Climb

‘Is this poisonous?’ Merrin asked, pointing to the bowl of bright green goo that Zane had left out on the side. 

‘Yeah,’ Zane said without even looking. He knew where in the room Merrin was standing: the ‘death corner’. 

Everything that Zane had that was poisonous in one way or another was there. From mushrooms to flower pollen to goo. He couldn’t actually remember what the goo was. It was something Madame Rosevin had put on his desk one day without any explanation or even a note. He wasn’t even sure that Madame Rosevin knew what it was. She had a nasty habit of ditching him with things she didn’t understand; that way when he figured it out, she could tell everyone that she knew what it was. It wasn’t the first and it certainly wasn’t the last. All Zane knew is that the last thing that touched the goo dissolved. It was as though it were acid, but the main difference being it didn’t seem to dissolve the wooden bowl it was in.

‘Is this?’ Merrin had moved to a far safer part of his lab: the flowers. 

Zane turned to see Merrin holding a primrose. Its light yellow petals were damaged from the haphazard storage in their wooden box. He didn’t need them to be pristine, it wasn’t as though they were being sold. No, they would likely be dried and turned to powder. If he didn’t use them in his potions, then he’d give them to Merrin to use as paint. It was no loss, primroses were sprouting on every hedgerow around Ashenport anyway. It wouldn’t take Zane more than half-an-hour to collect another dozen or so flowers. Who was he kidding, he’d send Merrin out to get them.

‘It’s a primrose.’ Zane said blankly. He’d seen Clovara use them to decorate cakes and loaves of bread before, so there was no harm in eating them.

Merrin gave him a quizzical look. ‘Okay?’ 

‘No it’s not poisonous.’

Zane could tell that Merrin had gotten the answer he was looking for. Without any further hesitation, Merrin plucked off one of the petals and promptly ate it. Rolling his eyes, Zane turned back to the book he was reading. It still made little sense to him. He thought it was in common, but the handwriting was barely legible, and not in the way he was used to. Although Merrin’s handwriting was atrocious, Zane had gotten used to it over the years and could make out whatever he’d scrawl down. In the majority of other books Madame Rosevin would give him, the handwriting was all the same, as if done by the same scribe. It wasn’t uncommon for alchemists – especially those in contact with Madame Rosevin – to all use the exact same scribes for producing copies of their books. But this one, this seemed to be an original. 

Some of the pages had been folded at the corners. Others were ripped in half but stitched back together with a fine golden thread. Each book had been handbound, the edges of them gilded with a gold that would rub off on Zane’s fingers if he held it wrong. The covers had various shapes imprinted on them, none of which made any sense. The only thing Zane was able to make out were the initials ‘VC’ on the inside of the covers. 

After attempting to read the page for the tenth time, Zane gave up. He closed the book and stacked it with the others. He’d try again later. Maybe he could find something that would help him read the pages. Zane didn’t know any potions that could do such a thing, but maybe a glass of strong liquor would help. It certainly wouldn’t be any harm.

Zane’s study was filled with all sorts of things that he could disguise as just ingredients. Half of them were barely legal in Ashenport, but the guards couldn’t tell the difference between pignut, hemlock and cow parsley. So he wasn’t in any danger of anyone figuring out what was in the series of unlabelled bottles, jars and boxes. 

He cleared a space on his desk for a cutting mat. If he couldn’t figure out what the book said, he may as well do something useful with his time. It was still light outside, far too early to go home just yet. If Madame Rosevin was actually in her shop then maybe he could’ve gone home, but she wasn’t. She rarely ever was anymore. Not that Zane cared too much. Without her constantly pestering him, he could get on with research he knew she disproved of. It was why he let Merrin join him in the first place, not that he was particularly useful. 

Normally, Merrin would be off breaking in somewhere he shouldn’t, or pocketing shiny things coming in from the ships. But today, with the rain pouring down and Orlia being put on gate duty, he had nothing to do. 

‘Oi,’ Zane  said as he stood up from his desk.

He looked over to where Merrin was frozen mid-reach to one of the jars on the stained wood shelves. Merrin feigned an innocent smile that Zane didn’t believe in the slightest. The jar Merrin was reaching for was filled with blackberries, sugar, and the strongest alcohol Zane could convince Madame Rosevin to get him. It was under the guise of a base for potions – but even now she remained sceptical of his reasons. 

Although Zane had meant for his exclamation to be a way to get Merrin’s attention so that he could tell him his change of plan, he still let himself feel some pride in knowing he’d caught Merrin. Despite Merrin’s constant self-proclomation of being the ‘best fucking thief in Ashenport’, Zane knew better. As it turned out, living with someone your whole life and spending almost every waking hour with them means that there are small tells to every action they do. When Merrin’s quiet for too long, there’s only a few things he could possibly be doing. Stealing was one of them. 

‘You cannot be that hungry,’ Zane sighed, and crossed the room to where he kept the cutting mat and box of knives. 

‘It’s basically dinner time.’ Merrin moaned, leaning back against the wall to sulk.

‘It’s still light outside.’ 

Zane laid out the round mat on his desk, opening up the box and taking out two plates and his favourite knife: its handle made of carved antlers and blade a small chunk of sharpened obsidian. Merrin had given it to him as a present when they were fifteen. In return, Zane had made him a set of sheaths for his tools. One for each wrist and another for each ankle. It was partially a gift for himself too, that way he didn’t have to deal with Merrin complaining about having accidentally stabbed himself after putting a dagger or lockpick up his sleeve.

‘Okay? I’m still hungry.’

‘You’re always hungry.’ He looked over his shoulder to where Merrin was pouting by the shelf. He took a deep breath and considered what he even had in his study to let Merrin eat. 

Just eating ingredients was going to end in disaster. Eating liquor soaked fruits would lead to Merrin being on the floor within an hour. But having to hear Merrin complain about being hungry was going to drive him insane. He tapped his fingers against the worn wooden desk, thinking about what to do. Of course, he could just send Merrin out to find food – the market was only a five minute walk and there was the Stag’s Head just two streets down – but then he’d complain about being cold and wet. That was significantly worse than him complaining about being hungry. 

Zane looked up, seeing the rain soaked flowers of the window opposite. 

‘I’ve got an idea,’ he said.

‘What?’ Merrin asked.

‘I’ve got an idea,’ Zane said louder.

‘Does it involve food?’

‘Yeah, yeah it does.’

‘Fuck yeah.’

Zane placed the knife back on the table and made sure that nothing was going to roll away from its designated space. Once done, he reached over to the corded rope on the wall.

[to be continued]