The Alchemist and Assistant

“I’ve got it this time! This time for sure!” Cried Eizo, all while his hapless assistant cowered behind one of the multitude of workbenches that was more singed wood and charcoal than bench.

A burst of steam followed by the turning of gears and cranks within an echoing brass chassis gave the old alchemist a spark of hope in his eyes. Just as quickly a whistling sound that faded into a whine resulted in the machinery of the contraption to slow, grinding to finality mere seconds after the flickering motions suggested something different, something alive.

“Ach, only two and thirty-five hundredths of a second this time! That’s a full two tenths of a second shorter than the last one! Record that time.” Eizo turned back to address his apprentice, who continued to shudder in trepidation under the largest fragment of what used to be a workbench, but still dutifully wrote with trembling hand in a cluttered notebook.

“Professor Eizo, do you think we have gotten any closer in the last three months?” The assistant asked.

Eizo removed his steam-fogged glasses to wipe them clean. He stared at his own white-haired and green-eyed reflection in the now-polished glass. Through his beard a wry grin formed. “Sadly, it’s just been the same result. Nothing new to learn and nothing to suggest we are actually doing anything wrong. It’s very frustrating you know.”

The assistant nodded in agreement. “So we keep on with another experiment tomorrow? I’ll need to make a run down to the market district then for some vinegar, rock salt, anise, and celery.”

“Yes, yes,” Eizo waved his hand while the other placed his glasses back across the bridge of his nose. “Wait, did you say celery? What do you need that for?”

“I suddenly had a craving.”

Eizo blinked through his lenses. “Very well, you may have the rest of the day off. I expect to see you with everything ready tomorrow right before sunrise. And, enjoy your celery.”

The assistant nodded. “Thank you, professor.”

Eizo watched as his apprentice packed the worn-out notebook into a shabby leather bag, then with a brief bow and wave of the hand, exited the room, closing the door with a careful soft click.

As the lone alchemist looked out the window of his tower at the square below, he reminisced about the time before he sequestered himself, ending up with only one contact to the outside world, a volunteer from the village who was brave enough to reach out to him and even showed enthusiasm to help his work. A faded portrait rested on the dresser nearest the window. Eizo glanced momentarily at the muted colors, and the painting’s subject, a once vibrant, fiery haired and rosy lipped woman, stared back in an eternal gaze, or for however long the canvas and paint would last.

“I believe,” Eizo whispered, “surely there’s a soul in all of us that we can retrieve.”

Looking back at the square, Eizo could see his assistant had made it out and was already moving away from the alchemists’ towers and to the more robust merchants’ quarter where the market district was holding a weeklong event for a local holiday. The old alchemist smiled slightly as he turned back to look at the lab interior. The latest failed experiment remained motionless and silent. It didn’t bother Eizo.

Tomorrow would be a new day after all.

Entered by: 0x768D…ca2d and preserved on chain (see transaction)