Wraithblood: The Elixir, Episode 5
“Truly?” you say, fighting the impulse to snatch the vial out of Azaces’ hand. “Do you offer all your business associates mind-destroying substances? Still, one does not often see Anshani noblemen working with thieving crews to survive. Only the ones foolish enough to squander their ancestral fortunes, I suppose.” You look at Nasser. “Do you really want to hire such a fool?”
Riordan bursts out laughing, while Tarquin merely looks frightened.
“That’s enough, both of you,” says Nasser, but he’s smiling. “Sit down.”
Azaces gives you a murderous scowl and sits down, tossing aside the clay vial. It shatters against the wall, and you see that it was empty all along.
You hide your hands in the ragged sleeves of your robe until they stop shaking.
“Now,” says Nasser, “you are, undoubtedly, curious as to why I called you here. I propose an enterprise, one that carries a great deal of risk, but if successful, shall make us richer than kings. And each of you has a unique skill that will make our venture a success”
“Well?” says Riordan. “What is it? Out with it. You know I heed you, Captain, but I’ve no taste for flowery words.”
Nasser smiles. “The Master Alchemist Callatas has recently brewed a dozen vials of the fabled Elixir Rejuvenata. Gentlemen, and madame, we shall steal those vials and resell them at stupendous profit.”
Riordan swears, Azaces says something obsence, and Tarquin trembles.
You feel yourself blink exactly six times.
The Elixir Rejuvenata is rare, the ingredients to make it even rarer, and each vial is worth more than a king’s ransom. In fact, entire kingdoms have been bought and sold for a single vial. It is able to heal any natural malady or injury, and only an Alchemist of surpassing skill can brew a single vial, let alone a dozen.
“You’re mad,” says Riordan at last. “Every thieving crew in the city will try to get their hands on those vials.”
That, at least, explains why both Raggan and Zosimus wanted you so badly. No doubt Callatas will have his Elixir secured behind the best locks possible.
“Only those who want to die steal from an Alchemist,” says Azaces. “Wait, I am wrong. Only those who want to live forever steal from an Alchemist – such fools are transformed into crystal statues, to adorn the Alchemists’ halls forever.”
Nasser laughs. “Do I strike you as suicidal, my dear Azaces?”
“You’re not,” you say, your mind clicking “You must know that stealing from a Master Alchemist is like multiplying by zero – the result is certain. So you have an…edge, yes? Information, or some strategy, that will let you survive, that will give you a result other than zero.”
“Very clever,” says Nasser. “Let us see just how clever you are, madame.”
He grunts and lifts something cubical and heavy onto the table, which shudders with the weight. It’s an iron box, its sides adorned with strange, stylized reliefs, three black keyholes yawning like tiny mouths.
A Strigosti trapbox. The Strigosti are a strange, reclusive people, dwelling in the mountains far to the north of the Empire of Nigharm, but mechanical geniuses without peer – and builders of absolutely lethal traps.
Tarquin manages to cringe further into the corner, wide eyes upon the trapbox.
“Open it,” says Nasser, “and you will have your answer.”
Azaces snorts. “No one can open a Strigosti trapbox without the keys.”
But you ignore him. Your mind focuses upon the trapbox, equations flitting through your thoughts, until you forget Nasser, forget Azaces, forget that this is another of Nasser’s little tests.
For a moment, you even forget about wraithblood.
The box has two traps – poisoned needles that will erupt from its sides, and an apparatus that will release a cloud of acidic mist. If you try to pick the lock without disabling the traps, you might set them off. But if you successfully pick the lock, you’ll bypass the traps – unless you make a single mistake.
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