Page 16 of A Most Abhorrent Vessel

The old man proceeds to ask me questions while continuing to poke and prod with various instruments. He checks, observes, and then checks again.

Time comes and goes. The fire doesn’t seem to shrink. The liquid continues its gurgling song, but by the end, Nicodemus knows little more than I.

“My dear boy, I’m afraid I have no answers for you,” he finally says, laying a hand on my bare shoulder.

I know what he means by the gesture, but I’m beyond comfort now.

“I have never seen a case such as yours. Never read of one in any of these books.” He waves his hand in a big arch.

“You’ve read them all?”

“All of them and more.”

“Are you a wizard? Maybe one of your potions could cure me?” I know I should feel silly asking this question, but with everything I’ve seen, it wouldn’t be the most outlandish assumption.

“I’m no wizard,” he laughs. “I’m an alchemist,” he adds, as if these titles were so different from one another. “Well,” he hesitates. “There might be one thing we could try. It’s far-fetched and likely for naught, but if you’re willing…”

“I’m willing,” I say, without hesitation. I don’t even want to think about what would happen if I didn’t find a cure.

Nicodemus leaves the stool, then quickly returns with a book. It’s so large and heavy, I have difficulty holding it up in one hand. Beneath my fingers, buttery leather speaks of its age.

“Can you read it?” he asks, opening it to the centre.

The page before me is handwritten. Thin text is scrawled tightly across the vellum. It looks even more ancient than I expected.

“It’s a mix of Latin, Greek, and Old English,” he explains. “Some of it is encoded, but even without deciphering those parts, it might offer some knowledge.”

“I am versed in all three, but not very familiar with ciphers.”

“Loafers aren’t versed in ancient languages,” he says with a smirk on his face.

As irrelevant as my love for history has been throughout my life, I’m grateful that this knowledge can finally be of some use. I run a finger over the vellum, but my senses don’t perceive its once familiar velvety texture.

“I can read it.”

“Marvellous! Let me note the address,” he says while rummaging for a pen and paper. “This is no regular shop. You must place your ingredients list in the post slot first; only then will the goods be delivered. Though unconventional, it is rather convenient.”

He hands me the note and pats my hand in an attempt at comfort.

“As much as I appreciate the company of your well-formed musculature, you can clothe yourself now.” He winks brazenly. If I didn’t know any better, I would assume Nicodemus was being flirtatious.

Once I’m dressed, we return to the bookshop. At the door, the old man takes both my gloved hands in his and squeezes them tightly.

“My dear young man, I wish with all my might that you find a remedy within those pages,” he says earnestly.

“I’m grateful for your assistance.”

“It was nothing, and please give Aphra my regard.” The door closes behind me with a chime, and Nicodemus disappears into the shop.

Did he say Aphra? I’m sure I had never mentioned who sent me here.

“Are you doing alright, love?” Mrs. Tully says the moment I slide into the kitchen chair. She turns to face me with a rag in one hand and a sponge in the other.

“I’m well. Why do you ask?”

“You don’t look very well,” she says, with a look on her face that reminds me a bit of my governess.

“How so?” I ask, trying to sound as ordinary as possible.