The Blackthorn Key

He wasn’t half wrong. The smoke was what I’d wanted; the haze would hide me, and keep the others out for a minute or two. But the cloud billowed everywhere, stinging my eyes and choking my lungs. I ran back to the storeroom, hacking and heaving, gasping for air. I grabbed a spare apron and tied it around my face, covering my nose and mouth, hoping it might filter some of the smoke. It helped a little, but I couldn’t stay in here much longer.

Still, I’d bought myself a bit more time to work. I’d have loved to make another cannon, but I’d burned up all the saltpeter. I couldn’t mix gunpowder anymore. I needed something else.

The smoke was so thick, and my eyes watered so badly, I could barely read the labels on the jars. But there, among the other white powders, was natron. And there, on the other side in a twenty-gallon glass jug, was vinegar.

I grabbed another of the apprentice’s aprons from one of the pegs and dumped the natron into it, twisting it at the top to form a heavy pouch. Then I overturned the jug and let half the vinegar inside glug out onto the floor. It splashed everywhere, soaking my shoes, drawing up into a row of burlap sacks of wheat by the door, staining them maroon. If I survive this, I thought, there won’t be a master in the Guild who won’t have me flogged.

The sour scent of vinegar mixed with the smoke and made me cough even worse. I squeezed the pouch of natron into the wide, open mouth of the jug. Then I pressed the giant stopper back in so it trapped the top of the apron in the neck of the bottle. A stomp from my shoe drove the cork deep enough to hold.

It took a second for the remaining vinegar in the jar to start soaking through the canvas. The liquid started to fizz.

“Christopher.” The Elephant called out, still waiting for me by the doorway in the central chamber. “You can’t get away. Come on out, now. We just need some information. We won’t hurt you if you tell us what we want to know.”

Did I really look that dumb? He was right, though. It was time to come out. The jug wouldn’t hold forever; the cork stopper was already straining against the glass. And the smoke was making me dizzy.

I hefted the jug, sending another scream down my back. Now, one more weapon, that’s all I needed. I found it through the fog in a small pot with a long handle, bubbling on the stove with a sticky brown goo that smelled like Satan eating beans. I pulled the pot from the fire. The iron bottom scraped across the grill with a metallic screech.

“Christopher,” the Elephant said.

The weight of the pot set my whole arm wobbling, bringing new cries from my wounds. I crept to the doorway that led back to the central chamber, the jug with natron and vinegar still weighing down my other hand. It was gray everywhere. I couldn’t see them. I needed to see them.

I coughed. “You promise you won’t hurt me?”

“Absolutely,” the Elephant said.

There.

I threw the steaming goop toward his voice. I heard it splash on stiff linen. He screamed.

I bolted from the door, jug in one hand, the now-empty iron pot in the other. The smoke was thin enough here to see the goop had hit the Elephant square on. He was soaked, a nasty brown starburst on his chest and neck. He trumpeted, arms flailing, trying to pull his clothes from his scalded skin. Martin, his mangled lip and cheek covered in blood, backed away from his comrade in fright.

He spotted me coming from the smoke, but too late. I swung the pot at his head. It clanged against his skull hard enough to wrench from my hand, bouncing across the floor, ringing over the stone. Martin crumpled like a sack of meal.

That’s for Master Benedict, I thought.

I ran out through the prep room back to the courtyard. I carried the glass jug in both hands, now, all my muscles joining my back in howling against its weight. The vinegar inside had already turned into a bubbly pink foam. The cork squeezed upward in the neck.

Wat was waiting. He drew his knife, that long, curved, wicked blade.

But I didn’t intend to fight him. Halfway across the courtyard, with the last of my strength, I hurled the jug toward where he stood. Wat watched it fly through the air, surprised. It was a clumsy thing, easily sidestepped. He did, just like I’d hoped.