Free Dead Letter by Benjamin Descovich Page A

The workmanship of the
glassware was as good, if not better, than what Master Hariset,
Head Lecturer in Alchemy, had obtained for his laboratory. Kettna
pressed her nose against the cabinet window. There were two alembic
units in iron stands, a pair of fine retorts and one lonely
pelican.
    “ Buy that pelican and you’d be the one in debt,” said
Lanuille. “Why bother with damn things like that when a retort
would do just as well.”
    “ It’s not a ‘damn thing’. It’s a beautiful device. A retort or
even a special alembic head can’t produce compounds through
circular distillation that a pelican can.”
    “ Alchemy was not my favourite subject,” admitted Lanuille.
“Why fiddle around with potions when the weave is but a dip
away?”
    Some
could be so lucky. Raw power was a sledgehammer. What of the
nuanced magic of alchemy or the arcane intricacies of advanced
spell forms? Kettna was amazed an adept could be so offhand about
it. “Someone must have bought the other one. Don’t you wonder who?
They might rent out their lab.”
    “ Does that edict say anything about coming here to shop?”
quipped Lanuille. “It’s just glass behind more glass.”
    “ Master Mertin!” called Kettna, walking away from the display
and Lanuille’s manifest ignorance. The deeper into the shop she
went, the more evidence mounted that something was wrong. There
were a few broken bottles and the stock had been shifted around and
knocked over. Drawers of herbs had been pulled out, and many had
been emptied.
    Kettna
continued to call to Mertin as they made their way through the
ransacked shop. “Hello! Are you home?”
    At the
back there was a staircase. Kettna motioned for the twins to take
the lead and they nodded their acceptance. If only all her
companions agreed with her so readily. Nothing attacked the twins,
so Kettna advanced up the stairs. It was a combined storage room,
office and bedchamber. The bed was unmade and had been torn apart
as though someone were looking for a hidden object in the mattress.
Mertin’s books had been tossed from shelves, and the floor was a
tragic massacre of bent spines and torn pages. A hastily packed bag
waited beside the wardrobe and a trouser leg hung from the top, as
if the trousers were climbing out to escape. Kettna walked over to
examine the bag when a robust sneeze erupted from inside the
wardrobe.
    While Kettna jumped back in shock, Lanuille summoned a black
orb that pulsed with arcs of green energy. The Deathly Orb hovered above the
adept’s hand, eager to be released.
    “ We are of the Order of Calim,” announced Kettna, grasping a
nearby candelabra for protection. The twins armed themselves with
equally questionable weapons. One brandished a broom and the other
raised a stool, both items that Kettna had considered before taking
up the candelabra. They were reading her thoughts. “Come out and
answer for yourself or we’ll …” Kettna paused. What was she going
to do? Beat the sneezing hideaway into compliance with a
candlestick? She envied the menacing orb Lanuille had ready. “…Or
we’ll blast you out with such magic you’ll have wished you came
willingly.”
    The
wardrobe door swung open to reveal an older, well-dressed
guilderman, quivering with fear and adjusting his
spectacles.
    Kettna
put down the candelabra and helped the old alchemist out. “Master
Mertin! I’m so sorry to frighten you. What happened? Why are you
hiding in amongst your coats?”
    Mertin
continued to shake, staring at Lanuille as though he had met his
death.
    “ Do away with the spell, Lanuille. Master Mertin means us no
harm and we most certainly mean him none.”
    Lanuille
let the magical orb hover for a moment longer before dissolving it
between her palms. It took more effort for the adept to safely
defuse the destructive magic than to summon it, though Kettna
wondered if the strain lines on her brow were accentuated by her
disappointment that she had no suitable target to loose the