Recently, I was invited to contribute a short story to the show, "Bite Size Tales." You can listen to it here, or, if you prefer, you can read it here. The full text follows. I hope you enjoy it :)
The
Apothecary's Tale
The
sign out front read Bitterpatch Remedy Shoppe in thinly scripted
white letters. In the small township of Domor, this was the place to
go when one needed a healing salve to sooth aching bones, or a poison
to take care of a troublesome fox.
Cylmer
Rotson, the apothecary, had run the business all his life. He
knew the name of every mushroom, weed and root that crowded the
shelves. Even though he was now in his sixties and what was
left of his hair had long ago turned grey, he still managed the place
on his own. Furthermore, he enlisted no aid in procuring and
preparing the many ingredients and reagents that he kept in stock.
One
day, Cylmer was in the back room grinding a piece of Orris
root into a paste when he heard the familiar jingle of the front
door's bell. He set down his mortar and pestle and got
up. As he had not had a customer in several days, he smiled as
he walked through the door and into the main room. But the
smile drooped somewhat when he saw the person who had come in.
The
man was unknown to him, and Cylmer didn't like the way his eyes
scanned the shop. He wore a cheap leather jerkin over a
dirty shirt and had a sword belted at his hip.
"You
the owner, then? You the one what makes the potions and ee-lick-sers,
hey?" said the man, moving through the rows of tightly
packed inventory.
"I
am he, if you please," replied Cylmer. "And
do have a care not to knock over anything my good man. Tell me, what
is your business today?"
The
customer replied in a grunt, "Rats. I got rats in me
barn."
By
now the stranger was at his counter.
"I
need your strongest poison."
Cylmer
looked up into the other's face. "I see."
He slid open a nearby drawer. In it were two packets, one
the size of a slice of bread; the other was as small as a thimble.
The
man's eyes took it all in as he fished a bag of coins from his
pocket. "How much?"
"Ten," said
Cylmer.
"That's
dear," grumbled the other, but he counted out ten
copper pennies and stacked them on the counter top nonetheless.
Cylmer
took the money and then withdrew the larger packet from the drawer.
From it, he portioned out a single dose of deadly poison.
"Good
luck with your rats," said Cylmer as the man pocketed his
purchase and turned to go.
"Hmpf,"
huffed the other, and then he left.
Cylmer
Rotson hoped he would not see the man again, but, just a few days
later, he did.
(jingle
jingle)
This
time Cylmer was concentrating on distilling the essence from a
quantity of fermented calendula petals. It was a time-consuming
process, but as business was still slow, this was a good time to be
doing it.
The
arrival of a customer was a welcome interruption until Cylmer saw who
it was: the same rough-looking person who had so recently purchased
poison from him. The apothecary gathered his courage.
"My
poisons are effective, I offer no refunds," he said in
anticipation of the coming dispute.
"Oh,
I know they are," was the unexpected reply. "I've
come for more."
"You
have more rats?" asked Cylmer? The
poison he made could wipe out a whole nest of the vermin.
"Not
this time. I need to deal with something bigger.... a wolf."
There
was something false about the man, Cylmer thought. All the
same, he once again slid open his drawer and extracted a quantity of
poison twice as large as before.
"What's
that other one?" asked the man, who had spotted the
smaller packet in the drawer.
"That," Cylmer
replied with a certain unconcealed pride, "is the
poison's remedy."
The
man shrugged, paid 20 copper bits for his purchase, and left the
store.
"First
rats, then a wolf... what an unlucky person," thought
Cylmer after he had gone.
The
man came back four days later.
"The
wolf is dead?" asked Cylmer as the man walked in.
"I'm
here to buy more poison, and the remedy," said the other.
His expression said he would not consider no for an answer, but
Cylmer tried.
"Oh,
no sir... the remedy is very expensive - only to be purchased in an
emergency."
"I'll
have it, and the poison, too. All of it." The man's left
hand rested meaningfully on the hilt of his sword.
"As
I say, it is very expensive. You see, it takes three months to
produce even a little..."
“Three
months, is it?" asked the man, clearly incredulous.
"From one scoundrel to the other, hey? Ha Ha. Well,
I've recently come into some money," A small pouch of coins
was placed on the counter top and dirty fingers opened it to
reveal the flash of gold.
"Ten
crowns for the lot."
Cylmer
blanched. He needed the money but this was clearly intended for an
evil purpose.
"I
suppose you have figured out that I did not have a wolf problem.
Y'see, I am a wolf - and a problem for those who vex
me."
“I
insist that y-you ... l-leave my s-store," stammered
Cylmer. He had begun to shake.
"I'm
buying the lot. And be grateful I don't just take it from you, old
man." Knowing where the drawer was, the man proceeded to
reach behind the counter and open it himself. He took both
packets: poison and remedy.
"There's
good business in murder, but I'll warrant there's even better in
selling a cure to a person who somehow drank poisoned wine, hey?"
Clymer
pressed his lips together. He realized that if he tried to speak, he
might cry.
"Don't
worry, old man, you won't see me again for a while. But I will return
and when I do there had better be more to buy or death will be the
price." And with that, the man left Cylmer alone to
break down in shudders and sobs.
The
man did not return in three months - in fact, he was back in under a
week's time.
This
time the sound of the doorbell was almost lost in the crack of wood
on wood as the door itself was thrown open violently. A brief
cacophony of broken glassware and furniture followed as the man
stumbled as though drunk through the store, upsetting the inventory
that fell onto the floor in his wake.
Cylmer,
who had been in the back, rushed in to see what was the matter.
The
man's face was pale, with veins showing under the skin like pulsing
black spiderwebs.
"Damned
clever merchant...” croaked the man. “Must've switched
our cups..." here he fell into a fit of coughing.
When he spoke again there was blood on his lips. "You
gotta give me more of that remedy..."
Cylmer
thought he had understood what had taken place, but one
thing did not make sense. "But... why not
just use the antidote you took?" he asked.
The
man's eyes were starting to bug out of his head. He gasped in pain,
stumbled and caught himself on the counter. "Used
it all in the first two days... I was gonna - " here
the man clutched at his stomach as another paroxysm of agony
swept through him. "I was gonna offer him a fake remedy
after he told me... told me where he hid his jewels. You gotta make
more for me. I'm dying."
Cylmer
Rotson took in the wretchedness of the individual in front of him. "I
told you: it takes months to make even a single dose," he
said flatly. "You, sir, are already dead."
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