@SprigofThyme
Rip it apart, I dare you.
Ezra Hartwell considered himself a perfectly functioning member of society, thank you very much. He had almost completed his apprenticeship under one of the best apothecaries in the country, and the family that disapproved of his very existence was blessedly absent.
All in all, life was pretty much perfect.
The sound of a bell and the creak of an opening door pulled him from his thoughts and back into the musty pharmacy he stood in, one hand still half-raised towards a small bottle on the shelf in front of him.
"Young man, do you have any idea when Fabian will return?" came a shrill voice from somewhere behind him.
Well, life was almost perfect.
Ezra turned around and wiped off his look of mild annoyance. "Ah, hello Mrs. Carmichael. What can I do for you today?"
"Don't you 'hello' me, boy. Didn't your parents ever teach you respect?"
Ezra bit back a sigh. Some customers had a tendency to be more… difficult than others. Mrs. Carmichael had been a customer of Mr. Belmont for decades and didn't seem to be planning to kick the bucket anytime soon, so it was advised to stay on her good side.
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. Not wanting to waste any more time than he had to, he turned to the wooden shelf behind him, smoothed from years of use.
"Hmm, burdock root, if I remember correctly," he muttered to himself.
Mrs. Carmichael must have heard him, because out of the corner of his eye he could see the old woman glaring at him.
"Of course its burdock root, you nitwit! That hasn't changed in twenty years, I'll have you know! Now, Fabian never forgot, what he was thinking when he took you on as an apprentice I'll never know."
Ignoring her tirade, Ezra carefully measured out the dried root and and wrapped it in thick brown paper. He handed the package over to the irritated woman, who snatched it out of his hands with a glower. She spun around and strode towards the door with surprising gusto for someone her age.
"Have a good day, Mrs. Carmichael," Ezra called after her.
When the door closed with a resounding clatter, Ezra let out the deep breath he had been holding.
'Why did Mr. Belmont have to leave now, of all times? It's flu season, for goodness sake! And leaving me in charge of the shop? He knows my people skills are…'
He was interrupted yet again by another customer, this time a young, fair-haired woman. Judging by the quality of her clothes, she wasn't particularly wealthy, but her dress was neat and in good condition.
"How may I help you today?"
She visibly swallowed. "It's my son. He's sick, and–"
"Miss…"
"Barnett," she finished.
"Miss Barnett, perhaps a physician would suit your needs better?"
She flushed, before giving a jerky shake of her head.
"I, erm, can't pay for a doctor. My husband, he… well," she trailed off.
Ezra pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. If this woman couldn't afford a physician, chances were she wouldn't be able to get the medicine she needed, and he really didn't need that on his conscience.
"So, what are your son's symptoms?"
The woman's face briefly lit up before immediately turning ashen.
"High fever," she answered. "He's so young, and fragile, and I don't–I don't think," the blonde woman abruptly stopped and sniffed.
'Please don't start crying, please don't start crying, please don't start crying,' Ezra silently pleaded.
"Yarrow," he said suddenly.
She lifted her head and looked at him, eyes red from unshed tears.
"Yarrow. It's used to lower fevers, and you can use it with peppermint or ginger for stronger effects. I can't do much without an actual prescription, but–"
"Thank you, oh thank you!" The woman cried.
Ezra gave an awkward smile, before taking the few steps to the cabinet over to the side. He opened one of the drawers, and pulled out a glass vial filled with murky liquid. Measuring and crushing yarrow, ginger, and a few other fortunately common herbs, he carefully transferred the mixture from the mortar to the vial. The woman stood by and watched silently as he worked.
With a few stirs, the liquid turned a muddy blue, and Ezra carefully corked the potion.
"This is a fever reducing solution, and a rather potent one at that. How old is your son?"
"He just turned two."
"Is he fully human?"
She nodded.
Ezra let out a sigh of relief. The Fae on their own were hard enough to find proper doses for, much less halflings.
He furrowed his brows. "For children that young… hmm." After doing some quick mental calculations, he nodded, and picked up a fountain pen and a scrap of paper. He wrote the dose and instructions in neat, looping script, and folded the slip.
"Thank you so much!" the woman said excitedly after he handed her the solution and paper. "Though, I can't pay you much…"
"It's fine," he waved. "Just take it. You need that money more than I do."
"But–"
"I said don't worry about it."
The woman left the shop exactly one potion richer, and from her gait, much happier as well.
The rest of the day's orders went by without a hitch, but Ezra was exhausted by the end of it.
"I'll never understand how people can socialize for hours at a time, really," he sighed as he wiped down the counter. William, the assistant, had called in sick today, so Ezra had to do everything himself.
"Mr. Hartwell?" a quiet voice came from the open doorway.
The postman was there, a hand in his hair and a sheepish expression on his face.
"Yes?"
The postman rummaged around in his bag, and pulled out a pair of letters. Holding them out to Ezra, he stated, "Two letters for you."
Ezra eyed them curiously, before gingerly taking the envelopes.
"Thank you," he said.
The postman gave a quick nod before striding out the door. Ezra's gaze followed him as he leaped into the air, arms seamlessly shifting into wings, and flew off.
Locking the door, Ezra turned off the lamps and activated the security runes throughout the room.
'Check, check, and check,' Ezra thought in satisfaction. Taking the still-lit oil lamp, Ezra climbed upstairs to his room.
'Well, it won't be my room for much longer, I suppose,' he thought wistfully.
There was less than a year left in his seven-year apprenticeship, so he would soon have to leave the place that had been his home since he was fourteen, and start making his own way in the business.
He set the lamp on his oak desk, and placed both envelopes next to each other. Ezra eyed the first letter. It was from someone named Marcus Perry, and both the ink on the envelope and the paper looked to be expensive and of high quality.
'Marcus Perry, huh. I've heard that name before. He's some big artifact collector, I think.'
Taking a letter opener, Ezra neatly sliced through the paper of the first envelope, and unfolded the letter.
"Mr. Ezra Hartwell,
I write to you to extend my invitation to afternoon tea this Sunday at 4 o'clock. I hope to discuss a possible business opportunity you might be interested in. My good friend, and your teacher, Fabian Belmont has praised your abilities as a botanist and apothecary, and I have to admit, I'm quite curious. Please reply whether you will be attending as soon as possible. I hope you consider my offer.
Sincerely,
Lord Marcus Perry"
'Mr. Belmont has never mentioned this man before,' Ezra mused.
'Well, he doesn't get back for a while yet, and William said he'll be well enough to work then, so I suppose I could go.'
Before writing a response, however, he picked up the second letter. This one was from Mr. Belmont himself; the paper was crinkled and the ink faded from the long journey it must have taken to get to him. He opened the envelope, and his eyes scanned his teacher's neat, small script.
"Ezra,
I hope that you are successfully keeping up the shop on your own and that you remain in good health, what with it being that time of year after all."
Ezra resisted the urge to scoff. 'Successfully keeping up the shop on your own', he says! Well, certainly no thanks to your ever so well-timed trip.'
Silently fuming, he continued to read the letter.
"I was discussing things with my old friend Marcus when you came up into the conversation, and he thought of a fabulous business proposition for you. He should send you a letter soon with more details, and I hope you make the smart decision."
"Smart decision?" Ezra asked aloud. "Is he joking?"
Well, knowing him, probably not.
"Anyway, I am pleased tell you that I will be returning soon, so you won't have an excuse to complain anymore, as I'm sure you have been doing."
"What? I haven't been–" Ezra quickly cut himself off.
'Ah. He may have a point,' he grudgingly admitted.
"Just remember this, boy: you have a good head. Use it.
Your teacher,
Fabian Belmont
P. S. There's feverfew tea in the kitchen. I have a feeling you'll need it."
Ezra sighed, and turned his attention from the letter to the soft sound of rain pattering on glass. He had been so engrossed in the letters that he hadn't even noticed it. He slid back his chair and stood up, walking over to the source of the sound, a large window partially obscured by midnight-blue curtains.
Ezra pushed the cloth to the side, and contented himself with watching the raindrops trail down the glass, turning the simple view of the street into an impressionist painting; the bright yellows and oranges of streetlights and the few lamps still lit in windows reflecting across the sea of grey and brown below. Up in the dark and cloudy sky, the lights from airships seemed to mimic the glow of stars.
'I think writing a reply can wait a little while, can't it?'
It was in rare moments like these that the normally dreary, monotonous city felt truly alive. Ezra closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.
He stayed there until the torrent of rain began to lessen, and the clouds parted to reveal a sliver of the moon.
Turning his attention back to Lord Perry's letter, Ezra frowned. He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a crisp sheet of paper and a pen. He carefully avoided getting any ink splatters on the page as he wrote his response: he would love to attend, and many thanks for the invitation.
Walking over to the crowded bookshelf that took up most of one wall, he skimmed his fingers across the volumes before finding the book he was looking for.
A Comprehensive List of Magical Artifacts and Their Properties, the 38th edition.
It wasn't the newest edition, as the newer ones omitted artifacts only rumored to exist; the very artifacts that were most interesting. Lord Perry was an artifact enthusiast, so it would do to read up on what was most likely going to be one of the man's favorite topics of conversation.
Ezra skimmed the thick tome, gaze staying a bit longer on the pages he had bookmarked previously. Never dog-eared, though. He couldn't stand the thought of needlessly ruining a perfectly good page when bookmarks were so much better.
All the listed artifacts were under one of three categories: found, confirmed, or mythic. Chances were, Lord Perry would be most interested in the latter two categories, because what use was discussing something already found?
One particular artifact Ezra had yet to bookmark caught his eye.
'The Temporal Heart, eh? It really is a shame it's under 'mythic'. Studying the effects and possible uses of temporal magic would be fascinating.'
He caught his thoughts drifting to one particular use it could have, and shook his head.
'Nothing but a fantasy.
Besides, happy endings and perfect solutions only exist in fiction. I'll just have to find a different way.'
After researching the artifacts in that edition, Ezra took the more interesting ones and went on a search for any additional information from the shelves, wood sagging under the weight of the books.
It was only in the wee hours of the morning that Ezra finally blew out the flame of his oil lamp and went to bed, tomes stacked in no particular order on his desk, with some migrating to the floor.
He dreamt of murky blue potions, crimson gems, and perfect endings.
