Chapter 9 Slipping #2
“But I’m trying to keep up with the lessons this way. Aniriel gave me her notes and…”
“Really? She and Mr. el Greylune have inquired about your well-being lately, and since instructor Flint told me he has seen your name on the list every day for the last few weeks, I took it upon myself to have a look.”
He sensed she was rather close now but didn’t dare to look up. Valir had asked for him?
“Hm. I’m not sure what you are practicing, though. Hedgehog spikes, powdered quartz and a chicken feather?”
Kraghtol didn’t answer immediately, trying to come up with an explanation, but Mrs. Hawke interrupted him by sighing.
“You are experimenting. Do I need to remind you that this is a most dangerous and foolish endeavor? You don’t even know what you’re doing.”
It wasn’t meant as an insult; he knew that. It was a fact. How, if not through her teaching, was he supposed to understand?
“I know, but…”
He didn’t know what to say.
“Mr. Krasen, look at me. Whatever you are trying to accomplish, you won’t get far by randomly throwing ingredients together. You need to understand that — by the tusk!”
Driven by the unusual emotion in his teacher’s voice, he had actually looked up, and Mrs. Hawke had immediately backed away.
By the tusk! He hated that figure of speech, but the irony was not lost on him.
Mrs. Hawke tried to bring as many desks between herself and him as she could, and Kraghtol just sighed.
“Don’t. I mean you no harm. But yes, that’s why I couldn’t come to class.”
His low and rumbling voice really stopped her, and now she was eyeing him intensely.
“Is this some kind of alchemical accident? How long have you been afflicted? What —”
“Mrs. Hawke! Please —”
He realized he had raised his voice and continued at a lower volume.
“Please promise me not to tell anyone. Anyone, okay? I will explain everything.”
She nodded slowly, and he continued. It was the second time in a short while that he had to come clean.
“This is how I really look. I have taken a potion that turned me into a human, but it ran out. Can you…”
He sighed. This was grasping at straws, especially considering who her son was, but what choice did he have? Besides, the damage was already done.
“Can you help me create more? Please!”
Her eyes grew wide.
“You mean you were… like this? All the time? Hidden by an alchemical potion?”
She shook her head and clutched the edge of the nearest desk.
“This is the wildest thing I’ve seen for years, by a very wide margin. Are you an …orc?”
“Half-orc,” he corrected but had to admit that this comment alone spoke volumes about her superior education. At least she tried to go beyond the ‘green monster’ he had heard so often on his first days in Winterstone.
“I have seen my fair share of half-elves, but never one of your kind.”
She was largely talking to herself now, apparently still trying to process the revelation. But then, she looked up again and shook her head once more.
“I cannot help you, Krasen, even if I wanted to. As I recall, we’ve already talked about this. I cannot. My contract forbids me from inventing any new potions.”
Kraghtol remembered.
“Right. You mentioned that before. And it’s an alchemical contract, I suppose.”
He hesitated, making one last attempt. “It’s not a new potion, though. I’ve already taken it once. Does your contract apply to recreating potions as well?”
She seemed to ponder for a moment before answering. “I’m afraid so. There is little leeway. There is nothing I can do for you in that regard.”
Despite all his strength, he felt weak. One more person knew, and she couldn’t even help him.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to… bother you,” he mumbled.
Mrs. Hawke, who had apparently overcome her shock, straightened her back.
“You’re not bothering me, Krasen. You look peculiar, yes. Frightening, even. But if my husband and his teacher have taught me anything, it’s daring to look behind the facade every so often. Quite honestly, I wish I could do more for you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hawke. There is one thing, one very important thing you could do. Please keep this a secret and don’t tell anyone. Especially not…”
He hesitated briefly but finished the sentence, anyway.
“…your son.”
The teacher raised her eyebrows but then smiled.
“Yes, I can see how that might be problematic. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. I like to keep my promises.”
She gave him a difficult to interpret look all over again before continuing in a carefully measured voice.
“I see your sickness has left you all emaciated. Please come to our house tomorrow evening at seven. I would like to invite you to a proper dinner. Roderic won’t be there.”
Kraghtol was bewildered. Emaciated? Given his changed form, he certainly looked healthier than before, perhaps aside from the skin color, which continued to startle people. What was she talking about?
“I’m not sure…” he began, but was interrupted by Mrs. Hawke, who seemed uncharacteristically determined.
“Good. At seven then. Don’t be late.”
She described where she lived — not too far from the school — and turned to leave the laboratory, but Kraghtol addressed her again.
“Wait. Can you please tell Valir where to find me?”
If Valir had asked about him, it could only be because of the loan. And the last thing Kraghtol needed right now was more trouble. He’d better get it over with before the noble got the wrong idea.
Mrs. Hawke tilted her head as he gave her his address and said:
“I didn’t realize the two of you were friends.”
Kraghtol almost laughed.
“What makes you think that? I certainly wouldn’t call us friends, really.”
“Because you used his first name. Don’t you know how terribly impolite that is to a noble-born?”
Kraghtol felt himself blush.
“Actually, no. I’ve never thought about that. Thank you for telling me.”
Why had Valir never said anything? Every time Kraghtol had addressed him, it must have been a small insult. The only reason he could think of was that the noble, in his arrogant mindset, didn’t expect more from a peasant like him. Even if Valir was an asshole, Kraghtol didn’t want to provoke him.
When he returned home later that night, he stopped at the top of the small staircase.
Mrs. Brott was already fast asleep, and the house was silent, just like every night.
But something was different, and it took the half-orc a moment to realize what it was.
The door to his chamber was open. Did he forget to close it when he had left in the evening?
He could not remember. A break-in, perhaps!
His heartbeat quickened, and he rushed inside to check the only possession even remotely valuable: his coins.
But as far as he could make out in the darkness, all the small metal disks were where they belonged, and Kraghtol calmed.
It would hardly have been the first time for him to forget something trivial like locking the door.
He really had to pull himself together if he didn’t want to end up as a nervous wreck.
He slept in late, like he usually did these days. Today, however, he was woken up by a knock and Mrs. Brott’s cheery voice.
“Krasen, dear, you’ve got a visitor! Are you well?”
Kraghtol groaned and rubbed his eyes. That had to be Valir.
“Yes. I think I’ll manage. Can you send him up?” he shouted loud enough that Valir would probably have heard it himself, in case Mrs. Brott didn’t.
As he heard the old woman shuffling away, he quickly threw on some clothes and was just about done when the door opened.
The first glimpse of a red coat made it more than clear he had been mistaken. This wasn’t Valir.
“Good morning, Mr. Wulfspar. I hope you had a pleasant night.”
Roderic Hawke was grinning at him, teeth bared in unbridled schadenfreude.
Kraghtol’s mind jumped and sped up as the world around him seemed to spin.
The orderkeeper had caught him with no disguise whatsoever, his ugly half-orc face on full display.
But wait! Worse! He had called him by his real name.
Mrs. Hawke! He shouldn’t have trusted her! What was the orderkeeper holding?
“You seem speechless, Mr. Wulfspar. I can imagine why. You probably didn’t think your little charade would fall apart so quickly. I would like to congratulate you, though. You were a hard nut to crack. But in the end, I figure them all out, including you. Alas, I have brought you a gift.”
He presented an envelope sealed with the official seal of the Alchemists’ guild. The potion bottle in green wax.
“Believe me, Dean Quenning looked just as surprised as you do now when I visited her this morning. Go on, open it.”
After handing over the envelope, he had crossed his arms in front of his chest and continued to sneer at him.
With trembling fingers, thick and green against the impeccable white envelope, he opened the letter and read it.
“To Mr. Kraghtol Wulfspar, also known as Krasen from Caemdir,
due to severe breach of our trust, our traditions and several regulations, such as illegal use of and trade with guild-unregulated alchemical products, the honorable Alchemists’ Guild of Wardenreach, represented by me, deputy local guild master of the Winterstone branch, has been forced to decide as follows:
You are hereby, effective immediately, formally expelled from the Alchemists’ Guild, and stripped of all guild ranks, if any.
This includes any ongoing education at the guild school and by its teachers, here in Winterstone or elsewhere.
As you are barred from ever reaching the rank of a guild-approved alchemist, you are to immediately cease any and all activities associated with the noble art of alchemy, and never to take up such endeavors again.
Violations of these directives will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
Sincerely,
Dean E. Quenning, deputy local Winterstone guild master.”