Chương 147: Chapter 142 – Alchemists

Alric had tried to make his desk look innocent. It had taken longer than expected. The problem was not the stack of copied apothecary notes. Those had gone back into the drawer. The herbology book had been closed, wrapped in cloth, and placed on the lower shelf beneath two ledgers that looked boring enough to discourage anyone. The loose sheets had been gathered, sorted, and hidden in the other drawer. The problem was the desk itself. A desk always seemed to remember work.

Not literally of course, desks couldn't think, although in this world Alric had learned to leave a little space open for literal nonsense. It was more that the surface felt wrong. Too clean in some places, while charcoal dust still clung to one corner where he had been writing too quickly. There was still a faint mark where he had underlined NOT FESTIVAL hard enough to bruise the wood. A cup ring beside it suggested long thought and abandoned tea.

People who knew Alric would consider the ring to be evidence of a problem that had begun with curiosity and ended with someone asking whether the city had procedures for whatever he had planned. He rubbed at the tea mark with his thumb, but it did not improve. He had left only safe things out on the desk. A ledger, specifically a dull one, he had chosen carefully. A letter from Vale about cask returns, because no one could accuse cask returns of being exciting unless they had spent too long near Vale.

A few clean sheets of paper and one sharpened charcoal stick. To Alric, it should look respectable. He hoped it looked like a man of business works here. A man concerned with accounts, supply, staff, and correspondence. Not a man who spent his free time reading about herbs that made people feel aged, hollow, alert, warm, calm, or dead if Granny Wax had been having a busy week. A knock came from below at the inn entrance downstairs.

The knock was heavy, Alric was getting good at learning to speak knock, this one suggested that knocking was optional. He sat down behind the desk and regretted it. Sitting made him look as though he had been waiting. Standing would make him look anxious. Leaning would make him look casual, which was not an impression he should give. He remained seated because changing his mind now felt like letting a guilty conscience win. There were voices below. Seren's, polite and level.

Pavise's, lower and broader, not loud but somehow occupying more of the building than sound should have. Then footsteps on the stair. Seren opened the office door. Pavise stood behind her, filling the doorway in the way large men did when doorways had been built by people who were cutting costs. He wore a dark coat trimmed with old fur at the collar, practical boots, and no visible armour except the sort that came from being Pavise.

"Alric," Pavise said, he grinned and gave a small nod.

"Pavise." Alric said, also with a grin, trying to look casual. Seren stepped aside and let him in. Alric looked past him, down the corridor. No one had followed. Pavise noticed. No-one would survive long enough to become a guild master if they missed when people looked behind them.

"The herbalist will be here later," Pavise said, his eyes glanced down the passage before turning back to Alric.

"I came ahead, figured we'd talk first."

"Without guards or a clerk?" Alric asked with a raised brow, he gestured to the chair. Pavise glanced down at himself, then back at Alric.

"I find I can manage most doors." he used a hand to gesture to his entire self. Alric looked at the width of him.

"That was not the part I doubted." Pavise's mouth twitched. He crossed the room and took the offered chair. The chair accepted him with the grave commitment of an object discovering that craftsmanship was about to be tested. It held, Alric felt his respect for the carpenter swell. Seren remained near the door for a moment.

"Tea?" she asked, her eyebrows up and carrying a small smile.

"No," Pavise said, shaking his head slightly and taking a deep breath.

"Thank you." That was also information. Pavise was not here to settle in politely. Seren's expression did not change, but she closed the door and left. Pavise looked at the desk. Alric did not follow his gaze. That would have been admitting there was something to follow. Alric leaned back slightly and said, "You wanted to talk before the herbalist arrived?"

"I did." Pavise said tapping his chin, looking at the wall.

"Is this about the price of Glassmint?" Alric said tilting his head, hoping he would at least get a smile out of Pavise. Pavise moved his hand to his knee, there was no smile. There were many old scars across his knuckles.

"No. It is about why a man should be careful when asking the price of Glassmint, Sunspur, Hearthleaf, Mana leaf, and certain other things together." He held firm eye contact but his frown was obvious. Alric felt his shoulders settle. He had expected something like that. Expecting a thing did not make it any better when it arrived and sat opposite him.

"They are for drinks, well sort of, I'm trying something," Alric said, he made a waving away gesture with his hand.

"I believe you." Pavise said still assessing Alric carefully, "One herb is a herb. Two herbs may be curiosity. Several herbs together though? That becomes people with sharp knives asking short questions."

"I am not trying to make potions." Alric said tapping one finger against the desk and stopped.

"Then what is the problem?"

"You are thinking like a brewer." Pavise said, his frown deepening.

"I am a brewer." Alric said holding up both hands, hoping to look more innocent.

"Yes," Pavise said, he tilted his head still maintaining strong eye contact.

"And if the world were kinder, that would be enough." Alric looked at Pavise for a long moment.

"You told me before that if I did not sell beer to the arena, people would find ways around it and make things worse." Pavise nodded.

"Is this the same kind of conversation?" Alric asked trying to keep his face flat.

"It is but so much worse." Pavise said, he finally relented on the eye contact and closed his eyes for a moment.. Alric drew in a slow breath. The office felt smaller than it had a moment ago. Not physically. Pavise had already done that by sitting down.

"I know alchemists are powerful," Alric said.

"I know they guard recipes and such. I've heard their stuff is expensive. I've been told they are dangerous but I'm not trying to make potions." Alric explained, he brought his fingers together on the desk. The silence stretched. Pavise seemed to be rearranging the conversation in his head, moving some parts earlier and others aside, he looked at the wall as he did so.

"You truly do not know?" Pavise eventually said at last making eye contact.

"Know what? No, I guess." Alric asked, still keeping his hands together on the desk, he shrugged. Pavise sat back.

"I don't know what upbringing you had Alric, but I envy it." There was a long pause, Alric got the sense that he was trying to figure out where to start, eventually he took a deep breath.

"Alchemists are not a city guild," Pavise said, he made many gestures with his fingers as he spoke.

"Not in the way tavernkeepers and such are, or any honest trade that talks about fees, apprentices, and whose grandfather ruined market day. The alchemists have guild halls in all kingdoms worth naming. They keep their own records, couriers, oaths, warehouses, and suppliers. A king may have alchemists in his capital, but they are not his alchemists." Alric listened and nodded, "So they keep to themselves then?" Pavise nodded seeing that he understood at least that much and continued.

"They do, but when they come out it is to sell to kings, armies, nobles, merchants sometimes, my guild, and anyone rich enough to be useful. They sell across borders. They sell during peace but during war most of all."

"During war? To both sides?" Alric asked trying to understand, tilting his head listening carefully. Pavise's expression did not change.

"Of course." There was something in the answer that made Alric want to stand up and walk around to think, but movement would not help. He stayed seated, his gaze went up to the ceiling as he felt his brain spinning up to grasp the implications.

"Of course," Alric repeated.

"A war is the best market they have," Pavise began, he used a finger tip to tap on the desk as he spoke.

"An army that thinks it may lose needs potions. An army that thinks it will win needs more, because victory makes men careless and commanders afraid of losing important people before the songs are written. They will usually sell more potions to whoever is losing. Kings at war will buy things to keep horses moving, things to keep scouts alive after poison, things to keep a mage standing after he should have collapsed. Both kings buy as much as they can afford."

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Alric pulled his gaze off the ceiling, he looked down at the ledger on his desk. The cask return figures sat there in neat rows, utterly useless.

"They make money no matter who wins?" Alric asked, slowly, he looked up at Pavise at the end.

"The longer they keep both sides bleeding, the more they make," Pavise said with a shrug, he raised a single hand palm upwards. Alric did not like the image that sentence produced. It was bloody but it was especially orderly. Two armies, two separate supply chains. Bottles moving one way, coin moving the other, wounds, exhaustion, position all becoming purchases. The whole thing had the clean shape of a business model that had discovered morality was bad for margins.

This is so much worse than arms dealers from Earth. I don't even…

"A smith sells a sword," Pavise said interrupting his thoughts, his hand flicked left and right as he spoke.

"A bowyer sells a bow. Those things kill but everyone knows what they are. An alchemist sells the chance that a wound does not kill you. They sell survival, then decide who receives it and at what price." The silence in the office felt oppressive. Alric had expected alchemists to be greedy. He had expected a cartel, perhaps, something like the tavern keepers. Maybe a trade monopoly wearing robes. He had not expected the scale to sit so cleanly in front of him.

His head tilted downward, he studied the desk with a frown. Pavise went on, his voice steady, he watched Alric carefully as he spoke.

"Kings do not kneel to them. A king who kneels to anyone stops being a king very quickly, but kings will count the cost before angering them."

"And the cost is potions?" Alric asked glancing up, his hands moved down to his thighs.

"The cost is potions, ingredients, trained hands, supply agreements, and the quiet rumor that the next king over may be told you won't be supplied." Pavise said casually with a shrug, he put one knee on top of the other and held his knee with both his hands. Alric shut his eyes as Pavise continued.

"They have decided wars," Pavise said, he tilted his head from side to side, his fingers made vague gestures against his knee.

"Not every war, sure. Not even most, I'd say. People are still good at killing each other without help. But a missing shipment, a price raised past reach. A contract delayed here. A rival supplied faster there. One side given enough healing to hold a pass three days longer than expected. Another denied antidotes after scouts find poisoned wells. Small problems, if you write them small enough. Big problems, if you are the man bleeding or see them together."

Alric opened his eyes again, he let out a long breath from his mouth, both cheeks flared.

"Why does anyone allow this?" Alric asked. Pavise gave him a look that held no mockery at all, he tilted his head slightly as he spoke.

"Because potions work." That was so much worse than any other answer. Pavise continued, he shrugged one shoulder, "A healing potion kept my left arm attached once. Badly, but attached. A stamina draught got me out of a ruin when I had a cracked rib, a torn thigh, and a big thing behind me that thought I should stay. I have paid alchemists enough coin over the years to buy a respectable inn and perhaps a small, ugly country home. I curse them every time but I will buy again."

"Adventurers hate them?" Alric asked, his gaze moved up to watch Pavise as he spoke.

"Every adventurer hates them," Pavise said. He glanced at the wall when he began but his gaze shifted back to Alric when he finished "Every adventurer also knows the weight of a bottle in a belt pouch. It changes how a man walks into danger. Not bravely, perhaps, but less stupidly. There is a difference." Alric's gaze dropped to the desk again as he thought of Brannick.

Of the adventurers he had seen laughing around tables, bleeding through bandages, joking about things that should not have been jokes because the alternative was probably silence. He thought of the guild knowing apothecaries and herbologists well enough to acquire notes in two days. The connections had been there. He had looked at them and called them useful. Pavise rubbed one thumb over a scar on his knuckle.

"Ordinary folk hate them too, though more quietly. A miner crushed under stone. A carter bitten by something. A child with fever. A woman after a difficult birth. A farmer cut deep by a rusted blade. There are draughts that might help some of them. Not all but enough that a family sells tools, blankets, roof timber, and next year's seed to buy a bottle that may already have gone to a noble's hunting party." Alric swallowed. That part shifted the anger. War was large.

Armies and kings could become too large to feel properly. They were terrible, yes, but in the way storms were terrible when seen from far off. Ordinary people were different. A carter falling at the wrong time. A brewer feverish after winter. Mara pale and frightened in his office, expecting a baby. Hal carrying too much because complaint had never achieved anything. Lessa wanting a safer place to work because a gaze could become a problem. Alric's hands had tightened without him noticing. Pavise noticed.

He did not comment.

"What makes it alchemy then?" Alric asked, because the question had become more important than he wanted.

"No guild nonsense, what makes a potion different from an apothecary's tea?"

"Mana," Pavise said simply and quickly. Alric waited for more. Pavise did not seem inclined to provide it.

"That's it?"

"That is their rule, everyone knows it. If a liquid carries mana in the finished draught, it is alchemy. If it is alchemy, it belongs under alchemist law. Their law, as much as any crown permits. Most crowns permit more than they like." Pavise explained, his face had softened as he studied Alric with a sad smile.

"How very convenient for them." Alric said as he leaned back slowly. He felt the chair beneath him. Real, wooden, ordinary. He appreciated that briefly. A liquid with mana. Beer, wine, spirits, cordials were all liquid. He was using mana to make liquids, but the final product held none. It might be alchemy because the people who owned alchemy had written the definition wide enough to catch anything useful.

"That is not a definition," Alric said, considering the point with a frown.

"That is... I don't know even know what to call it." Pavise nodded once. Alric looked at the clean desk. The hidden notes seemed suddenly less hidden although no one could see them. But the ideas felt like they were in the room now. Sunspur. Hearthleaf. Glassmint. Mana leaf. Low dose. Controlled serving. Not festival. Not tavern bulk. Not alchemy, he had told himself. But a doctrine did not care what a thing was meant to be. That was the point of doctrine. It arrived already certain.

"One of the signs we look for," Pavise said eventually, his face had really softened, he spoke slowly and gently.

"Is when alchemists start sniffing around poor mages. Adventurers will leave if they can because they know war is coming, or something close enough to war that the difference won't matter to anyone living there." Battery came into his mind before he could stop it. Battery gave mana, but Alric was trying to help the kid achieve his own dream of becoming a mage. It was not the same. It was close enough in outline that he hated having thought it.

"Why adventurers?" Alric asked, he tilted his head to the side and downward watching Pavise's reaction.

"Because we get hired by everyone once trouble starts. Scouts. Guards. Monster clearing. Message carrying. Sabotage, if men become dishonest enough to call it something else. A region preparing for war grows hungry for useful violence. Adventurers are that and disposable. War can be profitable to an adventurer." Pavise explained deadpan, shrugged toward the end. Pavise continued, he lifted one hand of his knee and counted on his fingers as he spoke, "We learn the signs though.

Grain contracts, suddenly no horses available, smiths start working late, nobles hiring more guards, alchemists asking after mages. When those things happen, a sensible adventurer leaves."

"And those who cannot?" Alric asked, he looked down at the corner of his desk as he listened.

"They become useful. Avoid the draft maybe, earn enough coin to leave, or get drafted." Pavise said, shrugging again, he tilted his head from side to side as he mentioned the various points. Alric let out a breath slowly through his nose. He wanted tea suddenly. Not that tea would help. Tea rarely helped with multinational potion cartels that drained poor mages and sold survival to both sides of wars. But tea gave hands a purpose and made horror sit politely for a moment.

"What about the temples?" Alric asked, he leaned forward as the idea occurred.

"They can heal? Why does everyone depend on alchemists?" Pavise looked genuinely confused for a moment, which answered part of the question before he spoke.

"The Temples do not join wars." His head tilted at Alric.

"Never?" Alric asked, he blinked before his eyebrows rose. Pavise looked down at the desk and was silent for a moment, "Unless it is a holy war, and even then, the rules come with their own kind of trouble. The temple has its own rules during wartime. A priest may heal a man brought to the temple but not a soldier during wartime. They may treat the poor, if it has the means and the rules allow.

Some temples do more than others, but they do not march behind any banner because a king liked his grandfather's map more." he frowned as he spoke, his expression lifted to study Alric when he finished. Alric lifted one hand and rubbed at his jaw while still leaning back again. Portable survival. That is what the alchemists control. Not medicine, well not only medicine. The ability to take survival away from anywhere, anytime. He had been thinking about flavour. About rose in sugar.

About bad mouthfuls becoming wonderful with the right company. About stimulants, recovery herbs, bitterness, extraction, dose, controlled servings, bright spirit, and a drink that could make a tired man feel alive again. He had thought danger meant poisoning someone by accident, making something too strong, or creating festival cider with herbs and possibly heart palpitations. Those were still dangers. They were simply not the biggest ones. Alric leaned forward and placed both hands flat on the desk.

"That sounds," Alric said carefully, "I have no other word, it sounds evil." Pavise nodded then continued, "They are not stupid either. Alchemists bring gifts. They fund healers, when it suits them but not with potions. They support widows of men who died in their service. They lend coin to crowns at moments when refusal would be remembered. They provide rare draughts to noble children. They save the right people often enough that hating them becomes complicated."

"That does not make it better." Alric said considering the point.

"No," Pavise said, his expression turned sad.

"It just makes it last longer. It's part of why no one is brave enough to try to seize their recipes or anything. Kingdoms lost wars in the past where that happened." Alric sat back again. There were companies in his old world that had done that. They harmed enough people to be monstrous and helped enough people to remain defensible. They wrapped profit in necessity, necessity in respectability, and respectability in paperwork.

Then everyone inside that system explained that removing it too quickly would cause suffering, which was usually true because the system had made sure of it.

"I am not trying to touch this," Alric said shaking his head, having now seen the full implications.

"I want to make drinks, fun ones."

"I know." Pavise said, sadly.

"I mean it." Alric said giving a serious nod.

"I know that too." Pavise responded expression shifted faintly to a small smile. He nodded.

"That is why I came before the herbalist," Pavise said with a shrug, still wearing the sad smile.

"Because you are good at making useful things while meaning to make something else." Alric had no defence to that. Pavise leaned forward slightly. The movement changed him. He had been broad and heavy in the chair before. Now he seemed conspiratorial.

"I need you to know something, I'm bringing the herbalist because this isn't going through the guild. I'm sorry Alric, but this is as far as I go. You will deal with the herbalist directly. I'm not touching this, it's too much risk to my people. I burnt your letter and I'm breaking my guild's own rules here." Pavise explained, he held up one finger as he spoke. Alric nodded slowly, he tilted his head before asking "Then what do I ask the herbalist?"

Pavise relaxed slightly and sat back again, as if that was the question he had wanted.

"You ask about taste, about ordinary effects. You ask what apothecaries use and what they avoid. You ask what alchemists buy, but you do not say why. This herbalist is a friend of mine, she won't ask too many questions, but she will ask a few." Alric nodded and reached for the clean sheet before stopping. Writing another list down felt dangerous. There was a knock at the office door before it opened slightly.

"There is an herbalist to see you," Seren said, glancing around the room.