"The preparations are just about finished," Red said, a gleaming smile on his face. "All that's left now is to actually use them."
"I see."
Jemma's response was as short-winded and despondent as ever. When she had first arrived, she'd been constantly scared jumping at every shadow she saw. Still, she had been full of a nervous, skittish life. He had expected her to be swallowed up like all the other new recruits within weeks; her fear had made herself stand out, appearing like easy pickings. Yet, somehow, she had outlasted everyone else, slowly becoming less expressive and less noticeable, until she was the last one standing from her batch of the masters new servants.
"...You sure you still want to come?" he asked. "You aren't really needed for this next part. You could easily just show up after it's finished."
He didn't think her absence would make anything harder. Sure, her foundation—whatever it was—had been extremely useful for survival. After all, its subtle guidance was what had led her to find him. But she would be of no use for the next phase; she might even make it harder.
"No," she said, her voice flat. "I need to come."
And just like that, the discussion was over. Jemma wasn't the sentimental type, nor someone who walked into danger without a reason. If she said she needed to come, it meant he had missed something. The plan would fail without her.
He wished she would explain, but there was no point in asking if she hadn't already.
Reaching under his bed, he grabbed a large bag filled with forty thick wooden talismans and slung it over his shoulder. The two of them headed out.
Red's shack was far from the Master Alchemist's pavilion. It was old housing from when the sect was smaller and more tightly packed, long since abandoned in favor of larger servant quarters closer to the new, grand buildings where training and cultivation were practiced. It was in such a state of disrepair that it wasn't used even for the most lowly, talentless individual the sect hired to sweep the floors.
Thanks to that, it was never checked. Red could stay there easily without requesting lodging from the main office or the Master at the end of each year, allowing him to draw less attention to himself and buy more time to prepare.
It was a surprise that no one stopped him on the way to the Master's lab. Normally, a servant as ungroomed as he was would be stopped, lectured, and possibly beaten, depending on how cruel the outer disciples felt like being. But today, no one bothered him. Perhaps Jemma's presence made them assume he was another of the Master's servants. Not that it was wrong, even if it had been a while.
It was also possible they remembered him, or that his "hiding" had been nowhere near as effective as he'd thought. Maybe no one had ever really forgotten he was here.
Well, it didn't matter now.
Entering the Alchemist's pavilion, they found it empty, as it always was on nights the Master worked on his chosen serum. He demanded absolute silence for the process, which required hours of work using only the sun's light and warmth as a heat source for the brew. The slightest interference could cause years of effort to collapse or be destroyed—or so he claimed. That was why only chosen servants were allowed to help.
At least, that was the official story.
The real truth was the worst-kept secret in the sect, something only newly brought-in servants didn't know.
Crossing the Master's entire pavilion, they finally entered the main lab.
It was an assault on the senses. A hundred different intense smells filled the air. Cauldrons bubbled with lights so faint they were invisible in the sun's rays, yet their presence was somehow still felt by the eyes. Runes were carved on every surface.
And at the center of the room, as always, was the great pot, a cauldron of thick green liquid that had been there since before Red arrived and would probably remain long after he was gone, if the Master had his way.
Sitting beside it was an old man with a long grey beard, who stood when they entered and walked toward them with a warm smile and gleaming eyes.
"Ah, finally you've arrived! I was worried you wouldn't make it, Jemma, but I see you even went through the trouble of fetching Rengard for me!"
Red bowed. "Hello, Master. It's been a while."
"Has it really? It felt like only yesterday you were asking for advice on those talismans of yours. Tell me, have you gotten any better at them?"
The question seemed innocent enough—a simple, backhanded insult directed at a rebellious servant. But the Master was always disinterested in his servants until it was time for them to be used. Would he really bother remembering something asked years ago? Red's heartbeat quickened. How much did he really know? Was this why Jemma had insisted on coming? Did she know he was already aware? Or worse, what if this entire thing had been planned from the beginning? What if she had dragged him here as part of it? If the Master knew everything, then his life was already forfeit. All he could do was make the old man's harder before he was consumed.
His eyes wandered toward the pot. He had never seen the Master fight, but the alchemist was surely fast enough to kill him before he could move a finger, much less disturb the cauldron. But maybe he could—
"So, Master," Jemma interjected, her voice cutting through his spiraling thoughts. "How should we help you prepare the soup?"
The Master's eyes flashed with anger for a brief moment—barely noticeable, but the fact that they could see it at all meant he wanted them to.
"Never refer to my concoction as 'soup' again," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "It has no name yet. It is in the process of becoming one of the strongest foundation-strengthening pills in history. Show it the respect it deserves."
"Of course. Sorry, Master."
"It's fine. Just don't make the mistake again." The Master's smile returned, sharp and purposeful. "Now, Jemma, why don't you go gather some mustard seeds from the pantry? I have a more secretive task for young Rengard here."