There was, for instance, an hermetically sealed crystal vessel which had been subjected to the gradually increasing heat of an athanor for over five years, and whose contents were inspected daily for the expected color changes. In a complicated pelican, a type of double-reflux alembic, a substance had undergone cohobation—repeatedly recycled distillation—for even longer. And there were other operations, less easy to understand, all pursuant to the alchemical theory that new properties would evolve in a material if a process were continued for long enough.
In this way he learned a great deal he had not known before of practical alchemy. He also had access to the library, where he found hundreds of books and manuscripts, ranging from very ancient tracts such as The Sophic Hydrolith and The Visions of Zosimos—as well, of course, as the Asch Mezareph—to somewhat later works, among them The Secret Art of Plasmas and The Etheric Chariot. Of their texts he could grasp little, but he found great pleasure in poring over their numinous illustrations, especially those which depicted the interior of a flask as a little world, sometimes complete with landscape, in which strange, beguiling acts were taking place.
But eventually Rachad’s interest waned, as had happened under Gebeth’s tutelage on Earth, and he began to think how he might carry out his secret mission.
Luckily his movements were not restricted. He had been taught the number code which enabled him to find his way through the maze, and he had the freedom of the Aegis. Flammarion had also given him a rough idea of its layout, and he had little trouble in reconnoitering the approaches both to the main gate and the smaller side entrance.
In addition Flammarion had taken care to explain how the main gate was opened. It soon became evident to Rachad, however, just how difficult this would be. Both entrances were guarded round the clock by companies of pikemen. He also learned, from conversations with others, that extra locks had been put on the mechanisms—locks too large to be operated by one man. And as if that was not enough, the locks were protected by timber encasements which first had to be broken open with axes.
It seemed that Flammarion’s scheme had foundered. Rachad returned in frustration to the laboratory, where he continued to wrestle with the problem.
Amschel was more to be seen in the laboratory after the first few weeks. He resumed what was apparently his practice of lecturing to his assistants—partly to make them better helpers but also, Rachad guessed, to impart genuine knowledge to those who were interested.
His talks were often rambling, sometimes fascinating, sometimes, to Rachad, dull. Sometimes, however, they were masterpieces of conciseness, especially when on the subject of technical operations. Amschel had a surprising knack of relating experimental processes to profoundly symbolic lore. In a way that offered a thrilling insight into the workings of the macrocosm, he spoke of the Worm Ouroborous, representing the creative powers of nature. He spoke also of “the Coiled Dragon,” or “the Sleeping Sulphur,” as it was alternatively called, which, he said, referred to the spiral of the galaxy which was coiled up like a spring. This spring was held in dynamic balance by secret forces of such power that should they be released they would destroy everything within the limits of visibility.
In another of his talks Amschel gave forth on the primitive philosophical ideas of ancient times. The ancients, it seemed, had been ignorant of the five elements and so had also failed to understand the principle of blending or “commingling.” They had hypothesized that matter was composed of “atoms,” microscopic particles which were supposed to be indivisible and indestructible, and which stuck crudely together in innumerable combinations.
“The theory is amusingly quaint,” Amschel remarked, “but unsound in the logical sense, and also it is hopelessly complicated. To account even at that time for all the qualities found in the world it was necessary to hypothesize more than a hundred different types of atom—and to reckon with all the substances known to present-day alchemy, no doubt another hundred would have to be added.
“The same spirit of naive speculation governed astronomical ideas. At that period in history humanity was still restricted to one world, and there was no clear knowledge of the macrocosm generally. Ridiculous though it may seem to us, it was presumed that the home planet—which some say was called Earth—was the center of the macrocosm and that the whole of the heavens revolved around it. The other planets of the home system moved across the sky in ways that did not fit easily with this idea, of course, and a complicated, rather unwieldy system of wheels within wheels had to be devised on their behalf. These ‘epicycles,’ as they were known, may remind us of the equally artificial doctrine of ‘indivisible atoms.’
“The philosophers who tried to explain nature on the basis of these speculations can have known little of the Hermetic art or of its goals. Even in that arid time, however, there were true alchemists, working in secret and possessing knowledge handed down since the time of Hermes Trismegistus.”
Amschel pointed to Rachad. “Young man, you tell me you come from a planet called Earth. Is this the same that is reputed to be the birthplace of mankind?”
Rachad gave the same answer that Zhorga had once given to Baron Matello: that had Earth truly been man’s original home, lack of ether silk would have kept him there.
Then, one day, Amschel took Rachad aside and began to speak to him privately.
“It is time,” he said, “to explain the Stone to you, and to show you the stage we have reached in our work.”
Still in his work smock, Rachad seated himself and listened attentively, but Amschel did not come immediately to the promised business. Instead, he launched into a discourse on how the five elements combined to produce everything that existed—all worlds, all life, all minerals; everything that was fluid, aerial or energetic, everything that imparted motion. He explained the relation of the elements to space, a subject scarcely touched upon before. There was no such thing, Amschel informed, as empty space; space was but one of the properties of matter—its extensibility—and space that appeared empty was better described as ether. Hence matter and space were identical and continuous, to the discredit of the ancient atomic theory, in which they were deemed to be separate entities.
There were, Amschel proceeded to say, a number of ways in which the elements could combine. First and most important there was “blending,” in which elements coalesced in various ratios, and the substances formed in this way were the true compounds. But there were also “mixes,” in which elements, or blends of elements, compiled and interpenetrated in laminations, platelets, rods and slivers, crystals, raveled tendrils, simple coagulations and so forth, all on the microscopic level. The diversity and complexity of structures so obtained was limitless, accounting for the endless range of properties to be found in the macrocosm. This, Amschel explained, was also the reason why arcane substances were often named after living organisms or manmade constructions, their inner structures sometimes being almost as elaborate.
“In this way the five elements give rise to the world of multitudinous phenomena,” Amschel said. “But they are not the end of the story, for they themselves were derived, countless ages ago at the beginning of existence, from prima materia, which alone can be called the primal substance. The elements are, so to speak, corruptions of it. Ether was the first derivation; then there followed, in quick succession, fire, air, water and earth. In the prima materia itself there is no differentiation. It is unconditioned, single and absolute, and in it all opposites merge as one. You may have heard it spoken of by other names—hyle, the primordial chaos, and so forth.”