The Alchemical Child

Chapter Eight

Rather than trail behind the librarian all the way to the front desk, Sage turned left into an arbitrary aisle. Wandering aimlessly amongst the stacks was always a risky choice, because if a Student forgot the specific path they took to find a specific shelf, it was unlikely they would be able to refind the same way out of the Alchemical Library. First-years were warned to keep to the stacks near the window so that they would at least have a natural light to guide their way back to the vaulted vestibule.

But Sage had no seminars for the rest of the day, and she had grown reasonably adept at navigating the stacks over the years. She could tell by the density of the shadows if she was approaching a dead-end, and marked the thickness of dust on the shelves to see how frequently the aisles were visited. Last Spring, a group of Students had attempted between them to map the stacks. By Autumn, they had declared it impossible, and it was rumoured that one had gone missing.

But just as Sage was beginning to panic, she rounded a shelf and emerged into a heavily cob-webbed corner of the vestibule. Around the room, Students were already staking their claim of the desks, which meant the lunch hour was over. Sage's stomach grumbled irritably, so she left the Alchemical Library and returned to the main staircase. 

Metallurgy would have started its seminar by now, but the faintest thought of Lawrence waiting for Sage on the far narrower stairwell on the other side of the hall made her brave the Students sprinting across the Great Hall, late for their lectures. They shouted to one another from the balcony and down the corridors, making a cacophony of noise that Sage was desperate to escape. Somebody was yelling from the top of the staircase, and she hurried towards the open doors and sprawling lawn.

"Rutherford!" A hand caught her elbow, long fingers wrapping an easy circle and jerking her to a stop.

The librarian loomed over her, looking gangly and strange outside of the towering stacks. Her name had sounded odd in his low voice, and they both stood in shocked silence, though Sage could hear whispered titters from the stream of Students breaching around them.

She yanked her arm free. "Why are you following me around everywhere?"

He glared at her. "Some Scholar came asking after you, said she thought she'd find you in the library. She insisted on leaving a note at the front desk."

The fae thrust a folded piece of paper at her, which she took reluctantly. His fingers lingered in the air, long and graceful. Sage could still feel the ghost of them around her arm.

His dark eyes were fixed on her, as if he intended to say more. He didn't seem to notice the bustle of Students or their echoing laughter. Sage shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm not your personal Steward," he finally snapped, then turned and strode back up the stairs.

Sage waited until she was outside to open the note, gulping in cold air like her chest was burning. It was signed from Gillian, and requested that Sage come to her office tomorrow, despite it being the weekend. In the postscript, she promised to buy her lunch.

Sage's stomach gurgled again, so she hurried around the University and fetched her bicycle. She had already memorised Gillian's short note and mentally agreed to the meeting; she could have thrown the paper away. Instead, she refolded it carefully and slipped it into her breast pocket.

The hot scent of iron followed Sage from the laboratories into the city. She rode west to the market and bought a sandwich, a pot of berries, and a basket of vegetables to use later for soup. Her bicycle was getting overcrowded, and she felt guilty jostling the grimoire under the handles. The gates to an empty park beckoned, so Sage found a bench and sat down to eat lunch.

The metal slats beneath her legs were icy, but it was either the bench or the ground. She didn't know anyone in the north of the city who she could visit. She didn't know anyone in the city at all—not really. She refocused her mind on the park, the frozen pond and bare bushes. There weren't any animals this far from the river, aside from the rats that scurried out at sundown.

But even rats weren't around to keep Sage company.

Then she thought of Hermes, waiting at home and always pleased to see her. She felt a little warmer picturing his glassy eyes, and rose from the cold bench. It took a moment to find her balance, but then she set off towards the outskirts of the city, not wanting to cycle back past the University.

It was only when she broke through the last of the townhouses and polished shop fronts that Sage realised she had ridden straight to the palace. She hadn't even noticed that she had cycled so far across the city. Time was working strangely today.

When she moved to the city, the palace had appeared through the mist as if from a dream. Lofty, ivory pillars and gossamer-light curtains always fluttered, like the very building breathed, unfettered and fragile were it not for the three, crenellated steeples speared up towards the sky. Each steeple held an iron bell, which rang low and long on the hour.

But it was the domed, gilded lanterns and their thin spires that made the palace into something almost spiritual. It was more gold than Sage had seen before or since arriving in the city. A palace truly fit for a faerie queen, she had once thought. Although that was before she had seen the fae village on the far side of the river.

The clouds hung close as Sage cycled past the palace, as white as the curtains which shifted like spectres. She thought of the fae bride, drifting between those curtains in mourning, or perhaps sitting at the top of a tower, gazing over the clouds with her hard, black eyes.

Sage raced the snow home, knowing if she slowed that she would feel the fat, wet flakes fall down her collar and soak through her coat. It had started to come down heavily by the time she reached her doorstep, most melting away into the river, though it also blanketed the dirt and blinded her sight of the bridge. It was definitely too snowy to go wading for scrap, so Sage bustled herself, her books, and her bicycle through the door.

Every muscle in Sage's body was cramping from cold. Not for the first time, she wished she owned a proper, porcelain bath and not her refillable tin tub and kettle. She needed to replace the scarf and hat she had lost in the stacks last year, but knitting wool wasn't the same as winding clockwork.

She chopped up the vegetables from the market and left them to simmer on the stovetop. In the workshop, Hermes was waiting for her on the desk, legs tucked beneath his little copper body and cogs laid out neatly beside him. His metal feathers puffed up at the sight of her, and Sage smiled as her mechanical friend welcomed her home.

A/N A very Merry Christmas to all of you who are celebrating today! And to those who aren't, I hope you have a very special day also!