Luminous

26 - Lovers' Dilemma

Bishop Tenorus Riddell stood two heads taller than the average fellow. He was a fair-haired, broad-chested hulk of a man who'd chosen burns and scars over a magnificent mustache to compliment his face. At first glance, one might mistake him for a blacksmith or mercenary if not for his long, magenta alchemist cloak and ice-blue eyes twinkling with curiosity yet steeped in knowledge.

After Sir Christopher left, the sprightly priest beckoned Arinel out of his lab into the courtyard, where merchants, peasants and castle workers milled about their business.

The alchemy labs were among the several outhouses built along the castle wall. Unlike the other open-air lean-tos for dyeing, washing, dressmaking, leather-working and various other crafts, the labs were walled against contaminants from without, and those walls were fortified with stone to withstand the experiments within.

Riddell stopped at an outhouse two times larger than the average peasant cottage in Crosset. A heavy, rusty padlock barred the wooden door, upon which was tacked a piece of cowhide with DANGER scrawled across in red ink. Above the door, a copper nameplate swayed in the breeze. Ornate gold-leafed letters gleamed upon it, framed with golden curlicues.

Muldor

Arinel cocked her head. The name seemed familiar. She might have picked it up in a treatise somewhere.

Riddell slid out a crammed keyring from his belt, humming as he thumbed for the right key.

"So, Meya, is it?" He chirped above the jingling, his voice high for a man of his size. His stunted-looking thumb flicked keys apart. Arinel noticed with a jolt it was missing a chunk. His palm was also parched and wrinkled as if burned by acid.

"Your first job is to clear out this place. It belonged to my late friend, Noxtis Muldor. I need it well-aired and spotless, since I'll be using it for risky experiments. Fire, booms and flashes, as the general populace put it."

He tittered at his little joke as Arinel eyed the innocent laundry maid walking by behind them.

"Ah, here we are."

Riddell slotted a burnished old key into the padlock's hole and turned. The door shifted, freed from its frame, but its hinges were rusty, and years of humidity had bloated its wood. After a forceful shoulder thump, it swung open.

The musty, moldy smell of disuse billowed out in welcome. All the windows were shut. Daylight streamed through the doorway, casting Arinel and Riddell's shadows upon an oaken worktable surrounded by shelves crammed with dusty bottles and jars.

An elaborate distilling set gleamed on the worktable; its glass beakers with burnt bottoms sat empty but for dust, all intact. Muldor didn't die during an experiment. Lucky you, thought Arinel darkly.

Silence fell as both took in the scene; Arinel with curiosity and a touch of fear, Riddell with nostalgic reminiscence. At last, Riddell heaved a sad sigh.

"Right." Clearing his throat, he turned to Arinel. "Muldor worked with some dangerous chemicals, but he was a meticulous chap. I don't expect there to be anything hazardous lying around where they shouldn't be. Still, it's been a decade. Make no haste. Be as careful as you can be."

Arinel nodded. Riddell noticed the shelf beside the door. He picked up the nearest jar and wiped it with his apron, revealing the milky yellow powder swirling within. Sulfur, thought Arinel. The faded, peeling label confirmed it.

"You don't know your letters, I believe?" Riddell asked as he checked the jar's top.

A sudden throb of anger pounded on Arinel's temples, then she remembered she was supposed to be Meya the Maid, not Lady Arinel. She chewed her lips. Would Riddell become suspicious if she told the truth?