9. The Lantern Mile #2
I was always amazed by this alternate world, built from the ashes of a great fire hundreds of years ago.
The audacity of constructing an entirely new city atop ruins rather than starting from scratch perfectly encapsulated how Analon worked.
And of course, thieves, mercenaries, and rebels had claimed the discarded world for themselves.
After a few twists and turns through deserted back alleys, the passageway opened up onto the primary thoroughfare of the Underground Market, known as the Lantern Mile.
True to its name, dozens of lanterns created a kaleidoscope of flickering light, forming jagged dancing shadows.
Despite the late hour, the street was bustling with activity, resembling many merchant districts in the upper city but with a decidedly more questionable crowd.
Ruffians, thieves, and mercenaries headed in and out of taverns, gambling dens, and shops selling contraband.
I slunk down the path, making myself small, avoiding sudden movements and staying out of view when I could. No one paid any mind to an unassuming thief. Attention was not something you wanted along the Lantern Mile.
A barely noticeable storefront with a windowless black door sat between a bustling tavern and a weapons shop. A sign hung above it bearing the image of a mortar and pestle with a serpent tangled around the handle. I cracked the door and slipped inside.
Shelves and display cases lined the cramped room, filled with jars and boxes of countless reagents, plants, and minerals. Despite the sheer number of items for sale, everything was orderly.
I had been here a thousand times. My father had taught me the fundamentals of potions, but Mrs. Crowe had helped me hone my craft.
She stood behind the counter now, her knitted brow only adding to the deep-set wrinkles in her pale skin, as she poured a brown liquid from a vial into a flask.
Her ironclad concentration broke only the slightest bit as I entered the shop.
I stayed quiet, knowing better than to disturb the master at work.
She measured out each ingredient, pausing occasionally to swirl the flask, mouthing numbers in a silent countdown, then continuing on to the next step in her delicate work.
After several minutes, she stopped, corked the flask, and placed it on a tall shelf out of reach, letting out a quick breath.
Only then did her eyes meet mine through wisps of her long, stringy gray hair.
“Cassian,” she said matter-of-factly in her gravelly voice. “Thank you for not interrupting. I’m rather fond of this shop…and my limbs staying attached to my body, for that matter.”
I let out a stuttering laugh, but Mrs. Crowe’s expression remained stony.
“I’m rather fond of my limbs as well. Always enjoy watching you work. I learn something new every time.”
She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And what did you learn this time?”
“That you alternate between mixing clockwise and counterclockwise.”
She cracked the slightest smile. “What brings you to my shop at this late hour?”
“I need a few…specialty ingredients,” I said, handing her a list. Seeing it reminded me of my adventure with Darion earlier that day.
Her eyes narrowed to slits, and her lips pursed. “I’ve never seen your eyes do that.”
“Do what?” I asked.
“Twinkle.” Her expression was sour as ever as she looked me over as if trying to solve a puzzle.
This effect Darion had on me was infuriating. Could people so easily read it on my face? This was exactly why I avoided entanglements like these. They made me sloppy. I didn’t need this distraction banging around in my mind. I made every attempt to keep my face neutral.
“Oh,” she said, nodding, her question apparently answered. “Men. Waste of time, them. I hope he’s handsome, at least.”
“Can we just get to the list?” I asked, trying desperately to change the subject.
Without another word, Mrs. Crowe took my list with a huff and rummaged around her shop, adding ingredients to a small pouch. In short order, I tucked everything safely into my bag, my purse a few coins lighter.
“Thank you, Mrs. Crowe,” I said, heading for the door. She replied with a grunt.
Just as I reached for the doorknob, I paused. “Mrs. Crowe. Can I ask you a question?”
Her eyes flicked to my coin purse, and then she sighed. “As long as it has nothing to do with whatever made your eyes twinkle.”
“Definitely not!”
“Very well. Go ahead.”
“What kind of potion would smell of ozone mixed with citrus?”
Her eyes widened for only a moment. “Why do you ask?”
“I smelled it during some…” I didn’t want to get into specifics, but my curiosity got the better of me. “During some unusual activity. I thought maybe it came from a potion?”
“Did this unusual activity involve a person?”
“Yes.” My encounters with the golden-eyed thief and the beast-like stranger flashed in my mind.
Mrs. Crowe beckoned me over. I complied, standing only a few inches away. She smelled of a hundred different potion ingredients, an eclectic potpourri. Her voice was barely a whisper. “What do you know of the Emberborn?”
“Emberborn? You mean the extinct race of magical beings?” I asked.
She shushed me and got even closer. “Not so loud,” she said, almost in a panic. “Yes, Emberborn. And they’re not extinct, just rare. And they do have…special abilities.”
It was a shock to hear this from someone I considered rational and level-headed. It was just a bunch of superstitious nonsense.
“What do they have to do with ozone and citrus?” I asked.
She leaned in even more. “Some people have the ability to sense Emberborn.”
Before I could respond, the door opened, and in walked an elderly man with expensive-looking dark robes and a fat coin purse. Mrs. Crowe transformed back into her typical stony self in an instant. “Evening, sir.”
She didn’t give me a second glance. Our conversation was over, apparently, so I slunk out of the shop even more confused than I’d been before.