Dearest and Most Beloved Gerard,

 

By the time you read this, the forces of time and space and irresponsible alchemical meddling will have taken me. I hope this letter finds you comparatively well (i.e. not dead). Any other state of being is entirely up to you, but I need you alive to complete the experiment I will leave unfinished. Someone needs to record the results, Gerard, and you're the only one in this family I trust. Listen closely and heed my words.

 

I want you to break into my coffin and steal my bones.

 

If you work discreetly, you will be able to carry out my final request without suspicion from the family. I will provide a decoy body for the funeral, and that is what will go into my official grave: the one with the tombstone, by your grandmother. My own will be in no condition to be dressed up and wept over. In fact, doing so could interfere with the magicks at work, with disastrous consequences. I also believe that if your uncles or aunts or cousins were to see the state my corpse will be in, there would be a scandal and they would have me cremated before the reaction has a chance to take effect. No, the body they see will look perfectly innocuous—but you will know better.

 

The swapping of the corpses will also give you the advantage of not having to dig up an official grave in an official graveyard. I do not have to imagine the looks you would get from passersby, nor the questions you would be asked by police. I do not recommend spending the night in jail. The beds are not nearly as comfortable as they're made out to be.

 

My real corpse will be buried outside a secret cottage I've purchased, in the forests north of the house your grandmother and I shared. You may recall digging for dinosaur bones in those woods as a boy—a young man after his grandfather's own heart—but this cottage stands far deeper than you ever went, I think. I have drawn on the back of this letter a map which will lead you there. Be sure to embark in the dead of night: It's the safest and most aesthetic way of doing things. 

 

Do not tell anyone where you are going, even your most trusted friends. I would hate for word to get out and for a well-meaning cousin to try and prevent you from completing your task. 

 

I know you understand how important this is, Gerard. It must be done in secret.

 

Once you arrive at the cottage, go to the garden. The coffin—my real coffin—will lie beneath the rows of twilit turnips. Bring a shovel, for you will need to dig: six feet under, as is the custom. The raccoons getting to my rotting flesh would be disastrous, and not just for the raccoons. You will know you have found the right coffin when your shovel hits the shabbiest, most derelict coffin you can possibly imagine. This is for good reason: nobody, in my experience, raids shabby coffins. And you shouldn't either, Gerard, in regular circumstances. They rarely hold treasures worth stealing, and the bodies don't hold up as well because of the rot. However, in this instance, you have my blessing. 

 

The coffin will also have a sigil on it. Dig carefully, so as not to mark upon it. The sigil must be preserved as evidence of my scientific process. The same care should be taken with the sigil on my chest. I would caution you against touching that part at all, as the flesh will likely already be fragile in its state of decay.

 

Enclosed in this package are some sterile sample bags labeled, "bone sack." After carefully cutting me open—avoiding the sigil—and extracting the bones, please place them gently in the bone sack. Do not be alarmed when they do not appear any longer to be made of carbon or calcium—at least, not the carbon or calcium that usually comprises bones. I aim, in my experiment, to turn them into gold, but you know how science goes. If they are still just regular old bones, feel free to curse my grave. I'll welcome it. I went to a lot of trouble—not to mention died—to cause an alchemical reaction and I'll be damned if it doesn't work! 

 

Should my experiment prove successful, it will be a massive breakthrough for the field of alchemy. Once the greater scientific community sees my work, they may even legitimize alchemy as a science again! However, the Royal Society and their ilk are unlikely to accept samples if there is cause to believe they've been tampered with; therefore, careful handling of said samples is key. You should wear gloves, too, just to be safe.

 

Also, upon presenting the bones to the Royal Society—that's where you should start, I think—do not refer to the bone sack as "the bone sack." Please refer to the bone sack as a "sterile sample bag." We must maintain professionalism.

 

Now that you have removed the bones, you can remove the sigils as well—as carefully as you can! I will need you to place them in their own sterile sample bags, labeled as "sigil sacks." 

 

You should definitely wear gloves for this part. 

 

After you finish excavating my body, feel free to take tea in the cottage. I will leave the bed made, the pantry stocked, and the lamps full of oil for you. This way, should you need to rest after the event, you can. However, I advise that you also leave the woods in the dead of night, just as you entered them. If you do not manage to leave the cottage before dawn, you should stay until the next night, so as not to garner any questioning while leaving. I would hate for you to be regarded with scorn or suspicion on my account.

 

The rest of the task should be easy—or, at the very least, familiar to you as a man of the modern world. My notes are located in Grandma's and my old house, the books and sections labeled clearly. I have typewritten reports of experiments leading up to this one. Please include all of these in your presentation to the Royal Society: some of them may seem far-fetched to contemporary eyes, but my studies in the arcane are what have allowed me to get this far, and to exclude them would put future alchemists at risk. In order to once more merge the realms of magic and science, we must have the courage to speak of both in tandem.

 

I do not expect to win the Nobel Prize. To be believed is even a stretch. However, if I do, I would like you to accept it in my place, as I will be too dead to receive a medal. You may keep all of the money awarded with the prize—you have earned it. You may also add your name to my bone experiment, if you wish, as your role is essential to its fulfillment and presentation. I want you to receive my accolades. All of them. After all, you listened to me when no one else did, and your role in my work is at least as important as mine.

 

If any part of this plan goes wrong—if my bones do not turn, if the family finds me before you do, if the Royal Society or the greater scientific community does not believe you—all I ask is that you preserve and continue my work. I leave you all of my research and the house that contains it. Keep the art of alchemy alive.

 

Thank you for standing by me, Gerard. I count myself incredibly lucky to have had you as a grandson, and I love you more than you can ever know.

 

        Love,

        Grandpa Frederick