Will Wight - Of Dawn and Darkness

Even now, that still hurt.

“Why?” Calder asked. “Why him?”

Jerri spoke simply, knowing he would recognize honesty. “That might be the last chance I get to strike a blow against Shera. I had to make it count.”

“Because she’s the greatest threat.” He pointed to Jerri with the tip of his sword. “Who told you that, Jerri?”

“Who do you think?”

He nodded as though she’d confirmed his every suspicion, then gestured to the Guard nearest the door. An instant later the door slammed shut, leaving Jerri once again in darkness.

No two Kanatalia workshops look the same—just in the Capital, Calder had seen some covered in quicklamps like trees with glowing fruit, some with huge glass tanks on the roof, and others that were built like round domes instead of square boxes. He supposed it had to do with the types of experiments they ran in there, but no one got inside a workshop without strict Guild approval.

They didn’t look alike, but they all smelled identical. It was what he imagined acid would smell like, mixed liberally with soap and something coppery. His imagination told him it must be blood, and his logic told him it was probably copper.

But just in case the alchemists needed to top off their blood-tank today, he tried to stay inconspicuous as he lurked behind their workshop. He wanted to catch one alchemist alone, not a group of guards changing shifts.

On every other side of the building except this one, the workshop had ten yards or so of clearance. Here, in the back, it was little more than an alley: a few feet of street separating a back exit and the brick wall of a cannery. An aluminum box the size of a carriage took up the entire space, and the copper-acid-soap smell wafted most strongly from that direction. It made Calder’s hours of waiting all the more unpleasant, but it also took up every inch of space between the alchemical workshop and the cannery. It was wedged in so tightly that the mice had to scamper over the top of the box to get past.

Which meant that Calder only had to huddle next to the metal box when the guards came by. They would unshutter their quicklamp, shine a quick flash of light down the alley to make sure the box was still intact and unopened, and walk away.

A broken half of a bottle and a scrap of coat told him that some homeless Capital citizens had used this tactic before to steal a good night’s sleep. It was to his good fortune that none of them had tried it tonight. At least, not on his side of the box.

A glimpse of motion, the sound of furtive shuffling, and the sight of a ragged shadow made him convinced that someone was rummaging through something on the other side. He didn’t begrudge this mysterious person their space, though he did wonder how they avoided being spotted. The patrols always came from that side, so the guards had to see this figure every time they opened their quicklamp. But they never said a word, simply walking away.

Kanatalia was more generous to squatters than he would have expected.

It was well after midnight before the rear door opened. By this time, Calder was more irritated at the work habits of alchemists than anything else. Who worked past midnight? Why couldn’t they leave promptly at sunset, like everyone else? They could have been considerate enough to spare him over six hours of waiting in the ice-cold dark as the winter wind froze his coat to his body.

Alchemists. Always thinking of themselves.

But he pasted a big smile on his face as the opening exit almost crushed him against the brick wall. The man walking out of the workshop wore thick gloves, a leather apron that hung down past his knees, and a pair of goggles currently pushed up onto his forehead. The skin around his eyes was a shade paler than elsewhere, showing where the goggles usually rested.

The man had a shock of pure black hair, but lines at the corners of his eyes showed that he was at least twenty years older than Calder. He was carrying a sealed glass cylinder in both gloved hands, and something that looked like a six-legged cat floated within, suspended in a bluish fluid. He moved as though he were hauling something heavy, but he stopped when he saw Calder.

“Charity is three days away. If you have a medical issue, I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’m not that kind of alchemist.”

Calder pointedly adjusted his hat. He’d worn the three-cornered hat and his dark blue coat because he thought it made him look more like a Navigator. Each of his coat buttons had the Navigator crest on them. What more did he have to do?

“I’m not looking for charity, sir, but if you’re feeling charitable you could spare a moment to hear me out.”

The alchemist grunted as he pushed past Calder toward the metal box. “Give me a second. If I keep holding this thing, it might come back to life.”

He did something to the side of the box, Calder couldn’t see what, and the entire metal top lifted straight off. It was supported at each corner by a metal pole, which together raised the top panel of the box a few feet up. The smell of burning blood and soap grew stronger as the alchemist shoved his glass cylinder inside. The sound of shattering glass followed him, as well as something that sounded suspiciously like the yowl of a cat.

The alchemist turned back to Calder as the box slowly hissed shut behind him. “Now then, what can I help you with?” His tone made it sound more like, “Go die in a hole.”

There was no sense in antagonizing someone while asking for a favor, so Calder did his best to radiate pleasant contentment. “My name is Captain Calder Marten, of the Guild of Navigators.” He extended a hand.

The alchemist actually leaned over and inspected the hand, sniffing at Calder’s palm, before pulling his own glove off and shaking. Calder had known dogs that were more discreet.

“Lampson,” the alchemist said. That was all.

“An honor to meet you, Mr. Lampson. Now, I apologize for approaching you in this manner, but I was looking to purchase some alchemicals, and I was wondering if you might help me.”

Lampson squinted at him. “The chapter house will sell to you, if you’re a Navigator. Guild members get thirty percent off the street price.”

Calder knew about the discount, which the honorable Guild of Alchemists was only inclined to offer because they originally marked each of their potions up eighty percent. “Thank you for your recommendation, but I’ve already been to the chapter house. I’m afraid they weren’t able to satisfy my specific needs.”

The alchemist glanced him up and down once. “As I said, I’m not the sort of medical alchemist you’re looking for. I deal primarily in organ processing and storage, so unless you’d care to make a donation…”

“I like all my organs where they are, though I appreciate the offer. It’s less of a service that I’d like to purchase from you, and more a selection of your stock. You see, I have a wall in my home that I would like to demolish.”

Lampson’s mouth opened in a silent ‘ah.’ “There’s a crew of workmen I can recommend, if you’ll give me a few moments to retrieve their information. They’re highly rated by the Guild in their use of munitions.”

Calder clapped the man on the shoulder and chuckled, as though he’d made a joke. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. I’d not want to trouble them.”

“Navigators. Can’t say I’m surprised. What are you looking for?”

“What do you sell to the army?”

Lampson passed a hand over his face. “Look. Listen. I…look. If this wall is in the Capital…”

“It’s a continent away.”

“…if it’s in the Capital, this will get back to me. The Guild understands if we do some business on our own initiative, as long as the workshop gets its fair cut, but if this draws the Imperial Guard down on me, I’ll paint them a picture of you if I have to. I’ll even give them your alias, if that will help them somehow.”