Murder the Heroes

Chapter One; Section Two

The bell chimed. Coil looked up from the ledger – his quill hovering just over the page. With his other hand he pushed his iron-rimmed glasses back up his nose. “Yes?” he managed, “Can I help you?” His voice broke. Of course it did. It was only natural that just when a beautiful woman stepped into his shop – rare enough in alchemy – his voice would betray him.

And beautiful she was, her skin – several shades darker than that of Northerners – was reminiscent of olives, or coffee maybe. Her hair was black and glossy, her eyes were the colour of venom and he’d already been stung. Her figure was lithe, her clothes rugged, her fingers long and thin. Instead of jewellery she wore arms and armour. A fighting woman in his shop?

“Be careful,” she said, her voice rich with timbre and lustre, the corner of her eyes and mouth crinkled with humour.

“Sorry?”

“Be careful, your quill.”

He looked down, just as a big fat drop of red ink succumbed to gravity. It fell in slow motion, though not so slow that he could do anything about it. “By all the Gods!” Quickly he grabbed sponge and sand and set to work.

For a few tense moments there was only the sound of the grandfather clock. “Is it going to be alright?”

“It should be okay,” he lied. Then, because she was still looking at him, “I should be able to scrape off the little that remains. If I’m careful Master Ubud won’t notice.”

Here was to wishful thinking.

She smiled. His knees went weak. It was like a sunrise, or the first time he’d used his Othersight. He couldn’t supress a stupid grin. “You’re not used to women in here, are you?”

“No, no,” He said, as he pushed up his glasses. “No, no, no,” He added for extra clarity. She laughed at that. He wasn’t sure why, but he liked how it sounded.

“So tell me about alchemy. What is it?”

He paused. Was she really asking that, or had he misheard? “It’s about transmutation – the transformation of one thing into another.” He paused, sure she was going to tell him to shut up. She didn’t. Hesitantly he continued with the speech only his mirror had ever heard. “It started with turning lead into gold, iron into steel, coal into diamonds. From there it grew into the transmutation of energy, turning one type of enchantment into another, or just unravelling them. Sometimes it’s called weaving, but its traditional name is alchemy.”

He held his breath. Too much? But no, she came forward, “Weaving? Why do they call it that?” He became uncomfortably aware of her closeness. He could smell her perfume. Was that strawberries, maybe? Or flowers? He didn’t know much about flowers, or much of anything beyond this shop and her dusty books.

Had he just ignored her question? He shook himself. “Uhm, well there are two different ways of looking at the same thing. Alchemy focuses on the goal, Weaving the action. So with Weaving we’re talking about altering the threads of magic, retying the knots that make up reality’s tapestry. With Alchemy we’re talking about what that does, namely the transformation of one thing into another; energy or matter, it doesn’t matter.”

“That’s funny, matter doesn’t matter.”

He laughed uncomfortably, “Yes, it is, isn’t it?”

“So how does it differ from other magic?”

“It’s a matter of power? Weaving is more subtle and requires less energy while braiding – that’s what weavers call the other type of magic – is its opposite. Braiding means you call forth energy and shape it as it comes.” Momentarily he hesitated, then he decided to go for it, “Professor Alexandro says that weaving is like a science, because it requires precision and discipline while Braiding is like an art, as it requires feeling and creativity.” He held his breath.