10143 Gold -
|Posted: Mon May 10, 2010 1:01 am Post subject: PORT ROYAL (10A)Let's Make Some Gold
|Good it is to feel myself again and my elaboratory is all ready! If I explain the disassembly of matter , that would be telling. So it wouldn't be a secret anymore, would it ? But here are the steps, and you must promise to be mum.
CONJUNCTION-The joining of opposites,
IMBIBITION- Gradual and continuous addition of a substance
REVIVIFICATION- Reactivating mortified matter,
RESOLUTION- Violent separation of elements
DECOCTION- The digestion of a substance in the flask without the addition of any other material
DISINTEGRATION- Breaking down into components
DIGESTION- Modifying a substance with gentle heat
MORTIFICATION- Destroying the power of, then reviving a substance
LIXIVIATION- Exposing to air and water to form vitriol
DIVISION- Separating elements
FOLIATION- Making layers
FULMINATION-Making sudden eruptive events
INCINERATION- Conversion to ashes by fire
ABLATION- Separating substances by skimming
PROJECTION-The throwing of a ferment or tincture on a substance to effect the transformation of the substance
COAGULATION- Converting a thin liquid into a solid (a process invented by and named by me)
Get it? Don't tell! Stand next to Sleeping Dog. Let's make some GOLD!
We begin with the mercury, heating it slowly, watch it turn to a powder. I add a crucible of phlogiston (strangely similar to gun powder but different proportions with added distillations. In goes the acid and again slow heat using the bain-marie. We combine with the mercury and evaporate. Slow drips the retort into the catch bowl. Tis a yellow liquid that issues. This to the spiral distiller. It is over sized but no matter, it does the task faster. A liquid emerges, darker yellow, golden yellow. I've done it! I'm sure! A new elaboratory, larger, much larger must be established. There's a light tapping at the door.
Tis Roxanne. "II want to explain why I won't go..."
I turn rapidly, too rapidly, for my somewhat oversized britches. She smiles as I hoicks 'em up, but me elbow jars a retort and it crashes into other glassware on the table. Sleeping Dog lurches to stabilize the rattling glasswerk. His pipe falls and its contents ignite the fluids on the floor WOOSH and the floor flames The table starts smoking and ignites. It starts bucking like something alive. All the furnishings twist about sympathetically. Jars jump from the shelves and come crashing to the floor. All my ingredients combine. The puddles on the floor fuel flames. The flaming patches spread. They march to where my gun powder is stored. I grab my chest of books and scamper out following Sleeping Dog and Roxanne.
Its not better outside. My elaboratory seems to be the epicenter of waves, of tremors. We run People come, horses and dogs, chickens, pigs all running. My elaboratoty exploded. Acrid fumes spew from it. The running crowd wails. All the drainpipes, moorings torn, have cast away, likewise shingles from the roofs. These tiles bomb the fleeing mass. They crash against the cobbles and shatter. Bodies fall when hit. Another explosion from my warehouse. The ground is shaking but its also sinking; a definite lowering of the ground. Scummy wharf-water puddles in, now up to our ankles. We are all splashing now, splashing our way up hill while roof tiles drop like mortar fire. I turn my head, buildings are collapsing behind us. People are crushed down into the water. Its up to our knees. The crowds pace has slowed, water up to their bellies, children held high. The land continues to sink, houses sucked into the water, collapse. OOPS, my feet no longer touch bottom, I thrash about to keep my head up...I see a foaming wall of water, a wave sixty feet high, rise up. It carries three schooners on its' crest, and with a musical crash the water slams into the heart of the city. I grip my floating book chest tight. The crowd is so much human flotsam, currents swirl , building parts, the living and drowned united by doom, swirl. I surrender to the force of nature. I was tugged along by my book chest till it bumped onto terra firma.
In one hand I gripped my book chest, in the other an arm, the arm of Sleeping Dog. Roxanne was not near, she was gone. Had she survived? It came to me that she had wanted to say goodbye. From the muck I rescued Princess Marigold, golden Princess Marigold.
I deny the rumor that I am responsible for the destruction of Port Royal. 'Twas an earthquake, a natural disaster or caused by God to punish the wicked.