From the Journal of Atticus Holden
"Curiosity is often praised as a virtue. This is usually said by people who have never watched a curious alchemist open a sealed evidence vial. Tulbe Bramblebrew taught me many things. The first was that answers could be dangerous. The second was that he intended to find them anyway."
The hallway outside Laboratory Three smelled of burnt cinnamon.
Atticus stopped walking.
Beside him, Lyra Voss inhaled carefully.
"Is that smoke?"
"Probably."
Lyra turned toward him.
"Probably?"
Atticus adjusted the strap of his father's satchel.
"Sometimes it's moss."
"Sometimes?"
"It depends on the explosion."
Lyra stared at him.
Atticus considered explaining.
Then something inside Laboratory Three exploded.
WHUMP.
The door rattled in its frame.
A thin ribbon of green smoke curled beneath it.
Lyra slowly looked back at Atticus.
"Normal?"
"Normal enough."
A muffled voice shouted from inside.
"DON'T TOUCH THAT!"
A second voice answered.
"I ALREADY DID!"
There was a pause.
Then—
WHUMP.
The laboratory door burst open.
Green smoke rolled into the corridor.
Out stumbled a young forest gnome carrying three notebooks, a glowing blue mushroom, two glass vials, and what appeared to be a spoon on fire.
He stopped.
Blinking rapidly.
His wild chestnut hair had been pushed backward by the explosion, though several stubborn curls had already begun reclaiming their former positions. Protective goggles sat crookedly across his forehead. His brown work coat was covered in stitched pockets, and nearly every pocket contained something that probably required a warning label.
At thirty-four, Tulbe Bramblebrew was young for a forest gnome—roughly the equivalent of nineteen human years.
He looked even younger when covered in soot.
The spoon continued burning.
Lyra pointed at it.
"Your spoon is on fire."
Tulbe looked down.
"Oh."
He blew on it.
The flame turned purple.
Atticus took one step backward.
Tulbe frowned.
"That usually works."
He dropped the spoon into a nearby bucket.
The bucket screamed.
Lyra's hand moved immediately toward her sword.
Atticus stared at the bucket.
Tulbe stared at the bucket.
The screaming stopped.
Tulbe cleared his throat.
"New bucket."
"Apparently," Atticus said.
Then Tulbe noticed the evidence case in Atticus's hand.
Everything about him changed.
The humor vanished.
His amber eyes sharpened.
"What have you got?"
Atticus glanced at Lyra.
She glanced back.
Neither answered.
Tulbe set the mushroom and notebooks onto a nearby cart.
The mushroom attempted to crawl away.
Without looking, Tulbe caught it and placed a glass jar over it.
"Stay."
The mushroom glowed indignantly.
Tulbe held out his hand.
"Evidence."
Atticus did not give it to him.
Tulbe looked at his empty hand.
Then at Atticus.
"Evidence?"
"You haven't asked where it came from."
"I was getting there."
"You asked for it first."
"That's faster."
"It's also how evidence becomes contaminated."
Tulbe stared at him.
Atticus stared back.
Lyra folded her arms.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Tulbe slowly lowered his hand.
"You're Elias Holden's son."
Atticus's expression changed almost imperceptibly.
"So I'm told."
"No."
Tulbe tilted his head.
"I mean, you really are."
Atticus frowned.
"I'm not sure how else to be."
Tulbe grinned.
"I like you."
"I haven't given you the evidence."
"I know."
His grin widened.
"That's why."
Lyra sighed.
"This is going to be a very long investigation."
Tulbe pushed open the laboratory door.
"Only if we survive it."
Lyra stopped.
"What?"
Tulbe disappeared inside.
Atticus followed.
After a moment, Lyra muttered something under her breath and joined them.
Laboratory Three was larger than Atticus remembered.
Or perhaps it merely seemed larger because there had been fewer explosions during his previous visit.
Long wooden tables filled the chamber. Glass tubes twisted through brass stands. Bundles of dried herbs hung from ceiling beams beside crystals, roots, feathers, and several objects Atticus could not immediately identify.
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One shelf had been labeled:
SAFE
The shelf beside it read:
PROBABLY SAFE
A third shelf had no label at all.
Atticus pointed toward it.
"What's kept there?"
Tulbe followed his gaze.
"The interesting things."
Lyra immediately moved farther away from it.
At the center of the laboratory stood a circular examination table beneath a series of adjustable magnifying lenses.
Tulbe pulled on a pair of gloves.
This time, Atticus handed him the evidence case.
Tulbe opened it.
Inside rested the glass vial containing the black ash.
The young alchemist became completely still.
Atticus noticed the change immediately.
Tulbe was not joking now.
He lifted the vial toward the light.
The black particles shimmered.
Not like soot.
Not like metal.
Something between the two.
Tulbe rotated the glass.
The ash moved against gravity.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Lyra stepped closer.
"It did that at the workshop."
Tulbe's eyes narrowed.
"Did anyone touch it?"
"No."
"Breathe directly over it?"
"No."
"Expose it to flame?"
"No."
"Magic?"
Atticus hesitated.
"Not intentionally."
Tulbe lowered the vial.
"That is not a comforting answer."
"It wasn't intended to be."
Tulbe placed the vial beneath the largest magnifying lens.
"Where did you find it?"
"Beneath Tomas Vale's fingernails."
Tulbe stopped.
"The clockmaker?"
"You knew him?"
"Everyone knew Tomas."
The answer came more quietly than Atticus expected.
Tulbe adjusted the lens.
"He repaired my field chronometer."
"Recently?"
"Three weeks ago."
Atticus opened his notebook.
Tulbe noticed.
"You're interviewing me?"
"I'm asking questions."
"That's an interview with better manners."
"When did you last see him?"
Tulbe thought.
"Six days ago."
"Was he frightened?"
"No."
"Distracted?"
Tulbe's hands stopped moving.
Atticus saw it.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Lyra stepped beside him.
"That did not look like nothing."
Tulbe exhaled.
"He asked me a question."
"What question?"
The laboratory suddenly seemed quieter.
Tulbe looked down at the black ash.
"He asked whether a substance could remember being alive."
Atticus did not write.
Not immediately.
"Exactly those words?"
Tulbe nodded.
Then something inside the vial moved.
All three of them saw it.
The ash gathered against the glass.
One particle at a time.
Slowly forming a thin black line.
Tulbe leaned closer.
Atticus caught his shoulder.
"Don't."
Tulbe froze.
The black line continued climbing.
Up the inside of the vial.
Against gravity.
Toward the warmth of Tulbe's hand.
For once, the young alchemist had nothing to say.
Then the ash struck the glass.
Tick.
Atticus went cold.
Lyra heard it too.
"That sounded like—"
"A clock," Atticus whispered.
The ash struck again.
Tick.
Without thinking, Atticus's free hand moved beneath his coat.
His fingers closed around something concealed there.
Smooth wood.
Familiar grooves.
His wand.
He released it almost immediately.
Lyra noticed.
She said nothing.
A third strike.
Tick.
Then silence.
Tulbe slowly turned toward Atticus.
"What happened in that workshop?"
Atticus looked at the impossible black ash.
At the substance Tomas Vale had carried beneath his fingernails.
At something that should have been dead matter—
but behaved as though it were listening.
"I was hoping," Atticus said quietly, "you could tell me."
Tulbe stared at the vial for several long seconds.
Then, very slowly...
He smiled.
Not because he understood it.
Because he didn't.
"That," he whispered, "is much better."
Journal Addendum
"Tulbe once told me that the difference between an alchemist and a fool was preparation. I asked him which one he was. He said he was still gathering evidence. At the time, I thought he was joking. Years later, I was no longer certain."