A Novel
The Alchemist of Goreau — Chapter 11
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The Alchemist of Goreau is a fantasy novel set in late 1800’s in a mountainous Central European country with magic, incredible and unbelievable situations, and a healthy dose of humor. The story follows Donwillo, a mid-twenties alchemist struggling to make a name for himself in the world. When the world starts to crumble, he’s the most likely suspect. Follow his journey as he seeks to clear his name.
Are you ready to join Donwillo on a fantastical journey?
“Hand over your gold and silver,” said Greck to the bank teller casually in the same tone you would use as if asking to pass the butter. He was so certain that the request would be granted that he didn’t bother to assert any aggression. The various deadly weapons attached to his person spoke unintended volumes.
Greck and Balif were robbing a bank. They were unaware they were doing so because in their minds they were just following Mr. Holloway’s orders to collect gold and silver from Goreau residents, offering them Grunbuckers in exchange.
After the incident with the naked alchemist, they’d stopped at a pub for a beer. It was there Balif came up with an idea.
“This is taking too long. We’ve been at this for hours, and this is all we have to show for it?” he said holding up the sacks so empty they swayed wildly.
“Let’s just go find a place with lots of gold and silver and take the rest of the day off.”
“Where would that be?”
“A bank?”
“You want to rob a bank?”
“Of course not. With Mr. Holloway’s orders, surely word has gotten around that gold and silver are useless and Grunbuckers are the future. The bankers would probably thrilled to have someone to take their gold and silver off their hands. We’d be helping them out.”
Greck wholeheartedly agreed and off they went to the biggest bank in Goreau — Vaunted Vaults.
They found the place in a state of disarray. Across the marble floor were overturned desks, piles of loose papers, and ink bottles dribbling out their contents. Frantic and upset customers were arguing heatedly with nervous tellers, attempting to empty their accounts while the bank managers pleaded with them to reconsider.
Greck and Balif pushed passed the animated customers and made their request to a lone bank teller trying desperately to close the window, but it was jammed. It was the young gentleman’s first week on the job and he was still trying to work out where the restrooms were. He wasn’t trained for this.
In response to Greck and Balif’s request, the greenhorn immediately activated the only alarm system he could think of, opening his mouth and screaming in a shrill, piercing tone, “We’re being robbed!”
Greck and Balif, baffled by this response, put their hands over their ears and looked around them in confusion.
It took Greck a moment to realize what was happening. He indicated to Balif to show the teller the briefcase full of Grunbuckers, hoping this might clear up the confusion.
Balif went to hold it up but found that it was no longer in his hand.
“Rats,” shouted Balif, looking around for the briefcase. “It’s gone!”
A collective effort made by the security guards resulted in both Greek and Balif being tackled from behind and wrestled to the ground. Their hands and feet were bound and they were dragged to a private office and placed for questioning.
“Thought you could just walk in here and rob us, eh?” asked the Head of Security.
“No,” replied Greck sullenly. “We were just following the Absolutum’s orders. When he finds out you detained us like this you’re gonna be up snot creek without a tissue. Or a paddle.”
“A likely story,” replied the Head of Security.
Greck jabbed Balif with his elbow in annoyance, realizing without the briefcase, or the informational brick, their story didn’t exactly add up.
The security guards began the long and laborious task of disarming Greek and Balif. First they removed the axes, then the auxiliary axes, then the backup axes, followed by the emergency axes, and then they moved onto the primary knives, secondary knives, and the just for-funsie knives. They had more weapons than rabbits in a magicians hat.
“What are you gonna do with us?” asked Greck, feeling suddenly a bit vulnerable without his weapons.
“The constable should be here soon enough. And his temper is rather short right now with how things are in the city,” said the Head of Security. The others guards returned to the main foyer to help deal with the growing unrest.
Before the constable could arrive, their situation took an unexpected turn.
A purple mist manifested at the bottom of the steps, growing thicker by the second until congealing into a solid mass. A long fingernail emerged, followed by a paper thin hand, and then the rest of the figure. When the light caught her face it seemed waxy, like it might melt under the application of direct heat.
“Drethel,” murmured Greck, turning his face away.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” she said, sounding bored.
Balif grew hopeful at this revelation. Balif had limited knowledge of witches. In that sense, he fit in well with the citizens of Goreau. He didn’t know about their general dislike of morons, their sass, or their stubborn individuality. Balif had them pegged as weird, misunderstood loners with motherly characteristics. That was not a description that fit Drethel. Drethel hadn’t an ounce of caretaking in her. Not even a dozen cats, houseplants, or a Russian doll could be found under her care. She felt no responsibility towards other living beings and had no desire to be in command of less capable life forms.
“You two,” she said frowning at the two henchmen.
She took a second to take in the circumstances.
“Uncuff them,” she said, turning to the Head of Security.
“I cannot do that, ma’am,” he replied, rallying his courage. He had no experience dealing with witches, but had heard they could sense fear. He tried to hide his own by speaking louder.
“Let them go,” she repeated.
Greck and Balif watched with interest, calculating what the cost might be of this salvation.
“They were robbing us! As Head of Security I cannot let that slide!”
“It’s just a simple misunderstanding” said Drethel. “Look at them. Do they look like they knew what they were doing?” she asked, glaring at the two.
Greck and Balif put on their dumbest faces imaginable. It was hard to tell the difference between that and their regular faces.
Drethel produced a document that contained the Absolutum’s seal. “It’s all here,” she said handing it to the Head of Security.
He read it over carefully, then folded it up and handed it back to Drethel.
“It seems legit. That said, if I release you I may get in trouble.”
“The reality is I don’t need your permission. I was just being polite,” she said and grabbed Greck and Balif by the ears and summoned the mist, engulfing the three of them in a purple cloak.
In seconds they were back in the sparse room Greck and Balif had rented. With Drethel in there, the room seemed smaller, the walls almost closing in. It’s only then did it occur to the henchmen they were trapped in an enclosed space with no witnesses and a furious witch.
Drethel let out a sigh that sent all the terminates in the walls fleeing back into the underground.
Greck and Balif refused to look at each other, choosing instead to carefully inspect the floor.
“Mr. Holloway is very upset with you two about your progress,” she began, walking to the dresser and wiping her finger along the top, expecting dust, but the dust had also fled at her arrival.
“I’m taking over this little operation,” she informed them. “Mr. Holloway needs results, and here I find you robbing banks? I thought those days were behind you.”
Balif wanted to say, “What gave you that impression?” but he thought better of it.
“I was fully prepared to tear you buffoons a new one,” she continued inspecting their meagre belongings. “But I don’t see the point. From now on, you follow my orders without question, hesitation, or anything resembling disagreement.”
The grain on the wood floorboards might have contained a tiny circus for all the attention Greck and Balif were giving it.
“You are worms,” she sneered. “Your best use is as bait. If I cut you in half I’m sure you would multiply.”
“Look at me,” she said.
The looked at her, their eyes wide like they were the last dogs in the pound to be adopted.
“Okay then,” she said abruptly. “Now, where’s that briefcase?”
Greck and Balif again looked down at the floor.
“Speak up then!”
Balif filled her in with the events that transpired between the henchmen and the loony alchemist Donwillo.
“I guess we’re going back there,” she said her hands on her hips as she surveyed the two sorry henchmen.
“Someone’s always cleaning up your messes.”
Greck and Balif thought about their recent involvement in bar fight that left dozens injured. They shared a glance that said, “there are probably some things best left unsaid.”
