THE DARK DAYS OF BITTERNESS AND HONEY

THE DARK DAYS OF BITTERNESS AND HONEY

Luke sat motionless staring out of the window and contemplation the task before him. It was not going to be easy, but none the less, it was essential that he completed the duty that he had inherited.

 His hands twisted in to contorted shapes as he considered his options. Of course, the most obvious way forward was to contact those in the know, and try to unravel what had gone so disastrously wrong.

 His hands reached in to his trouser pockets to locate his small black notebook. Pulling it from its warm but strangled lair he fingered the pages searching for names, clues or anything that may help. After a few seconds he paused his search and stared at the small book. The name "Brunner" was prominent on the page and was underlined and thickly circled in red ink. 

 Scribbled notes referring to a number of names were just about legible as he took in the enormity of what he was about to do. Grabbing his phone from his inner jacket pocket he slowly dialled the number of the President and Chairman of the revered society that was previously known as "Boojar".

 He looked out of the window and noted that thick globules of snow had started to fall, and was settling quickly. 

 The dialling tone burred in the background for a few seconds and then a dark deep voice answered -

    "Hello!, who dares call me on this number ? ".

     "Hi Her Brunner, its Luke, I'm the son of one of your old confederates, and id like to discuss some business. I found your number in an old note book together with those of what i believed to have been other members of your gang".

    "Ah Luke, replied the disgruntled voice. I wondered when you would be in contact !" 

To be continued......  

THE APOTHECARY OF SAN JUAN

 THE APOTHECARY OF SAN JUAN

The tired old chemist sat on his stool trying to keep cool from the blistering heat outside. 

As cold sweat ran down his neck, his palms were too moist to hold the tweezers in his fingers, and any kind of enterprise had to be delayed until the heat relented.

 Under pressure from the local lord to complete the task before sunrise had placed an unbearable pressure on the weak and slumped shoulders of the old man.

 He knew only too well that failure was unthinkable, and the lives of his family were endangered if he failed to complete the task. The lead deposit that had been provided was of superior stock, but it was never going to transform in to gold as he had been instructed. He understood only too well that the alchemy myth was about to be exposed, as was his neck to a noose, garrotte or sword.

Lord Constapacion had been quite exact in his words as he instructed the chemist to transpose the elements as required. "Gold by dawn or your head will be fed to the Condors". 

Transmutation was a lie, and the feeble old man knew this only too well. However, unless he came up with the required product he was doomed, and what would happen to his numerous grandchildren who depended on him for their survival. Thinking fast he decided that his best option was to contact Madame Methane, an old adversary who had perfected  a peculiar modus operandi for survival. 

Madame Methane was renowned for expertise in the production of odious gases and may be able to ignite his mission to create gold.

 

To be continued......