Shadow of the Alchemist

7

The captive looked up as the pale man returned, stomping through the dark room. His hands scrambled over the shelf, making noises of wood against stone, until a spark struck and he moved back within her vision and lit the cold hearth.

“Well,” he said. His tone conveyed anger, and anger was the one thing she did not wish to cause. “So. We are delayed.” He stood up from his ministering to the fire and turned, looking down at her. “Shall we see about food?”

“Please,” she said softly. “You must let me go. There is no profit in this, you know it.”

“Profit? Oh, but you are wrong. There is indeed great profit. More than you realize. Yet there are … forces … in my way. But that is no matter to you. What matters is, you must be hungry.”

She hated that jovial tone that masked his ire. It was a false beguilement, and for its strangeness it seemed more terrifying than his anger.

He continued to move about behind her, outside her vision. She tried to turn, to see what he was about, but she could not twist that way in her bindings. He dragged something to the table-a sack-and drew something out. She heard him sawing on it. Bread, she hoped. But water would be better. She was so thirsty, and she had been alone for so long.

“Your soul, then,” she said softly, licking her dry lips. “Your soul does not profit from this.”

“What do I care of that? God will deal with me one way or another.” The sawing went on. More sounds. Liquid being poured into a wooden cup. She licked her lips again. It smelled like sweet ale.

“Now then.” He moved to crouch in front of her. His eyes tracked over her face in so familiar a gesture, it almost made her weep. Weep more than she had. At first she had wept for the sight of him, and then for all that came after. “You must be thirsty,” he said. He seemed oblivious to her turmoil. “But just to make this interesting, let us see if you deserve this ale.”

“Please. For the love of our Lady…”

“Now, now.” He raised one hand in a gesture of silence. In his other hand, he clutched the cup. She could see the glimmer of the foamy liquid within. “This will be amusing.” He set the cup behind her again on the table and took a deck of cards from the scrip on his hip. They seemed newly printed, like the finely carved block-printed decks she had seen before in Paris. The reverse design was Moorish, and the deck itself was clean and unmarred. “Tell me what the card is on the top of this deck, and I shall grant you a drink.”

She shook her head. “I am no seer.”

“It’s only a game, Madame. Come. Play with me. Look, I’ll make it even easier. You just tell me the suit. Coins, cups, swords, or batons? That’s a twenty-five percent chance. Much better than most people get. Much better than I got.” His eyes gleamed with a malicious glint, with memories that should have been long forgotten but had, instead, festered.

He tapped the deck with his finger. “Tell me.”

“I don’t want to play this game. Please. Just give me the ale. I thirst.”

“But you must play. Play the game with me. Coins, cups, swords, or batons? Come now, beautiful Madame. Tell me.”

She inhaled a shaky breath, twisting her wrists in the bindings. Already the flesh was raw when she had strained, trying to free herself when he was gone.

“I would not have imagined this of you,” she whimpered.

“Did you not? Well. Then you did not know me at all.” He rubbed at his clean-shaven chin. His small eyes glimmered, but his smile did not reach them. She could tell by the tense set of his heavy brows, by his teeth digging into his lip, that he was pretending a calm he did not feel. He shoved the cards nearly under her nose. “Choose.”

“I don’t know.” She struggled to look back at the ale on the table, but she couldn’t see it. “Please!”

“Tell me!”

“Swords!” she cried, sobbing. The first thing to come into her mind was a weapon to slay him with.

He relaxed and sat back on his heels. The cards lay on his palm, and with his other hand, he slipped the topmost card off the pile. Pinching it between two fingers, he turned it over. Two of cups. “A pity. You lose. No ale for you.”

She moaned and more tears spilled from her eyes.

He put the card under the deck and rested his fingers on the top again. “Shall we see if you get any bread now?”