Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (6 page)

The
man's return look was calm. "As you say. Just don't forget she
may be someone else's tool till the artisan's unmasked, Sir Kymus.
Good day to you."

"Good
day," Iathor said. "Brague will show you out."

Thioso
looked up at the dramsman who appeared at the door, not quite
blocking it. "Indeed."

Iathor
sat back at his desk and put his head in his hands. It hadn't been
over-late when he'd gotten to Kessa's burning shop, but after she'd
collapsed in shock and exhaustion, he'd lingered awake and had his
dramsmen wake him early. Now his thoughts were sluggish and
disjointed.

He
remembered why it was unlikely Kessa would've faked the attack. He'd
made it clear he wanted to wed her. She'd no need to secure his
sympathy.

But
equally, if someone wanted to coerce her, lack of chastity wouldn't
have made him reject her.

His
father'd once sent a letter to the Shadow-master, threatening to turn
the full power of the Lord Alchemist against him if he didn't rein in
production of certain brews – binding every captured criminal
with the draught until the Shadow-master himself was taken. As Guild
Master, Iathor'd also fenced back and forth, such as when the
joy-powders had been too prevalent, claiming too many fortunes and
lives.

When
he was more awake, he'd write another letter.

"Iathor,"
Keli said from the doorway, "you look nearly as wretched as
Kessa. Haven't you slept?"

"A
bit." He waved vaguely at the chairs.

She
perched on the corner of his desk instead. "Well, she's lying
down, and I think you should as well."

"I've
too much to do. Did you find . . . ?"

"She
claims they got no further than pawing, and would've lost bits
otherwise. I think she's still half in shock."

"Did
you
discover why she suddenly agreed to my suit?" He
looked up.

Keli
shook her head, with a flick at the end that put one braid behind her
shoulder. "I didn't ask. For questions like that, you'd want
Nicia to visit. May she? Tonight or tomorrow?"

"Of
course. With luck, Kessa's sister will turn up, too." The
attractive courtesan was a mercenary woman, disinclined to turn down
free meals. Laita might be informative, for a price. Iathor yawned.

Keli
tsk
ed at him maternally, though she was at least a decade
younger. "Get some
sleep.
Especially if you're going to
go with her later."

"Can't,"
Iathor said. "Guild work to do. Routine waits for no
catastrophe. I'll have Brague nap, and attend her."

"And
you immune to the stimulants as well, no doubt." Keli sighed,
and slid off the desk. "Well, I'll let you get to work, or
perhaps to the couch for a little rest."

"I
should go to the guild offices. You took a hired buggy here?"

"Yes,
and left him waiting out front unless your people've taken pity on
him and the horse."

Iathor
pushed himself upright. "I'll get Dayn and some stimulants. Jeck
and Brague can take Kessa to her shop, and come by to pick me up at
the offices. We'll need another driver, perhaps a bodyguard . . ."
And a maid-servant, minimum.

"
That's
choices for another day, Iathor. Come on, then. It'll be cramped with
three, but I'm not so broad in the hips to push you both out."

Outside
his office, Dayn gave Iathor what might've been a chiding look –
if Dayn ever looked chiding at his master. "I'll inform Brague,
m'lord, and fetch your coats."

While
he hardly wanted arguments, Iathor wouldn't have resented someone
else trying to make him stay home in bed. Hopefully the chill air
would wake him up.

The
buggy's driver was dubious about three passengers, but as Jeck had
taken pity on him
and
Iathor offered the usual fare, that
Keli'd already paid, to go to the same place . . .

By
the end of the trip, Iathor was slightly more awake. Still, the
multicolored brick layers of the guild's offices seemed jarringly
festive to Iathor's fatigued and grouchy mind.

After
the first two masters stopped him in the lower hall, not even close
to his office, Iathor abandoned thoughts of notes and messengers, and
simply told everyone, "I'll explain at an officers' meeting in a
half-hour."

That
gave enough time to send a passing apprentice for strong-brewed tea;
hopefully, if he kept sipping it during the meeting, it'd keep him
awake despite his immunities quickly neutralizing the effects. He
dragged the rest of his pending work up to the third floor's meeting
hall and triaged it at the head of the long table there, waiting for
officers to accumulate.

Masters
Iste and Coty (who'd stopped him in the hall) were the first to
arrive, in a mismatched set of thin tallness and shorter roundness.
As usual, Iste wore alchemist gray clothes and battered, brown boots.
Coty's tunic beneath his gray tabard was an autumnal copper color
that, amazingly, didn't quite clash with his unnaturally violet eyes.

Following
the tea-bearing apprentice were Masters Aleran and Regeth, red-haired
cousins who favored more green in their tabards than was expected
from alchemists. They were trailed by the brown-wearing Master
Fantho, a lesser baron (like Iathor himself) with ties to
mineral-seeking scouts.

Iathor
claimed his tea; the apprentice was promptly drafted by the others to
fetch more. To the lad's credit, he didn't sulk out, nor bump into
another entering pair despite them being deep in some argument about
the proper use of the workrooms.

One
of the guild clerks followed; a bitter, older woman whose baron
father lost everything in ill-advised trading ventures to the old
empire. Issny Lenerus had no head for alchemy, and too much pride to
stoop to being someone's maid-servant, but she'd a quick, neat hand
and a good memory. When not taking notes in meetings, she earned her
wages by the alchemy of transforming messy scrawls into legible
letters, and tutored apprentices in reading and writing.

Looking
far too young to be a master alchemist, Mathus Iontele entered; he
was descended from a former Lord Alchemist, whose grandchildren
hadn't inherited the immunities. (A good thing for the man's vanity,
considering Mathus' silvery blue eyes and near-white blond hair.)
"What's this about a meeting, cousin?" he asked.

"I'll
explain when the others are here. How many more do we have coming?"

Mathus
sat to Iathor's immediate left. "Talini's still in Therid, so
Jonen, Dideu, the Herbmaster, your brother . . ."

Iathor
sipped his tea carefully. It was hot. "Iasen's made an
appearance? I'm startled. Is his workroom still unbearable?"

Mathus
shrugged. "He'd more likely talk to his brother about it than a
distant cousin."

"You'd
be surprised."

A
trio of apprentices bore in teapots and mugs. Master Jonen, who
looked more like a blacksmith than an alchemist, followed, and Dideu
appeared, his more slender form hidden by the bulkier man, with his
hair in an eccentrically long braid down past his hips.

At
least he didn't have winter festival bells wound in the graying,
golden length of hair, yet.

Herbmaster
Keli showed up in apron and party dress, carefully holding her own
mug of mint tea, just as the apprentices were leaving.

Iathor
asked, "Has anyone sent apprentices to do a sweep of the offices
and basement?"

Master
Iste raised his long-fingered hand. "Mine are at work on that."

Iathor
nodded. "My thanks." Under the table, he ticked off the
seconds, thumb against fingertips. One, two, three, four, five, six,
seven . . .

There
was a crash from the stairs, as of some apprentice being bumped into
and dropping the tray he'd used to carry up cups. A few masters
winced. Iathor sighed.

Iasen
Kymus made his entry in undignified haste, despite being otherwise
impeccable in his gray clothes and short tabard, with his
noble-queued hair and fashionable beard (both a lighter shade than
Iathor's own) as well-groomed as if he weren't puffing slightly from
three flights of stairs. "Iathor, what nonsense is it
this
time?"

"Sit
down, Master Iasen," Iathor said, hoping his brother took the
hint of appropriate formality instead of requiring a public
reprimand.

"I've
paid
my dues, so it can't be about that," Iasen
complained, but sat and took the tea Dideu passed him, while some of
the other masters chuckled.

Iathor
looked around. There were others who had the right to be at the
meeting – Master Rom, for one, whose area of responsibility
held Kessa's destroyed shop – but they were unlikely to appear
for an impromptu meeting, and could read Issny's transcription
afterward. "We've a sufficiency of officers and masters,"
he announced, standing. "This meeting begins."

Issny
began writing. The faint scritching of her graphite was drowned out
by quiet murmurs of
about time
and
finally
. Iathor took
a breath and mustered his words. The tea helped a little, as did the
familiar surroundings. "I've sent notes to most of you, that one
of our guild members was attacked last night."

Iasen
interrupted, lip curled. "Just an herb-witch."

Herbmaster
Keli's voice was icy. "
Just
an herb-witch, Master Iasen?"

"No
offense, Keli! But really, the little half-breed shouldn't have been
out at night in the first place."

"Wait,"
Master Iste said. "Kessa Herbsman? Iathor, your student?"

"Yes."
There was only one memorable half-breed herb-witch in Aeston, after
all. "While walking back to her shop, she was attacked by four
men. She managed to escape, wounding at least three of them. If these
men are found, seeking healing . . . I want them
reported to me. I want them delivered to me. Members of the
Alchemists' Guild are not targets for thugs, and I will teach that
lesson as often as becomes necessary."

Master
Regeth asked, "Master Kymus, how do we tell these men from
anyone else who might need a poultice?"

"The
wounds will probably look like burns, and they may make some comment
about a poison-spitting witch," Iathor said.

"Herbmaster
Keli," Jonen rumbled. "What are the herb-witches being
taught, these days?"

Keli
shrugged. "She was out under old Chiftia. I've no idea what the
woman's discovered. Not sure she does, either; we need to consider a
replacement for her. Perhaps some likely student from the village she
tends to."

"Later,
Herbmaster," Iathor said. "And to answer the next question,
the preparation nearly killed Kessa by itself, which is . . .
an impressive feat."

Master
Iste's eyes widened. His chair, that he'd been leaning back slightly,
thumped all four feet to the floor.

Iathor
nodded to the man. Iste'd taken over the girls' tutoring once, when
Iathor was busy; he'd no doubt wondered why the Guild Master was
teaching a poorly educated herb-witch when Nicia, Herbmaster Keli's
well-taught daughter, was beside her.

The
others looked puzzled. Keli seemed serene, even smug. Iasen scowled.

Iathor
took another breath, and let himself be theatrical. "I believe
Kessa Herbsman, journeyman herb-witch, is immune. She has consented
to marry me."

Two
masters, Aleran and Dideu, were leaning their chairs back enough to
actually fall over as they scrambled to straighten up. Mathus'd been
too close to the head of the table to be so informal, likely sparing
him similar indignity. The others broke into a babble of questions
and exclamations. Iathor picked out Iste's enlightened
So
that's
it!
and Coty's shocked
dear me!

Iasen
stood and snapped, over the babble, "Brother, an objection!"

"Oh,
sit down, Iasen," Master Fantho said. "You don't want to
inherit anyway."

"That's
not the point," Iasen said. "The girl's half-barbarian, of
criminal nature and no good family. She's faking an immunity with
some sleight of hand, to ingratiate herself with my brother and his
money."

"Oh,
really," Dideu said, setting his chair back upright. "What
sensible girl'd want the draught?"

"If
she fakes it well enough," Iasen argued, "she might
convince Iathor not to bother.
I've
never been tested, and
he's left his secretary and gardener entirely un-bound. Not to
mention all those little brat relatives of his cook and steward."

Master
Coty turned his alchemy-violet eyes to Iathor. "Master Kymus,
surely you've told the girl . . ."

Iasen
interrupted again. "Besides, she might think it worth the
draught! She's far too ugly to catch anyone's eye normally."

"There
are
potions for that," Mathus pointed out.

"Not
for the immune," Iathor said. "And I've anticipated this
objection. I intend to schedule the draught-giving within the month,
preferably no more than a fiveday from now. I need six witnesses.
Three definite, and three in case the nobles I tap are unavailable.
Show of hands for those willing and able to
commit
."