Legacy #2
She actually growled at him. “Well, what then, you ridiculous grump? You’re going to keep your eyes down until we run ourselves into the ground?”
“I’m just doing things the way Mum and Da always did. The way things have always worked.”
“But they’re not working anymore,” she argued. “We need to change course. Wasn’t that your plan all along? I know it’s a risk, but why don’t you try picking up your alchemy agai—”
“We’re not talking about this.” Nathaniel snapped the ledger closed. His thoughts were mixing with memories again.
“We never talk about this!”
“Because there’s no point!” It was no use now.
There was no way he could keep it all together; his emotions had spilled, shattering from their delicate glass vials to spout toxic fumes he couldn’t help but breathe in.
“My plan was a disaster. I failed spectacularly, Pru. That’s what changing course got us. ”
“Nathaniel, what happened wasn’t—”
“I’m not an alchemist anymore,” he insisted. “We’ll keep the shop afloat without any dangerous new ideas. We always have and we always will. Collecting rent will help, and you can keep performing at the market.”
“Right.” She laughed humorlessly. “Running the shop. Performing at the market. The lives both of us always dreamed of.”
“It’s the hand we’ve been dealt, Pru. There’s no point trying to reshuffle the deck now.”
“So you’ll just keep on being miserable in a job you never wanted, here in a place you should never have come back to?”
“Yes!” He caught his words. “I mean, I’ll keep things running here at the shop. I’m—I’m not—”
“Nathaniel.” Her tone was pleading; suddenly he didn’t want to look her in the eye. He knew what he’d find there, and he needed her pity like he needed another bill to pay.
She laid her hand over his ink-stained fingers and squeezed tightly. “They’d understand, you know.” She sounded like she wanted to cry. He still couldn’t look at her. “If we changed things, I mean.”
“It’s their legacy,” Nathaniel said desperately, as though this could make her see.
“I hear you,” she said finally, squeezing his hand once more. “I don’t agree, but I hear you. We’ll keep going for a bit. We have three months, right?”
“Two and a half.”
“Right.” She nodded, as if that decided it. “Maybe business will pick up.”
She disappeared up the stairs, and Nathaniel realized he’d lost count of the money before him.
He started over, his brow furrowed, until the front doorbell rang and he realized Pru had left it unlocked behind her.
With a sigh, he schooled his features into something pleasant and friendly and said, “I’m so sorry, we’re closed for the evening. ”
The man who stood in the entryway looked around with interest before turning to Nathaniel with a too-wide smile, like he’d stretched it a bit too thin over his face.
“Are you the proprietor?” His voice was reedy, as though his words were being carried to Nathaniel on a gust of wind that warned of a storm.
Nathaniel straightened. “I am,” he said, studying the tall, pale-skinned man.
He looked to be a few years younger than Nathaniel, with long blond hair pulled back with a black silk bow and piercing blue eyes.
He wore a thick, fur-lined cloak made of fine wool and tall leather boots with pointy toes edged in gleaming silver.
A man of means, then. Perhaps looking to part with some coin.
Nathaniel urged a smile to his lips. “Can I help you?”
“In fact, you can.” The man swept forward until he stood before Nathaniel and held out a hand for him to shake.
His grip was cold from the outside air. “I’m an alchemist, and I’m new to this…
charming little town.” He said charming like someone else might say ghastly or decrepit.
Nathaniel straightened his shoulders. “I’m looking to replenish some supplies for my work. ”
The skin at the back of Nathaniel’s neck prickled. More newcomers. A young witch looking to sell her silly flowers was one thing, but this smarmy, wealthy-looking fellow on top of it? And an alchemist at that? He smelled trouble.
“We’d be happy to help you get set up,” he responded as pleasantly as he could. “Tomorrow. During business hours.”
The man’s mouth twitched. “But of course. You wouldn’t mind if I leave you with a list, would you? I know what I’m looking for.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper from the pocket of his cloak and slid it across the counter.
Still watching the man, Nathaniel picked up the paper and opened it. His gaze flicked down the list of ingredients, written in a slanting script.
“Several of these are quite difficult to procure,” he said in a low voice. His breath hitched as he reached the bottom of the list. He looked sharply back at the man. “Minotaur horn? Powdered hellstone?”
The two ingredients were not only rare but extremely volatile even on their own. Combined they were pivotal ingredients in a number of dangerous weapons.
“Familiar with alchemy, are you?”
“I spent ten years in the Crucible.” He scanned the rest of the list. Acacia and rue were easy enough to obtain, but curare was a dangerous paralytic, and mane of marea? That was outright illegal.
The man smiled. “A man after my own heart! What in Rava’s name are you doing in this craggy mountain backwoods?”
Nathaniel’s mouth tightened. “This craggy mountain backwoods is my home.”
The man smirked, and the anxious ball of unease in Nathaniel’s chest grew and hardened into dislike.
Nathaniel knew when Guy Shadowfade was defeated that his death created a vacuum.
For years, they’d been under the sorcerer’s thumb, and that had been no picnic, but in a way, his power had kept them all safe.
No one had dared to interfere in Dragon’s Rest and risk angering a dangerous mage like Shadowfade, but now that he was gone, there was nothing to stop anyone else from moving in and staking their claim—and the people of Dragon’s Rest, left all but destitute from decades of hardship, were in no position to fight it.
Nathaniel wasn’t inclined to feel positively about anything that troubled the waters of his careful life, and the man before him might as well have been a giant rock tumbling off the mountain toward the surface, ready to make waves.
“I’m afraid I’m unable to sell you some of these ingredients,” he finally said, his voice several degrees cooler. “We don’t keep them in stock.”
“Ah.” The man paused, assessing Nathaniel with new eyes. “Might you be able to procure them for me?”
“No,” said Nathaniel without hesitation.
The man’s eyes flashed. He understood the message. “I see, Mr. …?”
“Marsh.”
“Mr. Marsh, then. Thank you for your time, and for allowing me into your…” He looked around the apothecary, one corner of his mouth curling. “Fine establishment.”
Nathaniel bristled, hearing a tone underneath his words, the thread of an insult snagged and pulled taut.
“If anything changes, do send word my way, would you?”
“Certainly,” said Nathaniel politely, but something about the man made him know he wouldn’t.
“I’ll be staying at the Claw & Hoard. You can ask for Sedgwick.” He smiled again, with his whole mouth this time, and it brought to mind nothing so much as a dog baring its teeth in warning. Come closer, that smile seemed to say. I dare you. “You never know. Perhaps something will sway your mind.”