The Alchemists of Loom (Loom Saga #1)(92)
The operation commenced, and the Rivet at her side paled as they began removing the tongue and stomach of the man on the operating table. Another Alchemist manned the fake Philosopher’s Box. Blood spiraled in tubes, filtering out the Fenthri blood, turning it gold. The fact that the machine had that much working terrified her. The boy at her side was smart to have deciphered the filtration system. It wouldn’t be a stretch to think he could achieve real success through enough trial and error.
The problem wouldn’t come until they sewed the man up, let him heal, and unhooked their cumbersome box. Arianna waited for it, watching for thirty minutes as the Alchemists finished. Emotions drained from her heart.
It was what had made Eva different. She had been an accomplished Alchemist and still held regard for life. She didn’t see creatures as her playthings like these people did—as though the world were a large cage that merely housed their test subjects.
The man’s eyes opened with a groan. He sat, and the Alchemists all held their breaths. He made it to his feet before he began to howl in pain. His eyes went bloodshot; his mouth began to foam.
“Put him down, Sophie, he’s forsaken,” Arianna demanded.
“Don’t do anything.” The Vicar held out her hand to the woman beside her who had reached for a gun.
“Put him down.” The man was growling, beginning to lose his mind. Magic was spiking wildly around him. The golden tools that littered the room shook, shuddering to life at his distorted and unfocused commands. “Your Alchemists are about to start dying, Sophie.”
The forsaken Chimera roared and lunged for one of the Alchemists who had been operating on him minutes earlier. The fall to forsaken was fast when that much magic was pumped in at once. Arianna’s reflexes kicked in, but the gunfire echoed before she could steal the weapon. The Alchemist lowered her revolver. The forsaken Chimera was dead in one shot.
“Well, this was fun.” Arianna turned, anger rising in her. Anger at her greatest work being pilfered and treated as though it was simple enough to be figured out in days. Anger at Sophie’s disregard for the life of her fellow Fenthri. At the Alchemists’ ever-apparent fault—progress without consideration for what that progress might reap for the world.
“Arianna, help us.” Sophie stopped her. “You can turn the tides. You can change our world.”
“Change it how?” She spun to face Sophie once again. “Do you even know? Have you even thought what a Philosopher’s Box might do?” She already knew Sophie had no good answer so she didn’t even give her time to offer one. “No, I didn’t think so.”
“Do you know what Eva told me she loved in you?” Sophie called down the hall after a long moment. “Your vision. Your pursuit of progress.”
Arianna stopped, clenching her fists. She took a deep breath and let it go, unwilling to rise to Sophie’s goading. Even if what she said was true, the woman Eva the Alchemist had loved died at her side two years ago. That Arianna had not survived her final act: slitting Eva’s throat.
40. Cvareh
Word of the incident with the forsaken Chimera reached Cvareh’s ears within the day. He found it odd how no one seemed to mourn the poor soul. Surely, the man had been someone’s friend or family? But the world continued as normal, so he did as well. There was much work to be done in establishing a rapport between House Xin and the fledgling rebel group. But every time he thought he opened a door or had some stroke of luck, it closed back in his face.
Cvareh sat across the table from the Vicar Alchemist. Sophie was allegedly reviewing the latest schematics from her team of Rivets. But Cvareh sincerely wondered if she could grasp their contents.
“My sister asks me for updates.”
“Updates on what, exactly?” Sophie hummed, flipping the pages.
“She wants to know if the rebels will stand with her bid for Nova’s throne.” He hastily added, “Of course, in exchange, she’ll gladly support Loom’s interests in her new regime.”
“We aren’t fit to stand against—or behind—any regime.” Sophie finally deemed the conversation worthy of her full attention. “Our ‘rebel army’ is full of initiates with no experience on just about every front.
“Our supplies are being throttled by the Dragon King. We have to rely on other loyalists of the old ways, and black markets, to get the ammunition we need to merely defend ourselves, let alone stage a rebellion.”
“But you have the schematics of a Philosopher’s Box…” he offered weakly.
“I have part of the schematics, and the woman who can finish them won’t help me. And, even if she did, it would take me years to acquire enough reagents to stitch up that many Chimera.”
The ghastly electric lighting cast long shadows on the woman’s skin. He wondered how old she was. She couldn’t have been more than Arianna’s age, which made her less than half of his age. But she handled herself as though she was eighty. The Fenthri lived half as long as Dragons, and aged twice as fast.
She leaned forward, folding her hands before her. “We keep having these meetings, Cvareh, yet they do not yield results. I am left with no Philosopher’s Box, no reagents, no supplies. You want us to work with you? Give me results.”
“And if I get these results, will you support my sister?” He remained focused on his mission, focused on the one thing Petra had demanded of him: leave Loom with the promise of the army they needed.