SquidgeWorld Archive

Alchemy
by Calista Echo

England
Christmas


The day was drear, with gray clouds so pregnant with snow that they almost seemed to touch the roofs of the buildings that lined the village streets. The wind had picked up during the night and the cold penetrated their thin-soled shoes. The woman hurried her son along. It was important they not be late.

She looked at Blair, his short legs pumping to keep up with her longer strides. He had fallen silent after telling her about a man named Darwin and his bizarre and astonishing theories. That her young son would have read about such a thing and found it of interest did not surprise her. Blair seemed to absorb information through his pores and there always some new bit that caught his imagination and had to be shared. Sometimes she feared her head would explode with all the information he sought to impart to her.

She was taking him to live in a castle. He would be warm and dry and fed. Lord knew, she couldn't give him these things. Blair deserved all that and much more. He'd learned to read before he was five, and ferreted out every scrap of paper with printing on it that he could
find. For a while she had worked at a lending library and Blair had been rarely seen or heard as he made his way through the stacks. Born in a different way, he would have gone to Cambridge and been a scholar.

But Naomi had made a mistake that both of them would pay for all the rest of their lives. She caressed the top of his head, her hands finding comfort in his thick curls. She had lost a great deal when she made her impulsive decision to marry Aidan O'Malley. A decision made, but never realized. Aidan had disappeared, leaving Naomi pregnant. Her impulsiveness had cost her everything. Fine clothes, glittering balls, a beautiful home, her family. Of all the things that she had lost in that foolish gamble, Blair's future was the one she had come to regret the most.

The people she was taking to him thought him five; she hoped that bit of flim-flam would hold. He looked cold, but then, once August passed, he always looked cold. His huge blue eyes looked up at her with such trust she almost turned back. But no. Blair might not see it this way but it was for the best, and she would see it through. It was the day before Christmas and this was the very best present she could hope to give him.

The best she could hope for Blair was a kindly master and enough food to eat. He was so thin that the gauntness of his face magnified his eyes, until they looked like two huge sapphires. If he'd been born female, his beauty and birth status would have condemned him to a brothel. As it was, the sooner he was off the streets the better.

They soon left the confines of the village and began the long walk through the countryside to Saybrooke Castle. Blair was unusually quiet, as if he understood the day would change his life. Normally she couldn't hear herself think for all his chatter. She wished right now that he would tell one of his stories about the Incas and the gold that paved their streets. He'd read a book at the library on them last week and it was all he talked about, until they had begun this journey. His enthusiasm for sharing all that he read sometimes caused problems. Like the time he felt compelled to educate her on the mating rituals of hedgehogs in the middle of Covent Gardens. Remembering the glares of the matrons still made Naomi's cheek burn.

His stories always made the time go faster, and would give her something to think about on the long way back. At that thought, she almost broke down and cried. No longer would she have Blair as her companion. She held it all in, the journey home was time enough for tears. It wouldn't do to let Blair see her weepy. He needed to remember her happy.

At last Saybrooke came into view. It was an impressive estate, regal in bearing, with a graceful symmetry often lacking in old homes. They passed through ornate gates and entered into the formal park that led to the house. About half a mile in, the lane curved, and the house dropped out of view. Kneeling down, Naomi drew Blair to her. He looked at her with solemn eyes and simply waited to hear what she had to say.

"Blair, sweetie, you know I love you. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I've found a position, but they won't let me bring you. So I found you a place here, at this lovely house we're going to. You'll be a big help here. And you'll be warm and fed and I'll write you every week."

"You're leaving me here?" Blair's eyes filled with tears.

"Yes, sweet, but just for a little while. I'm sure the fine people at Wentworth Manor will let me bring you there once they see I'm a good worker. So just for a short time, Blair baby."

"Don't call me baby. I'm not a baby."

Naomi smiled at the scowl on Blair's cherubic face.

"No, Blair, you're not a baby, but you'll always be *my* baby."

"I hate that." He stuck his bottom lip out in a mock pout.

"Yes, I know," Naomi said, absent-mindedly. This made her remember something else she needed to tell Blair.

"The people here think you are only five. They wanted someone that young to train. Think you can pretend you're five?"

"I'm not going to act like a baby."

"No, no, I'm not asking you to, just don't tell them you're eight. All right? It's our secret."

Blair regarded his mother with gravity. He loved her with all the passion and affection in his young soul. The last few years had gotten harder and harder, and in some ways Blair was glad she was going to be safe in a, what? Position.

Blair had had a devil of a time keeping his beautiful mother safe from the men who would prey upon a vulnerable woman alone in the world. He'd used every trick in the book. Making good use of his ability to read, he'd learned just what herbs would make someone sick, and which insects were the most venomous.

When that didn't work he followed the men sniffing around his mother. He never failed to find something to threaten them with if they didn't leave his mother alone. His anonymous letters always managed to fend them off. He wished he were bigger. Not bigger, really big. So big he
would be able to pummel the leering faces into a bloody pulp. His small stature was a real drawback sometimes.

Now they were parting with Naomi's assurances that it wouldn't be for long. Blair drew in a long breath and centered himself, the way the book on India had taught him to. He would be a big boy and brave and kiss his mother on the cheek and say good bye. And not cry. He wouldn't cry.

"All right, mama, our secret."

She smiled at him and as always, he marveled at what a wondrous mother he had. No matter how dark or cold the day, her smile made everything bright and fun. He would miss her terribly. Be brave, be brave, be brave, he chanted to himself.

She left him at the back door with Mrs. Martin, the housekeeper. He would have liked to watch her walk away, but Mrs. Martin hurried to close the door on the blustery day. She looked down at him, her hands on her generous hips.

"You're not going to start pumping water now, are ya? I don't take to cryin'. Can't abide it."

Blair bit his lip. Truth be told, he had wanted to cry, even though he'd told himself not to. He shook his head no and only one lone tear ran down his face.

"That's a good lad. Would you like a bit of cake before I hand you over to Perkins?"

Blair looked up at Mrs. Martin. She was nothing like his delicate, lovely mother. She loomed tall and wide. Her hands rested on her ample hips. Blair found that he liked her, he liked the way she looked as if no man could pinch *her* bottom and get a way with it. And she was offering him a piece of cake, an almost unheard of treat.

"Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Martin beamed at him. She had a soft spot for curly headed boys. And straight- haired boys. And redheaded ones and devilishly dark ones. And grown up ones, too.

Perkins shepherded his young charge past the room with the huge 12-foot tree in it. Blair had stopped to stare, his mouth open. He'd never seen anything like it. The room smelled of pine and he could almost feel the cold dark places of the tree. It was bedecked with carved figures, and strands of beads that caught the light.. Oranges dotted the tree and little presents, gaily wrapped, were tucked into the boughs. Larger presents were piled around the base of the tree. Blair's eyes roamed over the pile speculating on the contents. He felt no envy until he spotted the parcels that could only be books. He wondered who they were for and what they held. Fairy tales? Histories? Shakespeare? Or his favorite, books with maps and tales of some far off land? His contemplation came to an end when Perkins returned, realizing the new boy had ceased to follow him. Perkins grabbed him by the ear. Blair knew better than to protest.

"We do not gawk in this house. You are to do the tasks assigned to you and keep your head down. Do you understand me, O'Malley?"

Blair's eyes were watering in pain. He feared his ear was being twisted all out of shape. He tried to nod, but couldn't.

"Ye-yes, sir, I-I understand. So sorry."

Perkins released his ear. "Good. You're quite young and new here but you won't be here for long if you fail you obey me and fail to do your chores in a timely and competent fashion. Is that understood?"

Blair looked up at the tallest man he'd ever seen. "Yes, sir."

"Good, come along."



Blair settled into the routine of the house, finding the repetitive nature of his tasks more difficult than the work itself. As long as he got his work done, he seemed to be invisible. At night Mrs. Martin seemed to make a point of seeing how he was, but for the most part, no one bothered to talk to the small boy in their midst.

After he had been at Saybrooke a week, Ambrose surprised him by taking him by the hand and leading him to one of the far bedrooms, seldom used. The room had white material spread over all the furniture and floor. "O'Malley, you have the very important task of keeping the chimneys
cleaned. I'm going to teach you how to do it. "

Ambrose fitted a leather harness around Blair's small body, cinching it tight. Then he handed Blair a stiff brush attached to a long pole.

"It's very easy. You just scrub at the soot on the walls with this brush. I'll pull you to the top and then you'll make your way down by releasing this buckle." Ambrose pointed out the pulley system and demonstrated how to work it.

Blair studied it and saw immediately the effectiveness of the pulley and the catch and release mechanism. He nodded his understanding and Ambrose gave him a little smile.

"That's fine. I'll go to the top and throw down a rope. You pull it through this ring and this one and then loop it through the one in front. "

Perkins came in and knelt beside Blair. "I'll check that he does it right and show him the knots. You go on up, Ambrose." Nodding, Ambrose rose, leaving Blair with Perkins.

"Now O'Malley, this is a very important job. A dirty chimney can catch on fire, so you have to be very thorough in the cleaning. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

There was the sound of a rope falling and as it landed on the hearth, a cloud of sooty dust drifted into the room. Perkins waited until the dirt settled and then he pulled the rope out, handing it to Blair.

"Remember what Ambrose told you?"

Blair nodded and quickly moved the rope through each ring. Perkins took up the end.

"Watch carefully, this is something you need to get right or you could fall." His serious tone scared Blair a little and made Blair pay close attention.

Perkins demonstrated how to knot the rope and how to undo it, handing it to Blair to try.

Blair's small fingers fumbled as he tried to make the thick rope form the knot he'd been shown. It took some time but Blair managed to make himself secure in his harness.

Perkins stepped in close to the opening, positioning Blair inside, and yelled up, "Ready! Give it a pull."

Blair found himself being slowly drawn upwards. It was an odd sensation and once Blair got used to it, rather fun. The trip to the top took a long time and novelty of being moved like this wore off long before he saw the faint light increase, indicating he was nearing the end of the
journey. He had clutched the pole to his chest, afraid of dropping it and being made to go back down and retrieve it. There was a jerk and then the upward movement stopped. Blair looked up and saw Ambrose, framed by a rectangle of light.

"You doing okay, boy?"

"Ye-yes, sir."

"Good. Now you take your brush and scrub away on each side, then lower yourself the way I showed you and do the next bit. Think you can do that?"

"Yes, sir." Blair's voice was stronger. He could do this.

"Get started and I'll check up on you in a little while."

"Yes, sir."

Blair commenced to clean the walls of the chimney, gratified to see the creosote and soot come off with his efforts. All the particles in the small space caused Blair to cough and he had to pause more than once to try and clear his lungs. When he was done with the top, he hooked the
brush to his belt and unlatched the buckle, holding the rope at the angle Perkins had shown him. The line gave out faster than he expected and he tried to halt his descent. By the time he'd managed that, he was a good six feet further down than he should have been.

"Sir?" Blair yelled, hoping that Ambrose would hear him. Silence.

He unhooked the brush and started in on the area he was in. It was darker here and harder to tell how much dirt he was actually loosening. The coughing fits seemed to confirm he was getting a great deal of the sooty matter off the chimney and into the air. Each time he finished an area and moved down, it got darker. Soon Blair couldn't make out the outline of his hand and did everything by touch. It was hard to tell how much time had passed, though the pain in his stomach seemed to tell him it was after lunchtime.

"O'Malley!" Ambrose was calling from below.

"Yes, sir!" Blair hoped he would be allowed out now.

"You've got about eight more feet to go. At that point I can take over. Hurry up and then you can have your supper."

"Yes, sir!"

Blair tackled the rest of the chimney with vigor, knowing he was soon to be out in the light and the air. He couldn't quite tell when he'd come to the end but Ambrose must have been watching because he called up, "That's it for this one, unlatch yourself all the way."

Blair did as he was told and landed at Ambrose's feet in the filthy heap of soot and creosote he had created. Ambrose bent down and helped him stand.

"You're a sight, young O'Malley."

Blair looked down and saw that he was covered in black, oily residue.

Ambrose picked up a clean cloth and wrapped it around Blair, carrying him outside. The bright sunshine hurt his eyes and he squinted up at Ambrose. He was a scrawny man with a wild thatch of red hair making him look a bit like a rooster.

It was a beautiful day and Blair looked around with new appreciation. The sky was filled with gentle clouds, a slight breeze stirred the air, birds sang to one another and Blair's heart expanded with delight at being outside.

Ambrose had a bucket and a sponge. Squeezing out the water, he said. "Close your eyes, little chum. You can't very well eat with all that dirt on your face and hands."

Blair did as he was told and Ambrose carefully wiped his face. The water in the bucket was black by the time Ambrose seemed satisfied. He sat Blair down on a rock and handed him a chicken drumstick.

"That was fine work for your first chimney. At this rate, we'll be done in a month."

Blair didn't understand.

"I have to do more?"

Ambrose laughed. "We've only just begun. There are forty-seven fireplaces in this castle and once a year they all get cleaned. Didn't anyone tell you this, boy? That's why you were given a place here." Ambrose looked down at Blair with a knowing eye.

"Eleven months o' the year, you'll 'ave other tasks, but for one month, you're mine. You'll sleep wit me in the stable. 'ard to get clean nough to sleep indoors, pointless, too. You'll get used to it. I did."

"You did this when you were a boy?"

"Aye. And I did it all year long, too. So you see, you 'ave it good 'ere, it's a good place."

The chicken in Blair's mouth didn't taste so good any more and he set it down.

" 'Er now, you need to eat. Don't get all mopey on me because you have a bit of work to do." Ambrose picked up the chicken leg and handed it back.

Sighing, Blair took it, finishing his meal. All too soon, Ambrose wrapped him in the cloth and carried him to a different room. Perkins came in and helped with the harness and once again Blair ascended to the top of the chimney and set to work.

That night, instead of dinner in the kitchen by the fire with Mrs. Martin, Blair ate with Ambrose in the tack room. They didn't bother to wash more than their hands and face and slept on the straw in an uninhabited stall. The sounds were all new to Blair. The horses quiet movements and their occasional snorts, the men gambling before they called it a night, the mournful howl of a dog, far in the distance. Blair tried to breathe like the book he'd read had taught him. He took slow, deliberate breaths, and released them slowly. He chanted the words and he breathed and he prayed and finally, he slept.

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