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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