Chapter 10: Top Fellows of the Alchemy Guild

Durri stood in shackles, tapping his foot.

He was on a tiny wooden platform in the gigantic meeting room of what he had since learned was the Alchemy Guild's headquarters.

A dozen very serious-looking people—mostly human, except one dwarf and two goblins—in suits and tall, shiny hats sat around a table of solid mahogany.

Two guards stood behind Durri, humanoids in golden armor which covered every inch of their bodies. Each wielded a halberd.

Mahogany was an alchemy ingredient, it seemed, as Durri had identified by smell.

He had found little else of interest to do while standing in place for nearly an hour.

The room's walls rose high on all sides, studded at intervals with gorgeous stained glass windows. The figures in these windows were identified by elegant inscriptions beneath them.

Frerrick Aechel, patron saint of the free market.

John Keyman, paladin of the Order of Economic Volatility.

Lanmard Bakerman, oil-mancer.

And Anaximander, philosopher-king, father of alchemy.

Durri had never heard of these people, except for Anaximander. And, of course, he had only heard 'that' name when it popped into his head for the first time because of the god-clerk's blessing.

'I suppose his being the father of alchemy explains why I have to mention his facial hair when I use it,' thought Durri. 'I'm surprised I haven't heard of him if he was a king, but then I wasn't exactly a model student in school.'

One human sitting at the mahogany table stood and blew a tiny trumpet. "The Tribunal of Top Fellows of the Alchemy Guild, a limited liability organization, is now in session."

He glanced at Durri. "It's been some time since we've had to issue judgment on what the charter calls 'flagrant disregard for guild supremacy,' but I suppose we'll need to tend to that before moving on to more, erm, important concerns."

The man glared at Durri over a pair of tiny, gold-rimmed spectacles. "It says here you stand accused of... selling potions without guild membership? Is that all?"

One goblin at the table rolled her eyes and gave a dramatic sigh. "By Anaximander's fez, we have 'actual work' to attend to!"

The human ignored her. "Legally, I must give you, erm, a chance to explain yourself. Who are you and why don't you have guild membership?"

Durri was a little taken aback.

"Wait—what? This is all just because I was selling potions? Your goons threw weakening potions at me, then beat me up and tossed me in jail all night! I thought you were cops! I thought—"

He snapped his mouth shut. 'Well,' he pondered, 'I'm not going to just come out and say I assumed the military learned from the wizard and the ogres that I was a golem, and that they planned to experiment on me. That seems like a dumb thing to admit.'

The same goblin let out the longest yawn Durri had ever seen. "I could use a housemaid for a while," she said. "Butler. Whatever. He'd look cute in either uniform, I think. Mr. Rogue Alchemist, if you work free for me for a week I'll get you off the hook for all this."

Durri recalled what his dear mother had once told him about a situation surprisingly identical to this one. "Remember," she had said, eyes warm and full of love, "if a rich lady ever offers to get you out of trouble if you dress up in a cute outfit and work for free as a domestic servant, never take her up on it! But it's all right if she pays you."

"Miss," said Durri in a tone of utmost respect, "I'd disappoint my dear Mama if I accepted your offer, but I thank you for it."

The goblin waved a hand dismissively at him.

Durri turned back to the Alchemy Guild spokesman. "Well, a few days ago, I arrived in your nice little city... Parnesam, right? Being an alchemist by trade, I quickly realized that many people in this city seemed awfully hungover. I thought that was odd, given it was the middle of the day, but I am no one to judge."

The spokesman didn't react.

Durri hoped that was a good sign. "Well, I had a few shillings on me, so I bought some cheap flasks and some ginger and turmeric—"

The dwarf at the table suddenly sat up, looking surprised. "Why, the Honing Mind Potion is a semi-secret recipe! By Anaximander's left sock, how did a guild outsider such as you come across this recipe?"

Durri paused. Perhaps he should not have explained the exact recipe.

The Codex did not indicate which combinations were considered secret by most alchemists. It only listed recipes and gave descriptions of different components. The combination of ginger and turmeric had been cheap and apparently very effective—as well as tasty—so it seemed like an obvious choice for a hangover cure. Other methods for cures were either much less effective or required more expensive ingredients.

For a moment, Durri considered laying out his whole story, from the witch's curse to the god-clerk's blessing. The secrecy of it was making his brain itch. He longed to tell 'somebody.'

Considering these people had him in chains, Durri decided against revealing that he might be a goldmine of knowledge and ability.

"A very old man gave me the recipe," he said instead. "I think he was a heavenly being, actually."

That was certainly true.

The Top Fellows of the Alchemy Guild whispered among themselves, and then the spokesman nodded and turned back to Durri. "We have chemisdiction—"

Durri blinked. "You what now?"

The goblin's eyes seemed to roll back all the way into her skull. "We can make rules for all alchemists in the country! By Anaximander, Jenfley, just speak the common tongue!"

The spokesman glared at her. "Thank you, Fellow Feeb. As I was saying, the Alchemy Guild has chemisdiction over all civilized lands."

He gave a huge sniff. "If you are found to be selling potions which you have crafted, or crafting potions in return for compensation of any kind, we have authority to turn you into sausage and sell you at the rate of no more than six shillings per pound, and only to non-humans."

He scratched something on a piece of paper. "You wouldn't happen to be gluten-free or vegan, by any chance?"

Durri glared at him. "No. And you're not turning me into sausage! Look, what do I have to do if I want to join the guild?"

Feeb, the goblin, waggled a scroll in the air. "Just buy a license, love. Thirty crowns."

Durri was speechless.

Thirty crowns.

That was the equivalent of three 'thousand' shillings.

He only earned about eight a day back in his original life's job as a construction worker.

"How am I supposed to find that kind of money?" he asked in a strangled voice.

Feeb laughed. "Oh, we've got a lovely loan shark in town; you should pay him a visit! Name of Timkin Boil." She gestured lazily at Durri. "Guards, please release this mysterious stranger. You've taken everything he illegally earned? Good. You can go now, Mr. Rogue Alchemist!"

In a few quick moments, the guards removed Durri's chains and hustled him out through the meeting room's huge double doors, then tossed him unceremoniously out the front door.

Durri endured it with barely an "Oof!"

Yes, they had unfortunately taken his hangover earnings—twenty-one shillings—but not the three shillings and other items he had stored inside his body.

A better fate than being turned into sausage, he supposed.

Durri stood in the middle of the bustling city with its old stone buildings and its strangely downtrodden-looking cops. He chewed his lip.

He didn't doubt the guild's claims that he legally needed a license. A handful of cops had just stood and listlessly watched the armored guild soldiers assault him in the middle of the street, and had done nothing.

The part he was not completely sure of was whether they truly controlled the whole kingdom. If Durri simply went to another city or town and sold his potions there, would anything dreadful come of it?

"Well," he mumbled, "my luck's been bad enough. I really shouldn't push it any further."

Durri remembered what the goblin lady said, and stopped a passing elvish prostitute. "Pardon me, but can you tell me where to find a gentleman by the name of Timkin Boil?"

She scanned him from top to bottom, seeming unimpressed. "Come on, honey, you don't wanna mess around with Crab Boil. Let me introduce you to a couple friends of mine. They can hook you up with what you need. Know what I'm sayin'?"

"Ah," said Durri. "Yes, I 'do' know what you are saying. And I'm afraid I must decline, unless your friends can bankroll me thirty crowns."

The elf seemed to lose all interest when she realized Durri was looking to gain money, not spend it. "Oh. Yeah, Crab Boil's den is at the end of Lizard Street. You, uh, won't miss it." She pulled a business card from her sleeve and poked it into the pocket of Durri's overalls. "Find me if you get the money, honey. I know a good place to pick up dinner."

She giggled at her own rhyme as she strode down the avenue, and Durri followed a convenient sign toward Lizard Street.