Alkimiya - A Fantasy Mystery Series

THIRTY~FIVE - The Last Alchemist

James sounded near to hyperventing. "No. No, it can't be."

"I concur with Raoul," Inspector Hatwig declared. "The message describes Renavolena as if she were a mage. It fits. Renavolena was said to have carried with her the Scepter of Khemia, an object that turns everything it touches to gold. Now that we know the scepter is no myth, we can see it for what it is—a mage's magical item."

Scarlett peered over Inspector Hatwig's shoulder. "We do not have mages in Naiaca. Is mage and morph different?"

James huffed. "Are they different? Yeah, I'd say they are."

"They're not, Jim." Raoul's cheeks tinged with the amount of attention everyone paid him but found his courage to continue. "Morphs are unstable versions of mages. They're the same person they were before they morphed, but then they're not. It's hard to explain. They just...they just go crazy and so does their magic, and if they're left in that state they implode."

Inspector Hatwig nodded along. "Cataclysmic breach of power."

"Alright, alright." James set his hands on the tabletop. "Let's focus on one thing at a time. If we leave the island, the sea rot will just pull us back. We need to get rid of that first. Then we can worry about how to deal with morphed magic."

Carver gestured to the scroll. "If we end the transmutation on the Islanders, won't the ring of water fall on it's own? Renavolena will have no one to rage at."

"Morph magic is different." Inspector Hatwig absently traced the alchemic designs with her finger. "Alive or imploded, a morph will rage."

"What, then?" asked Carver. "We crash into it head-on and hope for the best?"

James' finger careened up and crashed down onto the tabletop in one fell swoop. "That's a solid vote of no from me."

"We may have no other option, Jim."

"I am not flying into morphed magic on purpose!"

Nibbs, who had remained silent until then, piped up. "Carver's right, Jim. We're running out of time." He rolled an onion across the table to James. Patches of black and blue fuzz ate through the outer cover. "The air is too moist. Everything is rotting. The potatoes are soft, the carrots already turned to mush, and the meat—"

"No," said James.

"—is spoiling."

James contemplated the moldy onion. "How long before everything goes bad?"

"I'd say a week, but Jim...we need to factor in the days it will take to return home and without the sails, it'll take longer." Nibbs stared morosely down at his onion. "If we can fix the radio, the UDF could send Reapers to tug us home."

Zenetra knew Commissioner Fokle and the way the CF operated under his administration. "The CF will have dispatched Reapers every day since we vanished. They may even be searching inside the Triad."

"The sea rot!" exclaimed Raoul. "I mean...the...the...."

"I'll reverse the transmutation on the Islanders before anyone else ends up marooned here," said Inspector Hatwig. "Then the only real danger will be getting through that morphed implosion alive."

Under Zenetra's arm, James' muscles tightened. Talk of morphed magic and starvation put him on edge. "What do you need to reverse the transmutation?"

"Take me back down to the beach," said Inspector Hatwig. "I'll need Cadet Noire to assist me."

James spluttered, "But she's injured!"

"She's a child!" bellowed Onnan. "Take Hailstrom!"

One hazel eye narrowed. "Cadet Noire understands how an alchemist operates. I want her by my side. That is the end of this discussion." Inspector Hatwig rose with a commanding, "Come, Cadet. Help me prepare." She headed toward the door with purpose but turned around to order, "Fetch us from my room when we've arrived at the beach."