The Silver Alchemist

“Trial #24 results: Substance remained, no signs of conversion, remote indication of spontaneous decay,” recorded Argent Trinket in his research journal. He took a moment to contemplate, stepping away from his experiment with a cluttered and confused mind. He gazed upon the frame on the wall that contained the picture of his ancient inspiration Nicholas Flamel. Over the course of many years, Trinket had been continuing the work of the famed alchemist, and it was most recently that he had stumbled upon a new field of alchemy: “Fluent Alchemy” he called it. This new field was the key to becoming all-powerful. Not since the days of King Midas and Rumpelstiltskin has any mortal witnessed its extraordinary capabilities. With a simple wave of the hand, one is able to exchange any material for an equalized amount of any other material (especially metals).

However, any alchemist, no matter how powerful, must first accomplish a certain number of tasks before he or she is able to tap into this ability. Trinket’s predicament: He hadn’t the faintest clue what his final task could be. He had performed every possible alchemic feat he could think of; he had woven silk into slivers of silver, melted iron into liquid titanium, boiled chalk into diamond dust, and still he had not yet inherited the power of a Fluent alchemist. What was he leaving out?

Suddenly, fate came into play. As he was just going to drop the subject for the day, a gust of wind swept across his apartment, blowing his notebook open to one of the first pages written.

Through his thick-lensed spectacles, he peered at the page. “Why, of course! The Philosopher’s Stone, one of Nicholas Flamel’s greatest achievements. I must simply create my own, and success will be had.”

He set out to dig up every scroll he owned written by Nicholas Flamel. Eventually, he had collected enough data to formulate the most time-efficient recipe for the Philosopher’s Stone. Within a mere few hours, he had accomplished the greatest signature feat in alchemy. And now, he would surely complete the most powerful act in alchemy as well.

As sure as he was masterful, he thrust his arms toward his experiment: a massive pile of old coins with unrecognizable faded marks, useless in today’s monetary system. He waved his hands in front of the pile of change in a pattern only familiar to himself. He then took note of the proceeding outcome. “Trial #25 results: Successful conversion, substance transmuted to element 79: Gold. Due to universal law #37 of equivalent exchange, cumulated substance quantity reduced to 348.6 g; $25,000 worth pure gold, to be precise.”

How thrilling! A part-time alchemist, successfully performing a true masterstroke in his profession. No more recipes, cookbooks, or long hours fiddling with rune-inscribed beakers! Now, he had unlimited access the power of alchemy at his fingertips. Oh, how much good he could bring to the world with this new incredible ability! Poverty? Have some gold! World hunger? Take this whole-wheat bread! The possible applications were nothing short of infinite!

On top of this, as an additional reward for managing to craft a Philosopher’s Stone, he now possessed the Elixir of Life, granting him the immortality of Nicholas Flamel. Therefore, he would forever benefit the world through his work. Only in secret of course, for if this power fell into the hands of the greedy, it could have just as devastating affects as it could miraculous.

After a short celebratory game of solitaire, he began to address the mass of gold nuggets he now possessed, deciding what shall become of it. The answer jolted into his mind almost instantly: cash in the gold and donate the profit to charity, as he always did when there were no debts left to pay. He shed his lab equipment and reading glasses and traded them for an oversized trench coat with mysterious symbols lining the seams. To top off his outfit (both literally and figuratively), he owned a steam-punk fedora with a small set of goggles strapped to the front.

The sun was blaring as he stepped down from the apartment complex stairway, nearly blinding the farsighted alchemist. Luckily, the trip to the jewelry store wasn’t a long one, so he had only to endure its piercing rays for a short time. The jeweler at the front desk greeted him with jovial humor, welcoming him once again to his shop.

“Trinket! This is the third time since last month. How much have you got for us this time?”

“Just this sack of nuggets. Apologies, I know it’s nothing compared to the last bunch I brought you.”

“No need for apologies! I haven’t a clue how you even come up with this kind of wealth!”

“Where I come from, the stuff practically grows on trees.” Actually, this statement held more truth than the alchemist cared to share, but that’s a story for another time.

The shopkeeper gave a hardy chuckle while he weighed one nugget in a cylinder of water. “Looks like pure gold. How much you want for them?”

“Twenty-thousand. That’s about what I’d estimate they’re worth.”

He signed the alchemist a business check and bid him a cheerful farewell.

Now that he had the money, Trinket could make his way to its eleemosynary recipients. However, his journey to endow the church with his earnings was abruptly interrupted when a surge of energy pulsed from his living quarters, projecting glass shards and shredded books across the pavement below.

He raced toward the stairs with the speed of a cheetah and climbed them to the wreckage that had just been manifested. He found his apartment ransacked beyond recognition, strange scorch burns marking several of his most sensitive possessions. In the center of the destruction was an intricate symbol embedded in the floor. The alchemist recognized it almost immediately: the mark of a retrieval spell.

He searched his apartment and discovered that the black notebook containing his research was nowhere to be found. Whoever had ravaged his apartment had also stolen the key to fluent alchemy, one of the most dangerous forms of sorcery. It was imperative that he reacquire the book before the knowledge within be used for dark purposes.

Luckily, the alchemist had a trick of his own that would aid him in tracking down the fiend: a tracing charm. With this, he lit a floating trail leading through the window and out of his room, weaving its way through the city. After a fair thirty minutes of following this trail, he found himself standing in a subway station. The commuters were sparse today, so it wasn’t long before he located the culprit.

Seated at one of the benches was a middle-aged man wearing a dark purple cloak with pinkish white lightning bolt designs weaving down from the collar. His undergarments consisted of a steam punk tunic strapped with concealed gadgets and several vials of orange liquid. He gripped the stolen grimoire tightly, evidently waiting for the transport to arrive.

Trinket approached the man, intending to question him about the journal, but as he did the man’s attention was drawn and he leapt from the bench instantaneously.

“I see you’ve found me,” the man shouted. “Tracing charm, eh? Clever. But are you clever enough to best the great Nicholas Flamel?!”

These words washed over the alchemist with great force, as it appeared that he might be facing his most idolized role model. “You are the Nicholas Flamel?”

“Don’t believe me? I have proof.” At this, he opened his cloak to reveal something that I hadn’t noticed before: a philosopher’s stone wrapped into an amulet around his neck. But what made this stone so unique was the symbol it bore. It is said that the first philosopher’s stone ever forged was engraved with the signature emblem for alchemy by Flamel himself. This stone was indeed etched with that very mark.

“So it is true. Why have you stolen my research?”

“To perceive how far you have progressed in your abilities. You see, in my many, many, many years of living, I have seen hundreds of great alchemists give into greed, using their extraordinary abilities for selfish purposes. All they ever want is to serve themselves and gain power through filthy wealth. Eventually, I came to the realization that there is only one who should possess this power. Only I am selfless enough to use alchemy for the good of others, to bring justice to the world, to liberate mortals from the manipulative control of other alchemists. Even my own wife, Lord rest her soul, failed to think of anyone other than herself. Once she saw how powerful I was becoming, she grew jealous and sought to stop me. As long as another soul plagues the Earth with alchemy, I will never be able to truly establish world peace. You are my last remaining victim, Argent Trinket, and as soon as I eliminate you, I, Nicholas Flamel, shall rule the world and cleanse it of the filth of humanity!”

Trinket took a moment to digest everything that was about to happen. “Um, with all due respect sir, you have gone completely insane.” These words acted as the battle horn. In the blink of an eye, Flamel assembled a flamethrower from at least twenty different components hidden beneath his cloak. With just enough time to react, Trinket dodged the incoming flame and reached into the sack that had once contained his gold. As it turns out, he kept five of the gold nuggets to serve in his collection. However, they would prove more useful in his immediate situation.

Flamel took aim for another blast of heat, but just as he activated the mechanism, Trinket tossed the gold through the fire so that it would heat up just enough to melt and spew into his eyes. Flamel was utterly disoriented as he roared with rage, giving Trinket time to capitalize on. He gave a mighty heave and shoved Flamel onto the tracks below.

“Trinket! I swear, once I regain my sight, I will…” His promise of vengeance was cut short when the train came barreling down the tunnel, sweeping him along with it.

* * *

The sun set on the horizon, causing the sky to bleed crimson doused with a pleasant hazel-orange compound. The alchemist indulged in bread smothered in olive oil, thankful that the day was finally coming to a close. Though the immortal Flamel was still out there, boiling with rage and thirsting for vengeance, it would be long before he fully recovered from their previous encounter. So for now, Trinket could rest and enjoy his outdoor dinner. It was hard to accept that one of the purest alchemists to live had become twisted and maniacal. Oh, what effects time has on the mind…

As he waved his hand and turned his water to wine, he thought back to the first and most powerful alchemist to walk the Earth. The Messiah, the one forever-pure alchemist, and the only one that had truly managed to free the world from sin. Perhaps Flamel was not entirely evil, simply misled. In a way, he had the right intentions; he just lost sight of the righteous method to achieve his ultimate goal. The ends do not always justify the means after all.