Of the twelve alchemists who received the Proclamation of the King, I, Nemesio de Mena, am the only one left. Doubling my efforts in my experimentation of the elixir of life, I work day and night for success. Once I accomplish the first task, the King will insist I complete the second as well. Diligently I work from my copious notes. Some nights, the candlelight plays tricks with my eyes. I see my old friend, Jago, in his comfortable chair. There is Alfonso leaning in the doorway and Gaspar and Guido in secret conversation in the corner. They were contemporaries; they are all gone. Still, I work on into the night.

Mother is dead. My mistake. I thought I had discovered the solution. The rat was alive, so were the cat and dog. Poor old mother; she was old, frail and most of the time wandering in her mind. If the elixir of life had worked on the rat, the cat and the dog, it should have worked on mother. Yet she breathed her last several hours after she drank the potion. By the time I returned to the basement, the cat and the rat were also dead; the dog in the last throes of life. Not only am I a failure at alchemy, I am a murderer.

Quickly, I must work quickly! All my papers have been consigned to the brazier. My laboratory is in ruins. Taking a club, I had smashed every contraption until there was nothing left but mangled metals and bits of glass. Lastly I tip over the brazier. The flames will consume the cottage as quickly as the auto de fe consumes the men and women condemned to a fiery death. With one last look, I slip through the hidden door behind the high cabinet and melt into the darkness of the alley. My long black hooded cloak swirls out behind me as I turn the corner and disappear into the night. The last sounds I hear are the approaching footsteps on the cobblestones. The burning cottage should keep them busy for quite some time.