The Apothecary’s home, a small structure just outside Greynook’s perimeter, had four square mud walls and a thatched roof. Rough, hard-packed dirt steps led down to the floor, which was itself below ground, so that the house’s one room stayed cold year-round. The apothecary Sojele, was an emaciated, clean-shaven Masket man with deep lines covering his old, well-tanned skin. He was sleeping shirtless on a reed mat laid against the room’s far wall. Nobody had ever found Sojele awake in his home, but he always woke promptly, without surprise or concern, when people visited.

  There were only two pieces of furniture in Sojele’s hut. Arlet sat on one, a small tree stump on the floor which had been sawed and sanded flat to serve as a stool. The second was an ornate desk, carved from some dark, glistening wood and inlaid with polished bits of seashell, which was built low enough for somebody sitting on the floor. It was mostly bare, save for a few trinkets Arlet recognized as blessed crystal-buttons, mostly quartz pieces, which held some significance to Masket soldiers, though he couldn’t quite remember why. Sojele, placid as ever, raised himself into a crossed-legged position at his desk, dark eyes ghosting over each of his buttons before he looked up at Arlet.

  “Ah, the troubled Fellen thunder-dog darkens my door. Tell me, magiker, what burdens you? What is in your mind?”

  Arlet narrowed his eyes. “Did you mean to ask, what is on my mind?”

  The bony man tsked. “Ah, silly Fellen prepositions, forgive this old medicine peddler and his feeble mind.” He procured a thin bundle of herbs from somewhere and lit the end with a rock and a piece of flint. When the fire took, he blew it out and waved the smoke in Arlet’s direction.

  To Arlet’s surprise, the headache that had been building since he’d seen Kothkemi slackened, and he felt his neck and shoulders relax. Before he could ask what had just happened, Sojele spoke again. “So, why are you here?”

  Arlet smiled. “I came to ask after a customer, you might have seen her some time this afternoon. Short, pretty, a little flustered.”

  Sojele chuckled. “You just missed her. Perfectly equanimous, when she did her business here. Short-lived is the apothecary loose with his customer’s secrets but... I suspect she’ll be back soon enough. You can wait, if you like.”

  Arlet pulled a flask out of his outer robe’s pocket and gently shook it next to his ear. Satisfied, he took a small sip.

  “I think I have time for that.”

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  Outside Sojele’s hut, a woman in a stiff leather coat laid flat under a huge fern, her face obscured by foliage. She laid unmindful of grubs and insects that squirmed and crawled beneath and over her, perfectly still save for the idle stroking of a hatchet at her waist. The axe was one of a pair, identical, made from gleaming obsidian set in bone-white handles. Those handles vibrated faintly as she stared, eyes narrowed, at the hut. No emotion showed on her face, but the pulsing of the axes, to her, seemed apprehensive, excited, insistent.

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  Back in the hut, Arlet and Sojele sat against a wall, one sipping something harsh from a metal flask, the other smoking a long clay pipe.

  “You know, magiker, you were followed here.”

  Arlet’s eyebrows shot up. “I did not know!” He frowned. “How did you?”

  Sojele tapped the side of his nose. “A keen sense of smell and a couple of, hm…” he dragged out the last words ”...trade secrets.” Arlet withdrew a small, silver-colored bead from one of his pockets, and dropped it into his flask. He paced in the small room, and began tracing various symbols on the flask with his finger.

  With a note of anxiety in his voice, he said “Well! What else can you smell?”

  The old man drew a deep breath. “A woman, unfamiliar to me, hiding in the greenery. She’s wearing leather. That is all.”

  “Do you think she’s from out of town?”

  Sojele shrugged. “I have not noticed her before, but… I do not engage much with these locals. She arrived only a minute or so after you. She wasted no time deliberating, merely walked here and planted herself in a…”

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  Sojele trailed off, and his eyes widened, and he exclaimed, “What in the sun-baked hells of empty sea are you making!”

  Arlet’s pacing had become feverish, as he insistently scratched symbols into the side of the flask with a thumbnail, pausing only to shake it next to his ear, listening for something. He ignored the question. “Do you have another way out of this hut?”

  The old man gestured exasperatedly towards the smooth clay of his one-room home. “What do you think? Now put that accursed-smelling thing away and compose yourself. We have another guest coming, and I think you know her.”

  His scowl seemed to center Arlet, somewhat, and he returned the flask to his pocket. He slumped against the wall again, eyes narrowed in thought. Even though he had been warned, he was startled visibly when the curtain that served as Sojele’s door was flung open, and a young pink-faced woman, reddish brown hair a mess around her, stormed in, brandishing grey, blotchy hands.

  “You filthy, smoke-addled, wrinkly shit-peddler!”

  Gertrude Adetta stomped single-mindedly towards the apothecary, shaking her grey fingers in his face. She was nearly shouting.

  “Mix the berries, with mortar and pestle, you said! A little mint and water, and crush them up, and I’d have something to soothe my bites! The things burst everywhere! How long will my hands be stained like this?”

  Arlet, who she had somehow failed to notice, interjected.

  “About two weeks, I’d reckon.”

  Adetta’s furious face paled in an instant, as she froze. She surreptitiously brought her hands to her chest, and started to wring them, as though hoping to rub the blotchy stains out. She opened her mouth, failed to make a sound, and then closed it. Arlet crossed his arms over his chest and bent down to the woman’s eye level.

  “So, tell me about these bites of yours.”

  Adetta swallowed. “Well, you said that the greyberries were numbing, and I’ve been getting these nasty mosquito bites-”

  “It’s not really the weather for mosquitos, is it?” Arlet asked. Adetta stammered. “W-well, you see-” This time Sojele interrupted,

  “So you went all the way to the magiker’s house, perhaps half an hour of walking uphill, to ask about your mosquito bites? Do you not trust your own Greynook apothecary with such a trouble?” His weathered face seemed to crinkle with gentle mirth.

  The young woman was backpedaling, and seemed near tears. “No, of course I-I…” Adetta licked her lips, eyes darting between the two of them. She took a calming breath and quietly pushed her hair behind her shoulders with both hands. The small motion seemed to restore a shocking amount of composure to her, and a measure of confidence returned to her posture. Once she had herself together, Arlet spoke again, a cautious note of empathy softening his voice. “Why do you want herbs that cause impotence?” Sojele drew in a surprised breath, and his eyebrows drew together. “Oh, dear me. Greyberries indeed.”

  Adetta looked at him, now more quizzical than flustered. “What is that supposed to mean?” The old man smiled, a little apologetically. “Greyberries are an old joke among Fellen herb-sellers.” He glanced at Arlet. “The magiker was lucky I knew of them. Sometimes people ask us for plants and tinctures to cause ill-effects, sickness, and the like. If the desired quality is too pernicious, most will simply turn the person away, but for simple mischief, some choose to make mischief in turn, and will offer greyberries. They stain, and they itch a little, but that is all.”

  Adetta looked from her hands, to Sojele, and then to Arlet. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the hut. THe air was still and the room was quiet for what felt like a full minute. Arlet let out a nervous chuckle and scratched his head. “I might have handled that a little better.”

  Sojele didn’t laugh or smile. Instead, he leveled concerned eyes at Arlet. “You might have given counseling her more thought, but instead you made a joke of her. Did it make you feel that clever, magiker, to catch her in a lie? I, myself, feel some regret at selling her those berries.” He sighed. “I suppose I, too, had an opportunity to ask her some questions. That has probably passed.”

  Sojele re-lit his pipe. “I think she might be an amateur apothecary herself.” Arlet raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “The exaggerated flushing and pailing of her face. A sympathetic makeup, if I’m not missing my guess. And by the scent of burnt lavender and distilled rose on her shirt, she made it herself. No small task, that.”

  Arlet shrugged. “I’ll be damned.” Then, suddenly, he jerked upright. ”The woman who followed me! Is she still here?”

  “She left when Adetta arrived.”

  Arlet eyed Sojele’s nose with some trepidation, and a little amazement. “Is there any chance that… you know which way she went?” Sojele smiled, a kindly, knowing, charming smile that covered his face in a tapestry of lines. “Nearly due north, into the woods. She left with some speed, and has shown no signs of changing course.” He puffed his pipe, then gestured with it towards the flask that had returned to Arlet’s hands, and had begun to emit a low, sizzling hiss. “Now, if it is all the same to you, I think you should leave me to my afternoon nap, and take that with you.”

  With a start, Arlet looked down at the container, then dashed out of the hut. Outside, the day was bright and cold, and the sun had burnt away the morning’s fog. As he rushed towards the path, he could see far into the dense greenery surrounding the apothecary’s remote home. He quickly scanned about and, spotting the slope of a nearby creek, hurled the flask into it before ducking behind a thick oak tree. There was a gentle splash, and then a great, wet explosion sounded from the creekbed. Arlet flinched and covered his head as mud, rocks, and a fern sailed through the air to land next to his hiding place.

  Panting, Arlet slid down the tree and, for a moment, buried his head in his hands. Slowly, he rose to his feet, dusted off his coat, and began to make his way down Sojele’s path, back to Greynook.