Drakenfeld

The Apothecary

Early in the evening I decided to take a bath, and felt all the better for doing so.

A small, private bathroom was such a privilege. The floor possessed a lovely pattern of bold red and blue mosaics, and there was a metal-lined base to the bathtub itself, under which hot coals were placed to warm up the water – though one had to be careful the coals were not too hot, else they might burn.

There were many public baths scattered throughout Vispasia, of course, but they were very social places, where senators, councillors, traders, soldiers and bureaucrats would hatch their plans. This comfort was such a contrast to life on the other side of Vispasia. It was easy to see how wealth might easily spoil someone.

Bellona, Polla bless her, had already heated a few coals and placed lanterns around the room creating a mellow and relaxing atmosphere. In this quiet solitude I could gather my thoughts – and there was no shortage of things to be thinking about.

Lacanta’s death echoed through my mind. Her seemingly impossible murder and the still-burning incense – was that possibly some kind of offering to Trymus? The locked door niggled me incessantly. Then there was the room that suggested she was, at heart, rather a quiet person, and not the scandalous figure portrayed in public. Were her affairs all some kind of act? A way to work her political charms in order to steer Licintius’ policies through the Senate?

The king, too, seemed to be more of a mystery than he first appeared. There was potentially the air of a love affair surrounding his relationship with the deceased Drullus. I still couldn’t work out why someone wanted to hunt down and kill Drullus. Perhaps he had seen something that night, or even been the killer. Was it an act of passion – jealousy driving him to kill the one person closer to Licintius than he? It felt like a long shot. Finally there was that leaf from the poisonous plant henbane, which seemed so out of place in Drullus’ hideout.

On top of all this loomed my father’s mysterious debts. It seemed so out of character for him. What was he doing that required him to borrow so much in the first place? He managed to keep Bellona on staff despite this, though it was well known in our family that he couldn’t cook for himself. I called for Bellona, who briefly made an appearance at the door, though wouldn’t come into the room.

‘Was there anyone else who worked here?’

Her reply came as a whisper, ‘Another cleaner, but your father had to let him go.’

‘Could he not afford him?’

‘He would not say. Please, I must attend to dinner.’

‘Thank you,’ I replied, listening to the soft sound of her slippers across the tiles.

So the sad truth was that I had never really known him well enough to be a decent judge of his true character. Just as the rest of the world had seen him, all I witnessed was the urbane investigator, more concerned about closing a case than spending time with his family. Perhaps if I’d visited more, if I’d written to him more often…

So many ‘ifs’.

I would have the rest of my life to worry about being a more considerate son, but for now I slipped down the bathtub and buried my face under the warm water, hoping it would wash away my concerns – if just for a moment.

Leana later asked if she could use the bath after me, refusing my offer that she could use fresh water, with an admonishment about the waste ‘so typical of this godforsaken, sinful city’. There were times I wish she wasn’t quite as adept with my language – or as colourful – as she is.

While she was bathing I informed her of my plans to go out into the city to pick up a few supplies. She didn’t question me, thankfully, and agreed to my request that she saw the bribe was paid to Yadrix Velor. I left the necessary money in a purse on her bed. In the corner of the room stood her wooden Atrewen idol, a representative of the spirit master Gudan – he was not a god exactly, since there were no definite gods in Atrewen culture. Gudan was a legendary figure to Leana, a man who could converse with the spirits, and someone on whom her spirituality could be focused. It prompted me to take a moment to pray to my goddess.

Finding the shrine that Bellona had moved into the hall, and bowing before the statue of Polla, I requested her aid in cleansing my mind and strengthening my powers of logic and intuition. Polla was a gentle goddess, her human form one of exquisite beauty and modesty – unlike many of the other gods and goddesses in existence. With the subtle, knowledgeable tilt of her head, and the Book of Wisdom open in her hands, the statue was deeply inspiring. Lighting some incense in a small burner and waving the smoke over my face, I lost myself in the ritual, letting her cool logic and calm presence fill me.

A few moments later, wearing a green cotton shirt and a decent pair of black trousers, I threw my cloak around me and headed out into the night with a spring in my step.

Walking out of my gates with a pocketful of coin, the city seemed pleasantly cooler after the rain. Where to tonight? The niggling sensation of the seizure last night had remained at the back of my mind all through the day, and though I had prayed to Polla, I did wonder if a more earthly solution was possible.

Leana had mentioned there was an apothecary nearby.

It wouldn’t hurt to take a look.

The apothecary seemed to be one of those shops that never quite looked either open or closed. And it was on one of those streets that meant a lot of people had to be asked before I was directed to the right place. But sure enough, under a sign with long-faded gold lettering, stood the apothecary. I was glad of its concealed location.

This street was just about wide enough to get a horse through; it wound tightly down a gentle slope, with two-storey structures on either side. Several cats sashayed back and forth before me, pausing to nose the air as if my presence had somehow ruined the ambience.

I knocked on the apothecary’s door, making certain my face remained in the shadows. All around were the sounds of the city moving into its evening alter ego, while on the next street along was yet another cart grinding its wheels against a wall or pavement, and at least three local residents cursing at the driver.

The door opened and a woman in her forties, wearing a smart grey gown, stood there. ‘Oh, I’m afraid I’m just about to finish for the night, sir.’

‘Perhaps I should come back some other time then. I don’t wish to impose.’ My voice felt uncomfortably frail and I turned away quickly.

‘No, please, come in,’ she said rather jovially, placing a hand gently on the side of my arm. She looked me in the eye and had such a determined look about her. ‘It’s been a quiet day and I could do with the trade. Besides, you actually seem as though you are avoiding me, which I find curious. Please, put yourself at ease.’

Laughing awkwardly, I followed her inside and closed the door behind me.

The smell was incredible: a whole array of herbs, spices and oils blending together, some on a small stove, others sitting in open jars. In the light of a couple of paper lanterns, I was able to take a better look at the woman. She was maybe a bit younger than I first thought, her hair a pale blonde rather than grey – the kind of colouring found in people from the far north. Her eyes were an intense shade of green, and set in a narrow face. Her gown covered a grey woollen tunic that was splattered in stains, much like that of an artist. She also seemed to have a surprisingly good posture, and not that of someone who had spent years hunching over a table.

Thick wooden shelves held up ledgers, one of which was open on a desk, next to a candle. From my quick glance, I noted long lists of complex plant names with observations alongside them, much like those of a physician. This was promising: there seemed to be the satisfying air of logic about her profession.

‘So how can I be of help?’ she asked. ‘It is not often I have a gentleman of such lofty upbringing visiting me.’ Her voice was soothing. I could have listened to her talking all night long.

‘Is it my accent?’ I wondered if I sounded out of touch with people who lived even a few streets down from my own.

She gave a gentle laugh and walked behind her work desk, on which stood glass jars and wooden trays with little dividers. ‘Your boots, actually. I’ve not seen boots that well made for a long time.’ Her gaze moved up and down my body, keenly assessing me.

‘I’m here because I need something to calm the mind.’

‘Could you be more specific?’ she asked. ‘Is it a headache?’

‘No.’ I watched her grind some seeds or herbs with a pestle and mortar.

‘It’s OK, it really is,’ she said. ‘I don’t know who you are; you don’t have to tell me either. I won’t even tell you my name, if anonymity is important. But I can’t help you unless you tell me the specific symptoms. I’m not some countryside witch. There’s a considered process to my methods. Now, are you having strange thoughts or dreams?’

‘No more than anyone else,’ I replied.

‘Well, we can rule out trying a mage to read them for diagnosis then. Tell me more.’

‘It’s my father. He suffers from seizures. I’m concerned I might have inherited such things, though I’ve shown no signs of it. I’m worried that I too might be cursed by the gods.’

‘Who is your god?’

‘Goddess,’ I replied. ‘Polla.’

She nodded. ‘The lady of knowledge – I’ve read her texts and can see why your mind matters to you. But tell me about your father’s symptoms.’

We probably both realized this was a charade, but I revealed what I could under the guise of my father: that the seizures occurred, sometimes in sleep; that they came and went with no reason nor rhyme; that he could remember nothing about them at the time; and that the experience was certainly not one conducive to visions. I added that he was used to them – that they were part of his life now, and he accepted them and the headaches that sometimes came with them, but he would certainly appreciate them to strike less often so that he could get on with his life.

When I finished the description of the affliction, the apothecary stopped what she was doing and nodded. ‘I’ve heard of such seizures before. Sometimes they come after an injury to the head, sometimes they come after a great illness. I’m afraid I have nothing that can stop them for ever. However, I have heard of some remedies that can – for some people – lower the risk of these seizures occurring, so that may be of help to your father as well as yourself, if you are worried such things are hereditary.’

I nodded and leaned on the edge of the table. ‘You’re certain they’ll work?’

‘Some people of this city will claim opening up a rabbit’s entrails will help you understand the world better. Some people think they can divine things from the skies. Who am I to argue if they believe it to be helpful to them? All I know is that I have made years of studies – as did my mother, and as did her mother. I keep honest notes of what I do. As a man of Polla, I’m sure you appreciate such methodology.’

I let out a gentle sigh. ‘I’ll take whatever I can.’

She moved to her shelves and began looking for certain jars, picking them up one by one. She laid them out on her workbench and began transferring the contents into a tiny wooden box.

‘How much do I owe you?’ I asked.

‘Ten pecullas,’ she replied and, after seeing my reaction, added, ‘prices are going up each year due to demand for herbs. It’s the same all across the country.’

Funny how we only appreciated the true cost of items when we could barely afford them. I reached into my pocket, counted the coins out and handed them over. She passed me the small box. ‘Make a tisane from these – just three pinches in each cup. Drink it as often as you can.’

‘What’s in here?’

‘Mainly gingko biloba, which is a known aid for matters of the mind, but I have put in three or four exotic species in addition. I would like it if you could let me know if your father improves at all.’

This felt like an illicit transaction, but I nodded, thanked her, and without making eye contact moved towards the door then paused. ‘I don’t suppose you would know what henbane could be used for, do you? All I know is that it’s a poison.’

‘And a deadly one, too!’ She gave a brief laugh, though her expression grew to one of anger. ‘You don’t want to take any of that. Trust me.’

‘No, I’m not going to. I just wondered if there may be other uses for it.’

‘Some claim to use it in making alcoholic brews, but mostly it’s used as a poison.’

‘Do you know the nearest place where the plant grows?’

‘Certainly not near Tryum. I know of suppliers who can fetch some in from further afield, but the nearest grower would be in Maristan at the very least, and that’s a few days’ travel. The poison tends to be created out of the city and imported. You should take care not to acquire any, stranger. Many a good man has died from encounters with that plant.’

Perhaps Drullus was one of them.