullery maid and clean up the rooms after the girls have clients."

"How many hours would you say you work a day?"

"Anywhere from twelve to sixteen hours a day, most days." She lifted the cup to her lips and sipped slow. Ginger and lemon harmonized in a delicate bouquet of flavor. It was soothing yet invigorating.

Leckin narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "The coin purse you handed to me; how much is there?"

Eman cocked her head. Did he not trust her? "Six months wages, in full. The standard due expected for your services, Leckin."

"Hmm. " He raked his fingers through his white, wiry beard. "How much until you can afford to leave Maiard's?"

"If I work diligently, and the gods bless me with good health and wealthy patrons, I could be free in five years' time," she said. "But that's if I'm fortunate." She turned her gaze away from Leckin.

Leckin placed his empty teacup on the tray. "I suppose I can go fetch what you came here for."

Eman expected for the alchemist to give her several vials of what they brewed together that day. But instead, he set the coin purse she initially gave him into her lap. Her eyes snapped to his face and desperately searched for meaning. "I--I don't understand," she finally managed to utter.

"I need an understudy," he gestured at her coin purse. "In there is the original amount you brought to me, plus enough to cover buying your pardon from Maiard." His eyes travelled from the crown of her head to her feet. "Provided you wish to leave his employ."

"Oh, yes," Eman shot up to her feet, clutching the considerably heavier coin purse to her heart. "What do I owe you, what must I do, Leckin?"

"Firstly, I need you literate." Leckin marched over to his bookshelf and plucked several books from it. "These aren't ideal for a beginner, but you said yourself that you know the letters, you just need to learn to make sense of them together." He took the heavy load of books and dropped them in the seat she was sitting in. A plume of dust came from them. "You'll spend several hours a day reading and writing." He placed his hand on her back to escort her to his backroom. A greenhouse with flora hanging and springing forth from every direction. "Then I'll have you learn and harvest every herb and plant that I have growing here. There's nothing lethal in here." He narrowed his eyes and tilted his chin upwards. "Coma-inducing, perhaps, but nothing lethal."

Eman was in a haze. Her mouth was agape and her eyes wide. She could hardly make sense of what he was telling her. "I'll be cleaning for you, Master Leckin?" Her voice pleaded for understanding.

"Aht, aht, aht!" He swatted at her hand to break her out of that pesky habit of servitude. "Like I said, there are no masters within these walls." He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Merely teachers and students."