Free Transmuted by Karina Cooper

exhausted me. Calling upon it would do worse than that.
    It was more than ignorance that divided the alchemist from any fool who knew the name of the Trumps to call. Ashmore bore upon his pale forearms black symbols of alchemical formulae, many sigils written in such a way as to bolster those things he required of his own spirit and body.
    I had similar symbols etched onto the soles of my feet, though they were much smaller and baser in design. As I improved in my studies, I would combine these foundation formulae with those of my own making. Such was the personal journey of the alchemist. No two would feature the exact same formulae, just as no two spirits were the same.
    Without that alchemical base, the Trumps might very well wreak havoc upon my wellbeing, leaching away my strength until I expired. Or, worse, the power might slip the shackle of my command and wreak bloody havoc.
    This was no game to be played by them what dabbled.
    Which was another reason why I could not share such knowledge with any, much less with the curious Lady Rutledge and her salon. Power corrupted. Sometimes physically, readily at a glance, and sometimes in much less obvious ways.
    One of the lady’s members, an adventurous woman by name of Miss Hensworth, had taken great risks with her limited alchemical know-how, and it had cost her slowly in sanity— and then quickly in body and life.
    I had not been swift enough to save her, nor was I certain she would have chosen safety at the last.
    The bugger of it all was that I’d supported her cause—the equality of women in intellectual fields was as obvious and natural to my way of thinking as oxygen to the lungs.
    Staccato footsteps echoed down the hall, and as Mrs. Booth’s voice rose in mock-dismay, Levi darted into the dining room. He was much more awake than last I’d seen him, with bright eyes and a roll shoved half in his mouth. A second filled one hand, while a small basket hung from his arm.
    I caught him before he slipped past, tugging at his sleeve. “Go fetch me paper and pen, Levi.”
    “Mm,” he replied around the roll, and did just so.
    I did not expect Mrs. Booth to come after the boy; she always made enough repast for his growing body to consume and only played at the indignant housekeeper.
    I penned for Levi a brief note of apology, and included my gratitude to the master glassmaker for his perseverance in teaching my houseboy. I sealed it. “Don’t dawdle,” I warned.
    Mouth having cleared in the interim, Levi smiled broadly at me. He’d always been a cheeky kinchin, and this had only deepened once he’d been made aware of my adventurous proclivities. I didn’t know if he knew of my history as a collector, but he knew enough to fancy me mired in many exploits.
    “I’ve got dis-pen-sation,” he announced, sounding off the word with awkward emphasis but notable pride. “Master has me crossing the drift in search of mercury.” A quick hand tucked the letter into the front of his overalls.
    I cupped my chin in hand and raised my eyebrows. “Mercury? I thought the mirrormakers no longer used it.” Not since a cheaper alternative had been found and made rather more accessible than the antiquated Venetian methods so jealously guarded.
    Levi’s eyes gleamed like the glass he helped shape. Little blighter was too obviously pleased to know something I did not. “Right enough,” he said, “right enough, but it ain’t always for the glass.” He scraped his dark hair back, and not for the first time, I considered how much he’d grown.
    Were I to stand, he would look me direct in the eye.
    I pitied those girls that might turn sweet on the boy. He was pure mischief, almost as bad as a young circus-boy of my acquaintance. If I ever found myself mired in boredom, I might seize the opportunity to introduce the mischievous Flip to my equally impish house-boy.
    No doubt the two would get on smashingly. Flip, after fleeing the Menagerie, had found a home with the Bakers. Ish,