CLEO – Ankratur

  Cleo ambled down the dusty street with Rosalia at her side. She had to amble, because even with a good night’s rest her exertions in the Blighted Lands still had her feeling like she’d fallen off a horse and been trampled into hard ground. A few times, Rosalia slowed her pace even though she wasn’t walking quickly, obviously realizing that Cleo wasn’t able to keep up.

  Everything around Cleo was strange and unnerving, from the road itself, the people, the faint outline of two moons, to the massive pyramid looming above her that blotted out almost half of the not-quite-Earth-blue sky. She imagined this was what people who went on overseas holidays felt the first time they arrived in a new country—except more intense. With a glance up, she decided she should probably find out what the moons were called, but as usual she couldn’t just ask without looking like she was completely ignorant or insane. That got old fast. She decided to distract herself and gather as much information as she could before leaving Ankratur.

  “How much is a healing potion?” she asked. “You said they’re expensive, but just how much are we talking about?”

  “The one we used in the Blighted Lands cost me just under ten florins.”

  That’s the gold coin. “Ten golds! As much as a wand! And it’s single-use.”

  “Though you can only use some of it, or half, as you saw Kalak and I did in the Blighted Lands. You even had a sip and it worked. Kind of.”

  “I did feel a difference. Not much, but I felt better.”

  “What you have to realize is they are sold in measured doses meant to be fully consumed all at once by one person. Kalak and I split the potion because we were in rough shape and it was the only option. There’s an exponential effect of the potion that has to be considered. Two drops are more than twice as effective as one drop. So when Kalak and I drank almost half each, we received far less than half the benefit.”

  “I see… I’ll have to remember that. If I can ever afford a potion. Ten florins is a lot to pay, but—”

  “But it’s better than dying, yes. I’ll admit I would have preferred not to use the potion, but in the state we were in there was no other choice. And because we did it’s going to take a few trips back into the Blighted Lands to recoup the cost. Unless we get lucky. Sometimes it’s a step forward and then two steps back.

  Cleo knew how that went all too well. With her lupus, she’d occasionally made good progress and not felt any symptoms for a while, and thought the worst was behind her. Only for a particularly savage bout to lay her low and reduce her to tears and hovering close to depression.

  Rosalia continued. “Most Adventurers are hoping for that big payday, the one where you get lucky and you make enough coin to retire. I say most, because some get addicted to the danger and the loot. They keep going back when they don’t need to. But of course, what one person can retire on might seem measly to someone else who has expensive tastes.”

  The mage led Cleo around a four-wheeled cart laden with barrels and bulging sacks, being drawn by strangely muscular elk-like animals whose coat was a shade of light-brown with a lighter underbody. Their antlers were like horns with small tines, and she thought they looked more like antelopes than… what were they called again? Plain-elks. There were also two leather-armored guards keeping watch from behind as the cart trundled along the stone street. Smaller hand-drawn carts were used to navigate narrow side streets—probably a result of the pyramid steps only being around one-hundred yards wide.

  “The wagon’s probably heading for an outlying village,” the mage said. “They don’t come across much trouble but hire guards just in case. It cuts into profits, but there’s not much you can do about that. The frontier is… the frontier.”

  They eventually found themselves outside a narrow doorway in an extensive building. One of many. Above each door was a projecting hanging sign, and the one in front of them had a rough sketch of a mortar and pestle. Easy enough to remember, Cleo thought. Mortar and pestle for alchemy or herbalism. Or both.

  She followed Rosalia inside to a small room with a counter along one wall. Bunches of dried herbs suspended from beams obscured the ceiling, though whether they were only for show or raw materials Cleo had no idea. The air inside was pungent and rich with the scent of herbs. She had to wait a few moments for her eyes to adjust from the glare outside, and it was noticeably cooler in the room. Two narrow tables contained small waxed paper packages the size of her palm, along with dozens of brown glass vials and jars—all bearing cream-colored labels with black cursive script.

  Behind the counter, a middle-aged woman with short gray hair looked up at them when they entered, and then continued to package bright-red paper squares into flat tins. “One moment, please, Rosalia,” she said. Behind her there was a rough linen curtain, which probably covered a doorway to a back room.

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  Cleo read some of the labels on the vials and jars. For a moment, the writing seemed to swim in her vision before steadying and becoming legible. Magic! Mau was good for something after all. She stopped herself, shuddering briefly as she recalled Mau’s revelation to her. But based on their behavior, it was hard to think of Mau as a demi-god and not just an annoying cat that should be here to guide her but was being difficult…

  A few of the jars read: Botanical Energy Syrup. Restorative Nervous Cordial. Obesity Tonic. Toothache paste.

  An eclectic mix… but probably to be expected. The shop was similar to a medieval pharmacy, and Cleo had no idea what was effective and what was snake-oil.

  The herbalist skirted the counter and approached Rosalia.

  “It’s lovely to see you, my dear! Though I didn’t think it would be quite so soon. How was your latest expedition?”

  Rosalia looked down at the floor. “Not good, I’m afraid. We lost Scrubby, and I had to use the healing potion.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” The herbalist shook her head and sighed. “The Blighted Lands are a dangerous place. So, you’ll be wanting a replacement healing potion?”

  Rosalia hesitated, then cleared her throat. “Unfortunately, I can’t spare the florins right now. I should be able to afford one in a short while, though. Kalak’s eager to get back out there.”

  “I’m sure he is, dear. But don’t let him drag you into anything too risky! Now, if you don’t want anything, then I’m guessing you’re here for the young lady?” The herbalist raised her eyebrows at Cleo.

  “Er… yes,” Cleo said. “You’re a herbalist?”

  “An apothecary, dear. There’s a big difference. I formulate from diverse sources, whatever I consider effective. Proven results from experimentation and scholarly study.”

  From what Cleo understood, an apothecary was a professional who made and sold various medicines, which tied in with her first impression that the place was similar to a crude pharmacy. “Well, I have a condition that is best managed, as it can’t be cured.”

  “Hmm… managed how?”

  “Painkillers. Anti-inflammatories.”

  “Painkillers? You mean pain remedies, of course.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And by anti-inflammatory you mean reducing fever and inflammation, which is obvious.”

  “Correct. And I don’t want anything that might be addictive. So no narcotics like poppy milk or anything like that.” She was sure opium was derived from a white liquid from the poppy plant. Or was it the seeds? And it was amazing that she knew the Low Imperial word for narcotics.

  “I have a source of natural alkaloids that’s less effective than anything with milk of the poppy. You’d still have to be prudent with its use. How often will you be taking it? Does your pain come and go, or is it constant?”

  “It’s fairly constant, but on some days it’s worse than others.”

  The herbalist rubbed her nose and sniffed. “I have some pre-made lozenges that you can chew. They don’t taste the best, but from what you’ve told me I believe they’ll do what you’re asking. Each one will last maybe a few hours, depending on your tolerance.”

  Cleo was used to pain-killers, so her tolerance was high. But in this world, she didn’t know what was normal. Would one lozenge knock her out or barely have an effect? There was nothing else to do but try them out. If they worked well enough, good, and if not she’d have to find something else when she arrived in Lethanas in a few weeks. Hopefully, she would only need one lozenge a day, or every couple of days, but there was no knowing their effect or the future.

  “How much for twenty lozenges, please?”

  “That would be ten talents for twenty. Though with your build, you might want to take half at a time. And… I shouldn’t say this, but even though they’re sweetened with honey, they still taste like an unwashed sock.”

  Cleo couldn’t help laughing. “It’s fine. I can handle it.” She’d definitely tasted worse, like the time her aunt brought some Chinese herbal medicine over and persuaded her parents that Cleo should try it. The tea made from the medicine was revolting.

  That’s ten of the silver coins. She only had four, so she’d have to break a gold. A florin, she reminded herself. With a dose of half a lozenge, she could scrape by with ten for five talents, but if the journey took longer than expected or she had a high tolerance to the ingredients and had to take more, she’d regret scrimping. “Then twenty lozenges it is, thank you.”

  “So polite! Rosalia, where did you find her?”

  “She’s only passing through,” the mage said. “On her way to Lethanas.”

  “Ah! Be careful there, young lady! Many a youngster’s followed their dreams to Lethanas only to end up destitute and falling into unsavory practices.”

  Like begging? Or prostitution? Or worse? “I’ll take care and try to avoid any trouble.” She had too little information, but Cleo resolved to keep her eyes and ears open and be cautious.

  “You do that.”

  As they spoke, the woman went behind her counter and opened a drawer. She removed a flat tin, opened it, and counted the contents. She took ten thumbnail-sized lozenges out and placed them back in the drawer. Each one was individually wrapped in waxy paper.

  “There you are, twenty Pinkham’s Soothing Botanical Lozenges for you, my dear. No more than two a day, or you’ll regret it! Now, will there be anything else? Some lip-papers to color your plump lips? I was just packaging them and can give you a discount?”

  “No thank you,” Cleo said. Plump lips? “Just the lozenges, please.” She fished around in her pouch for the gold florin, which she handed over, and in exchange received the lozenges in their tin and ten silver talents in change. It seemed twenty talents were worth a florin. That left her with twenty-seven drabs and fourteen talents. Oh, no, twenty-six drabs as she’d paid for the snozberry juices.

  Phew, that’s one important task done. Hopefully, the lozenges would be effective and she could manage her symptoms, and then buy more in Lethanas or find better options.

  So far, thanks to Rosalia and Kalak, she’d learned about parts of the world and how things worked during her brief time in Ankratur. But from the little she had learned, she knew that it was less than the tip of the iceberg. She vowed to make sure to absorb every drop of knowledge she came across, because she wouldn’t know when the smallest tidbit would be what she needed to survive and progress.