“Come
in,” called a distant, hollow-sounding voice, and Thornbriar pushed open the
heavy door on creaking hinges. The front
shop was empty and shadowy, but from the door in the back came a faint, pulsing
light. “Come along, come along,” said
the voice, louder now. “I’m back in the
workroom. And just bring along that
bottle on the counter, will you? This is
tricky stuff.”
The elf
picked up the bottle, a tall cut-glass decanter, and began feeling his way down
the dimly lit hall. He came to a doorway
rimmed with light and opened it to a blast of heat and glare. Squinting, he could make out the busy figure
of Dr. Gilpin, dressed as usual in his long black robe, with the sleeves tucked
up to his shoulders. He was puffing away
with a bellows into a cast iron furnace.
Thornbriar
picked his way gingerly over to the old man who was gazing intently into the
open stove, his long white eyebrows almost frizzled in the heat and his blunt
craggy features basted in sweat.
“I
believe the crisis has passed,” the doctor pronounced after a few moments. “All it needs to do now is burn down and
cool.” He shook out his sleeves and
wiped his brow, turning towards the elf.
“Oh, hello, Thornbriar. I’m doing
a bit of alchemy, you see. Just the thing on a cold day like today. Let’s take that bottle over to the
worktable.”
They
sat down on a rough bench next to the table that clattered and clinked with
glass alembics, retorts, and vials. Dr.
Gilpin started searching through them.
Thornbriar, unable to contain himself, began his tirade.
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