Chapter 45

Baggin took the Timebloom without asking how the legendary herb had come into his possession and hurried upstairs. He had to brew the potion that would lift Baron's Timed Death Sentence, and the slightest interruption could ruin the delicate alchemy.

As Don Quixote liked to explain it, alchemy was the art of mystery and luck bequeathed by the gods. Mortals carried an invisible aura that could easily disturb the ritual.

Before leaving, Baggin had warned Don Quixote in no uncertain terms not to let "that blond gorilla-looking idiot" Jack touch anything in the room.

Jack protested loudly. "I'm a Westminster agent, not a two-year-old brat. Gorillas can be geniuses, you know!"

Baron muttered, "You're already calling yourself a gorilla?"

While they waited in the sitting room, Don Quixote served Baron and Jack the same red tea and cookies as before. Jack sipped his tea, eyes gleaming at the shelves of Forbidden Objects. "This dwarf's got taste—some of these are Grade-C and higher... Huh, why are my eyelids so heavy? Did you slip something in this tea?"

"It's a sleeping draught, Mr. Tang," Don Quixote said apologetically. "Master told me not to let you near the workshop, so this was the only way."

"Well, that's a surprise... Motherf—"

That was Jack's last sentence before he slumped onto the sofa and began to snore like a four-cylinder motorbike.

Baron quietly tipped his own cup into the drain, but Don Quixote said, "Mr. Constantine, yours is untouched."

Baron nodded yet still left the tea. Instead he moved behind the sofa and began leafing through Master Baggin's newspaper collection. The dwarf's archives chronicled his rise and fall in alchemy, interspersed with articles on the Bloodsucker, the dragon-eater cult, and price charts for alchemical reagents.

He picked up the latest issue and froze. It was dated yesterday—had the "collection" refreshed?

One headline jumped out:

King's Cross Station Fire—Fugitive Baron Constantine Wanted for Arson...

Baron's face tightened. They had already printed his name; photos would follow.

Beside it: House Hesstine, celebrating its upcoming marriage to House Lancelot, pledged to fund all repairs and help the Courts capture the Lawbreaker.

Marriage...

Baron rubbed his chin and turned the page.

Investigation suggests Baron Constantine, jilted by his fiancée, murdered Anthony, Knight-Commander of the Lion-Pupil Knights, in a jealous rage...

"Bullshit," he muttered, turning to the next page.

House Constantine issued a statement: Baron Constantine and his sister Yelena Constantine were expelled years ago...

Oh, right—he had a sister... and a cheap brother.

Baron slapped his forehead. Since crossing into this world he'd been either running or hunting fiends; he'd nearly forgotten he still had family. But looking at his own wanted poster, he smiled bitterly and decided not to drag them down.

Another article caught his eye:

Bloodsucker Strikes Again—Family of Three Slaughtered, Griffin Knights Return Empty-Handed...

What chilled him wasn't the crime itself but the phrase "family of three." He dug through the papers and pieced together a timeline: six years ago the killer had first emerged in the Inside, murdering a collateral branch of a minor noble house—always three victims, every two months like clockwork. Alchemists speculated it was an ancient cult ritual to summon an evil god.

If the Blood God really answered such a call, the world was finished.

He set the papers aside and kept rummaging. Among them he found a copy of the Birmingham Times from six years ago. One article, creased from many readings, told of a car accident: four in the family, three dead.

Behind the paper lay a shattered oak photo frame. In the faded picture a middle-aged Baggin, beard still dark, stood on a stool with his arm around a young man in a neat suit who smiled shyly.

"That's Mr. Rankow, Master Baggin's first and only apprentice," Don Quixote said quietly, the dog Sanji in his arms. "A genius in both alchemy and wizardry. If not for... what happened, he would have inherited the dwarf's mantle."

"What happened?" Baron asked.

Don Quixote hesitated. "Er... about the chocolate coins last time—it wasn't me, Sanji wanted them."

"Thanks, Mr. Constantine!"

Once the chocolate was safely pocketed and he'd checked that Baggin was still clattering upstairs, Don Quixote whispered, "Rite of Undeath and Twin-Soul Alchemy. Mr. Rankow broke a taboo at the wizard academy—turned a corpse into a living-dead."

Baron frowned. "But the papers blamed Master Baggin."

He remembered the headline: Baggin's Undeath Rite Fails—Test Subject Becomes Living-Dead. That scandal had driven the dwarf from the mainstream alchemical community.

Don Quixote shook his head. "Master took the blame. Mr. Rankow was a professor at the academy with a bright future. Baggin didn't want the scandal to cost him his dream of working in the Tower of London."

A professor at the wizard academy—Rankow...

Baron suddenly recalled the newspaper in Lady Freya's private collection that mentioned her childhood tutor had also been named Rankow. Could it be the same man? A ritual to raise the dead—if it worked, it would be terrifying.

Before he could ponder further, clumping steps sounded on the stairs, loud enough to wake Jack. The dwarf hurried down, waving a viscous green potion that frothed like swamp water.

"Your salvation, Baron, lies in this bottle!"

Baron stared at the unidentifiable sludge, bubbles popping like tiny volcanoes. "Are you sure this is a proper potion and not some Ribena-black-sesame instant mix?"

Baggin didn't know what Ribena or sesame paste were, but understood an insult when he heard one. His eyebrows shot up. "Drink it or I pour it out!"

Without another word Baron tipped the glass back in one heroic gulp. In a race against death, poison and antidote were equally welcome if they kept him breathing.

————

Baron Constantine (original body)'s diary

May 8, 1982 / Warrington / Sunny

I moved with Yelena to our new home. Cousin Edward took us in.

I pushed Yelena's chair around the garden. Jacarandas were in bloom; purple petals drifted like snow. Yelena said she wanted to save the flowers and build a violet snowman next winter.

I resolved to start saving now so that by winter I could buy her and Older Brother Edward each a pair of lambskin gloves.