There was a distinct sound, a soft melody drifted through the maze of rooms underneath the manor from the long-case clock at the foot of the stairs, foretelling the passing of another hour of the night, or day, whichever was present at the time. It was difficult to discern the time of day by the rays of the sun, since the few that do managed to make their way through the rooms and halls of the Ianus Congreatio Manor are paled by the electric light and lit candles scattered around the underground caverns. A series of inter-connected rooms constituted the basement of the manor, which were for the most part all meant for storage: mystic artifacts, ancient tomes of knowledge and bags of onions occupied the first few rooms, after which it gave way to the sprawl of libraries, laboratories and workshops made for the odd occupants of the manor. 

It was one in one of those Laboratories, whose entire corner was transformed into a hastily built library compiled of certain books of interest pilfered from the entire underground, that Ben heard the clock's distinct song and forced himself to immediately stop his scribbling and look down at his own golden pocket-watch. He noted the time, which was four in the morning, and carried onward with his intense scribbling. It was yet another cryptic text of Alchemical natural, a quite fascinating and utterly maddening retelling of a story involving dragons and their journey to share an egg between the three of them. The text was copied from an earlier entry supposedly written by a Persian scholar, a source Ben found hard to identify and for good reason - the art was of ill-repute and at the same time highly prized, which forced masters to mask the knowledge they intended to pass down the ages. However, this was not such a case of hidden wisdom - the document was a clear forgery, a fact Ben came to accept when he noticed a mention of leprechauns in the myth. He tossed the book at the top of the pile at the entrance to the room, which was beginning to stack alarmingly high. He admitted many books of Alchemy were rubbish, pure fiction and lazy attempts at deceiving wealthy socialites pretending to be wizards, but he did not expect to find so many under the manor.

A short chirping of the clock alerted Ben that fifteen more minutes had passed since the last, and reminded him of the experiment he was currently overseeing. In an effort to distill an ounce of gold, a combination of mercury, sulfur and nitrate, wrought together in a complex series of events, was slowly simmering in a tall glass flask. Ben examined the flask, writing down his own observations and scribbling underneath the very possibility of the experiment - failure. There were better ways of making gold - chiefly of which Ben had already mastered and used to their utmost effectiveness - but there was no better way of testing the credibility of an author in the art of Alchemy. Besides the gold, Ben made his own experimentation with materials, some of which delved into his other, less respectable, occupation.

The long clock sang a long tune once again and Ben abruptly turned away from his work and left the laboratory. He dragged his feet across the stone floor and stopped at a collection of personal items arranged on a wooden crate in meticulous order. Ben began unfolding some of them, winding open his Tefilim, unwrapping of Talit, and recalling the prayers from the back of his mind. He had memorized them all since he was a youth, many hours well spent on the love of god and himself. He prayed for the first prayer of that day, the appearance of the sky and a brand new day. He did that for an hour, reciting the words of power one by one with pride and faith in his heart.

*

There was no gold, which proved to be a disappointment for Ben. He had hoped Fadur al-Abd would be an example to draw from in his studies of the forbidden art, but in the end his methods of producing gold were ineffective. There was still some hope, for some material in his work was salvageable, but most of it was rubbish - more symbolism copied from elsewhere, the true origins yet remain unknown. He separated the relevant notes from the general rubbish of the Egyptian scholar and threw the academic garbage on top of the pile of the already tall pile of fakes and forgeries. It was then that he noticed a man standing at the entrance, waiting to be acknowledged. It was Adam's personal servant, a large fellow by the name of Ren.

"Pardon the mess", Ben immediately called out the pile of rubbish into question, "but I was just setting in. What is it?". 

"Sir, the master of the house wishes you to join him upstairs for breakfast", the butler announced plainly. 

"I could do with a strong cup of Sumatran Coffee", Ben's tired expression lightened up. He straightened his back and glanced at his work, making sure none of it would burn the whole room before leaving. 

Ben strode through the corridors and rooms underground until he went up the stairway, through yet another maze of rooms and hallways and met his host at the dining hall, a place he seldom visited. It was a great temptation and irritation for Ben, a room filled with hungry gentlemen eating food he could never touch. 

"Greetings to you, my dear host. I came at the end of my prayers. What is on your mind?".