Epilogue #2
She could hear Jack before she opened the door, for he was ranting audibly, his voice punctuated by sounds of pottery breaking. She took a breath to gather her courage before opening the door and entering.
This greenhouse was hot but drier than the others, and she recognized oleander of a bright yellow color which she had never seen before.
Next to it was a shrub with long stems, as if reaching for something to climb.
The green leaves contrasted its pale, star-shaped flowers that deepened toward the throat with a dark red suffusion.
The petal points were drawn out into long, trailing filaments like red hair ribbons twisting in the breeze.
It was the Strophanthus she had requested from Jack, but there were only two small blossoms. When she looked closer, there were no seed pods—the plant was obviously in decline.
Dirt and shards of broken pots were scattered everywhere in the center of the space, covering the remains of withered plants. Jack stomped among the mess, crushing pottery under his feet.
“You were gone for too long, I think,” she said calmly.
He jerked upright in surprise and whirled around to face her, his eyes wide, his teeth bared like a wild animal. With his face paint, his anger had been frightening, but without it, she was more clearly aware of how crazed and bestial his eyes were.
She stilled, but did not retreat. She would not give him the satisfaction.
He quickly lost interest in her and turned back to the table in front of him, upon which he had smashed pots of plants. “I came here as soon as I was released from prison,” he replied, sounding defensive. “I thought for certain I was reviving the plants.” He seemed genuinely perplexed.
The brown stems and leaves beneath her feet indicated the result of his actions. “Who cared for the greenhouses while you were gone?”
“Maxham. I’m going to kill him,” he muttered to himself.
“He apparently knows little of plants or gardens. What did you expect?”
She glanced around the small room, breathing in the scent of dead foliage. “Are all the greenhouses like this?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer. “What of the Goldensuit?” she prodded.
His hand clenched briefly at his side, then without another word to her, he strode past her and out the door.
She followed him toward the larger greenhouse. It had been built fifty yards away from the fallow field and was surrounded by rocky, barren soil. It stood closest to the small pond, which was a dark green color despite the stream feeding into it and twisting away back into the woods.
As they entered, Zephyra hastily took a handkerchief that she had tucked into one of the inside pockets of her cloak and held it over her nose and mouth.
When she worked in her own greenhouse, she tied thick strips of cloth over her face to protect her from the pollen, but of course Jack would not need such a precaution.
The greenhouse was brightly lit since the smaller greenhouses were far away, ensuring nothing would cast a shadow over the plants.
She noticed it was warmer than the temperature of her own greenhouse growing the Goldensuit plants, but Jack immediately opened a few of the windows.
Apparently he also grew the plants at a cooler temperature, and the air had simply grown too warm since he last visited.
Zephyra could hardly say that the plants were growing.
There were fewer Goldensuit plants than she expected, but the ones here had already turned brown and wilted.
Their yellowing color indicated a lack of proper fertilizer rather than a lack of water—she touched a fingertip to the soil of one pot, noticing it had been watered recently.
She removed the handkerchief from over her mouth.
These plants had not bloomed recently—no more than three or six weeks ago—and by now, the lengthy exposure to strong sunlight would cause them to lose any effect and become as harmless as normal pollen.
It was the reason Bianca had stored her Goldensuit pollen in dark bottles or in paper packets in drawers shut tight.
Pollen dusted every surface and puffed up in small clouds as she walked, but it was the pale, almost white color that indicated it was no longer poisonous.
Strangely, there were broken pottery shards across the floor, as if Jack had had another fit of rage earlier and smashed more pots, but she didn’t know why he would do that to the Goldensuit.
No, the shards were under the pollen. The destruction had occurred before or during the last time these plants bloomed. Jack would have been in prison at the time, so someone else destroyed the pots.
It immediately made her think about a Berserker. Had someone entered the greenhouse and become mad from breathing in the fresh pollen?
Jack was making noises that were a combination of a groan, a growl, and a barely suppressed scream.
Zephyra suspected he would not give in to his rage, unlike the previous greenhouse—the Citadel had need of the Goldensuit plants, and she guessed that Jack would not recklessly throw them about in a fit of temper.
Looking closely, she realized these were mostly his hybrid Goldensuit, which she had heard Maxham mention. She fingered the dry, crumbly soil of a pot next to the window. “It appears that Maxham did not care for your plants as diligently as he was instructed.”
Jack mumbled something, and she thought he said, “I want to eat his pancreas,” but surely she was mistaken.
“It appears you will need my Goldensuit plants, after all.” Zephyra tried to keep the smugness from her voice, but knew she was not entirely successful.
Jack whirled to face her. His wide eyes somehow seemed to be spinning, making her feel disoriented. He snapped his teeth at her as if he were a dog, but he said nothing.
“You could perhaps bring these back to full health,” she said, “although that may take quite a while. Or you could use my plants and create your hybrid in my greenhouse. Which would be more expedient?” She did not dare to suggest that he simply teach her how to create his hybrid plant, for she knew he would refuse, or perhaps even attack her.
Jack frowned down at a table with plants that were not quite dead, with a few green leaves interspersed with others that were a pale yellow color. She didn’t expect him to answer and was surprised when he did. “We should do both.” His voice fell to a lower timbre than usual and was strangely calm.
Zephyra tried not to smile as she untied the hessian cloth sack that she had carried so carefully with her from London and removed a healthy Goldensuit plant in a pot.
It was just starting to bud, and she guessed that with the proper temperature and enough water, it would bloom in perhaps five or seven days.
She handed it to Jack. “A gift for you,” she said facetiously. “To celebrate your freedom.”
Jack’s gaze burned as he stared down at the pot. She knew that he wanted to dash it to the ground.
But then he exhaled loudly through his gritted teeth and reached out to gently take the pot from her.
He was aware that he needed every healthy plant, and that it would take far too many extra weeks for him to try to grow a plant from seed.
He did not bother to thank her, but she did not expect him to do so.
“Shall I assist you?” she asked him, reaching for the strings that tied her cloak at her throat.
“Assist me with what?” he asked irritably.
“You have been caring for the plants. Surely you don’t intend to leave them as they are now? Many of them are not entirely dead.”
“And what do you imagine you can do about it? Set yourself to mixing manure?”
“I have found that the Goldensuit responds best to the droppings from chickens rather than from cows or pigs,” she replied.
He stared at her in bewilderment, his mouth open, and he started swinging his jaw back and forth like a broken wooden gate. Then after a moment, he snapped his mouth shut. “Very well,” he said curtly. “But you shall do exactly as I instruct. No more, no less. And no questions!”
“Yes, sir,” she said meekly, because she knew he would like it.
He did. His mood improved dramatically as he prepared soil and sent her to the pond for water.
It took several hours, but they did their best to tend to the Goldensuit.
When trying to revive the plants, Jack had apparently only given a little more water, so after trimming dead, sickly leaves, then flushed the pots more thoroughly with water to drain whatever fertilizer Maxham had given to them.
They moved some plants into new pots with fresh soil, while for others they simply placed a thin layer of new soil on top.
She also helped Jack with the poisonous plants in his other greenhouses, although he seemed quite reluctant to allow her within. But since she already was familiar with the most precious Goldensuit, allowing her to assist him with his less valuable specimens was not so difficult for him to do.
Some of his plants were beyond salvation, but others were extremely hardy. It was obvious that Maxham had paid more careful attention to the Goldensuit plants than to the contents of the other greenhouses.
Zephyra could not find it in herself to blame him. Jack had four other greenhouses (not counting the dark building that did indeed house his mushrooms), which constituted several hours of work to water and tend.
The plants that Zephyra needed were, of course, among the dead. Aside from the Strophanthus, she also wanted a few other herbs, but Jack did not have robust specimens that she could use. “I suppose there is no help for it. I shall have to buy the herbs I require from Lady Nola.”
Jack suddenly exploded into a string of vile expletives about the herb woman. Zephyra calmly waited for him to vent his frustration.