Chapter 77: Chapter 22: Inked bonds

> “A week has passed and the children returned to me, box in hand, and smiles on their faces. They placed it on the table in my expansive study, and Lorna opened the lid.”

“I don’t like it,” said Ty in the Acela lounge a few hours later. Duncan had excused himself to go to the bathroom, so I finally had a minute to explain my new plan.

“What’s not to like? He provides us with the ability to walk right up to D.C.’s front door and ask for help. No breaking and entering. No subterfuge.”

“Yeah and you’re assuming that what you need to fix Boytoy’s memory is the same thing as nemosyne. So even if your plan succeeds, you’ll still fail.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said, tearing open the free bag of trail mix I had grabbed on the way in. “We’re not asking for the nemosyne. Just some of the raw ingredients. You’ll go look through the Guild library to find out what else we need and figure out where we can get it. Ugh, this is disgusting. Why did I try this?”

“Because you never think two steps ahead,” said Ty. “Or really one. Even I know you shouldn’t eat the free train lounge food. Your second wrong assumption of the afternoon is that the raw ingredients of nemosyne are also the same as what you need to cure Duncan. They’re not!”

“And I never thought they were. But with the ingredients in hand, we’ll be in a much stronger position to barter.”

“With whom?”

“With the Van Asch Corporation.”

Ty looked at me like a kid who just found out Santa Claus wasn’t real.

“You can’t be serious. That’s who you think we’re better off dealing with head-on than D.C.? My mom barely talks to them anymore. And for good reason. They’ve cornered the market on alkahest and a dozen other rare substances, not to mention the hoard of Dragon’s Blood that they stole from Starkey’s heirs stashed somewhere. I’m sure they have multiple Philosopher’s Stones at this point.”

“OK, OK. Don’t try to barter with the immortal gold makers. Got it.”

“Not gold, just the quasi-immortal part,” said Ty, who had somehow fashioned herself a small cocktail even though all the booze in the lounge was being guarded by a stern-looking woman with a hairnet and horn-rimmed glasses.

“Why are you always drinking? I knew NYC private school kids were fast, but this is ridiculous.”

“The better question is, why aren’t you?”

“Because I tried drowning my problems with alcohol and still ended up right here. I need all my facilities intact to focus. So it’s true, then, about the Philosopher’s Stone? It grants immortality?”

Ty looked over my shoulder to see if Duncan was on his way back or if anyone seemed interested in our conversation.

“Shh,” she said. “We’re not at headquarters. Use a little discretion. And no, not immortality per se. But a good substitute. The Elixir of Life, once imbibed, will bring you back from the dead, but only once. After that, you need to drink another Elixir for the next time you get killed and so on.”

“Oh,” I said, one more shocking revelation of the power of alchemy threatening to melt my insides. “So what happens if your body is just too old to function? Will the Elixir keep you alive?”

“No, it will not. But it ensures that the individuals in charge of VAC stay so for a very long time. So, no, we are not going be negotiating with them. Got any other suggestions?”

“Yes,” I said. “I think one of us needs to go find Duncan. It’s been 20 minutes, and he still hasn’t returned from the bathroom.”

“He’s all yours. I’ll try to save you a seat at a four-top in the quiet car, but can’t make any promises.”

“Fine,” I said, grabbing my duffel and darting to the men’s room. A guy wearing an oversized pinstripe grey suit stared at me as I walked past him when he opened the door, and I quickly surveyed the gross interior to locate Duncan, finally finding him in the last stall, which thankfully he had left unlocked.

“Dunc,” I said, slowly pushing the door in. “Are you OK?”

Duncan looked up at me, his eyes brimming with tears.

“No, Jen, I’m not,” he said, his voice trembling. “The whole day, it’s gone again.”

“But you have your notebook,” I said.

“That’s all I have. A bookcase filled with notebooks of days I don’t remember. Tomorrow I’ll remember forgetting today, then the day after will be the same. I don’t care what I lost. I just want it to stop.”

Duncan burst into a fit of sobs, and I wished I had been strong enough to comfort him. But instead, I stood there, surveying the wreckage of a man I had once known.

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“I’ll help you,” I said, hoping I meant it. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.”

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“Look at you, you’re like two peas in a pod,” said Ty when I spotted her table at the very back of the train in the quiet car. Duncan was barely conscious when I had finally coaxed him out of the bathroom stall, and his only brain activity was the signals to move his legs. I slid his arm off my shoulder, and he slumped into the outer seat, which forced me to awkwardly climb over him. Ty snickered, and I shot her a dirty look.

“Shove it,” I said. “His latest memory episode has been different from the ones I saw earlier. Who knows what he’s going to remember when he comes out of this?”

“That’s easy,” she said. “He’ll remember whatever you want him to remember.”

“It’s not,” I said. “He’s got a notebook detailing everything that happened to him today. What am I going to do…”

“…replace it with one you’ve written? Yes, exactly.”

“Right, and I’m sure he won’t notice the handwriting that’s clearly not his!”

“Shh!” said a woman sitting in front of me,

“He won’t after he reads what you write with this.”

Ty placed a nearly empty vial of black ink, a little quill, and a folded piece of paper on the table.

“That’s not what I think it is, is it?” I asked, picking up the vial, which was surprisingly heavy despite the fact that there couldn’t have been more than a few dribbles of ink left.

“Depends what you think it is.”

“Compulsion ink,” I said, remembering the uncannily dark ink from the note from Beatrice. “But how … how did you get it?”

“I think you already know the answer.”

The words of Frankie’s note rose to the forefront of my mind.

“Open the box and then die,” the note had said. And Frankie had complied without protest.

“This … this is what Doug used to kill Frankie. Which Polly must have given him in exchange for helping her heal her dad. Which she got from…”

“The woman you’re trying to find, if I’m not mistaken,” said Ty. “And technically it’s not called Compulsion ink, although that’s cute. Its real name is pellerium.”

“I don’t care,” I said. “I’m not touching that stuff. Not now. Not ever. I’ve felt what it does. I’ve seen what it can do. So whatever you want me to do with it, you can forget it.”

“Who said anything about you being involved?”

Duncan stirred to life suddenly, and I felt the snapback of Ty’s foot on my ankle. Foolishly, I looked down to confirm what I already knew she did, and in that moment, Ty unfolded the piece of paper and pushed it across the table toward him.

“Duncan, no!” I said, holding back a scream in the near-silent car. But it was too late, as Duncan’s eyes connected with the words on the paper.

“Duncan, trust Jen Jacobs,” the note said.

What happened next was something I had experienced too many times. Duncan’s eyes went glassy as the command rippled through his brain, but then, just as quickly, they returned to normal.

“What just … huh?” asked Duncan, who tried to look down at the note again, only for Ty to wrest it back. More than anything, I wanted to reach across the table and do violence to this girl who wielded power with such impunity.

“Ask Jen,” said Ty, and Duncan turned to me like an obedient puppy, waiting for a command.

“You had another episode,” I said. “But just before that, we were discussing a new way to deal with them.”

“That’s right,” Ty chimed in. “No more memory diary for you. From now on, Jen’s going to be your memory minder so you don’t have to spend so much time with your face in that book.”

Duncan scoffed.

“As if I’d ever agree to that. Then Jen can just make up whatever she wa-”

“Dunc, I think this plan is for the best.”

The words fell out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying, and as they reached his ears, I saw his demeanor instantly change.

“Oh … OK. That makes sense. Even though I shouldn’t, I trust you.”

“See,” said Ty. “You’re a dynamic duo. Like Batman and Robin. Or Pyramus and Thisbe.”

“Who?” asked Duncan.

“Never mind. In any event, Jen here thinks you should take a nap for the rest of the train ride.”

Duncan looked over at me, and I nodded, at which point he leaned back and shut his eyes.

“You’re a real conniving bitch, you know that?” I said after a few minutes.

“You should be thanking me. I got rid of your stalker problem, and in the process gifted you a personal servant. If it’s all so bothersome, I’m sure you could get him to never bother you again, with the right prompting.”

“No,” I said, horrified by what she was suggesting. “I told him I would help him and I will.”

“OK, great. Let me and my mom know how that goes. I’m sure it won’t affect the actual task you’re supposed to be accomplishing with all due haste before the next Guild meeting.”

She had a point. Babysitting Duncan was a distraction that I couldn’t afford at the moment, and even though he had somehow made substantial progress up the Questing ladder in two months, I doubted he would be of any assistance.

“What’s going to happen at the meeting next month? And what is this inquest your mother asked for?”

“You’ll triumphantly return the Compendium to my mother, everyone will marvel at your accomplishment, and the inquest will reveal nothing of any importance.”

“Then why did Dalia request one?”

“To stall, to divert attention so that we may counter J.P.’s machinations appropriately.”

“Well, have fun with that,” I said. “Trying to bribe two Guild members is more than enough for me.”

“Speaking of, what’s the deal with D.C.?”

The First Seat of my table had said little at the meeting the other day and had barely reacted when Jade’s glamour had deactivated. I took that as a good sign, but what did I know?

“His name, for one. D.C.’s family is one of the Guild’s oldest. Goes back nearly to the founding, maybe even all the way. I haven’t checked the records in a while. His father was a legend.”

“A legend in what?”

“In crafting,” said Ty.

“Very funny. Are we in a video game?”

“You are one of the fortunate ones who doesn’t have to play the game. But, yes, D.C.’s skills bear some similarity to what you are thinking of.”

In Hero’s Bane, the game I worked on at my old company, crafters were a class of NPCs that, well, crafted new weapons, armor, or items if you brought them the right ingredients or raw materials. The deeper you ventured, the more fantastical things could be created from the spoils of your battles.

“I see, and what has he been crafting lately?”

“Something one of us might need if the vote of no confidence doesn’t go according to plan. Durandal.”

“You say that as if I should know what that is,” I said, not wanting to hear the rest.

“The Rock Cleaver. Wayland’s Folly. Roland’s Bane,” said Ty, and I shook my head again. “Your lack of basic alchemic history is super annoying, did I ever tell you that?”

“No. So enlighten me.”

“I will. Tomorrow, after you meet with D.C. You’ll get a full tour of the Guild’s library, and boy are you in for a treat.”