CHAPTER 10: He Is At Hand

He is at hand that doth betray me.
Matthew 26:46

Snow still amazed him. Basti walked around the keep’s fenced-in grounds with the wind whipping his hair around his face. Snowflakes danced and whirled past him, making him shiver as they melted down the back of his neck.

The clouds were low and grey, covering Gestern mountain as though he stood in a fog bank back on the bay of Napoli. Basti narrowed his eyes, resting his gloved hands on the iron bars of the fence. The white peaks of the surrounding mountains were just barely visible through the clouds and snow. For a moment he felt a burning urge to open the gates and head down the trail, to keep following the mountain peaks until they vanished, where? At the North Sea?

He’d spent the morning going over his sketches with Danti. Araciel had been working with Dietrich in the lord and lady’s workshop, and all Basti knew was that they were exploring ways to ward the keep against evil spirits. Caterina had pulled out her older brother’s translations and was reading them quietly with Alrune.

Basti felt claustrophobic in the keep. Its shutters were kept closed to protect the windows from gusting winds, and the halls were all dark and still. He’d been a little wary of going outside, where the wolf had been prowling so recently, but he’d slipped off with one of Albrecht’s kitchen knives and hid it beneath his giaquetta. Not that he knew much about knife-fighting, but it made him feel better to know the blade was there.

A dark spot appeared on the trail, and Basti shivered, wondering who it could be. He headed for the gate, fingers sliding under his jacket to touch the knife’s hilt. The Erl King? He bared his teeth with defiance, even though the thought made his skin crawl. If it were….

But the black-cloaked figure that stopped at the gate and pulled a key from his belt wasn’t the hunter; only Naich. The flautist looked up as Basti appeared, grey eyes searching his face a moment before flickering back to the lock as he turned the key.

“Where were you last night, after you sicced the wolf on me?” Basti demanded, glad to have run into the flautist alone. Naich was covered with snow. His graying hair was white with it, and snow caked his clothes.

He calmly opened the gate and stepped through. One gloved hand rose as he closed and latched the gate again.

“No, I won’t wait. You owe me an explanation!” Basti glared, shaking his dark hair out of his eyes as the wind whipped it around. “Did you know the wolf would try to attack me?”

Naich tucked the key and its cord back into his belt, turning. He cocked his head slightly, as if looking for any sign of injury on Basti, then shook it.

“Well, it did! It jumped into my bedroom! Why did you show it to me, and not to Dietrich or Araciel?”

Black-gloved fingers touched his arm, the one the wolf had bitten. Basti drew back.

“W- was that the wolf that bit me?”

Naich reluctantly shook his head.

“Well, which wolf bit me, then?”

The flautist paused, as though considering. He held up one finger, then touched it to Basti’s arm again.

“One? One what? One wolf?”

A nod.

“There’s more than one wolf in these mountains!”

Naich nodded again, then repeated the gesture; one, and a touch to Basti’s arm. Basti remembered the old woman’s story, down in Gestern.

“You mean, there’s only one wolf that would attack a human,” he said flatly. The snow whirled around them, tugging his cloak against him a moment. Naich nodded again. Basti flexed his fingers. Suddenly the bite in his arm was starting to ache in the cold.

“But that wasn’t the one in the courtyard.”

Naich shook his head. Basti wished he’d brought along paper and a pen.

“So, what about the wolf in the courtyard? Why’d you show it to me.”

Naich pointed to the keep, to the courtyard. The Erl King?

“But if the Erl King wasn’t the one that bit me, what does my bite have to do with anything? Is there some other lupo mannaro after me?”

Naich shrugged and turned to walk back to the keep. Basti grabbed his arm.

“Don’t go, yet. I’m not done asking you questions.”

Something dark flickered in Naich’s eyes, then vanished. The flautist reached up and wiped away the snow that was melting on his face, and waited.

“You know more about this than you’re telling. Half the time I see the Erl King, you’re close around.” Basti scowled. “Are you the Erl King?”

Naich threw his head back and laughed, a strange, fluttering sound that made Basti take a surprised step back. His anger dissipated as the flautist continued to chuckle, his breath gusting white in the chill air.

“Well, fine,” Basti muttered, feeling a little put out. This was the first time he’d ever seen Naich laugh, and the break in the man’s usually solemn demeanor was startling. “I just thought I’d ask.”

Naich shook his head again, confusing Basti. After a moment the flautist straightened, looking around as he regained his composure. He reached out and touched the stone gatepost, writing briefly against the snow-caked side. Basti stepped forward to read as Naich walked away. The flautist had written a single word, in German.

Enemies.

“You and the Erl King?” Basti asked, jogging to catch up as the mute strode toward Gestern Keep’s doors. Naich nodded, all trace of his former amusement gone. “And the Erl King knows it?”

Naich nodded again, but that was the last question that he would answer, hanging his cloak and kicking the snow from his boots. Finally Basti gave up, watching as the flautist turned to take the stairs up.

Enemies. He slowly pulled off his own snowy cloak and heavy coat. Well, at least he was sure that Naich wasn’t the Erl King. The flautist’s reaction to his question had been genuine enough.

Metal clattered against stone, and he jumped, startled. The knife in his belt had fallen out. Grimacing, he picked it up. At least it hadn’t broken. With a twinge of hunger, he decided to return it to Albrecht and see if lunch was ready.

“Serve yourself,” Albrecht grumbled as he walked in. “Dietrich and Araciel already told me they’d be too busy to come down.”

“What are they working on?” Basti asked, surreptitiously placing the knife on a counter. Albrecht had roasted a duck, and his mouth watered as the cook began slicing it. Covered pots and pans simmered on the oven, promising a large dinner to come.

“How should I know? Something to keep the Erlkönig away, I hope.” Albrecht looked around. “Anyone else coming?”

“Danti’s working, and I just saw Naich come in and go upstairs. I think he was out late.”

“Take something to Danti once you’re done,” Albrecht ordered. “He’s not getting enough food or sleep. Stand there and watch him until he takes at least one bite of everything.”

“I will,” Basti promised. Albrecht set a plate in front of him, and filled a goblet with dark red wine.

“That smells good, Albrecht,” Caterina said, stepping inside.

“Good, someone else. Sometimes I think Basti’s the only one around here with any appetite.” Albrecht wiped his hands on his apron. “Just a moment, mistress, and I’ll set you a place in the dining room.”

“Oh, don’t bother,” she said, pulling a plate out of the china cabinet for herself. “I don’t mind eating in the kitchen.”

“What? Your parents leave and all civilized behavior goes out the door with them?” Albrecht scowled ferociously as she pulled a chair up to the kitchen table next to Basti. “If your brother saw you, he’d have me on the trail to Gestern….”

“Dietrich’s just as happy in the kitchen as I am,” Caterina said. “Please, Albrecht. The kitchen is much warmer and lighter than the dining room, anyway.”

“Next thing you know, Dietrich will start sleeping in the stables with his horse again,” Albrecht muttered, glumly serving her. Caterina’s tentative smile widened. She glanced at Basti.

“He used to do that when he was younger,” she explained. “When he got the very first horse of his own.”

“When I was a kid, I used to feed a stray dog scraps outside the door, and at night I sneaked him indoors and let him sleep in bed with me,” Basti admitted. “I had fleas the whole summer.”

Caterina laughed.

“Is that the dog you’re sketching?”

“No, my dog was a mangy old mutt. He was ugly, but he used to snarl at my brothers when they tried to pick on me, and I thought he was the greatest thing in the world.”

“How long did you have him?” she asked. Basti shrugged.

“Just that summer. One day he never came back. I don’t know if he ran off or got hurt in a fight or just died of old age. I always wanted another one, but….”

“We need a dog here,” Albrecht muttered. “One to eat all the food nobody else comes down to eat. I should leave and let Danti cook again.”

“You’d never dare leave,” Alrune replied, walking into the kitchen. The dwarf picked up half an onion, biting into it. “What drove you to Gestern with the rest of the riff-raff, Albrecht?”

“Leave those alone –- they’re for dinner.”

“I missed lunch.” The scholar picked up two more onion halves and began to juggle them all. “And my calling.”

“Why did you come here, Alrune?” Basti asked, deciding to turn the tables on the scholar. Alrune looked at him through the ring of circling onions, his dark eyes dancing.

“For the lively company, of course.” One by one he tossed the onions to Albrecht, who grabbed them, scowling.

“Would you mind? I’m trying to work.”

“Everyone’s so intent on working, and no one has anything to show for it.” Alrune broke a loaf of bread in half. “Myself included, of course,” he confided to Basti.

“Alrune!” Caterina burst out, exasperated.

“Danti’s working hard on his sculpture,” Basti said defensively, feeling stung by the dwarf’s words. “He’ll have something to show for his effort.”

“I won’t, unless I get some peace in here,” Albrecht growled, setting the onions back on the chopping block and walking over to a covered dish on the stove. “I’m going to take something up to Dietrich and Araciel. They haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Alrune poked at the other dishes in the kitchen.

“Ravioli and boiled capon, leeks and beetroot,” he murmured. He dipped the end of his bread into the ravioli dish, sopping up tomato sauce. “Where did you learn to cook this, Albrecht?”

“Stop that!” Albrecht lifted a serving fork dangerously. “Now!”

“The cook arms himself at last!” Alrune cried, scuttling out of the kitchen and vanishing down the hall. Basti shook his head, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed. Caterina laughed. Albrecht scowled at them.

“I’m taking this up to the boys,” he said, serving the food on a platter. “Basti, don’t forget to take Danti his tray when he’s done.”

“When are you going to start working on your own sculpture?” Caterina asked. She seemed more cheerful than she’d been when she’d walked in. For the first time Basti wondered if Alrune’s crude capers might have a benign purpose, after all.

“Not for a while. Danti said my sketches were pretty good, but I have to fix a few things, like making sure my hound’s legs can support its body. Then I’ll carve a bozzetto, a model, to make sure everything works out all right. When I get my models right, I can start in with a block of marble Danti’s set aside.”

“Are you going to sell it?”

“I don’t know. Usually I’d be working on a commissioned work for my master, but Danti’s different. I guess he’ll decide what to do with it, if it’s any good at all.”

“It must be wonderful to be talented,” Caterina said wistfully. “Sometimes I wish I could be a sculptor and pound out all my frustrations on stone.”

“Well … I’ve heard of some women who’ve become painters, but –-”

Someone started yelling, and he stopped, listening. Caterina set her wine down.

“It’s Albrecht,” she said, fearfully. They looked at each other, then jumped to their feet and began to run.

They threw open the door to the southeast stairs and pounded up. Albrecht had been going to the laboratory, and they dashed through the third-floor galleries and into the north hall looking for him.

“Albrecht! What’s wrong?” Basti shouted, spotting the cook standing at the laboratory door. He turned and met them halfway down the hall.

“Get back!” he said urgently. “Don’t go in there!”

“What’s wrong?” Basti repeated, grabbing his arm.

“There’s been an accident.”

“What do you mean?” Caterina demanded. One look at Albrecht’s face told them both the news was grim.

“Damn!” Danti stumbled out of the laboratory door, his muscular arms wrapped around Dietrich’s waist as he dragged the young man’s motionless body from the room.

Basti pushed past Albrecht and looked down the hall. Through the open laboratory door he could see Araciel sprawled on the floor. A shattered alembic had spilled, knocked from its stand over a lamp flame.

“Oh, no!” Caterina whispered, trembling.

“Don’t get too close!” Albrecht said, pulling her away from Danti and his burden. Dietrich slid limply to the floor from Danti’s arms. Looking grim, the sculptor took a deep breath and dashed back into the room, avoiding the spill on the floor.

Dietrich groaned and half-rolled over, becoming violently sick.

Albrecht pushed Caterina toward Basti.

“Stay here,” he ordered, hurrying to Dietrich’s side. He began checking his pulse and heartbeat.

“Let me go; I need to see,” Caterina protested, her voice trembling on the edge of hysteria. Basti clung to her arm. He wanted to do something useful, but he had no idea how to even start to help.

“Wait,” he said, swallowing hard. “Albrecht needs room. Dietrich’s alive. He’s all right, Caterina.”

She turned. Tears streaked her face as she gave him a hopeless look.

“I can’t lose him, too,” she sobbed. Basti shook his head, unable to speak, and held her until she stood still.

Albrecht slid an arm beneath the noble’s back, helping him sit up. Dietrich gasped for breath, his face flushed and his eyes screwed tightly closed.

Danti pulled Araciel from the room and slammed the door shut. He looked sick as he rested a hand on Araciel’s neck, then laid an ear against his chest.

“Alive,” he said with relief. “But his pulse is damn fast, Albrecht.”

“Dietrich’s too.” Albrecht sounded grim. “Caterina, go get some water and cloths. Basti, get Alrune.”

“Will he be all right?” Caterina asked , breaking away from Basti and dropping to her knees beside to her brother. He seemed unaware of her presence, struggling to breathe.

“I don’t know,” the cook said sharply. “Go!”

She turned and ran. Basti followed her, racing downstairs in an attempt to escape his own fears.

“Alrune!” he shouted, grabbing the library’s doorframe and swinging himself into the room. The scholar looked up. “Dietrich and Araciel are dying!”

“Dying?” Alrune showed honest emotion for the first time since Basti had met him — amazement. “How?”

“In the lab,” Basti gasped. “I don’t know what happened. Albrecht and Danti are already up there.”

Alrune wordlessly brushed past him, running for the stairs. Basti let him pass, wondering where he could find Naich. Deciding to try the parlor first, he raced down the hall.

Nobody was there. He gave up and ran back to third floor, only to find that the composer had already discovered the disaster.

Alrune stood in the lab, throwing the windows open and scowling. Snow whirled into the room, over the tables and floor. Dietrich and Araciel were gone.

“Where —“ He looked around and found Naich standing next to him. “Where’d they go? Are they all right?”

Naich pointed down the hall, then laid his hands under his cheek. To their bedrooms.

“What happened?”

“Poison fumes,” Alrune said, from the lab’s doorway. Naich gestured to the dwarf, his slender hands dancing too quickly for Basti to make any sense out of his gestures.

“Not necessarily,” Alrune replied, his expression dark. “I’m not even sure Araciel can be killed. But he was affected.” The dwarf’s frown deepened.

“Killed?’ Basti dashed from the lab and searched for his friend’s room.

Danti sat on the edge of Araciel’s bed, staring somberly at nothing.

“Danti, is he all right?” A chill went down Basti’s back.

“Hmm? Oh, he’s alive,” Danti said, looking around. Shock and lack of sleep made the sculptor look ten years older, his face drawn and lined. “There’s nothing we can do except wait for him to regain consciousness.”

Basti sat on the other side of the bed, placing a hand on Araciel’s blanket-covered chest to reassure himself. The apprentice drew breath slowly but steadily.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Danti shook his head. “Just more bad luck, maybe.” He ran a weary hand over his face.

“How’s Dietrich?”

Danti shrugged.

“I’m not sure if he’s better or worse than Araciel. He’s vomiting, and Albrecht looked worried.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

The sculptor patted the hand that laid on Araciel’s chest. Basti felt oddly comforted by the paternal gesture.

“Pray,” Danti said simply. “That’s all any of us can do right now. We won’t know what happened until one of them recovers enough to tell us.”

“Alrune says it was poison fumes.”

“That seems likely,” Danti sighed. “Albrecht walked in when nobody answered his knock and saw them on the floor. He shouted for help and ran over, but he backed out again when he started feeling nauseous. He said he smelled something very bittersweet. I held my breath when I pulled them out.” He faltered briefly, then recovered. “Thank God Albrecht came up when he did. The accident must have just happened.”

Basti swallowed hard. It wasn’t fair that mere chance could mean the difference between life and death. His eyes wandered to the cross on Araciel’s wall.

Pray. He hadn’t prayed in over a year.

“Stay here and keep an eye on him,” Danti said, standing. “I’m going to see if there’s anything I can do for Albrecht. Give me a call if anything changes.”

Basti nodded, and Danti left. Basti turned back to Araciel, swallowing hard. Almost superstitiously, he kept one hand on Araciel’s chest, reassured by its rise and fall.

A few minutes later something moved behind him. He turned, expecting Danti. A man in black stood in the doorway, his thick arms folded over his chest.

“You!” Sudden rage made Basti leap to his feet, fists clenched. “Erlkönig!” He spat the name. “Why are you here?”

The Huntsman’s amber gaze flickered from him to the cross on the wall, and then to Araciel’s unconscious form. Lips quirked in a mocking smile, the Erl King tossed something into the room and turned, striding away. Basti lunged for the doorway, but outside he saw only the empty hallway, slightly dusted by snow blown through the laboratory’s open windows.

“Danti! Albrecht!”

“What is it?”

“The Erl King! He was just here!”

Danti swore and vanished into the laboratory. Albrecht scowled, crossing himself.

“I think he….” Basti turned, looking back into Araciel’s room. His shoe brushed something that skittered across the bare wooden floor.

The vial stopped halfway under the bed, spinning. Basti warily picked it up and held it to the light from the hall. It was blown from heavy brown glass, with no label to tell him what had been inside.

Basti recognized it, suddenly nauseous. A shelf of such vials hung in the laboratory. He didn’t have to guess what it meant. A misplaced vial, a too-hasty glance inside…. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the glass container, head spinning.

“Basti?” Albrecht’s soft query brought him back to the present.

“Look,” He held up the vial. “The Erl King dropped this in the room.”

“God preserve us,” Albrecht breathed. he took it from Basti’s fingers, then made a face. “That’s what I smelled in the lab.”

“Do you think he did it?” Basti demanded.

“And brought this to you, to boast?” Albrecht looked puzzled and frightened. “I don’t know.” The cook handed the vial back, gingerly. “I’ll go get Danti and Alrune. Will you be safe?”

“I think so.” Basti recalled the Huntsman’s glance at the cross on the wall. Maybe…. But that thought was nearly as alarming to him as its opposite, that nothing prevented the Erl King from entering if he so desired.

Basti placed the vial on Araciel’s desk, then sat on the side of the bed. He laid a hand back on his friend’s shoulder. “Araciel?”

Araciel stirred slightly, hand twitching. Basti leaned forward, staring hopefully into the youth’s face.

“Araciel?”

With a startled, indrawn breath, Araciel’s eyes flew open. One hand clamped on Basti’s wrist with an iron grip.

“Wait!” Basti shook the apprentice slightly with his free hand, frightened by his friend’s unguessed strength. “Araciel, it’s me!”

Slowly Araciel loosed his grip, fingers sliding from Basti’s wrist. The apprentice’s eyes swept the room, filled with dire certitude.

“Dietrich?” he asked, turning hopeless eyes to Basti’s face.

“He’s sick,” he confessed, rubbing his wrist. Araciel hid his face with his hands, groaning. “But he’s alive,” Basti hastened to add.

“Araciel?” Danti stepped into the room. “You’re up!” The sculptor hurried to the bedside, relief written over his face. “Thank God, you aren’t as ill as Dietrich.”

“Would that I had been able to change places with him,” Araciel whispered. With Basti’s help, the apprentice sat up, propped against the headboard.

“Do you know what happened?” Danti asked. The young man turned his face away.

“We set a suspension to the flame and shortly fell ill. Master Dietrich –” he swallowed hard, and Basti’s hand tightened on his arm, “Master Dietrich realized first what had happened, and did knock the suspension from the flame, but then … then he was overcome, and as I rushed to his side, I too felt dizzy, and fell unconscious.”

“I must have come in only a few seconds later,” Albrecht said softly from behind them. “That’s how I found you, together.”

“Danti … ” Basti said, remembering the vial, “the Erl King left something here.” He walked to the desk, bringing the vial over for all to look at. “He tossed this into the room. It’s from the lab, isn’t it?”

“Do you know what was in it?” Albrecht asked. “That would help me.” He took the vial from Basti’s hand and held it out for Araciel to look at. The apprentice stared, stricken.

“An alchemical reagant we sometimes use as metal polish. Master Dietrich and I did mistake it for a fumigant, to purify the instruments of our craft.” He looked up from the bottle, face white. “The Erl King did leave this here? For what purpose?”

“Araciel,” Albrecht interrupted. “I don’t know what to do about this kind of poisoning. Dietrich doesn’t look good.”

“Through my fault,” Araciel murmured, agonized. “Through my fault.”

“Don’t blame yourself for somebody else’s murderous plot,” Danti said sharply. He lifted the youthful apprentice’s chin in his calloused hand. “Don’t blame yourself for making a human mistake.”

“Bitter irony, an’ it prove so,” Araciel breathed, turning away. “Basti, help me stand, for I must work quickly.”

“What are you going to do?” Basti asked, as Araciel entered the laboratory. Snow still drifted in through the open window, making the floor treacherous. For a moment the apprentice seemed to falter, leaning heavily against the door, but before Basti could reach out to him he straightened. He ran a hand over his face, not answering, and made his way carefully to a cupboard.

“Terra sigillata.” A disk of clay was laid on the table. “Arnoglossus, peristerion.” Two packets of dried plants joined it. “Ground ruby and sapphire.” Small twists of paper. “Powdered alicorn horn.” A silk pouch. “Basti, we shall need water and honey. Would thou bring some up?”

When Basti returned, Araciel was sitting, several handwritten books open before him. Curious, he looked over the apprentice’s shoulder, but the book his friend perused was written in Latin.

“What are you going to do?” Basti repeated.

“It be a tragedy of alchemy,” Araciel said bitterly as he turned a page, “that there be dozens of means to detect poison — bezoar, snaketongue, tonguestones, cups of crystal, goblets of Venetian glass, eaglestone, snakestone, toadstone….” His voice died as he began to read. Basti pulled over a stool and sat on it, resting his chin on his knees.

“But for all that,” Araciel continued after a moment, “there be little known about how to negate a poison once in the body. A few herbs, the earth of Lemnos, a bit of alicorn horn, some precious stone. Naught as efficacious as I might wish.”

“Do you think you can save Dietrich?”

Araciel looked up, his expression grave.

“I must,” he said simply. “I have been charged with the care of him.”

Basti felt his stomach turn nervously as Araciel looked back down.

“Here; I would use this talisman under the sun to preserve health, but he be ill now, and I would not preserve that state. And here, a talisman of Saturn against evil spirits, that I may yet encircle his bed with to keep the Erl King from his side. Similarly, there be the fourth pentacle of the moon,” Araciel turned to another book and pointed out a circular design, “that also protects from evil sorceries. But,” Araciel stood up in disgust, “there be naught here to save the life of the poisoned. Solomon, Raphael — of preventions there be plenty, but of cures, our knowledge be sadly deficient.”

“What about magic?”

“That be magic, Basti,” Araciel said harshly, pointing to the books. “Or did thee expect a stage show of smoke and lights? That be the sum of magic; the work of fools who did spend their time seeking to gain the love of women and find hidden riches, rather than work to cure their fellow man.” He ran his fingers through golden hair, beginning to pace where the snow hadn’t melted over the floor.

“What about potions?”

“That be what I shall concoct, and pitiful work indeed for me to waste my time upon,” the apprentice muttered. “Thy illiterate country witches could do as well. A hundred poisons could I brew, and not one physick to cure the least of them.”

“Could you summon a spirit?” Basti whispered. Araciel turned.

“No evil spirit would I dare summon here, Basti, and there be no good spirit in the heavens would respond to my prayers.” Albrecht knocked on the door, and Araciel looked away before Basti could reply. “Come! What news?”

“Dietrich’s having trouble breathing,” Albrecht reported, his voice controlled. “He’s lost everything that was in his stomach. He can’t even keep water down.”

Araciel closed his eyes a moment, then opened them.

“Then I must make haste.” He turned and picked up a mortar and pestle, preparing the items he’d set out on the table. Albrecht watched him a moment, then glanced at Basti and left.

“If he can’t swallow…”

“We must ensure he drinks enough to keep at least some down,” Araciel muttered. His hands shook slightly as he crumbled dried plants into the bowl. Each item he inspected closely before putting it in with the rest.

“Are you all right?” Basti felt useless.

“Well enough.” Araciel added powders and crumbled much of the cake of dark red earth into the mortar, then began grinding them together. Finally the apprentice poured the dark honey Basti had brought into a larger bowl and tapped the contents of the mortar into it.

“Stir this, Basti, if thou would.”

Basti quickly moved over, glad to help in some way. As he mixed the powders into the honey, he watched Araciel slide a ring of wax into a brazier and light it. When the flame seemed to burn steadily, the apprentice put a grate over the top of the brazier and a large ceramic jar filled with water upon the grate.

When it began to boil, Araciel wordlessly took the honey mixture from Basti, pouring a quarter of it into the jar. He lifted the jar off the brazier and staggered, splashing the mixture on his hand.

“Careful!” Basti grasped the jar, steadying him.

“Take it,” Araciel murmured, steadying himself on the counter edge as Basti gingerly set the hot jar on the table. “I be yet unsteady.”

“What now?”

The alchemists’ apprentice took a deep breath, and picked up a mixing rod.

“When it cools enough, we do hope Dietrich can manage it.”

Dietrich was only semi-conscious when they entered Caterina’s room, breathing heavily and gasping for breath. Albrecht looked up as they entered.

“Where be Donna Caterina?” Araciel asked, looking around.

“I sent her down to ask Alrune if he had any ideas on how to help Dietrich. He’s in the library, looking for information.” The cook moved out of the way, folding his arms over his chest. “I wanted her out of here while you work. I hope you can do something, Araciel. I’m no physician. All I can do is set bones and bandage wounds, not deal with poisons.”

Araciel nodded, handing the potion to Basti as he propped Dietrich up.

The young noble drew in a painful breath, his blue eyes flickering open.

“You traitor,” he grated, looking directly into Araciel’s eyes.