Before I could even draw in a breath to respond to the rap-tapping at the door, the door swung open and our visitor let himself in. I made a mental note to bump ‘fix the lock’ up my list of priorities.

“Yoo-hoo, Iffan. It’s me again. Pardon the intrusion, hope you don’t mind.” The man chuckled to himself. “The place is looking smashing, by the way, and… The place is looking smashing.”

“Can I help you?” I said, coming up to the counter.

The man nearly made it to the third floor, he jumped so high. “Ah—Anvil curse and dread! Who are you?” he snapped.

“The owner,” I said, and pretty coolly, if I do say so myself. “You said you know Iffan. I’m his niece.”

I’m not the sort to stand my ground against my seniors — despite what my father might say — but this guy was so snivelling that I struggled not to think of him as a child. He might have had a scant couple of hairs pasted across his head to hide the baldness expected of a man his age, but he moved with the nervous, erratic energy of a toddler swiping biscuits. When I spotted the empty basket on his arm, I figured out why. Here was a toddler swiping cabbages.

“Goodness me, that’s right! That’s right! Why, you’re the spitting image of him.”

“He’s my uncle by marriage.” This was a lie, but it was fun watching my unwelcome guest squirm.

“Ah, of course.” He tried to roll up his sleeves, only to find he already had. “Well, let me be the first to welcome you to the neighbourhood! I own the haberdashery next door, you see.” He held up a sewing needle by way of… proof? “Mr. Eila, at your service. I would be delighted to show you around sometime. Once you’re settled, of course.”

Rudy, the blacksmith back home, was the sort to trip on his own tongue as well. This came to mind because I couldn’t figure out what I found so detestable about Mr. Eila. Rudy was a genuinely nice person, just a bit clumsy and stuttery. It didn’t make him any less likeable. Why, then, did our resident haberdasher set my hair on end?

“I, uh, am sorry about the little mix up,” he said, gesturing at the door he’d left ajar.

Oh, wait, yeah. Breaking and entering. That’ll be it. That’s why I didn’t like the guy.

“Think nothing of it,” I said. “The sign does say we’re a shop, I suppose."

“Quite, quite.” He fixed the neckline on his collarless shirt. “Which reminds me, actually. You see, Iffan and I used to have a little accord, of sorts. He would set aside some of his vegetables — just anything he could spare, of course — and I would see him furnished with thread, zippers, ribbons and the like, whensoever required. I trust we can enjoy the same, mutually beneficial, arrangement?”

Funny. Iffan wasn’t really a ribbons kind of guy. “I’ll give it some thought. As you can see, though, there won’t be any vegetables for a while. It seems that looters really did a number on the place.”

“Yes, yes. Tragic, what those wretches did. I was beside myself when I found out.” He shook his head one too many times.

“Goodness me, is that the sonorous tones of one Glagat Eila, I hear?” Alicia announced as she swanned in from the garden. “As I live and breathe, so it is.”

“Alicia!” Eila’s voice trilled. “Darling, how delightful to see you! My, you are in remarkably good health.”

Actually, Alicia looked like she’d been poisoned by a craw fly not long ago. Weird, that.

“Yes,” she said, “it would seem being a widower has done wonders for my complexion. My, you should see what it’s done for my mood!” She laughed theatrically.

I reckon Eila is pretty daft, but he proved he wasn’t stupid. “Ha-ha, yes. Quite. Well, I’m sure I’m getting in the way, just dallying here in the hallway. Best I get out of your hair.”

“Mm, much to do, I’m afraid. You know how it is. Still, awfully nice of you to keep an eye on the place in my absence. I shan’t forget it, Glagat.” Alicia clicked her fingers together.

“Oh, but you must. I insist. Really, it was no trouble at all,” Eila said, already halfway out the door.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Mr. Eila! No good deed goes unpunished."

The door clattered shut.

Alicia was still burning holes in it, so I tried to cheer her with a well-intentioned, “Friend of yours?”

“A spineless, two-faced, backstabbing—” She took a deep breath. “Ah, to Glade with him.” She waved a hand at the door. “No worse than most, if I’m honest.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

“He wasn’t one of those that dragged Iffan from his bed in the middle of the night. It wasn’t his hands that pinned me against the wall as the mob dragged my husband to be hanged. I suppose Eila’s worst crime is just doing nothing.”

I thought of the sweaty little haberdasher watching the lynchers file by his door without so much as a complaint on his lips. “That’s just as bad.”

“No, Mel, it isn’t.” She fixed me with a look. “Time was I would have said the same, but if you’d seen the murder in the eyes of those men… The Glade’s too good for scum like that.”

The atmosphere was getting a little heavy for my liking. “Does that mean I can’t hate on Glagat?”

She laughed. “Tempting though it is, I’m going to have to insist you don’t. It hurt to see him stand by and do nought, but I know in my heart I’m being unfair. It’s not cowardice not to interfere with a crowd hellbent on killing. It’s just prudence.”

“Maybe, but he was trying to steal our cabbages.”

“The little wretch! Hate away, Mel. Hate away.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Eila’s intrusion fairly thoroughly killed that day. We wrapped up the work soon afterwards, had a simple soup for dinner, and went to bed.

My night was plagued with all manner of thoughts. Maybe it was the newfound sense of responsibility, or maybe it was the fact that I’d slept almost twenty turns the night before, but my mind was busy. I thought about our finances, our food situation, the state of the house, furniture we needed, the neighbours, acclimatising to the city, growing food, and a billion other things besides. It was deeply unpleasant.

Whenever it seemed like I might finally give myself over to sleep, I felt the tendrils of darkness creep across the back of my eyes and I would instantly snap awake again. The feeling was too reminiscent of that vine, writhing in my hand, fighting for its life. Surely there had been nothing to it. Surely it was just a trick of the light, or a moment of delirium. Yet, even now, when I blinked the sleep from my eyes, I fancied I could see a mist of yellow pollen, colouring my peripheral vision.

Eventually, I did sleep. It wasn’t good sleep, but it was sleep. That would have to do for now. There were things to be getting on with.

First think on my list:

“What the hell is that thing, and how do I get rid of it?” I asked Alicia, pointing at the creepy creeper.

“What, little Mopla?” she said.

I blinked. “Are the words I’m saying making sense to you? Because I’m getting nothing from your side.”

Alicia snorted. “It’s what Iffan and I called her. She was the latest addition, before everything went to the Glade and my life fell apart before my eyes.” Her eyes roamed the length of Mopla. “My, she has grown somewhat since then.”

“What is she? It,” I corrected. “Because, frankly, if we can’t eat it, then it’s got to go.”

“She’s a mother plant — Mopla.” Alicia winked.

“A mother plant?”

“Iffan said she puts nutrients back into the soil, or something. They’re supposed to encourage other plants to grow. He described it as a symbiotic relationship, of sorts.” Alicia put her fists on her hips. “Although I daresay something’s gone a wee bit wrong.”

“Yeeah. I think Iffan picked up a broken plant.”

“Well, these herbs have had no light or water for many moons, now. I don’t think we can blame Mopla for their poor health.”

“You are far too forgiving.”

“You bring it out in me,” she said. “So, thinking of revamping the place, are you?”

“Less so than I was. No offence, but when I first stepped foot in here, I was ready to strip the place bare and rent out the space for storage,” I said, only slightly apologetically.

“No offence taken. I’ll admit it’s a tad on the overwhelming side of things.”

“But now I’m thinking we can make use of Iffan’s set up. He built the place for things to grow, so let’s use it for that. I’ve seen the market; Magalat looks like it’s constantly on the edge of starvation. Who better to turn that around than a couple of farmers from Braxus?”

“Save Magalat? Not a tall order in the slightest.”

You know what I mean! “Alright, not save Magalat, but at least start producing some semi-good food. I think we could turn a decent profit if we could grow swede even half as beautiful as we did in Braxus.”

Alicia tussled my hair, which I hated. “Well, look at you! Taking to this naturally, I’d say.”

“The main problem is it takes time for crops to grow. In the meantime, we don’t even have food to feed ourselves. We’re going to run out of cash long before we’re picking sprouts. Hence why I was asking if we can eat that thing.” I eyeballed Mopla. “That would really help.”

We regarded the dark green, knotty fronds of the mother plant.

“I shouldn’t imagine you can,” Alicia said, “but I’m no expert.”

“Pity.”

“Perhaps you should ask Iffan.”

She was giving me a knowing look, but I still felt compelled to say, “I’d love to, but he’s, unfortunately, dead. Sorry.”

“That doesn’t stop me leaning on his wisdom.” She smiled.

Oh dear. This was all getting a bit too spiritual for my taste. “Look, Alicia—”

“Hold that thought. Before you say something we’ll both regret, let me show you what I mean.”

Alicia marched me up to the third floor and into the dark recess of Iffan’s workshop/ laboratory. It was difficult to see anything in detail but Alicia clearly knew her way around. She went straight to a low cabinet and started fishing about at the back.

“I only hope that… Aha!” She laughed. “I suspected those morons wouldn’t know the value of these.”

Alicia pulled out a stack of twine-bound workbooks, which she cradled in her arms as she led me into her old bedroom. I felt uncharacteristically embarrassed that I hadn’t made the bed, but Alicia didn’t seem bothered. She plonked the books down on the crumpled heap of my duvet with a look that said, “Ta-da!”

“Iffan’s notes?” I surmised.

“Indeed. Detailed ones, too. Iffan didn’t just play at gardener; he was damn good at his job. He catalogued behaviours, perfect conditions, responses to stimuli, all sorts. In many ways, he was more of a scientist than anything else.”

“I had no idea.” I flicked through one of the books. Detailed notes in tight, precise lettering filled the pages around wonderfully rendered colour illustrations. “They’re beautiful.”

“He always acted like he didn’t care, but he’d thank you for saying so.”

“Then I’ll say it again; these are beautiful. Thank you, Alicia.”

“Come, you’ll make me blush. Anyway, no doubt he wrote a paragraph or two about Mopla. If you don’t have any luck with these, then fish around in the office. He has a few books from other herbalists that he kept for reference.”

“I’ll do just that,” I said. “Thanks again.”

“I’ll leave you to it.”

I leafed through the notebooks until I found one with fewer sheaves than the others. I guessed this was the newest. He must have been whisked away before he finished it.

“Okay, Mopla. Let’s see what you are.”