The Arkanist

Chapter Eleven: Root and Flower

            His shop was on Lannen's Court, a small place, its wood sign dancing in the wind, a simple alembic displayed for reference. It held a single oak door, bound in iron, with two small windows, stained black, on either side of the brick façade, and that was it. Next door, stood a tanner, and then a tailor further down. On appearance, and in comparison, it was a shady place, no doubt, occupying very little casual passersby.

            I waked under the threshold as a pair of bells rung dully overhead, announcing my arrival. Inside, the shop was dark and cluttered, difficult to navigate, the air heavy with mold and incense. The counter stood unoccupied, initially, its long stretch of oak piled high with sheaves of scrolls and instruments of the craft. Behind it, there was a great wall of glass vials and wells, each fastened with a cork, containing a different ingredient, or in some instances, fully crafted tonics.

            Then, from some dark corner, the apothecary revealed himself, garbed in a brown robe, tasseled with grey, his eyes dark and brown, his head balding. What little hair remained stuck up in thin grey tendrils.

            "Ah, young master Kaedn," he said as he made his way behind the counter, putting his hands to his chest. "How's the old chap?"

            "Aryl?" I asked, confused. I had never thought of him as old, and the apothecary wasn't entirely young, strictly speaking. When the apothecary didn't say anything, I rattled off a quick: "He's well."

            "But he's needing ingredients, eh?" said the apothecary, raising a brow, waiting for me to nod. I nodded. "Most excellent then! What is it Aryl's been keen on lately? Fresh pulled mandrake, if he's interested, and even some myrth. True, it's a bit early for their kind, but I've got them nonetheless. Good man sold them to me at a fair price, mind you."        

            He held up a finger, a brief recollection sparkling his eyes, and sped off somewhere, returning with a handful of vials in a wood crate. "I almost forgot." He rifled through the contents, picking out various petals and roots."No doubt he'll be needing some good sallow and thyme, too! Merchant from Qur sold them to me not two days back, and these," he said, showing me a red flower, black at its edges. "Rare, these are, called bloodbells. Reckon Aryl's heard of these before. Good if you're brewing anything toxic," he said at last, raising his brows, pursing his lips.

            "He gave me a list," I said, interrupting his show. I didn't meant o be rude, but, as it happens, I needed to be back by fifth bell, and I didn't fancy being locked out, especially in this cold.

            I procured the small page from my pocket and rattled off the names.

            "Seven suns!" cried the apothecary as I spoke, stopping me mid-sentence. He had been nodding, pursing his lips, listening, but something I said must have struck him. "What in the damnable name of Tarten does he want with nostrix?"       

            "I'm not sure," I said with a shrug of my shoulders, recoiling a bit. "He only gave me the list, nothing else. You know him, he likes his secrets."

            The apothecary put a hand through his balding scalp. "Do you know what herb we're talking about here?" He waved his hand almost instantly. "Of course you don't, never you mind, what am I thinking? The boy doesn't know nostrix from common tawny."       

            I bit my lip in anger, careful not to lash out. I did know what tawny was. "Do you have it?" I asked after a deep breath.

            "God's body, boy," said the man, offended. "I don't carry nostrix! What do you think I am? Some vagabond witch come to sell my stores on a tree stump? No, I'm above that. I've always been above that. I don't dabble in those foul practices, I'll have you know! Never have and never will. Aryl should know better."