“…And now we shall titrate the solution.” With one hand Melanthus carefully picked up the long, graduated glass tube and gestured at Tesslihm.

  “This is the burette. Note the stopcock at the bottom. This is closed,” and then Melanthus reached with his other hand and turned it ninety degrees, “- and this is open.” He closed it again. “Fill the burette halfway and we shall see what happens with the analyte. Based on what you observed of my previous preparations, how caustic do you expect the solution to be?”

  When he did not receive a prompt answer, Melanthus turned around by pivoting on his stool and sharply peered at his apprentice.

  They were situated in the cellar of the tower, which was divided into two spaces by an interior bearing wall and parallel barrel vaults. The first space, which they were not occupying, was encountered as soon as one came to the bottom of the stairs and was a storage area stocked with everything from tubers to tools. There were bags of onions, turnips, beets, carrots, yams, cassava, arrowroot, gnomefeet, and other vegetables. Naturally, there were several rows of wine bottles. Other shelves contained orderly rows of jars containing various pickled comestibles, along with jams, jellies, and clover honey. A latched icebox occupied one corner, holding various delicacies until Melanthus was in the mood to partake of them. Next to it sat a barrel of apples and another of pears. A shovel, mattock, pick, and improbably enough, a harpoon, were propped up in the other corner. From pegs and hooks there depended rope, chains, and straps of leather. There were pulleys, hoisting gear, and other such tackle. There was a stack of calibrated lead plates used for counterweights. There was a pallet of board lumber. There were urns and amphorae, both full and empty, and stout clay jugs. And there were crates of oddities that were in the room simply because they didn’t belong anywhere else.

  The second space, which they did occupy, was entered through a sturdy door set in the middle of the center dividing wall that was typically kept locked. It intermittently served as a laboratory for some of Melanthus’ more risky experiments. For one thing, the walls were thickest here, and there were no windows to blow out in case of explosion, and the massive walls and below-grade location ensured that the ambient temperature remained pretty constant year-round. For another, there was very little flammable material about. And for a third, there was a nice large, conveniently located drain in the floor where he could pour various noxious substances and dispose of various by-products and other befouled liquids.

  On a heavy oak table with legs braced by iron struts was placed a strange assortment of apparatus. The clutter of items included a balance scale, flasks, pipettes, beakers, test tubes, a retort, mortar and pestle, tweezers, tongs, a small cauldron, and a cylindrical pressure vessel as long as his forearm sitting in a cradle on its side.

  An oil lamp set beneath a metal stand on one end of the table, combined with another in a wall sconce gave sufficient light for their work but lent it a surreal aspect of heightened drama, a drama that now included the disapproval of a master regarding the behavior of his apprentice.

  Tesslihm looked dazed. He had been torpid all morning, which lately was beginning to seem like a trend.

  “Well?” demanded Melanthus, who was becoming more exasperated by the second.

  Tesslihm’s eyes then became focused and his expression broadcast a look of alarm.

  “I – I don’t know, Master.” His eyes then concentrated on a spot on the floor.

  “You should. We went over this only two days ago! Do you think I have the time and patience to explain these topics to you multiple times until they finally sink in?” And here he pushed the burette into the teen’s hands. “Fill.”

  Frowning, he watched as the apprentice took a small funnel and placed it at the top. Tesslihm then carefully filled it from a beaker of pink liquid on the far side of the table, displaying a methodical delicacy of touch that was reasonably competent. This was fortunate, Melanthus reflected, as the liquid possessed a tendency to burst into flame when splashed onto metal surfaces.

  “This may seem laborious to you Tesslihm, all the grinding and the measuring, the heating, and the mixing, but learning how to brew potions is an important skill to cultivate for any wizard. Potions aren’t simply conveniently lying around in caves and unlocked and abandoned chests like ripened fruit hanging from a tree. They can be extremely expensive to purchase and making your own is much more affordable. And they usually can be sold without trouble for a quick infusion of coin.”

  He continued to watch as Tesslihm held the burette over the designated flask, which had been placed in a clamp that held it over the oil lamp. Melanthus noted a slight tremor in Tesslihm’s hand as he opened the stopcock and pink drops began to fall into the flask below.

  “What, boy, are you sick?” He looked closer at the apprentice, who had bloodshot eyes and a somewhat grayish pallor.

  “No Master,” Tesslihm replied with a slight shake of the head, his arms at least steady as he carried out his task.

  Melanthus was skeptical. “By Braddock’s Beard, if you pass on to me a malady you picked up in some wretched den of iniquity you frequented…” he said threateningly.

  “No Master, I swear! It’s not that! But I do admit I have been often short of the mark – the result of too much carousing.”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Oh?”

  “It’s true – I have been too deep in my cups of late, and out when I should be here studying.”

  “Sometimes I think I should lock you up at night in that cubby hole of yours! Some wizards inhabit compounds and simply forbid their apprentice to leave the grounds. But it would be harshly restrictive to keep you in the tower all the time. Besides, having you always underfoot would be an endless source of vexation. Well, consider this as being put on notice.”

  “Yes, Master. I shall rededicate myself.”

  “Good, see that you do. Now - stop! All right, that’s enough. See how the analyte has become cloudy? That is the beginning of the formation of the precipitate, which we will need to ultimately filter out or at least let settle to the bottom. Now, turn up the dial of the lamp and increase the flame height.”

  Somewhat mollified, Melanthus resumed his discourse, which as usual was part instruction and part meandering ponderment.

  “This potion of diminution might very well come in handy one day, although I am attempting to make it more as a demonstration of technique as well as to see if this book that contains the recipe, On the Processes of Transmutation of Materials,” whereupon he jabbed a finger at the yellowed volume next to him, “which has a reputation of being somewhat unreliable, is worth the second edition of the Treatise on Recreational Necromancy I traded to that scoundrel Alvarus in Loemport.”

  Melanthus sighed. “Nonetheless, I would much rather be attempting to perfect that formula for the invisibility potion I have been tinkering with on and off for the last year to no avail.”

  Continuing in a more mischievous way, he said, “Imagine, apprentice, being shrunk in size so that you are no taller than a pixie. It might be advantageous to have you be that size for a few hours… think of how useful you could be in working on gadgets and machinery and all manner of fine implements! Oh, the intricacies that could be wrought!”

  Tesslihm eyed him nervously but said nothing.

  He continued to muse, as was his way. “I have occasionally considered trying to produce my very own homunculus, to assist me with such tasks and faithfully carry out various errands. But it seems far more trouble than it’s worth. To be honest, the entire familiar thing isn’t my style at all,” he declared. “Still, consistent obedience and blind devotion might be a rather nice change of pace…”

  Then he bent down to consult the suspect text. He murmured to himself as he looked over the instructions for the hundredth time. After a brief moment, he nodded to himself, sat up again, and rubbed his hands together.

  “Excellent, now when it comes to a boil we flip the timer over, and when the last grain of sand has emptied out of the top flip it over one more time and wait. After that time has elapsed we shall remove it from the heat.”

  The vapors now emanating from the mixture were rather acrid, and not for the first time Melanthus thought he really must have a metalworker fashion and install some sort of vent system to carry away noxious gases. Another time, perhaps…

  After the potion began to boil Tesslihm spoke up. “Master, I have noticed you did not heed the admonition to prepare the potion during the ascendance of a waning gibbous moon.”

  “Yes, true. Glad to see you were able to parse the Illytrian script.”

  “- and you also are not going to recite the two quatrains of verse written in Elvish?”

  “No, I am not.”

  “But you said you wanted to verify the accuracy of the book.”

  It was a legitimate query, and Melanthus deigned to give it a serious answer. “We are attempting to accomplish two purposes here – one practical, another rather more… esoteric. Yes, we are trying to create a potion – the potion that the recipe in the book describes. However,” and here he paused significantly, for emphasis, “we are also looking for the truth.”

  “For too long – centuries, in fact - the practice of magic has been obscured by needless trappings and encumbered by mistaken beliefs that have no basis in fact, relying only on tradition, as in: ‘this is what our predecessors did, so we must do it also.’ Such extraneous elements have only served to hinder the dissemination of truly effective procedures. So I have set for myself the ongoing task to strip away the distractions, the immaterial, and distill the procedures down to their very essence. Much as the refining process separates the valuable metals from the slag and the dross, I am refining the practice of magic. And with the fundamentals explicitly identified and thoroughly understood, what great works will be denied me? This approach, clear-eyed and bereft of frippery, shall be my legacy.”

  Noting that the recommended time for heating had concluded, Melanthus took a pair of tongs and lifted the flask from the stand over the flame as he released the clamp with his free hand. He gingerly tipped the flask so that the contents poured into a waiting bottle of pale crystal, taking care to not transfer the precipitate as well, which was left behind to accumulate in a sodden grainy heap. He then set it down on the table and resumed speaking even as he eyed the bottle like a hawk. “Rather than merely aping the actions of those who came before us, who may have had imperfect understanding, I seek to fully comprehend the ‘why’ and the ‘how’. That is the only way we shall advance and perfect our craft.”

  There was now a thick foam at the top of the still roiling mixture that was steadily filling the vessel up to the top. As they both intently watched it, it began to glow with a soft light that seamlessly changed from white to yellow, to an orange-red. As it did so, it coalesced and shrank in volume, and as the light at last died away they saw a few drams of a red syrupy liquid remaining at the bottom.

  “Ah, success!” proclaimed a gratified Melanthus, as he recognized the potion’s color and viscosity matching one he had seen imbibed once long ago that had initiated the desired shrinking effect. “How fitting - a small potion to produce a ‘small’ result. Literally. And now, apprentice, I can amend the recipe with some notations in the margins, and the pursuit of knowledge has been advanced just a bit more today. I think this calls for a celebratory repast.” And he seized the book, snapped it shut and briskly sprang up from the stool.

  “Yes, master.”

  “Not you. Not yet, anyway. Put a stopper over this as soon as it cools to room temperature. And while you are waiting, clean and put away all the apparatus. Maybe some attention to detail will sharpen your wits.”

  Tesslihm appeared a bit crestfallen, but he immediately set to work without complaint, although also without alacrity.

  Melanthus felt pleased as he ascended the stairs to tell Thayla he was now at liberty to eat supper, and indeed, had a ravenous appetite. But at the back of his mind, the recent unfocused lethargy of his apprentice intruded upon his satisfaction. But how to address it? Bah, young people – he thought - unreliable and moody and completely lacking in perspective, about what is important and what is not. What could be done? Such is the way of life…