Two of a Kind (Tales from the Windswept City #1)

Part One

The bells above the door sounded exactly the same as they did for any customer coming into the Alsarinaz Apothecary for Everyday Household Needs, so Dorrimin kept his attention on the ledger in front of him to finish noting the cost and weight of the shipment of paper meant to wrap packages which had arrived a few minutes before.

Normally, he would have waited until the end of the day to enter it into the receipt book, but the dropping temperatures outside meant that most people would not have the purchase of household supplies on their minds, so business was slow.

Which would have been fine, since Dorrimin preferred being in the cellar making the products rather than being at the counter selling them, but his mother seemed to think he needed to talk to people more.

And anyway, with his sister now officially apprenticed with the Engineer’s Guild, there was no one else to do it unless they hired someone or took on another apprentice, allowing them to split the business and household duties a little more equitably.

Once Dorrimin had completed his notation—with a frown on his face for the cold air sweeping into the shop—he looked up, only to stop and feel foolish, as if he should have known these bells meant Tommick.

Stupid of course. Why should he have known? Except that it had been three days since Tommick had last popped his head in the door to smile at him and Tommick rarely left Dorrimin unbothered for that long.

That was stupid too. Dorrimin wasn’t bothered.

Bothered wasn’t the right word at all, though he didn’t know the correct one; he hadn’t gone to the city's college up closer to the summit. Guild members could if they wanted to but Dorrimin hadn’t seen the need.

He knew his arithmetic and he knew chemistry and that was all he needed to know.

Unless he asked his mother. Or Tommick, who thought Dorrimin should learn about poetry and the stars. Those had no relevance to making laundry powders, floor cleaner, or hand soaps. But they did sound nice when Tommick talked about them.

“Aren’t you cold?” Tommick asked before Dorrimin could manage a word of greeting. He closed the door quietly behind him, leaving the two of them in near silence except for the crackle of the logs in the grated fireplace.

Dorrimin gestured to it, since the fireplace wasn’t far from the counter and the counter itself was away from the windows that faced the street and the main source of cold air creeping in.

He was even properly dressed since he wasn’t in the workshop, in a wool coat and vest, with a clean white shirt.

Like a proper counter boy and businessman, except for his lack of a tie and how his shirt had no collar and was unbuttoned at the top.

Tommick dragged his gaze up from Dorrimin’s throat, then smiled. “Nothing ever seems to bother you. You’re very capable.”

There was something in how he said it that made Dorrimin want to ask questions. When Tommick spoke like that, it was as if he was saying that he wasn’t capable. But obviously he was, and so Dorrimin never knew how to respond.

Which meant he said nothing, but Tommick never took offense to that.

“On the counter again?” he pressed, coming over to stand in front of the fire and midway between two of the floor grates where warmed air from the fireplaces throughout the house wafted upward.

He had gloves sticking out of his coat pocket but clearly hadn’t been wearing them because his hands were red from the cold.

Dorrimin nearly slid a pot of Cream for the Roughest of Hands at him but Tommick hardly lacked access to fine products for healthy skin.

His coat alone cost more than every stitch Dorrimin had on. “Is your mother ill?”

“No. She just thinks I need to be here.” Dorrimin knew he sounded sour, but really.

He’d never finish his apprenticeship at this rate.

Although, in all honesty, his mother was preparing food for their evening meal, which she could hardly have done while minding the counter.

The business did well enough, though not enough to truly justify another apprentice.

But they should probably hire someone for the customers or at least some help with household tasks.

Tommick laughed without much sympathy. “Well, I like finding you here. It means I don’t have to sneak into the cellar to see you.”

He never had to sneak in. Dorrimin’s mother let him in, constantly.

It should have been annoying. Tommick played with Bemmi, their terrier who kept rats from the cellar and the store rooms, and watched Dorrimin measure things, and admired his math skills as though his weren’t also quite good, and talked Dorrimin’s father into letting him stir certain concoctions at critical times.

“People talk to me here,” Dorrimin complained, straightening up from the receipt book and then regretting it when Tommick’s brown eyes widened.

Dorrimin had been called a stork all through school, and, though he had gained some weight after he’d turned seventeen, at just under twenty he was still quite tall and very lanky.

It was one of the reasons he didn’t style his shoulder-length hair in one of the current upswept romantic styles; it might resemble bird plumage a little too much.

The other reason that he left it tied back at his nape was that it rarely occurred to him to style it.

Unlike Dorrimin, Tommick was a nice, normal height, and had pleasantly plump cheeks like one would expect from someone from the mountaintop, although he was young and active, preferring to walk up and down the winding streets rather than take carriages or trains, so he was not yet round.

Perhaps he would never be; Dorrimin had never seen Tommick’s parents or siblings, so perhaps chubby cheeks were where they showed their wealth.

That, and the shining hair and soft skin that meant the best products and the finest of meals.

His hair was short, with waves Dorrimin suspected that Tommick tried to control with pomades and oils, but the gently curving strands had always descended to his forehead by the time Dorrimin saw him. Sometimes, they even fell over his eyes.

They were doing it right now. Tommick swept them carelessly back over his ear, briefly drawing Dorrimin’s attention to the single pearl in his earlobe.

The shimmering white was stark next to his dark hair.

The woolen scarf around his neck in colors of blue and white said he went to the college and that he was near to finishing, since each year had different colors.

He wasn’t wearing a hat. Late afternoon in the winter with a storm approaching, and he wasn’t wearing a hat.

“How terrible for you to have to talk to people,” Tommick offered with a smile that said he probably didn’t mean it. “Don’t they want to ask you about the products? You love that.”

“Some do.” Dorrimin sank back onto his stool, which just made him feel like a perched stork instead of a standing one. Tommick was built so normal and solid. Ollis said he had good, sturdy structure; Dorrimin’s sister tended to look at people as if examining their framework and foundations.

“Ah.” Tommick grinned and came up to the counter, but then looked down through the glass at the various jars, bottles, and boxes on display. “Well, you are a strapping young fellow, Dorri. It was only a matter of time.”

Dorrimin swallowed, but then had nothing to say to that except, “I’m not strapping.”

“Nineteen years and strapping. Eyes practically gray. With a nice face when you aren’t scowling.”

Dorrimin was probably scowling.

“And a Guild apprentice set to inherit his family’s business.

” Tommick looked up. “That’s likely exactly why your mother puts you out here.

” He leaned in, not smiling. “She wants you to talk to those people, and hopefully like some of them.” He walked away once he had Dorrimin’s face and neck growing hot. “That’s what mothers do, I hear.”

“Does your mother do that?” Dorrimin wondered, so strangled he was glad he wasn’t wearing a collar or tie.

“With the others, sometimes.” Tommick put his hands too close to the fire to warm them. The grating would be hot to the touch.

“I meant with you.” Dorrimin glanced out toward the largest display window, where two figures were leaning against the glass and peering inside.

They were about Tommick’s age, both of them in college scarves of different colors.

School friends of his. “Isn’t it colder up on the top?

You should wear your gloves when outside. ”

“I do, normally.” Tommick might have been lying but Dorrimin was no sort of judge of that. “But I was enjoying the crispness in the air today.”

“Why does that sound like something to do with your poetry?” Dorrimin asked suspiciously.

Tommick laughed.

“If cold air on your hands sounds like poetry to you, Dorrimin Alsarinaz, it’s because you have a poetic soul despite what you think.”

“I make cleaning products,” Dorrimin reminded him. “You’re the one who studies the stars and reads philosophy.”

“Hmm.” Tommick rounded on him with a cheeky smile that made him seem younger than Dorrimin despite having two years on him.

“So I shouldn’t sneak a look at the things you doodle in the receipt books, then?

” His amusement grew when Dorrimin opened and shut his mouth, too startled to argue.

“My budding artist.” Tommick nearly sighed it.

“Can I see? In all seriousness, I’d love to get a better look at your drawings. ”

Dorrimin’s face was flaming hot. “They’re just…. I just draw the bottles in the window and such. In the different lights. It’s only because I get bored here.”

“Hmm.” Tommick gave him a study. “If I told you that a lot of art was about math, and a lot of painting about the chemistry of the paints, would you feel more comfortable?”

“Art is about math?” Dorrimin repeated, sounding like a young fool and not an apprentice with years of experience.