Free Alchemist's Apprentice by Kate Thompson Page A

could never, never bring himself to make that final gesture and break it. The thing was useless; worthless. If he took it, it would burden his soul for the rest of his life.
    â€˜You don’t want it?’ said Barnstable.
    â€˜No!’ Jack was surprised by his own certainty. ‘I’m sick of the sight of it. I never want to see it again.’
    The alchemist regarded him with a bemused smile. ‘Won’t take it, eh? Then what can I offer you instead? More cherries?’
    Jack looked interested, but Barnstable shook his head. ‘Cherries come and cherries go. They have a short season. But a man needs a trade, and any trade needs an apprenticeship, doesn’t it? Can you go back to your blacksmith?’
    Jack shuddered and shook his head.
    â€˜Then you need another apprenticeship, don’t you? Since you won’t accept the finished work that I offered you, how would you like to learn how to do it yourself?’
    â€˜Learn alchemy?’ said Jack.
    â€˜Yes. I’ll take you on as my apprentice. You can learn how to make gold for yourself.’

Chapter Eight
    T HERE WERE NO INDENTURES to be signed upon Jack’s acceptance of his new apprenticeship, nor any agreement about the length of time to be served. The only formality was that Jack swore himself to absolute silence with regard to the secret art. Neither the practice of alchemy, nor anything connected with it was ever to be mentioned to anyone, no matter what the circumstances.
    When that was over, Barnstable sent Jack to the scullery for a bowl of water while he went out to the garden. He returned shortly with a carrot, a parsnip and a pair of green onions. The carrot was as long as Jack’s forearm, and the parsnip rather longer. The bruised stems of the onions filled the air with their scent. Barnstable brought a knife and a chopping board from the scullery and set them on the floor beside the bowl of water.
    â€˜The art of alchemy,’ he said, ‘is not so very different from cooking. To begin with, it makes use of the same elements. The first one is earth, represented by these.’ He picked up the vegetables and handed them to Jack. ‘The next is water, in which you may now wash them and in which we will later cook them. The third is air, which we will trap between the water and the lid of the pot, compelling it to swirl around as vapour and accelerate the process. But none of this can happen without the fourth element, can it?’
    He paused, and Jack had the uncomfortable feeling that he was expected to say something. He hadn’t been listening very closely to what the alchemist was saying, partly because the big words made him feel sleepy and partly because the sight of those magnificent vegetables had made him feel extremely hungry.
    â€˜What else do we need, Jack, before we can cook our meal?’
    Jack searched through his mind but found it so full of strange new images and concepts that he wasn’t sure he knew his way around it any more.
    â€˜Salt?’ he said, at last.
    Barnstable smiled gently. ‘Salt is a useful ingredient, yes,’ he said. ‘But even salt won’t cook our supper for us. Only fire will do that.’
    He proceeded to light one in the wide fireplace while Jack, embarrassed by his own stupidity, tried to make up for it by washing the vegetables and chopping them into neat pieces. Soon the flames were crackling up through the kindling, making the room feel cosy, despite the rain rattling against the window behind them. Barnstable threw a handful of barley and peas on top of the vegetables in the pot, added water and salt, and sealed them all in beneath the heavy lid. Jack hefted it up on to the sooty hook which hung above the hearth and for a while they both sat in the afternoon gloom and watched the fire take hold. The alchemist’s face was soft and kind beneath his silvering hair and Jack, for the first time in his life, felt welcome and