Quintessence Sky by David Walton Page B

island. It had been done right here. It was
the alchemist's dream, to turn base material into pure gold. But
how was it done?
    On a table, he found a shallow tray of water
with an eel swimming in it. At the bottom of the tank, on one side,
was an ordinary gold ring; on the other side, a feather, each
barbule intricately formed in gold. The features were so tiny and
precise, he knew it could never have been carved. He wondered if
the gold would splinter away if the feather was stroked. He was
about to reach into the water when he remembered the fates of Perez
and Peinado. Caution would be wise. Instead of reaching with his
hand, he went back and found a pair of tongs he had noticed
earlier, and reached them into the water to grab the feather.
    He was glad he had. As soon as they entered
the water, the ends of the tongs changed color and weight.
Astonished, he pulled them out. The top half was still iron; the
bottom half gold wherever the water had touched. Was it the water
that was special? The eel? And why was all this gold just piled up
here in the cellar? If the king had a way to turn any object into
gold, why didn't he use it to mint himself a fortune? Philip had
the armies, the influence, the intelligence, and the will to take
over the known world in the name of Christ. All he lacked was the
gold.
    "I wouldn't bother pocketing any of that, if
I were you," said a voice from the stairs. It was Barrosa.
    Ramos set the tongs gingerly on the table,
noticing small gold specks in the wood where the water from the eel
tray had dripped. He was careful not to let it drip on him. "Why is
that?"
    "Because halfway up the stairs, it turns back
into whatever it was before."
    "Up the stairs? You mean the cellar itself is
what makes them gold?"
    Barrosa sat heavily on a wooden bench. "Not
at all. It's the worm."
    Ramos glanced at the shining worm in its
glass ewer. "The worm isn't anywhere near this water."
    "It's the source of everything. If you picked
up the worm and walked out of this room, then everything fantastic
in here would become ordinary. All of the animals would die."
    "The worm is the source? What about
these pearls we each have in our pouches?"
    Barrosa sighed. "There's a lot we don't
understand. But the pearls store up the quintessence when they're
here, and then use it up when they're not. If we don't come down
here every day and recharge from the worm, the power runs out."
    "The king comes here too?"
    "Once a day. And he usually wants a report on
what we've found since the last time."
    "I'm still missing parts of this story. Where
are the men who brought all this back from the island? Surely we
could interview them and find out more. Was this the only worm they
could find? Where did the pearls come from?"
    Barrosa looked uncomfortable. "They're all
dead." He wouldn't meet Ramos's eye.
    "Dead?"
    "Your brother Diego led them out, two years
ago. When they returned, half the crew was gone, including your
brother, most of the officers, and an English lord named Francis
Vaughan. The ship had all this gold and treasure, and the king
suspected a mutiny. Everyone did."
    "What was their story?"
    "They claimed most of the officers had been
killed by invisible manticores, your brother had been killed by the
Protestant renegades, and Vaughan had been plucked off the ship in
the night by a giant sea monster."
    Ramos gave a nervous laugh. "You're
kidding."
    "The surviving men were huddled in four
groups around the four pearls they had brought, refusing to be
separated. They said they used to have a chest full of the worms,
but shortly after they set sail, Vaughan had opened the chest and
attracted the sea monster, which leaped out of the sea, snatched
him and the chest of worms in its mouth, and dove back down into
the deep." Barrosa pantomimed the monster's movements with his
hands. "Only one worm was left."
    "No one believed them?"
    "Why would they? They were filthy and raving
and their stories were fantastic. They were in perfect