twenty-seven

1597, Prague, Bohemia

Philippe licked the edge of a thin-tipped squirrel-hair brush and began painting a stack of gold coins onto the sunlit side table in the painting of the alchemy lab. The narrow bristles were needed to paint the delicate lines for the perspective shift that served as a second layer of the painting.

No, this painting was lacking depth.

It was difficult to focus after Edward’s visit. Although Edward had explained to the Emperor that he’d been mistaken about Philippe’s ability to produce gold in public, now Philippe was forced to not only produce more gold in private, but to tutor the charlatan Edward Kelley in true alchemy! He did not wish to hide the secrets of alchemy from anyone worthy, but Edward was not worthy. The saving grace was that unworthy people did not come easily to alchemy. Edward would have to work harder than he ever had in his ill-spirited life.

Philippe smiled at the thought and returned to the painting. It was not the best idea to work while in a foul mood and without the right planetary alignments, but after Edward’s coercion, time was short. One had to act now.

With focused pure intent, a fresh brush was dipped into the gold leaf and gum, and then Philippe looked at the gold nuggets on the table, carefully replicating the image. Lost in the work, the painter paid no attention to the passing of time. Hours passed, or perhaps an entire day.

Thirsty, with a rumbling stomach, and exhausted nearly to the point of collapse, Philippe set down the paintbrush and picked up a cup of water with shaking hands, nearly knocking over the small table with the pile of gold. Or rather, the table that once held gold.

The painter blinked. Was this a hallucination from fatigue? No. It was real. This was truly happening. The pieces of true gold had been transformed from their place on the table—into the image in the painting.

After many years’ work in alchemy labs and artist workshops, Philippe had theorized that this was possible but hadn’t truly believed it would work. Not until coming to Prague Castle, with the energy of creativity and alchemy all around. How many years had it been, wondering if such a transformation was feasible? And here it was!

Philippe dropped the clay cup of water. It shattered into dull gray shards that scattered across the floor as the artist ran a shaking hand through short curly hair, now standing on end as if it had been struck by lightning. A great silence descended over the room, as if the whole world had ceased in both motion and the passage of time. This was a discovery of a new form of alchemy—one that combined it with art.

Alchemical Painting.