Page 53 of The Scent of Intuition
He squeezed his eyes shut.
He’d learned this in India but hadn’t practiced genuine moments of introspection to catalog scent notes since he’d started his apothecary. The array of pre-mixed ointments, salves, and tinctures had dulled his senses, and he may not have acknowledged anything nice about the prince, but he’d given him a new challenge, and Alfie cherished that more than the noble cause for which he was making the serum.
Alfie inhaled deeply and observed the scents in his apothecary. Crisp burns from the alcohol he used for dilutions, a faint powdery rose from the stand with women’s rouge in the far left corner of the room, mint and chamomile mixed with some dust from the dry tea on the scale. He inhaled again.
His polished counter’s dry, woodsy scent hung low, but he could notice it now. A clean, soapy smell from his apron and the cocoa bean oil he’d rubbed on his hands and hair after the morning shave. All those scents were noise.
Now, he swirled the concentrated truth serum and inhaled deeply, stopping just the moment before his chest stretched uncomfortably. From the initial impression to the lingering after-notes, he needed to figure out the highest notes first.
Invigorating, pungent, and slightly bracing.Lemon.
Something sharp but clean.Ginger.
As the fragrance notes began to register, an image started to form in his mind. Lemon and ginger could be associated with a strong winter tea, but that was not right.
They had been mixed with other fruits in India for curries.
He inhaled again, and images of mountains… no… forests—in high altitudes came to mind. Crisp and cool water flowed inthe late afternoon when the air heated with sunlight, but the trickling of a tiny creek preserved the dewy freshness of morning mist.
Alfie exhaled and then inhaled again.Mint.
Not just peppermint, but several kinds.
Even citronella could link the minty notes to the lemon.
Yes.
Then, there was a sharpness so intense in the middle notes that the high and fleeting ginger almost paled.
Spicy and woody…rosemary.
Alfie swallowed hard. There had to be more in the bouquet of scents, and he brought the beaker closer, keeping his eyes carefully shut.
Something earthy was needed but not leafy. Aromatic herbs, perhaps.
The depth of the lingering notes was the most important one. Once the alcohol’s burn was gone, he had to ensure that the aftertaste invited the sharing of secrets, invoking a feeling of being huddled on a soft carpet near a blazing fire while it was cold outside.
He had figured out what was there and how he could heighten the notes to draw attention to the scents inherent in the concoction rather than mask it. Felix had been right; he had to build on what was there and lean in the direction he’d been given. Only a master of his craft could manipulate the most bitter mixtures and create something so delightful that the recipient would request more.
Every novice knew that a medicine had a more significant effect on a receptive patient—even if the medicine was an involuntarily administered truth serum.
Alfie blinked his eyes open, and the sounds of the bustling Marylebone streets outside, the bright afternoon sun shiningthrough the window, and the chaos of flasks on his counter anchored him back in the present.
Then he got to work.
First, he tempered the bitterness with rich and robust molasses, dark but sweet like the secrets he hoped to draw out of Baron von List. Those were best complemented by a woody, slightly bitter undertone from the roots and barks, such as gentian or angelica root, lest a seed like anise create a cordial rather than a strong digestive liquor as the one he was creating. It had to be masculine and sharp, yet not overpowering so that the person drinking it could feel strong and cocky, so much so that he’d be reckless enough to tout truths and give away secrets rather than guard his clandestine motives.
Confidence.
Relaxation.
Power.
That’s what this drink had to imbue in the recipient.
Alfie added a hint of oak-ripened whiskey for the honesty from the cask aging process, which brought to mind layers of vanilla and a touch of smokiness, but didn’t quite offer either.
He swirled the mixture around, and the bitter undertones were minimal.
