Alchemical symbol: Tin [https://i.imgur.com/e9DvjDg.png]

In the doorway of the ruined temple, Thea stopped.

Two men waited within: one tall and broad-shouldered, the other shorter. She clutched the shawl she’d worn to hide her face. The bottle of vitriol hung heavy in her pocket. Her heart raced. She shouldn’t have come — not here, to this deserted place deep in the Scar, so far from the streets she knew. She should never have agreed to this meeting with men who were certainly criminals and dangerous. For all she knew they meant to kill her, or worse.

She stepped back, her heel catching an empty glass vial among the litter. It rolled and hit stone with a sharp clink.

The two men turned. The tall man tilted his head, inspecting her with cool disinterest. A shaft of sunlight caught his face, and if she hadn’t been frozen, she would have run. His nose was broken, his features flattened like he’d been shoved repeatedly into a wall. He looked the sort to walk through doors without opening them.

He wore a long brown coat with a blue rag tied round the arm. The short man had a blue coat, old and faded in irregular patches. He raised his eyebrows quizzically and smiled a crooked smile. ‘Hello. Looking for someone?’

‘I only seek—’ Her voice shook. She steadied herself. She’d come this far; she could at least meet her fate like an adult instead of a trembling child. ‘The Light?’

It was what she’d been told to say. The small man thrust his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. ‘Aren’t we all? Come in. Don’t be shy. We won’t eat you.’

Afternoon sunlight streamed into the roofless building through a gaping hole where one wall had tumbled. On the far wall, a blurred stone carving suggested this place had been a temple once, for some cult or other. Whatever it was built for, years ago Sammael-worshippers had re-purposed it as a chapel, adding the pillars outside.

Since the Burning, it had found other uses. The rubbish collected in the corners included many empty glass vials. On one wall, someone had crudely painted a figure striding forward, sword in hand, a man, or angel, or demon wreathed in flames.

The short man looked her up and down. ‘You’re no alchemist.’

Thea nodded. ‘I’m here on his behalf.’

‘We’d rather deal direct…’ He frowned. ‘How do I even know there is an alchemist?’

Thea shrank. It had taken all her courage to get here. She didn’t know how to answer his suspicion. After all, why should he trust her? She certainly didn’t trust them. ‘If you don’t want to deal with me, I’ll go.’

The big man shifted slightly. Was he hired muscle, here for protection, or the boss? He was oddly familiar, though she didn’t recognise his face. It wasn’t the sort of face one would easily forget. ‘Light’s sake, she’s here. Let’s get on with it.’

‘White-Eye didn’t tell me much,’ Thea said quickly. ‘What work do you want done?’

‘Paint,’ the short man said.

She stared. She’d imagined a great many things she might be asked for: poison, blasting powder, Sothron Fire — paint definitely hadn’t been on the list. It was hard to think of anything less dangerous. ‘Paint?’

‘White paint. Black paint. Maybe some other colours too.’

This was either a strange joke or these people were idiots. Thea crossed her arms. ‘You don’t need an alchemist for paint.’

‘Permanent paint.’

‘Oh.’ That made more sense. ‘You want paint that won’t wash off?’

‘Paint that can’t be removed at all. Or over-painted.’

Interesting. For true permanence, the paint would need to react with the surface and bind to it. That wasn’t difficult; many paints worked that way to some degree. The reaction just had to be stronger, and the film of dried paint should be slick, resisting both abrasives and solvents.

‘What surface is the paint going on?’ she asked.

The short man hesitated. ‘Let’s say stone.’

‘Outside? Painting a building?’ Thea thought. ‘We could make paint for you, but an additive may be more practical. You just mix it with whatever paint you want.’

‘And that will work? The paint will stay forever?’

‘Until the surface of the stone wears away. Nothing lasts forever.’ She glanced at the big man, and found him staring at her. Heat rose to her face. She looked away quickly.

‘How much?’ the short man said.

‘We’ll have to buy materials. Develop a formula.’ What were these guys up to? It must be dodgy, somehow — why all this secrecy otherwise? But it was still just paint. Surely nothing too awful could be done with paint? How much money should she ask for? She figured she should start high. ‘Twenty forints upfront, then one forint for enough additive to treat one gallon of paint.’

The short man whistled. He glanced at the other. ‘You understand, if you cheat us, we will find you.’

Thea swallowed. Her interest in the alchemical problem had made her forget who she was dealing with. She couldn’t afford to forget: these men were Shepherds, and they were dangerous. Still, all they wanted was paint, and she was confident the job could be done. In fact, she half-recalled having seen a formula for permanent paint, or something very similar.

‘We won’t cheat you,’ she said. ‘White-Eye vouched for us, didn’t he? You know you can trust him.’

The short man hunched in his too-large coat, unconvinced. ‘How quickly can you have it done?’

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

She had no idea. ‘Two weeks.’

‘Let’s say enough for ten gallons. Fifteen forints upfront, ten on delivery.’

Thea blinked, unsure if she’d heard right — but the short man was already counting coins. She’d expected him to haggle more. Was she under-charging? Or was this business more dangerous than she’d imagined? But it was still only paint. What could go wrong with paint?

Her hands trembled under the gleam of silver. So much for materials, so much for food, the rent was overdue but not so urgent, and they must give the Lady something — not what she’d asked for, but enough to be safe. Fifteen forints was enough to survive, at least for the next two weeks, and then, assuming they delivered the paint additive on time, there’d be more money.

She shut her eyes, and whatever gods or angels looked down on the ruined chapel, offered them a small but heartfelt thank you.

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‘I don’t see why Terramet’s Sovereign Glue wouldn’t work,’ she said. ‘At least as a starting point. You’d need to adapt the recipe—’

‘No, no, no.’ Benedict’s face was set in a mulish expression Thea knew all too well. ‘That won’t work as an additive. The formula is for the glue itself. What did you promise an additive for anyway? You should have consulted me first. Two weeks is entirely impossible for a new formula.’

‘I know Terramet’s is a glue formula, but surely the activation could be modified.’ Thea screwed up her face. She was sure she’d seen something once, in a book. The page hovered at the edge of recall. ‘There must be a way to apply it.’

Someone knocked at the door.

Thea jumped. Benedict and she exchanged glances. She hadn’t made any payment to the Lady, not yet, but the money was set aside, ready. Though at this hour in the afternoon it was more likely to be the building supervisor about the rent.

On the way to the door, she picked up the bottle of vitriol, just in case. ‘Who’s there?’

‘Captain Nevin. May I come in?’

She lowered the flask. The Phylaxes officer was the last person she’d expected to visit, nor was he exactly welcome, but he at least wouldn’t ask for money. She opened the door.

He filled the doorway, a tall shadow in dark plain clothes similar to those she’d last seen him in. ‘Good day.’ He stepped inside and nodded to Benedict. ‘And good day to you.’

Benedict smiled. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure, sir. Would you care for tea?’

‘No.’ Nevin hunched a little, as if the room was too small for his height. ‘Thank you. I won’t be here long. I just wanted to — apologise to Thea.’

In the middle of returning the acid to the shelf, Thea fumbled and almost dropped the flask. ‘Oh.’ Today was a day for surprises, it seemed. ‘Whatever for?’

‘It was wrong of me to threaten to arrest you. I didn’t mean it, but that is no excuse. I was ill-tempered and rude. Can you forgive me?’

‘Huh.’ The real question was why Nevin felt an apology was needed at all. He was a noble. She was nobody. Nobles didn’t apologise to nobodies, not unless they wanted something. ‘I guess.’

Nevin frowned like he’d expected a different response, and Benedict frowned in confusion, since she hadn’t told him about Nevin’s late night visit. The silence grew and pressed, demanding to be filled. She felt responsible, somehow, for saying the right thing, but why should she? She just wanted him gone so they could get back to work.

‘Did you find your clawed woman?’ she said.

‘Have you seen her?’

‘Not since you were here.’

‘If she’s gone, it’s nothing to do with me.’

‘Did you come here looking for her?’

‘I came to apologise. Which I’ve done.’

‘So you have,’ Thea said. She didn’t think he was lying. She just couldn’t figure out what his game was.

Nevin looked around, inspecting the room as if everything but her face was of great interest. He turned to Benedict. ‘You are an alchemist?’

Benedict gestured to the alembic and shelves of ingredients. ‘As you see, sir.’

‘I was wondering…’ Nevin frowned. ‘Perhaps you could do some work for me.’

‘Of course, of course.’ Benedict smiled and nodded. ‘Happy to be of service. How can we help you?’

Thea crossed her arms. ‘We’re busy. We don’t need more work.’

‘Oh, this paint business won’t take long,’ Benedict said. ‘And as you so often remind me, we need the money.’

‘Paint?’ Nevin asked.

‘A commission from a paint factory,’ Thea said quickly.

‘Interesting. I never thought about what alchemists actually do, day to day. Cold-lamps, obviously.’

‘Dyes, glues, paints and varnish,’ Benedict recited. ‘Medicines, solvents and cleaning solutions, poisons for vermin, blasting powder and alchemist’s candles, refining and alloying metals. A great many useful things…’

‘And cold-lamps,’ Thea added.

‘Fascinating,’ Nevin said, with a distinct lack of interest. ‘Anyway, last time I was here, I chased a man, a Snake, but I lost him. He was faster than I. Those tattoos they have hide the scars of flesh-work.’

‘Filthy business,’ Benedict said.

Nevin grimaced. ‘Some of them are unnaturally fast or strong. Could a similar enhancement be made with alchemy? In the form of a potion, for example?’

‘A potion of strength?’ Thea said.

‘Speed. Is it possible?’

Benedict chuckled. ‘You’ve been listening to too many old stories, sir. No one makes such things these days. It’s more dangerous than you imagine. Even if you were willing to take the risk, the Guild wouldn’t approve.’

‘So it is possible?’ Nevin said. ‘Would fifty forints be enough?’

Fifty forints. Thea forgot how to breathe, and spluttered.

‘If it’s more expensive…’

‘It isn’t a question of money, sir,’ Benedict said. ‘Experimenting with such a potion might kill you, and we’d be held responsible.’

Nevin rubbed his jaw. ‘I see. But perhaps the Guild wouldn’t object to some initial research?’ He opened his coin pouch and placed a forint on the table. And another on top of the first, and another, and another, soft clinks raising a tower of gleaming silver.

‘We’ll do it,’ Thea said.

Nevin eyed her. She’d refused his money before, but this was different, this was payment for work, not charity or a bribe to betray a friend. It was also a lot more than two forints.

‘Ten forints,’ he said. ‘To start with. Is that acceptable?’

Benedict coughed. ‘Very generous, sir, but you understand, we can make no promises…’

Nevin held Thea’s gaze. ‘I’m sure you’ll do your best.’ He went to the door, Thea following, and on the threshold paused and lowered his head to say: ‘May I ask you something?’

Thea stopped breathing, suddenly intensely aware of her drab stained dress and her chopped-short hair. Heat rose to her face. Not that she was at all interested in him, because she had enough sense not to go gooey-eyed for some noble just because he had muscles and a nice smile. Or silver.

He smiled. ‘Have you ever heard of a group, maybe a gang, calling themselves Black Crow?’

She swallowed. ‘Never heard of them. This is Blazes territory.’

Nevin gazed at her thoughtfully, though she didn’t think his thoughts were much like hers. ‘If you do hear anything, I’d be interested. Information can be valuable.’

Ah. So this was the real reason for Nevin’s visit, not apologising to her or ordering dubious potions. He’d wasted his time and silver though: she’d never heard of this Black Crow, whatever it was. She nodded anyway, as if information might be just round the corner. ‘I’ll keep my ears open.’