Mass Defect

The game has come for me at last. Just this morning, I finished my work on extracting the second purification of salt- a momentous accomplishment, and perhaps in another time I would celebrate. However...

Upon the moment of my completion, I heard the distinct sound of an implosion near the market quarter. Fearing the loss of my trusted supplier, I rushed to investigate, only to discover a finely dressed gentleman discreetly beckoning me away from the crowd- a few market stalls had collapsed thanks to a bolting horse, nothing more. He introduced himself as a fellow member of Corps Guestphalia Hall, now the discreet reprensentative of a certain Prussian noble with ties to the house of Hohenzollern. I should have made my exit then- but I was foolish, and remembering my days as a brash young Romantic enticed by mensur, I accepted his letter.

When I returned to my hovel, I found my worst fears confirmed- the door was left open, my imperfectly fastened locks thrown onto the ground. My workstations were left untouched, thankfully enough, and those few who would aid me in my studies had all temporarily decamped due to a sermon by some hot-headed war preacher in the cathedral. The intruder left no trace save a single, hastily scrawled note.

I must confess, these long nights have taken their toll upon my work. But yesterday I fell asleep and forgot entirely the reagents simmering upon my desk... My noctural woolgathering came at a most inopportune moment, as I discovered when I awoke to the sound of a frightenful din at my door. A fool I had been, to leave my windows unshuttered- the ghastly luminesence from the phosphorous container was mistaken for a fire, or perhaps a haunting. I shudder to think what signal this occurence might deliver to those players of the Game that are no doubt afoot in this city...

I shall take such chances no more. When the morrow comes (as it must), I shall chance the city streets to find some metalsmith from which I might purchase firm shutters to seal shut my windows, to thereby abstain my work from prying eyes once and for all. There is a sorrow in these proceedings, but it must be done.

For now, however, I shall content myself with one last night under the stars.

My first apprentice- now, I may be properly addressed as Master. He is an honest soul, scrawny, eager to perform any "alchemical" task no matter how menial. I ask if silence disturbs him, and he replies with some optimistic pean about the greatest minds working in solitude. I wonder whether to tell him that this "great mind" might fire him without warning, which was why he was paid in lump sum rather than by the hour.

Is it wrong, that I cannot feel a touch of affinity for this boy whose age I shared so recently?

Lately, I've found myself more and more often questioning my decision to abscond to this damned city. The thought haunts me through my meals, it haunts me as I law down for a scant few moments of rest each night, it demands my attention as I wrestle with beakers and pestles. Every now and then I glance towards the door, and a pang seems to rip through me when I confirm again the conspicuous lack of a letter-pile. So often I thought them distractions, foolish things to disturb me from my path to greatness, but now...

Alchemy is a solitary quest for understanding- I march alone. I cannot afford to let these human things attach me. Henceforth I will seal shut the letter-flap and remove the visitor's bell. It's not as if they've been in much demand, at any rate.

In other news, I have recently created lithium.

Success! Salt rises, like so much dust, and entwines itself with the air into a higher, more pure form. The mysteries of the world unveiled ex nihilo. From here, the realm of production alchemy awaits. Were I still within the University, no doubt I would have found some plebian to gloat- but here, I have only my reflection in these dull beakers for company.

The disturbances to my hovel have not ceased. Thankfully, I answer to no land-lord or neighbour, and certainly intend to keep it that way, save for any apprentices I may choose to employ. The present focus, then, must be to minimise any deletrious intrusions the commonfolk of this city may deign to make upon my work: no more contemplative strolls, lest any theives see an opportunity that they have so surely been waiting for.

I must order more locks.

There is a hint of uncertainty in the air. Shifting shadows, murmurs in crowds, rumours that shadow the markets and apothecaries. I have not made the acquaintance of this city for long, but I know its humours well enough to feel the tide turning. The great game is afoot.

I cannot fathom how this will affect my work- just today I have finally begun the work of creating the elemental essences. But in truth, I cannot chance leaving my workstation so often. Just the previous day I returned to find my lock tampered with, my windows disturbed. I must be careful, now.

I will not be stopped again.

But two days ago I would have laughed at the idea of sitting here, scribbling on foolscap in the ruins of some second-rate knockoff alchemist's hovel. I! Greatest student of natural philosophy in a generation, kicked out the the University for plagiarism! That dotard of a professor saw my work and was jealous- I know it.

I see it now. Natural philsophy was never for me. Yes, I will persue the alchemical arts instead, elixir vitae, aurum potabile, lapis philosophorum. I will complete the work without these so-called Professors, and show them how wrong they were. Mark my words! Someday the proctors of the University will grovel before me, as I hold aloft the secret to transubstantiation, and I will say

"No."