Chapter 170: What Is Nicolas Planning? Alchemical Talent
"Brittle…"
Leonardo respected Nicolas' view, even if he could not quite share it.
He could not really grasp the mindset of someone who had lived for centuries. Perhaps if he lasted that long himself, he would understand.
"Your outlook is enviably calm," he said instead.
Nicolas smiled. "Live long enough, and it comes," he said. "Speaking of which, Albus has told me what you think of the Philosopher's Stone…"
He turned his hand over. A red jewel floated above his fingertips.
It was perfectly clear, its heart lit by a faint magical glow.
The power inside it was richer, fuller. This was a true, complete Philosopher's Stone.
Leonardo felt the difference at once compared to the shard Dumbledore had once shown him.
So Nicolas Flamel had made more than one after all.
"This one is fresh from the furnace," Nicolas said. "It will turn lead into gold. It will brew the Elixir of Life."
He watched Leonardo closely as he spoke, making sure nothing was left unsaid.
Leonardo's expression did not flicker. His gaze moved between the old man and the gem.
So, First Dumbledore, now Flamel.
Did all the old men of the age enjoy dangling Philosopher's Stones in front of people?
Fine. When he was old, he would do the same.
"Mr Flamel," he said, "I am very interested in the Stone and what it can do. But I am even more curious about the knowledge needed to make it.
"And this ship we are standing in—how much magic went into it?"
His eyes shone. His hunger to know had been straining at its leash from the moment he stepped aboard.
A science‑fiction‑style airship in the wizarding world was too tempting to ignore.
Even knowing it had to be an alchemical construct, it was still staggering.
What sort of substance could support this kind of mass? What were the principles behind the runes carved into the hull? What power source drove something this size…
There were too many questions.
Nicolas saw the light in his eyes and went still for a heartbeat. Such a pure look.
Only the very young ever had eyes like that.
Perhaps he had once looked the same way, hungry for every secret alchemy held.
He nodded slightly. Centuries of experience made it easy to tell whether someone was lying or hiding something.
Leonardo's words and gaze were both utterly sincere.
Nicolas flicked his fingers. The Stone drifted over and hovered before Leonardo.
Leonardo caught it.
"This is…?"
"The joy of chasing knowledge on your own is something nothing else can replace," Nicolas said. "Take it. I have no shortage of such things. After all…"
He patted the silver wall beside him. A recess slid open, revealing a glowing red gem set into the metal.
"This fellow takes a great deal of power to run."
Leonardo stared at the Stone in the wall, then looked along the corridor.
Dozens more identical recesses marched down the length of it, each one holding a Philosopher's Stone.
For a ship this size…
Just how many Stones had Nicolas Flamel made?
For the first time, Leonardo was genuinely stunned. From the way Nicolas spoke, the Stones really were just stones to him.
Using them to power the ship made a kind of brutal sense. Nothing else could provide that kind of magic in such a compact form. And there were so many…
"This airship is incredible," Leonardo said. "It has to be the most complex alchemical construct in magical history."
Nicolas shook his head, a trace of melancholy in his voice.
"Magical history," he murmured. "But Muggles have had more marvellous creations for over twenty years now. Things that fly higher. Much higher…"
Muggle creations? From twenty‑odd years ago?
Leonardo had not expected him to bring up Muggles at all, let alone like this. Something that flew higher than this ship?
Twenty years…
His heart skipped.
The old wizard was not planning to go to the Moon, was he?
A Muggle device, very high, twenty‑plus years ago.
The first lunar landing.
Nicolas had built a ship like this, let the world believe his Stone was destroyed, and spread the story that he and Perenelle were near death…
The more Leonardo thought about it, the madder it sounded.
The worst part was that it still felt oddly plausible.
Wizarding technology was strange. Low‑level and high‑level developments never seemed to line up in any logical way.
Apparition had let wizards cross continents in an instant for generations. Muggles might take centuries yet to match that.
If any wizard chose to, they might well challenge the sky itself.
Especially a man like Nicolas Flamel, with centuries of life, mountains of gold, and an ocean of knowledge and experience behind him.
"Forgive me," Nicolas said, catching himself. "I got carried away. Come. I will show you the rest, and then we can talk about what really interests you."
He smoothed his expression and "glided" ahead of Leonardo.
His invitation had been born of curiosity.
Two dear old friends, Albus and Newt, had both written to him about a boy called Leonardo. The admiration in their letters had been impossible to miss.
He was less interested in the talk of talent.
They had sent him samples of Leonardo's work—small alchemical devices.
Nicolas had judged them good.
For a boy with only a year of magic behind him, they were very good. In alchemy, at least, he was clearly gifted.
But not a genius.
Examining the pieces closely, Nicolas had seen that much. Leonardo, at least when it came to alchemy, was not one of those once‑in‑a‑century monsters.
By Albus' and Newt's account, his brilliance lay in Transfiguration and magical creatures.
Nicolas, who had lived through more lifetimes than most histories and taken countless students and disciples, knew one thing very well.
There was no such thing as an all‑fields genius.
Not in magic.
Magic sprawled across too many disciplines. Charms, alchemy, potions, herbology, Divination, Transfiguration, the Dark Arts…
To reach the peak in one single branch was already rare. To then use that height to look out and grasp pieces of the others was the path of genius.
From what he had seen, Leonardo would climb high in Transfiguration. With luck, he might drag his alchemy with him to the threshold of true excellence.
Beyond that, who could say?
Right now, though, Nicolas' attention was fixed on this ship. On using alchemy to "catch up" to the Muggles' strange machines. For him, alchemy was what mattered most.
None of that dimmed his fondness for the boy at his side. Young people who suited him were rare.
The last two had been Newt. And Albus.
At a hundred‑odd years each, they were still "young" to Nicolas.
He would not begrudge Leonardo anything he could teach.
If the boy wanted to learn and could, then whatever he managed to take in would be his own achievement.
…
"Vous pouvez m'arrêter. C'est moi qui l'ai tuée !"
"You can arrest me. I am the one who killed her!"
The line rang through the opera house, and the curtain fell.
Leonardo applauded. For the beauty of the opera itself, and for the performers.
Every line, every gesture, every flicker of expression had been perfect.
What truly took his breath away, though, was the truth behind the performance. The black vortices faded from his eyes.
None of the figures on stage had been alive. They were puppets.
Without the Peeking Fiend's Eye, he would never have known.
"Leonardo, what did you think?"
On the plush velvet seat beside him, an ancient witch turned her clouded eyes toward him.
"It was wonderful, Mrs Flamel," Leonardo said. "A sacrifice offered up to freedom. Carmen used death itself to refuse to be tamed in the name of love."
The woman, every bit as frail as Nicolas, was his wife: Perenelle.
On Leonardo's other side, Nicolas looked mildly surprised at how easily the boy could talk about opera. Clearly, he had more than a passing acquaintance with it.
He and Perenelle were both devoted fans of the sort who had followed the art for centuries.
They had been on their way to tour the ship when they had found Perenelle overseeing a rehearsal and had settled in to watch.
"You know your opera?" Nicolas asked.
"Yes, sir," Leonardo replied. "I have had proper teachers at home. I have studied performance as well."
Nicolas nodded, liking him more with every answer.
Perenelle's eyes lit up.
"Oh, so you can act too?" she said. "Would you like to rehearse something with us? If you are interested, of course."
"Acting alongside alchemical puppets?" Leonardo said. "I would love the chance."
He had named the performers for what they were, which clearly surprised Perenelle. She turned to her husband.
"Another talented, amusing young man," she said. "Like Newt and Albus were, back then."
"Yes," Nicolas agreed. "I will show him the rest. You should rest a while, my dear."
Leonardo followed him through the remaining sections.
The ship had everything.
Beyond the necessary living quarters and workspaces, there was a full opera house, a cinema, a farm, a factory floor…
Every task was handled by alchemical constructs.
Puppets were terribly convenient. Once made, they needed only magic to run and never asked for wages.
If he could learn to make them, Leonardo thought, setting them to help manage his case‑world would make everything much easier.
"You must be tired after all that," Nicolas said at last. "Kewby will show you to your room."
A house‑elf popped into existence at his side the moment he spoke.
The house-elf—Kewby—bowed to Nicolas and Leonardo.
Leonardo's eyes went wide, though not because of Kewby's face.
House‑elves were always small and wiry, with bat‑like ears, bulging eyes, and long, flat noses.
Kewby fit the pattern perfectly—except for his clothes.
Instead of a filthy pillowcase or a ragged sack, he wore a neat little suit.
Had Nicolas given a house‑elf proper clothing? That should have freed him long ago.
Leonardo held the question back and let Kewby lead him to a guest room.
"If you need anything, sir, just call Kewby," the elf said with another bow. "Kewby will come at once."
"Thank you," Leonardo said.
At the word, Kewby flapped his hands.
"You must not be so polite, sir," he said. "This is what Kewby should do. Kewby will do everything he can for the master's guest."
He paused, then added happily, "Master's guests are always good people. You are. And there have been many others. Oh, one of them carried a case just like yours."
Leonardo glanced at his suitcase. That had to have been Newt.
Kewby still did not feel like any house‑elf Leonardo had met. Clothes aside, his bearing and tone radiated respect without a trace of cringing fear. He even seemed… chatty.
"Ah, kind guest, may Kewby ask a question?"
Leonardo nodded.
"Does this suit look all right?"
The question was odd, but he answered it anyway.
"It looks very good," he said. "It fits, and it is quite smart."
Kewby sagged with relief.
"Thank you," he said. "Kewby chose this one himself today."
Could he choose his own clothes? That implied he had more than one set. In other words, he had been given clothes many times.
Leonardo could not help asking.
Kewby drew himself proudly up.
"Six hundred years ago, my great‑grandfather started serving master," he said. "My grandfather did too. My father was given clothes and set free, but…"
Six hundred years.
House‑elves lived about two centuries. Four generations of service. Nicolas really was unique.
"My father went out," Kewby went on, "and found there were many bad people who wanted to catch and enslave him. So he came back to Master.
"Master was kind. He gave him shelter. He even paid him.
"Kewby has wages too. Every month. Kewby can buy many new clothes!"
He dug into his pocket and brought out a Galleon, cradling it in both hands like treasure.
Leonardo could only stare. A free house-elf. A paid one.
Nicolas was not just a genius. He was a good man.
He freed his elves, sheltered them anyway, and even paid them. A once‑in‑a‑lifetime employer.
House‑elves were unparalleled at keeping house. Their magic was subtle but strong, and their domestic charms were works of art.
If he could ever find one willing to work with him, to help look after the case world and its creatures…
But free elves were scarce. Ones like Kewby, more so.
And from the look in Kewby's eyes, he had no desire to leave Nicolas' side, no matter what anyone offered.
Leonardo let the thought go.
Better to focus on the alchemical puppets.
The craft would certainly be difficult.
But with the Emerald Tablet Fragment reshaping his gifts in alchemy…