The Lady Alchemist Page 13

  Human Anatomy and Physiology. And there, below it, to Sepha’s utter relief, was a blurb: Complete with illustrations!

  A book about the human body, complete with illustrations. It was a blueprint—but for people instead of machines.

  Sepha sank to the floor, not sure if she wanted to crow or cry. With this book, she would know exactly how to build a human body. And once she knew that piece, she could move forward with any alchem because she could always use any alchem.

  Well, she thought sourly. Almost always.

  She was saved.

  Sepha studied Human Anatomy and Physiology obsessively. The human body was wildly complex, with parts more varied and intricate than anything she’d ever built before. But now that she had a useful textbook, she could do what she’d always done: look at the blueprint, break the assembly down to its smallest components, and practice. And practice, and practice.

  All she needed was to study the diagrams and ignore the unhelpful, scrambled text. Because she couldn’t rightly study Human Anatomy and Physiology in the library, she kept to her room. Soon, she only left for meals, and she would’ve skipped those if not for the headaches. Fio was her only companion, sitting in the corner while she stared at the book until her eyes went unfocused.

  But she got closer to a solution every day.

  Two weeks after Sepha had found Human Anatomy and Physiology—on the day that just so happened to be her eighteenth birthday—Ruhen wasn’t at breakfast. In fact, he wasn’t even at the Institute. He was somewhere far away, and getting farther, fast.

  Ruhen was on the train to Balarat, probably. The candidates sometimes went there.

  He hadn’t mentioned it to her. Which was fine. Things had been strained between them lately, anyway. A tautness in the air at mealtimes, a mutual silence while Ruhen’s friends whispered about the most recent assassination, derailment, explosion. Ruhen’s stillness when she accidentally brushed against him. And his scent, that autumn-wind smell, that wild smell, that paralyzed her when she got too close.

  She would manage the headache. It was fine.

  After breakfast, Sepha fetched Fio and went to the library. She was finally—finally—ready to take action.

  Tonight, she was going to transmute a heart.

  Which was thoroughly illegal.

  The risk and the necessity stirred up a recklessness inside, and Sepha wanted nothing more than to get it done. Get it over with. Do it now and move on to the next thing.

  But she could not rush.

  She had to wait until tonight, when the laboratories would be empty.

  Impatience could get her killed. She had to remember that. Impatience. Could get. Her killed.

  Sepha sat with Fio in one of the smaller study rooms. The no-Ruhen headache at the base of her skull was throbbing something awful, which was fine. She wasn’t really trying to study, anyway. She’d see him when he came back. Everything was going to be fine.

  Footsteps, not Ruhen’s, approached. Sepha turned around just in time to see Destry and Henric let themselves into the room.

  “Happy birthday, Sepha,” Destry said, smiling and slumping into the only spare chair in the room. She slapped a clumsily wrapped parcel onto the table.

  “Yes, happy birthday!” Henric’s smile was slightly too wide.

  “Thanks!” Sepha said, wrenching her eyes from the parcel. “I didn’t think anyone would remember!”

  She’d mentioned her birthday once in passing and had immediately hated herself for it.

  Attention-lover, the snide voice had said. Pathetic.

  “Well, I not only remembered,” Destry said, shoving the parcel toward Sepha. “I got you something.”

  “We got you something,” Henric said, cutting a glance at Destry.

  “Yes,” Destry said with a sour look, “we got you something. We both definitely remembered. One of us did not run into the other by happenstance just now and ask what was in the package.”

  Henric scowled.

  Sepha laughed. “Well, I’m glad you both definitely remembered my birthday and put an equal amount of thought into this gift,” she said, reaching greedily for the present.

  “It isn’t much,” Destry said, chewing on her lip, “but I think you’ll like it.”

  Sepha tore open the paper to find a pair of leather holsters exactly like the ones the Military Alchemists used. Aside from Destry’s ban on performing alchemical exchanges whenever anyone was around, Sepha’s lack of holsters was the only thing holding her back from teaching herself how to shoot. Without holsters, she would’ve had to carry bullets around in her pocket like an idiot.

  Sepha grinned.

  “Thanks!” she cried, and shot to her feet to buckle the holsters around her hips. “These are perfect!”

  “Well, I’m relieved,” Henric said, backing toward the door. “I’ve been worried sick for ages, wondering if you’d like the gift Destry and I chose together. Anyway, I was on my way to do something else, so if you’ll excuse me. Happy birthday.”

  Henric let himself out, and Sepha smothered another laugh. “He’s such an idiot,” she said after he shut the door.

  Destry smiled again. She had a nice smile, the kind that made her nose crinkle and her cheeks fold into dimples. “I’m glad you like them,” Destry said. “At first, I thought we could all go to Balarat to see a play, but we can’t. There’s been—well, I’m sure you’ve heard the rumblings. There’s been a lot of trouble lately. Ships going missing, trains derailed, mines exploded, factories burned to the ground. Not in Three Mills,” she added quickly.

  “Oh,” Sepha said, easing into her seat. That whisper of fear started echoing again, but she silenced it. The attacks couldn’t have anything to do with the undead magician. They couldn’t. “And that means we can’t leave the Institute?”

  “It means Henric and I shouldn’t go into any crowded rooms,” Destry said, attempting a wry smile. “It means we shouldn’t be in the same place at the same time, other than Institute. If there was an attack aimed at me, and I was in a theater full of innocent people …” She grimaced again and ran a hand through her white-blond hair. “If I survived, I couldn’t live with myself.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sepha said. Destry, seeming distracted, only nodded.

  There was a silent moment before Destry said, “I need to shoot something. Let’s go try out your new holsters.”

  Sepha forced a smile. Turning to Fio, she said, “Can you put my books away, please? You can go to your barracks afterward.”

  He gave her a searching look, scooped her books into his arms, and left the room.

  Sepha and Destry headed for the proving grounds. “You’ve made a lot of progress, Sepha, with your sparring,” Destry said.

  Sepha grinned wryly. “Yes, which is why I’m still recovering from bruised ribs.”

  “No, I’m serious,” Destry said, although she did smile. “Have you thought about your future at all? Anything you’d like to do after this?”

  Sepha blinked. “No, I really haven’t. I’m still … processing things.”

  Destry nodded. “Well, as gruesome as it is to think of, I will one day be the Magistrate. And I’ll need people by my side. People I can trust.”

  Sepha’s cheeks went hot. Destry thought she could trust her? What would Destry do when she found out that Sepha was absolutely, without a doubt, untrustworthy? “That sounds amazing, but I’m almost useless. You know that.”

  “Don’t pretend to be stupid, Sepha,” Destry said, narrowing her ice-blue eyes. There was more calculation than friendship in her gaze as she went on, “You’re a powerful alchemist and a good fighter. What’s more, you’ve got a level head.”

  Sepha opened her mouth to argue, but Destry cut her off with a slicing gesture. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. It’s just something to think about for when the time comes—a very long time from now, hopefully.”

  “All right,” Sepha said, f
eeling a bit sick. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

  Thuban’s sharp voice rang across the courtyard.

  “Pardon me,” Thuban called. Until now, Sepha hadn’t thought it was possible to say Pardon me rudely. When Sepha and Destry stopped and turned, Thuban glared at Sepha before fixing Destry with a piercing look. “Something very important and very sensitive has come up.”

  “All right,” Destry sighed. She gave Sepha an apologetic grimace and said, “I have to go. Let me know how the holsters work out.”

  Destry clapped Sepha on the shoulder and hurried after Thuban toward his office. Sepha wondered what the sensitive information could be. But then she forced it out of her mind. It wasn’t about the undead magician or the lies she’d told. No one had noticed the missing Human Anatomy and Physiology textbook. It had nothing to do with her. Nothing!

  Sepha started toward the proving grounds, but stopped when she heard the clacking of wooden staves against each other and felt a dozen pulses in sequence. The proving grounds were crowded. And, just now, she didn’t need crowded.

  She returned to her room in the Ten and reviewed Human Anatomy and Physiology one last time. Tonight, when everyone else was at the mess hall for dinner, she’d transmute herself a heart.

  The underground levels were confusing at the best of times. But tonight, they seemed especially shadowy and disorienting.

  The walls were hewn from solid stone. Naked bulbs hung at intervals slightly too long, leaving the suggestion of darkness between them—a hint of what the corridor would look like if the lights were suddenly to go out. The corridors curved in a labyrinthine way, and Sepha felt as if she’d gone around twice before she finally settled on a laboratory.

  The laboratory was low-ceilinged and small, and was furnished only with a plain metal table. When she closed the door behind her, she felt as if she were inside an oven, or maybe a tomb.

  Which was utter nonsense. Of course.

  Sepha had the necessary materials with her: a bowl, into which she’d transcribed a transmutation alchem; some water; and powdered carbon, iron, sodium, potassium, and chlorine. It all amounted to about a pound’s worth of materials.

  Feeling jittery and breathless, Sepha set the bowl on the table. She uncorked her flask of water and poured it in, down to the last drop. Then she dumped in the powdered materials and leapt back, waiting for the sodium and potassium to finish sparking and dancing along the water’s surface. It wasn’t an omen. It was chemistry. It was fine. Everything was fine.

  If all went according to plan, Sepha would be able to practice each organ, alchemically producing them one at a time and destroying the evidence afterward. When she was ready, she’d transmute the body quickly, in sections, and perform one final alchemical exchange to join the thing together. A patchwork body, new and living, created with alchemy.

  It all started with this first experiment. This first heart.

  Thanks to Human Anatomy and Physiology, Sepha knew how a heart worked and what it looked like. She knew what to visualize when she placed her fingers just so. All that was left now was to do it.

  Sepha set her fingers just so along the rim of the alchem. She closed her eyes. Ignored her throbbing headache.

  It was silent. It was dark.

  One adult human heart.

  Sepha focused.

  There was a prolonged moment during which Sepha saw nothing—as if there were no possible variation of the materials inside the bowl that would result in a human heart.

  Then, there it was, at last—a single adult heart. Where Sepha normally saw dozens, hundreds of variations of the materials inside her alchems, she now saw only one.

  But one heart was all she needed.

  She made the exchange.

  There was a pulse, and a putrid stench filled the laboratory.

  Sepha wrenched her eyes open and yanked her hands away from the bowl. Inside was something so deeply red it was nearly black, covered with a thick, greenish substance that seemed to dirty the air around it. Dark, lumpy liquid drained from the thing into the bowl, reminding Sepha of long-soured milk. The smell filled the air, thickened it, and Sepha staggered back, retching.

  She’d transmuted a human heart, but it was dead. Very dead.

  But how? Why?

  Cautiously, as if it were a living monster and not a putrefied organ, Sepha approached the dead heart. She pinched her nose shut and held her breath as she leaned over the table.

  Why had this been her only option—and why was it dead?

  Someone pounded on the laboratory door, startling Sepha so much she let go of her nose and inhaled the air directly above the oozing heart. She choked and reeled, nearly falling as she fought the urge to vomit.

  “Sepha?”

  It was Henric, damn him and his soul to the After.

  “What?” she bellowed. Her voice was throaty and hoarse.

  “Open the door!” There was a smile in Henric’s voice, but there wouldn’t be if he could see what was in the bowl in front of her.

  “Er,” Sepha said, placing her hands along the rim of the alchem, “just a second!”

  She closed her eyes.

  It was silent. It was dark.

  Water and carbon and iron and sodium and potassium and chlorine.

  Again, for the longest moment, nothing appeared—no variations at all. Sepha’s mind skidded to a halt. It was as if she were slogging through mud, dragging herself across universes to find such a simple concoction of materials. And Henric was banging on the door.

  At last, a single variation appeared in her mind. She made the exchange. A pulse, and she opened her eyes.

  The putrefied heart was gone, replaced with watery guck.

  “Sepha?”

  Henric was intolerable!

  Sepha threw the bowl into the corner, where it smashed into bits. The guck splashed onto the floor, seeping into the cracks.

  She’d done something wrong. That was the only possible explanation. She’d made an error somehow, and she wouldn’t be able to transmute anything useful until she figured out what she’d done. There was not a chance in Darkest After that she’d try this again until then.

  Sepha stumbled to the door and wrenched it open. “Henric!” she said, forcing a smile as Henric peered curiously into the empty laboratory behind her. “Did you need something?”

  “Yes,” Henric said, his green eyes flashing with excitement. “There’s something I want to show you. It’s down this way.” He beckoned with one hand.

  Suspecting this had something to do with her birthday, Sepha followed Henric into another small laboratory. On a metal table in the center of the room was a transmutation alchem.

  On the alchem was a small pile of straw.

  Sepha froze.

  “I’ve tried to do it a hundred times,” Henric said conversationally, but there was something beneath his voice that made Sepha’s skin crawl. He was standing between her and the doorway.

  “I thought that maybe, since it’s just you and me, you could show me how you did it.”

  The no-Ruhen headache thudded against the base of Sepha’s skull. “I can’t,” she said. “Destry told me not to.”

  Henric scowled. “And you do everything Destry says, do you? I’m the Magistrate’s child, too, you know.”

  “That’s not why I do what she says.” She turned her back to the straw and faced Henric. “She’s my friend, and I trust her. And she told me not to.”

  “What could it possibly hurt?” Henric said. His hands were loose at his sides. Close to his holsters. “I just want to see you do it!”

  “Why?” Sepha asked, crossing her arms. There was a low whine of panic building inside, and she crossed her arms tighter, trying to keep it in. “You already know that I’ve done it once. What good will it do to see me do it again?”

  “It would satisfy my curiosity,” Henric said. “Such an impossible thing, transmuting straw to gold. I’d love to see yo
u do it, just this once. You can transmute the gold back to straw once you’re done, if that makes you feel better. No one would be the wiser.”

  Sepha shifted her weight from one foot to the other, considering her options. She was underground, with no one close by. Henric was between her and the only exit. And she’d never defeated him in a sparring match. She was at his mercy, and he knew it.

  “I have to go to the washroom,” Sepha lied.

  Henric gave her a sharp smile. “Why won’t you do it, Sepha?” He edged closer, and Sepha angled away. Henric angled too, to face her. Now he wasn’t quite between her and the door. “You know what Thuban says, don’t you?” He edged closer again, and she angled away again. “He says you aren’t an alchemist at all. He says you’re only a magician, pretending.”

  Sepha’s jaw dropped. “That’s absurd!”

  Henric shrugged. “I’ve never seen any proof that he’s wrong.”

  “Ask Destry if you want proof.” Her hands were in tight fists.

  “Why should I ask her later when I’ve got you here right now?”

  Sepha gritted her teeth, let out a frustrated growl, and yanked an ingot from Henric’s holster. He yelped and lurched back. She strode to the table, swept the straw away, and let the ingot thud into the center of the alchem.

  She placed her fingers just so. She focused.

  It was silent. It was dark.

  There was a pulse.

  Sepha opened her eyes and grabbed the silver crown from the center of the alchem. She jammed it on Henric’s head. “Since that’s so clearly what you want,” she snapped, and stomped out of the laboratory.

  As she turned the nearest corner, she heard Henric’s voice echo behind her. “I will have my answer, Sepha! I won’t forget!”

  It was nearly dark when Sepha burst out of the mess hall’s doors and into the courtyard. She hesitated for a moment before striding to the enormous IAD doors.

  For the first time since she’d arrived a month ago, Sepha left the Institute.

  Her headache was nearly too bad to manage. With each step she took toward the train station, there was a corresponding thump inside her skull.