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"SSC33: For Precious Gold!"

The secret fire still burns. Its glow from the basement ebbs low onto the street, a patch of brightness amongst the gloom of a winter’s night. I check over my shoulder once, twice, three times before crossing to my door. As I step inside I’m rocked back by the heat, the cold of the evening forgotten as I place my heavy coat into the corner, folding in carefully on the chair and patting it down thrice. I step towards the roaring fire and pull my prize from my pocket. The gold idol illuminated by flames takes me away from the task at hand as I cradle it, turn it over and over in my hands, wanting my eyes to see every spot of its magnificence. As a carriage clatters along the street above I turn my heart racing. What madness is this, so close and now I lose my senses? I hurry to the door and push the bolt across. Unbolt, reapply, unbolt, reapply. Safe and secure behind the door, but for how long?

Again I take the idol in my hands, before I catch a glimpse of the books sprawled across the desk. Within their pages lies the key to my fortune, ancient secrets transcribed from riddles. I remove my over-shirt as the heat of the fire overcomes me. I place this too on the chair, patting it once, twice, three times. My mighty fire is causing quite a sweat to form on my brow, but I do not regret its heat, for its very being is a part of my victory. From ‘The Six Keys of Eudoxus’ and ‘The Everburning Lights of Trithemius’ did I figure its constitution, and that it burns still, ever stronger, hours after it first sparked to life is testament to my success. But to dwell on this success without progressing would be folly. The friendly water, as described in ‘Alchemical Catechism of Baron Tschoudy’ is ready to burn. Place it under the flame, then remove it, under again, and away. For only the third time will it heat. The antimony waits on a spoon above the water, it needs to go in, but not yet; count, one, two, three, and yes, then it can go in.

But now comes the torture. For the process requires time, time that I may not have. When he realise sit is gone he’ll send for me. An unruly mob will drag me through my door, but if I have more gold to pay them off, enough gold for me to be their master.

Prepare the plants. Take the stem, shake it thrice and draw the resin out. My nostrils flare as its scent escapes, and I have to pinch my nose three times before my senses return. This gum ammoniac is most foul, but oh so necessary. I gaze into the fire and the substance bubbling within. It’s working! My water of antimony, mercurial and white has transformed as Artephius predicted. But how does it feel? A careful stir reveals its state to be true, having thickened, taken on a cream-like consistency. It is ready. The gold idol will create a sufficient quantity to transform my mass of zinc, turn what is practically worthless into that that is sought by all.

But when the idol goes in, there’s no turning back. Would Raphaeus forgive me if I return it now and plead for my life? Bah, when I have the gold I shall be more powerful than even he. Let it go, hold it, and one, two, three, in it goes. The white soup licks the sides of the idol as sinks beneath the surface.

What is this? Black? My light! My gold! To the pages of Tschoudy I turn, scanning each passage thrice as I search for answers. Nothing about this blackness! To Artephius, and yes! It is supposed to lose its brightness, to grow black. From this a substance shall ascend, and that is my key. With that substance I can change the spirit and soul of any base metal. What say my doubters then? Oswald will laugh no more. Yes I shall have him on his knees before me, begging for the merest glimpse of my gold. And that fool Edmund will eat his words. He studied these texts for many a long year, his scrawled notes I’ve studied. How I laugh at his ridiculous theories! His fundamental lack of knowledge and inability to decipher the simplest of word maps. He too will kneel before me.

It’s beginning to bubble through, my formula, my magic. The zinc, hammered into a plate against that most precious stone waits in its battered and dull state, but soon it will transform into precious gold. There begins the cycle, for that shall be transformed into this wondrous substance, which will turn nickel, aluminium and copper to gold too.

A clattering of hooves outside – time is short. On a spoon I gather the substance, I let it drop off and gather it again, let it drop off, and gather it once more. It drips onto the zinc, after the count of three, just as the pounding on the door begins, hard and heavy. It trickles along the metal, carving a golden groove. As I stare the door splinters open behind be. Raphaeus’ ruffians bundle in, grinning dirty smiles at me.
“Master requires you back at his abode, worm,” says the foremost heavy, as he toys with a club in his hands.
I turn towards the zinc, surely now a mighty slab of gold, ready to take these brutes and make them my own. Have them do my bidding as I build my wealth into a mighty empire. But it’s still dull, worthless. It just needs more time.
“What appears to be the trouble, my friends?” I ask, backing away from them.
“He doesn’t take too kindly to those with light fingers, does he Gruff?”
Another of the men steps forward, he holds out an arm that ends at the wrist with a blackened stump. This makes the baton he wields in his other hand all the more menacing.
They move towards me, knocking anything that gets in their way onto the floor. I hurry to my stone.
“But wait!” I look down, and see only zinc. The golden groove I saw before must have been a trick of the light, my secret fire casting illusions. The formula had failed. Had I missed a crucial component? I need to go back to my notes, but there’s no time for such things. The ruffians close in.

In my head I count three, then plunge forwards, hoping my choice of direction will throw then. I move for the fire, but those precious seconds wasted gave them a chance. A swinging club found the back of my head throwing me forward further than planned. Towards the fire I fall, and by instinct I put out my hands, trying to find something to stop myself. Instantly my hand melts onto the vessel in the centre of the fire, and as pain erupts on my palm it gives my body significant jolt to avoid falling face first right into the fire. As I crash to the floor the pot melded to my hand erupts in a hail of blackness.

Searing pain burns through me, increasing tenfold from the initial fall in the fire. All around me men fell to the floor, their crashing causing chaos as my books are spread about the room when the table collapses, and the fire falls to the floor. Before my eyes the villainous foreman lies open-eyed, lifeless; his forehead penetrated with a golden chunk. Heat rises around me as the flames of the fire spread along the floorboards. I turn my body, fighting the pain that tears through it and try to claw myself up, but my burnt and mutilated hand is unmoving, heavy. It gleams in the light, flames dancing on its fine reflection. Beside me lies one of my books. I scan the page three times and the final secret of those perplexing books revealed itself to me, that final mysterious ingredient to which it alluded was that that surrounds me, the very flesh on my bones. The fire spreads consuming a ruffian who lies with a golden shot buried in his lung. Unbearable heat intensifies the agony that writhes through my limbs as fire encroaches upon my person.

I lie in wait of my fate. I could conceivably claw my way to freedom, but the weight of my other arm as gold solidifies through its flesh is simply too much to pull free. But the gold continues to spread, as rapidly as the fire. My garments catch alight, but beneath them I feel nothing as I become more valuable than I could ever have wished for. As breathing slows I count the final beats of my heart. I only get to three.

Thanks for the comments, much appreciated.

Asher, want to write a novel, but haven't started yet - too many distractions right now, but when the right idea comes along, I hope I'll be ready.

It has a short film feel to it - you know, with the words partly in voice-over. The transformation at the end is surprising, and the use of "three" throughout is clever. Excellent.

Oh to be able to critise just once the imagery you invoke.....

Guess that will have to wait - again. Loved it.

Also special recognition for using the word "Ruffians", a word I haven't heard since I used to read the Beano about 12 years ago.

Wow, that was fantastic. Seriously, I was glued to the screen. Have you ever considered writing a novel? I'm reading a couple of books at the moment, and that story is easily as intriguing as either of them, and they're written by Thomas Pynchon, so that's no small feat lol.

Really intriguing, well stuctured, fantastic imagery, I could almost feel the flames and the gold. Fantastich.

Wow great Look Meka read one of your stories now and I loved it :D

Brilliant stuff. Really liked the ending.

You ceratinly know how to tell a story, Meka.

Well done.

Gruff? Excellent :)

Thanks for reading, Strykius. Some of those names, the names associated to the books are genuine. I've changed some of the texts to those written with different sounding names. Because the 4 or so texts I had all had names ending in 'us', I caught the bug when naming my own characters. Changed some of them now too, so it shouldn't be so exclusiveus.