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to use. If you want gold, I’m duty bound to give it to you, in unlimited quantities. So, I repeat. Why?”
    I shrugged. “To see if I could, I guess.”
    “Not good enough.”
    I laughed. “I forgot,” I said, “you’ve got this bee in your bonnet about alchemy.”
    “You could put it that way.”
    “Though I really don’t see why. I mean, what harm does it do anyone?”
    “You know perfectly—”
    “I admit,” I said, “a grossly expanded gold supply could lead to inflation and devaluation of currencies, which might trigger an economic crisis. Though if you took the trouble to read my
Wealth of Nations,
you’d discover that an ample money supply can also fuel economic growth, particularly in circumstances of restricted credit. That’s not what’s upsetting you, is it?”
    “I did read it,” he said. “It’s very good.”
    “You’re afraid I’m going to stuff you in a bottle and kill you.”
    He looked at me. “You wouldn’t do that.”
    “No, of course not. I value you too much. You’re my friend.”
    A look of panic swept across his face. “No, I—”
    “Yes,” I said firmly. “You are. Yes, I know that the day will come when the bond will fall due and you’ll lead me off to eternal torment. I accept that. All friends betray you, in the end. But until that day comes—” I shrugged. “We’re friends. I wouldn’t hurt you.”
    He sat down on an upturned barrel. Luckily he didn’t weigh anything. “I’m not handling this very well,” he said.
    “Nobody’s perfect.”
    That made him laugh. “I’m finding this assignment difficult,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be. You’re doing your best.” I poured a glass of wine. He could smell it, at any rate. “I understand,” I said. “You’re a fundamentally decent person who happens to work for an employer whose values you don’t always share. You aren’t the first and I don’t suppose you’ll be the last. Don’t have a crisis of conscience about it.”
    He lifted his head and looked at me. “Right now,” he said, “I work for you.”
    “That’s what I said,” I reply. “You don’t hold with alchemy, but never mind. If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s mine. I accept full responsibility.”
    “You can’t—”
    I waited to learn what I couldn’t do, but he’d shut up like a clam. I didn’t press the issue. “Who knows,” I said, “I might turn this whole country to gold. Isn’t there a legend about that?”
    He shuddered. “Please don’t.”
    “Are you asking me as a friend?”
    * * *
    Alchemy indeed; to turn one thing into another—its opposite, its antithesis. Rock to gold, base to noble, enemy to friend. Indeed, it is unnatural, and I can see why it worried him so much. A reevaluation of all values; that’s a quotation, isn’t it? Oh yes. From me. Well.
    To turn good into evil, right into wrong; and vice versa, of course. I was beginning to wish I’d stuck at alchemy when I was younger. Except back then I was fooling people, a fraud, a con man. At least I think I was. But then, I never did discover how that experiment came out.
    Evil into good—take a demon, trap him in a flask, boil him up, and turn him into an angel. You can see why they’d be worried about that. Very worried indeed.
    The barrel he’d sat on contained a new invention of mine, of which I was quite proud. I named it aqua tollens—to myself; naturally I couldn’t tell anyone about it. For the record, it’s a subtle blend of strong acids—vitriol and nitre—and sugar (no, it isn’t; but I’m damned, excuse the expression, if I’m going to tell you what’s in it or how to make it; I don’t know you and I certainly wouldn’t trust you with that stuff). It’s so tricksy you have to mix the ingredients on a block of ice; and if a single drop of it falls a man’s height onto the ground, it blasts a hole about as wide and deep as a good workman can dig in an hour. An invaluable aid, you’ll agree, to the mining