Part 1: The Apothecary and the Alchemist, Chapter 1

Chapter 1

  The Apothecary looked up when the bell above his shop door announced a visitor.  It was Cecil, the Parcelman.  Cecil reached into his welpit-skin bag and pulled out a large decorated envelope.

   "Invitation for you," he said waving it. Cecil laid it down on the counter and seated himself on a stool in front of it.  He removed his scarlet cap and placed on the stool next to him.

   "I don't entertain, Cecil. My majicks are for healing and helping, not for pleasure and vanity."  The Apothecary pulled a glass from a rack behind him and  asked, "What'll it be?"

  "Well it's hotter'na crook of a cufat's hind limb out today," he said wiping his forehead on the sleeve of his bright red Parcelman's coat, "so gimme somfin' cold.  An' add a li'l zip if you'd be so koind."  Cecil's dark black skin and Southy accent made him stick out absurdly here in Bundai, the capital of Farseki.  Rumor had it Cecil's family was part of the aristocracy in the Dalfort Islands in the Southern Gulf.  The Apothecary doubted this though, because while it wasn't the most labor intensive job, being a Parcelman wasn't easy.

  Using a pair of grasping tongs, the Apothecary dipped the glass into a thick iron cauldron that frothed white from its mouth and was covered in condensation.  He immediately removed the glass and it was covered in frost.  The Apothecary replaced the cauldron's lid and set the glass on the table.  As he set about mixing ingredients he said, "I thought you Southies were accustomed to warm weather."

  Cecil clucked his tongue derisively.  "Yeah but we don't wear these rundune jackets and long trousers on the beach do we?"  The Apothecary finished mixing ingredients into the glass, which now contained the most unappealing combination of dried plant parts, water, and various syrups.  It looked to Cecil like the Apothecary had dipped the glass into the mouth of the Dundrik River, where the sea water and fresh met and prevented the silt from ever settling to the bottom.  The Apothecary placed a clean handkerchief over the glass and then placed his right hand on the handkerchief.  He closed his eyes and concentrated.  Cecil looked away, feeling embarrassed suddenly, as though he'd seen something he wasn't supposed to.  Majicks was a fading art and was quickly becoming socially unacceptable, or at the very least in bad taste.

  "That ought to do it," said the Apothecary, stuffing the handkerchief back into his vest pocket.  He placed his hand against the cold iron cauldron to relieve the heat that always accompanied using majicks.  The Apothecary had never used majicks in a fight.  He couldn't imagine how taxing it must have been for the maji of old who had taken this land with sword and spear and majicks as the Maker had promised from the previous inhabitants.

  "Fanks koindly." Cecil took the glass and began to quickly down the liquid, which was now a crystal clear, pale blue, with no evidence of plant debris.  "Ain't you gonna open ya letter? I fink it's probly urgent."

  "I told you Cecil," the Apothecary replied scratching his salt and pepper colored beard, "I don't entertain.  Not birthdays, not weddings and definitely not funerals.  They always want me to bring someone back." He chuckled, making the laugh lines on his face momentarily more prominent.  Then he shook his head and gave a little shudder, still grinning.

  "It's not that kind of invite you brown-skinned witch-man! I fink it's from the Royals."  He turned the envelope over and there it was, the seal of the House of Halikara. "If you ignore it they'll just send a summons and make you go anyhow.  Better to go as a guest, eh?"  Cecil drained the last of his drink, got down from his stool and gathered his things.  "Welp, good tidings wif all that. I'd suggest trimmin up before you go.  Fanks again for the drink." With that, he left.

  The Apothecary hadn't taken his eyes off the envelope since he'd seen the seal.  He had hardly even noticed Cecil leaving.  He turned and looked back at the mirror on the wall behind the counter.  Yes, he thought, I suppose I should shave.