Possession by an evil entity was a constant fear of the ignorant and hypochondriac, and the old man in front of us had simply named one random, imaginary ail that slightly aligned with our current predicament. This was a mere coincidence, yet I was unable to communicate it to Princess; her mirror hung uselessly by her side, leaving me helpless at this crucial moment. I was dismayed—no, disappointed in Princess. A Lady of her rank, with access to learning, should have dismissed these superstitions without a second thought. Instead, she was eating from this decrepit swindler’s hand, ensnared in his web of deceit.
“How do you know that?” Princess asked, already entangled in his performance, inadvertently signaling to the old vulture precisely where to sink his claws.
“It is simple,” the man declared. “As I said, I can see it in your eyes.” He edged closer; Princess did not retreat. “And, if that is not convincing enough, observe how my sphygmopnevmameter responded when you entered.”
The ancient man gestured towards a piece of junk—a worthless amalgamation of lead rings that spun independently, though it moved slightly, the larger circle opposing the smaller ones.
“See?” he said, gesturing at the naive girl, whose credulity embarrassed us both. “Come closer,” he beckoned, moving his hands with the flair of a mystic, guiding her towards the fraudulent device. Princess, now entranced, approached with an expression of awe.
Predictably, the lead circles whirled wildly as though reacting to her presence. Were I in control, my eyes would have rolled in sheer exasperation. This was a parlor trick of the lowest order; the man had likely concealed a magnet within his robes. Yet, amidst the dim twilight of the shop, I found no reflective surface to warn Princess of the swindle we were enduring.
“It’s moving faster!” Princess exclaimed, her hands flying to her mouth. “What does it mean? Can you really see the possession? Can you help me?”
“Observe the three rings,” the charlatan continued, gesturing as though explaining a self-evident fact. “It measures the spirit’s strength. This is most troubling, young Lady. A spirit of this denomination could seize control of your body, wear it as its own, bending you to its will,” he added, making the situation sound ever more dire to inflate his future demands.
“You’re right! You’re right!” And Princess was dancing to his tune. I worried for this girl.
“This is dangerous,” he cautioned, “but not as dangerous as you might think. You are with me now; you are safe.” He shamelessly lied. “There are many ways to expel an evil spirit, but only the finest of my remedies could hope to prevail against one this powerful. If I had to guess, this spirit still believes itself to be alive, and it seeks to claim your body for itself.”
“W-what? No, no… that can’t be true… he’s… he’s here on accident! He really did not mean to enter my body,” Princess revealed.
I could not suppress my urge to scream—though I could not indulge it. Princess was recklessly endangering us both, speaking of our situation so openly before a charlatan intent on exploiting her. I had to act, but what could I do? This man might rob us of everything: our royal seals, our carriage, our very dignity. We could walk out of here barefoot and humiliated, left with nothing but his mocking laughter in our ears.
“Oh, so you have some inkling of who this spirit might be,” the old man prodded, ever the opportunist. “Tell me more; the key to helping you may lie in the details.” He angled for further information to strengthen his manipulation.
“I… I do not think he would appreciate that,” Princess hesitated.
Indeed, I would most certainly not!
“Oh, but where are my manners?” the man exclaimed suddenly, feigning politeness. “I have not even introduced myself. Forgive me, young Lady. You may remain anonymous if you prefer, but I am known around here as Chelyo.” With that, he resumed his coaxing. “And do not trouble yourself over what that spirit might want. He shall not be your problem for much longer.”
Princess, however, remained uncertain. “I mean… this is so sudden. Do you mean you can get him out? Right now? Like, this very instant? I… w-what is going to happen to the spirit if you do?”
“The spirit shall return to the far beyond, where it rightfully belongs,” Chelyo said with calculated gentleness, sensing her attachment to the ‘evil spirit’.
“Do you mean he will die? Never ever to return?” she fretted, genuinely worried. Had I not been so furious with her, it might have touched me.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Most likely,” Chelyo answered smoothly. “Some spirits are stubborn and may attempt to latch onto another body after being expelled. But I can assure you that he shall no longer be your concern. And, for a little extra, I could trap him in a spirit cage, so he can never trouble you or anyone else again.”
“I… I can’t make this choice right now!” Princess stammered, fanning herself with her hands, visibly distressed. “I need to talk this over with… well, with the spirit! H-how would you go about extracting him, anyway? What is the method?”
“That is a bit of a trade secret.” Of course it was. “The first step, however, is for you to drink this.” He shuffled to a shelf, extracted a few jars and a beaker, and began preparing his concoction. “It will not remove the spirit, but it will allow us to communicate with him,” he claimed, expertly mixing the contents.
The labels on his jars were laughably false. Princess read them with wide eyes: ‘pathomenus,’ ‘caltencio ortoz,’ ‘palacium’. It was a feeble attempt vaguely scientific to the ignorant. I recognized the ingredients by their colors and how he used them. He was mixing astenia dust with dried nightshade, masking the concoction’s scent with tobacco. The beaker held a liquid, prepared before our arrival, serving either as a delivery system or an amplifier. Whatever it was, this man was crafting a basic alchemic potion designed to render Princess unconscious.
The girl would truly wake up without anything to her name in a back alley if I left her to her own devices.
“I can guarantee that it will work; you will see for yourself soon enough,” Chelyo promised. “But tell me, why are you so concerned for this evil spirit? Was he a lover? A family member? Whoever he was, you have your own life to live. It is time to let him go,” he urged, feigning compassion as he prepared his deceptive brew.
Princess sighed repeatedly, and her eyes moistened. “I know you are right, but yet… this is so sudden,” she repeated. “This is…”
Her eyes finally turned to a piece of metal reflecting the lamp’s light at the old man’s feet.
“LET ME DEAL WITH THIS, YOU IGNORANT CHILD!” I yelled inside her head. “How ludicrously dense can you possibly be?”
“B-but, Dubart!” she answered, stupidly naming me right before this trickster! “He knew you were inside me. This could be our chance.”
“You can speak with the spirit?” Chelyo’s brow furrowed in confusion. He had expected Princess to be gullible, but not entirely deranged. “This is worse than I thought. I must act swiftly,” he declared, feigning urgency while preparing to carry out his ruse, passing the mixture over heat to activate the astenia dust.
“Get your mirror up and listen to me, you idiot!” I ordered. “He is deceiving you! He intends to drug you. Leave this place before we get robbed or worse!”
“H-how do I know you’re not the one who’s tricking me?” she muttered into her mirror, finally raising it to consult me. “What is wrong? Getting cold feet now that you know that the end is near? Changing your mind a little? Want to live for longer at my expense?” she continuously threw baseless and offensive accusations.
“You are falling prey to a swindler, you foolish girl,” I replied with as much composure as I could muster. “Follow my instructions, and I shall expose his lies. Let me handle this.”
“What is your spirit saying, young Lady?” Chelyo asked, his previously false concern materializing as he realized he might be dealing with someone unstable.
“He… he says… he says you’re mixing a drink to make me go to sleep so you can rob me?” Princess communicated my intentions. I would have to speak for her through the mirror.
The man gasped, placing a hand on his chest as though wounded. “Nonsense! How could I? This mixture is harmless. If you like, I can drink some myself to prove it to you. The spirit is merely afraid because he knows his end is near.”
“I… I want to believe you,” Princess faltered, “but the spirit insists; he says… he says you’re mixing nightshade with astenia dust? You are activating the mixture with heat? It will cause a para… paralytic reaction, so I can’t move my muscles. He says the yellow thing on the vial is either hemlock or opium-based, depending on your intentions.”
Chelyo’s expression darkened. His friendly facade evaporated, replaced by a steely gaze. The charlatan stood taller, more assured, and ceased heating the mixture, placing it back on the shelf.
“Oh. What a clever young Lady,” he intoned, the affable smile vanishing from his countenance like mist burned away by the sun’s heat. “What else is your ‘spirit’ whispering to you?” It became evident that he entertained no genuine belief in any possessing entity; instead, he presumed Princess had simply been mocking him. This was no longer a matter of trifling games. This man was dangerous.
“Dubart! Y-you’re right…!” Realization dawned on the dumb child who was my hostess. “H-he was going to…! G-going to…!”
Chelyo snapped his fingers. “Kermin at,” he said. A trigger and an incantation. I did not recognize them.
A thunderous sound echoed behind us. Princess, startled, released a shrill cry as she turned. The passage that had been our only means of escape—leading up the dark stairwell and out of this nightmarish cavern—was now blocked by a solid slab of rock. The sigil he had invoked caused the collapse, closing us within this subterranean prison.
Yet, as much as I scorned Princess for her folly, it was not she alone who had been deceived by the ruse of a frail old man. I had underestimated him, dismissing him as merely a dabbler in alchemy, and now, the weight of my miscalculation bore heavily upon us. We were not entangled with a mere charlatan. No, this was something far more insidious—a magian criminal—a maverick!
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