Norton, Andre - Anthology by Catfantastic IV (v1.0) Read Free Book Online

             With remarkable speed she scuttled into the
nearby tunnel. I waited. Margaret, who had been working her way toward the
ruins in her gleaning, reached the foot of the mound with her almost-full
basket and began to call me. I knew we would have to leave soon to reach home
before nightfall.
                   There were noises at the mouth of the tunnel.
The white mole reappeared, followed by a couple of strong-shouldered youngsters
dragging something that clinked against a pebble. I bounded forward.
                   The white mole turned her blind snout toward
me. "Cat, here is the only intact vessel left in the chamber.
                   Take it; but we moles have a proverb: 'Be
careful what you wish for; you may get it.' "
                   'There is a similar saw in Old Feline. But my
person needs help. I'll take the risk—and remember the warning."
                   Having brushed off as much of its dirt
encrustation as I could manage with my paw, I inspected the moles' offering. It
was made of some substance that I had never before encountered, seemingly part
stone and part metal. It was a tiny flask, not much larger than a baby mouse but
much heavier, rounded at the base and tapering to a narrow neck, stoppered and
covered with wax. Graven into the wax were strange symbols, some of which I had
seen before in Master Ambrosius' books.
                   With a brusque word of thanks to the moles, I
sank my teeth into the wax and dragged the flask down the hillock to Margaret,
whose cries of "Quincunx!" had taken on a tinge of panic. It was
remarkably heavy. I dropped it at her feet and mewed urgently.
                   "Oh! Ugh! Is it dead? Quincunx, must you
fetch me dead things?" She spurned it with her foot. I growled, which
shocked both of us. I laid a paw on the flask and batted it toward a nearby
rock. Once again it clinked, and Margaret reacted as I had. She pounced on the
flask and examined it closely.
                   "These are alchemical signs. And you
found it in the abbey ruins. And—oh, Quincunx! I think this is Theodoric's own
seal. The stories are true! This—this may be the veritable Elixir! We're saved!
Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful Quincunx!" She swept me up and began
raining kisses on my nose. I stood it as long as I could. I was starting to
squirm free when a hail from the distant road gave notice that^eur ride home
had arrived and was getting impatient. Margaret tucked my find into her bodice
and we scampered for the cart.
                   Once we reached our lodging, Margaret bustled
about preparing supper at her father's querulous insistence. (I got chicken and
the last of the cream.) Once the meal was done and the table cleared, she
produced my find. Master Ambrosius did not waste time in thanks or praise but
fell at once to studying the seals, shuffling through his books and manuscripts
and muttering away as usual.
                   “Yes!" he exclaimed at last. "It is
the seal of Brother Theodoric. And the strange substance of which the vessel is
made must be the legendary thrice-tried adamant of which Geber speaks. But the
inscription on the seal has been rendered illegible by the toothmarks of that
blasted cat of yours [Such is the gratitude of alchemists. —Q.E), so there is
no way to know what it holds without opening it and testing the contents."
                   "But, Father, if it isn't the Elixir of
Life, what could it be?"
                   "Like me, Theodoric was an apothecary
before he became an alchemist. He was originally seeking the Panacea, the cure
for all ills."
                   "Doesn't the Elixir do that?"
                   "If you have an illness or a wound, the
Panacea will restore you to perfect health, but that is all. The Elixir won't
cure wounds or illnesses, but it will prolong life— some say it will