by Brian Farrey
The Dowager shook her head. “Well, you wouldn’t be happy if you’d been turned into a mushroom, I dare say.”
My eyes widened. “You mean … they’re not really mushrooms?”
The Dowager flushed. “Of course they are. Now. But they used to be my servants. Some of my research went a mite awry. The Palatinate had lent me a braincube and I … Well, I don’t want to talk about that. I hope to get them back to normal soon.”
Callie looked sick but I was curious. Research?
As we ate, Edilman bumbled his way through a lengthy and highly imaginative account of the curriculum at the Urahl Academy and how “Veelie” and I had proven again and again to stand head and shoulders above the other students. But the Dowager spent most of the salad course frowning, pausing only to ring a small bell that summoned the mushrooms back. They bounced up and down at our sides, holding out their stubby arms and grunting until we placed our salad plates atop their heads. They staggered away, returning in a moment with soup bowls.
By the time we’d finished our soup, Edilman had given up trying to impress the Dowager. We waited for the next course in silence, Callie and I trading glances, unsure of what to make of the strange woman or what to do next.
The muttering mushrooms returned, taking away our soup bowls and replacing them with fine bone plates heaped with generous helpings of roast panna, potatoes, and a steaming purple vegetable I hoped was monx. One mushroom scurried over to the Dowager with a covered silver bowl on its head. As the Dowager took the bowl and removed the domed top, I caught the distinctive scent of aramon leaves. The smell, like rotting blackdrupes, churned my stomach. I watched, fascinated, as she took a large spoon and covered her meal with a generous portion of the chopped leaves.
As the Dowager began eating, I felt a tug at my elbow. I leaned toward Edilman, who whispered, “The entire plan rests on you two making like you’re smart. Go on. Say something intelligent.”
I sighed through my nose and pushed up my glasses. Command performances were never my strong point. I turned to our hostess and said, “If I may ask, how long has your stomach been upset, Dowager?”
The fork she’d lifted to her mouth stopped halfway there and her flittering eyes rested on me briefly, her childlike face confused. Even Edilman and Callie eyed me for asking the seemingly strange and random question.
“Come again?” the Dowager asked, lowering her fork and smiling in an “I don’t know what you’re talking about” sort of way.
I nodded at her plate. “I see that you’ve seasoned your food with aramon leaves. They’re quite pungent and not all that tasty. I can’t imagine someone flavoring their food with them without a good reason. The Satyrans on the island of Rexin use aramon to settle an upset stomach. From the amount you used, I guessed you’ve had problems for some time.”
Her eyes glistened as she regarded me with curiosity. I smiled. She straightened her back and began playing with her food. “Well, yes. I’ve suffered a bit of indigestion these past few weeks. The aramon has helped a great deal. It’s not a commonly known remedy.” This last bit betrayed the admiration my simple observance had earned me.
“Of course,” I went on, “the problem with aramon is that it’s very bitter. I would recommend letting fresh leaves dry out for a few days, shredding them, and mixing them with oskaflower honey. Takes the edge off the taste and the honey doesn’t leave you with the bad breath that aramon does. And you can spread it on toast. No need to coat your entire meal with the leaves.”
For a moment, I felt like I’d channeled my silver-tongued father. I knew exactly what to say and how to say it. The Dowager’s eyes widened with each suggestion I made, and behind those eyes, I could see her thinking about what I’d said and realizing that it was all true.
“I’d never thought of that,” the Dowager said, a hint of eagerness in her voice. “Are you studying to be an apothecary?”
I shook my head. “Most of what I know about remedies I got from a book. The Kolohendriseenax Formulary.”
The Dowager cried out, clapping with approval. “The Sarosan text. I know the very book! It’s marvelous, isn’t it?”
And that’s how it started. She began asking me about what I’d learned from the book and soon we were discussing other titles. Without realizing it, I’d forgotten my hunger as our conversation grew deeper. My initial impression of the Dowager as tottering drifted away the more engrossed we became in sharing our theories about combining various tree saps to heal wounds caused by a darkshrike bite and about the numerous uses for mokka tree bark. Soon, our words were overlapping each other as we spoke, and my face started hurting. I hadn’t realized I’d been grinning the entire time.
I’ve no idea how long we’d been talking, but at one point someone cleared their throat. The Dowager and I suddenly realized we’d forgotten about Callie and Edilman. I poked the food on my plate and found it was cold. I also noticed that Callie and Edilman had finished their meals. I snuck a peek at the Dowager, who gave them a small smile.
“Please forgive us,” the Dowager said, ringing a bell. The mushrooms waddled into the room and bounced until we put our plates on their heads. “Young Master Tyrius and I have been rude in neglecting everyone else.”
“Not at all,” Edilman sang, forgiveness mixing with delight in his voice. “I had a feeling you two might hit it off.” Under the table, Edilman gave my leg a congratulatory pat. “But it is rather late and the children have had a tiring day of travel. It might be best if we turn in. We can all start fresh in the morning.”
“Tomorrow,” the Dowager said, as we all rose, “I shall take you to see the East Gardens. I think you’ll enjoy it quite a bit.”
“I’d like that very much, ma’am,” I said earnestly. Then, with Edilman’s hand clamped on my shoulder, we turned and left the dining room.
Edilman, Callie, and I moved across the indoor forest in the foyer. We took each step of the staircase slowly, huddled close together, speaking in hushed tones.
“Bangers, Jaxter!” Edilman enthused. “That was brilliant. You’ve got the old bird hooked.”
We reached the top of the stairs. “So what do we do tomorrow?” I asked.
Edilman said, “Keep our eyes peeled, don’t ask too many suspicious questions. We’ll let her continue showing us around and let her call the shots.” He tapped his forehead. “But pay attention. We need to know this place inside out. Got it?” He gave us a salute and bounded down the hall.
Callie and I continued toward our rooms. I looked over my shoulder to where Edilman had disappeared. “You have to admit his plan is working.”
She pursed her lips, not quite ready to give Edilman any slack. “If we get the ingredients, I’ll give him a pat on the head.” We stopped outside the door to her room. “You and the Dowager really hit it off.”
I swallowed hard. “What? That? All part of the con.”
She squinted at me. “Sure it was. G’night.” And she slipped into her bedroom.
In my room, I changed into the silky nightshirt the servants had laid out for me and buried myself in the most comfortable bed I’d ever known. Lying there, I stared at the patterns the bright moonlight cast on the wall, unable to sleep.
I kept replaying my conversation with the Dowager in my mind. I recalled how my chest tingled with excitement to be able to have a very serious discussion about plants and animals on a level that challenged me. Ma and Da had always listened politely when I’d talk about some exciting new book I’d read, trying to get them as enthused as I was about what I’d learned. But in the end, they’d smile and nod. The Dowager, however, listened closely to what I had to say and could respond in turn with something equally interesting. I loved it and it was obvious.
Pulling the blankets tighter to my chin, I wondered what tomorrow would hold. Would I be able to enjoy more conversations with the Dowager without feeling guilty, knowing how this had to end? Tonight it didn’t matter. For the first time since I started doubting my abilities to con
tinue in the family trade, I felt at home.
Looking back, it was probably that sense of satisfaction that made everything fall apart as badly as it did.
16
The Greenhouse
“The honor binding thieves is colder than a gaoler’s shackles.”
—The Lymmaris Creed
Over the next two days, the Dowager never left my side. Each morning began with the four of us enjoying a hearty breakfast and the Dowager recommending several books I’d never heard of. Then, she would take me by the arm and lead me from the dining room, Edilman and Callie quietly following us at a polite distance.
The first day, she gave us a tour of the mansion. The third floor, like the foyer, was a mixture of opulent and odd. The art gallery, featuring works by the most famous artists throughout the Provinces, was filled with more of the Dowager’s experiments. Glass kettles, filled with multicolored water, hung from the ceiling by hooks. When you placed your finger in the water, the liquid emitted a hum. The pitch varied, depending on which color you touched. The Dowager proudly proclaimed it a “liquid organ.” But she admitted that it wasn’t very practical for musicians at present.
Next she showed us the ballroom. Sparkling chandeliers floated and twirled magically above. A copper-trimmed bandstand, covered with instruments just waiting for musicians to play, sat against the far wall. It would have all been very beautiful if it weren’t for the towering mounds of sludge and dirt that covered the dance floor.
The Dowager reached into the sludge and pulled out what looked like a shining ruby the size of her fist. I’m sure Edilman nearly passed out. That ruby would probably pay for a ship of his very own to take him from the Provinces. But then the Dowager cracked the gem open on her knee, revealing a gooey, wormlike creature inside that squirmed in her hand.
“I’m breeding slithervox,” she proclaimed. “Wonderful little things. They sing, you know.”
As if to demonstrate, the newly hatched slithervox bleated a slow, eerie tune.
“Between them and the liquid organ,” Edilman said, “you could start an orchestra.”
He was being sarcastic, but the Dowager took in a short, sharp breath, as though the idea hadn’t occurred to her … but she liked it. A lot.
We moved to the second floor and came to a darkened passage just down the hall from my room. I peered into the shaded corridor lit by enchanted candles emitting pale green-blue light. Stone statues representing honored generals of the Provincial Guard lined the narrow passage. The passage ended in a massive door covered in a series of locks and dials.
“How interesting,” Edilman said, pushing the pince-nez closer to his eyes. “And what’s down there?”
The Dowager waved her hand. “Nothing of interest. My vaults where I store valuables. It’s not nearly as interesting as our next stop.”
We moved along but not before Callie, Edilman, and I shared a knowing glance. We’d found one of our two objectives: the vaults. Now we had to locate the ingredients for the solvent that Edilman was so sure were here.
Continuing the tour, the Dowager led us to the mansion’s library. I felt a tingle as we entered, like I was standing on hallowed ground. The tomes that lined the scores of bookshelves ranged from freshly bound and barely read to antiquated and crumbling but lovingly shelved. The Dowager glided from shelf to shelf with childlike excitement, reminding me of Aubrin weaving in and out of a crowd as she picked pockets.
I wiped the lenses of my glasses clean and sat with the Dowager as we paged through book after book. I have no idea when Edilman and Callie left us. I only know that one moment they were there and the next, it was the middle of the night and they were gone. The Dowager had dozed off. I helped her to her bedchamber, then slipped back to the library to continue reading.
At breakfast the second day, Callie and Edilman sat quietly by as the Dowager and I talked nonstop about aquatic life, geological formations, studies of the heavens, and other topics that went far beyond my simple love of magic-resistant plants. Whenever I could, I threw them a sympathetic look. But Edilman only ever responded with a touch to his temple. He understood. It was all for the con.
Later, after a stroll through the East Gardens, we sat down to a sumptuous dinner.
“What a bright boy Master Tyrius is,” the Dowager remarked to Edilman for perhaps the fourth time that day. “When you return to the academy, you can be assured that I will be making a sizable donation toward its continued well-being.”
Edilman bowed his head respectfully and I’m sure I caught him smiling to himself, no doubt thinking, You certainly will, Dowager.
As dinner finished, Edilman suggested we retire for the evening, but the Dowager took my arm. “You two go on ahead. I have something special to share with Master Tyrius.”
Callie and Edilman bowed and exited as the Dowager took me through the kitchen to a door I’d never seen. We went down a long, well-lit corridor ending in a narrow spiral staircase. “Watch your step,” the Dowager warned as she took a green-blue flame candle from the wall and led the way up. We climbed and climbed before coming to a closed door.
The Dowager produced a small key from a hidden pocket on her sleeve and we entered. The meager candlelight did little to tell me where we were. Handing the candle to me, the Dowager turned to the wall to our right, where I spotted a large wheel. Grabbing the wheel, the Dowager cranked it hard several times to the left.
As the wheel spun, I heard the clattering of metal above. Suddenly, a vertical slit of light appeared opposite us, high above the floor. The slit widened with every crank of the wheel, letting in the fading purple twilight. I could see now that we were in a large domed chamber, the dome opening as the Dowager continued to turn the wheel. In the center of the room stood a massive telescope.
The Dowager stopped turning the wheel and led me over to the telescope’s base. My heart raced as I took it all in. Spinning some small wheels near the telescope’s base, the Dowager bent over and peered into the eyepiece. Smiling, she stepped aside.
“Take a look.”
Closing one eye, I peered in. I saw a small cluster of stars against the encroaching midnight-blue sky. It was the constellation Xaa, but I’d only ever seen it as a dim speck before. Here, in the telescope, it was huge and brilliant.
“Bangers,” I whispered.
The Dowager nodded her approval and moved toward the slit in the dome. I followed her. From this height, we could see far across the forest-covered lands that surrounded Redvalor Castle. We stood at the railing and surveyed the grounds.
“I came to Redvalor Castle to research the natural world,” the Dowager said in her lilting, dreamlike voice. “For the last five years, it’s been absolute bliss.”
The smile on her face slowly melted and her flittering eyes grew sad. “Do you know much about mag-plague, Tyrius?”
I knew it had wiped out Vengekeep’s cattle several years ago, but beyond that, I knew little, so I shook my head.
The Dowager sighed. “When I was your age, I caught mag-plague. It’s very nasty. They weren’t sure I was going to live. But I persevered and I survived … at a cost.” The regret in her voice hung heavy in the room. “You can recover from mag-plague, but it leaves you in poor health for the rest of your days. The life expectancy of a mag-plague survivor is quite a bit shorter than that of a healthy person.”
She turned to me and her face became gentle again. “I’ve worked hard to do my research here and I don’t like the thought of dying without someone to pass it on to. So I sent letters to some of the finest schools across the Five Provinces, searching for the knowledge hungry. Hoping to find someone who might serve as my intellectual heir, willing to carry on my studies once I’m gone.”
A lump gathered in my throat, the cool night air adding to the chill I felt as I realized what she was saying. The Dowager laid her thin, bony hands on my shoulders.
“I think, Tyrius,” she said with a smile, “that you might be the brilliant young mind I’ve been searc
hing for.”
My face smiled, but my gut sank. In the back of my mind, I heard Ma’s lessons about not becoming emotionally attached to a mark. Over the past two days, I’d almost forgotten completely that our purpose in coming here had been to trick this woman. Now, as she sat here offering me a heartfelt confession, “Tyrius” was forced to beam while Jaxter tried not to throw up.
Unable to speak, I looked out over the grounds. As my gaze fell to the south, I stiffened and my jaw dropped. Below, I saw a long, large building with glass walls and ceiling. A soft white light flickered inside, making the glass sparkle. Even from up here, I could see the room was filled wall-to-wall with plants.
The Dowager gasped. “Of course! I can’t believe you’ve been here two days and I haven’t taken you to see the greenhouse. My pride and joy! Come.”
She took my hand and we descended the spiral stairs.
I breathed in a deep lungful of sweet, earthy smell as the greenhouse door closed behind us. The damp air covered me like a shroud as the miniature jungle crowded the narrow footpaths. Magical white globes hovered in the corners, providing a nurturing light.
“There’s no finer and more complete collection of rare and unusual plants anywhere in the Five Provinces,” the Dowager boasted, her arm sweeping the room. We strolled along, studying the unusual leaves and spotted-bark flora. Each individual plant bore a small copper plaque that identified it. I saw the aramon plant from which she harvested leaves to settle her upset stomach. I saw the plants that I kept in the pouches around my belt. I saw plants that I thought had gone extinct.
As we got midway through the greenhouse, I turned a corner and froze. A twisted mass of black leaves and vines jutted up out of a brown clay pot on the floor. A series of large purple, teardrop-shaped pods covered in bulbous, dark-ochre pustules poked out between the leaves. I swallowed and glanced down at the copper plaque.
Wraithweed.
As I reached out, the Dowager said, “Be careful. The pustules contain a very strong acid.”
