That Which Lies Within

In the aspiring alchemist’s attempts at experimentation, he’d gotten better in only the most basic of ways. This more or less amounted to not totally and categorically blowing up the newly renovated lab, nor causing too devastating a personal injury that a quick string of divine words couldn’t heal. One thing he had learned was how to tell when a solution needed to go through a warming or degassing process and, importantly, why. Another, what he was actually looking for when his books instructed him to ascertain whether said solution had reached an appropriate and specific shade of amber, and how to remember not to put his bare hands on the beakers to hold them up to the light lest he lose all feeling in his fingertips (again). And, the simple lesson of the day: if he needed the fluid component of a small ingredient, it was infinitely easier to crush it with the flat end of his blade than to slice it.

If only that had helped.

Plans for his time today had been pre-arranged over a week ago with the arrival of an unassuming parcel. It had been wrapped in perfectly unwrinkled brown paper and twine, and its delivery announced by Friedman’s telltale flourish of a knock.

Rat-a-ta-tat… Pause. Rat-a-ta-tat.

“Door’s unwarded and unlocked, Friedman.”

With a practiced swiftness, Friedman swept across the floor and placed his burden down so quickly on the resin topper protecting the sturdy hickory lab table that it slid half its length toward Ethan, who stood on its opposite side with a bemused dimple forming on his cheek as his lips spread into a surprised smile.

“Did it bite you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow for added effect as Friedman continued to eye the little package like it had personally tarnished his reputation.

Friedman’s tongue seemed to unravel to defend whatever perceived slight the package had made. “Master Alstran, you are aware that my duties do not include screening your mail, yes? If whatever is in there is dangerous, I—”

Before the man could give himself another cluster of grey hairs, Ethan waved him off with a hand that wasn’t busy with stirring and maintained his smile to assuage the other man’s nerves. Maybe more importantly, he used the motion to draw the package closer, formally relieving Friedman of his burden. “Nonsense, Friedman. That symbol there—are you not familiar with it? It belongs to the Sapphire Collective. Only as dangerous as you think I am. Really.”

It was only because Ethan had trained himself to look inside of every person he ever met that he noticed Friedman’s lips press ever-so-slightly further together. His own expression, still propped into a comforting gesture, picked up a sharp edge. Mirth tinged his voice as he amended, “Not a danger to you, Friedman. I assure you. Just enough of one to be able to handle the contents of my own mail.”

Aside from it being clearly addressed to Ethan in an unfamiliar script so clustered yet neat that he recognized it more from the general shape of it than from the individual letters, the only indicator of what it might possibly contain was the tri-circle emblem stamped above a simple ‘M.’

It was much smaller than he’d envisioned. Curious.

Friedman showed no signs of being offended at having been read so easily, and Ethan, for the dozenth time, decided that he liked the man. He was given a quick nod, a concession of the brown paper box to Ethan’s care. With a quick check on the pad of paper the steward kept in his breast pocket, Ethan was left with only the trailing sound of his prim accent, “Master Beltin should be in the garden…”

Alone, it didn’t take long for the eager coils of anticipation to build tension up and up in Ethan’s chest, a spring wound tighter and looming larger with every soft tick of his watch in the quiet of the laboratory. Who was ‘M’? Why had the package arrived with another assignment now? What would it contain? Beakers bubbled patiently as Ethan lost his, fit to burst as he carefully and constantly stirred the solution at hand.

At last, the solution almost lustrously clouded and gave a pink-ish hue in the streaming shafts of sunlight that befell the table. It took seconds to snap gloves up to his elbows, reverently pulling the box to the edge for a more thorough inspection. Foreign words curled around the bend of the interlocked circles, cobalt ink distributed with perfectly calculated pressure. The twine was taut in its pretty little bow and positioned asymmetrically in order to obscure the symbol of the Collective.

With little resistance, the twine completely relaxed at his gentle tug, unraveling its hold on the box. He felt rather like he had managed to get his hands on a very late, long-awaited Christmas gift as he peeled back the paper with care—as much care as he could muster to not disturb whatever contents lay inside while going as swiftly as possible. Unlike a present, he had no idea who this nearly-anonymous package had been sent by or what the contents nestled under three wrapped layers could be. Brown paper, then linen, then waxed paper each held a smaller bundle than the last.

Ethan parted the wax with gloved fingertips and stared, perplexed.

There was a white paper no bigger than an index card, thick like cardstock. There were two simple words written in that tiny, clustered script that his name had been written in—instructions.

Grow me.

There were four seeds, two of which had hair-thin radicals sprouting from their coats. All were a healthy green, broken only by curious violet splotches as he inspected one in the palm of his hand.

There was a polymer photograph of what he assumed they would look like grown to fruition: a plant with a few oblong, brownish-green pods with fine, bristly nettles. Each was plump with round, ripe beans for cultivating for the Collective.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Furrowed his brows so intensely that they nearly met. He spared a glance to the prominent ‘M’ on the package, right below the coded language of the organization. A sigh escaped his mouth.

“Master Beltin should be in the garden, he said.”

Gently setting the seeds back into their box, Ethan prepared to take his mysterious brown paper box down to the garden.