Is that it?

I was staring at the last page of Iffan’s latest notebook. In the centre was an exquisite drawing of the mother plant — even from the picture I could tell it was a fraction of the size it is now — shaded with mossy greens and peppered with tiny little leaves, similar to those of a clover. At the top of the page, in Iffan’s now familiar script, were the words “Mother Plant: Drone”. The rest of the page was blank.

I leafed through the other notebooks just in case, but I knew I wouldn’t find anything. Iffan must not have had the opportunity to study the specimen further. Whatever he knew about it, he took it to the grave.

I felt guilty for feeling disappointed, but that’s what I was. Iffan couldn’t give me any answers. Here I was again, treading water, hoping for inspiration. It was frustrating. It was lonely.

Whatever. It’s a stupid plant. I’m not going to let a plant bring me down.

I decided to shelve my plans for the mother plant — mainly because my mind kept wandering towards burning it and the whole damn shop down — and find another way to be productive. Luckily — if you can call it that — Eila’s intrusion had given me the perfect motivation I needed to start ticking some tasks off my list.

I went straight downstairs. I passed through the ground floor nursery, giving Mopla a wide berth, and out into the garden. There, I looked up and down the rows of scruffy cabbages.

“Alright, gents. You’re coming with me.”

It took me a bit of time to dig out all the cabbage heads. They had grown unruly, so I had to pluck bunches of loose leaves to make them halfway presentable. The scraps I worked into the soil, ready for the next batch of veg. Cabbages are a one and done job, though, so I’ll have to get some seeds for whatever I plant next. This could be a problem, as the only place I’d seen in the neighbourhood that looked likely to sell seeds was my shop. I’d ask Alicia about that later.

For now, I had a good batch of about fifty useable cabbages. Iffan had used the space well, but Anvil knows why he chose to grow cabbages, of all things. I could get so many carrots in here! Bah, maybe he had grown bored of carrots; who knows?

I have to admit, the familiarity of gardening felt pretty good. I’d literally never enjoyed it back home. It was painfully tedious work. It was dirty, it was sweaty, and you waited so long for the payoff. Granted, I had cheated by coming in at the end and stealing all of the credit, but today the work was giving me nothing but satisfaction. I even didn’t mind the gritty bits of soil stuck under my fingernails… much. I don’t know. I guess it was just satisfying to feel like I’m good at something. So much of this was new. I felt so poorly equipped for my new life. I was ignorant of so much. Cabbages, though? Cabbages never change.

I set aside a decent number of heads for us to eat, then bundled the rest into a little pyramid on the store counter. Of these, I picked out the most handsome little guys I could find, and stuffed them into a semi-intact crate I pilfered from the garden junk. Finally, I made a chord from some tatty old ribbon — maybe the haberdasher hadn’t been totally full of it, after all — and slung the crate so it dangled at my navel.

Magalat, meet “the box”, version 2. Now let me show you how we do it in Braxus.

The day was overcast, dreary, and dull. A light drizzle created specks on the dusty road that evaporated before the half cobbled, half mud surface could properly be called wet. A good omen, I’d say. It felt like home.

I donned a light travelling cloak with a grey hood. It was a but overkill for the weather we had, but I enjoyed the anonymity. I didn’t want those boys recognising me if I bumped into them again; they were bound to make trouble for me. It’d be worse still if I crossed paths with that same group of soldiers. The captain had been generous before, but there was no telling what his mood would be like if I caused him another headache.

My first port of call was nice and local. I turned a right out the door, walked six paces, and barged open the door to the haberdashery.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” Eila called from the back, answering the call of a miniature bell, heralding my entrance.

It was a pleasant little shop. Neat rows of fabrics lined the walls, ranging in colour from the mundane to the garish. Although only a pair of oil lanterns lit the place, it felt bright and cheerful, what with all the vibrant shades. There were dyes, textures, and patterns I’d never seen before. I tried to imagine myself in some of the rich purples or eye-popping reds, but I couldn’t get the image to stick. I’d only ever seen myself in sensible browns, greys and greens.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“How can I help you?” Eila said. This was followed by a defeated, “Oh,” when I peeled back my hood.

“Good day,” I greeted.

“Lovely to see you again,” he lied.

“Likewise.”

“What brings you to my humble little emporium?” He was wringing his hands again.

I maintained eye contact as I rummaged in the box — I know it’s evil, but it really is fun watching Eila writhe — and deposited a freshly trimmed cabbage on the counter. “A peace offering,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“It felt like we got off on the wrong foot. My fault, you took me somewhat by surprise yesterday.” I left a long enough pause to imply I didn’t take kindly to people breaking into my home unannounced. “I’m sorry,” I said.

Eila eyed the cabbage with one part suspicion, two parts greed. “No, no, it is I who should apologise,” he gushed, scooping the cabbage under the counter without missing a beat. “I really did not mean to startle you.”

“A clean slate then?”

“Indeed! Nothing would make me happier. And thank you. For the wonderful gift, I mean.”

“Actually,” I said, “there is something I would like from you in return.”

“Oh?” His shoulders slumped.

“Information.”

Half a turn later, I was back on the street. The drizzle had evolved into rain, but still wasn’t anything to deter a country girl from her quest. It had cleared the street of pedestrians though, which I was grateful for. The rainfall was also making an attempt to sweep away some of the more stubborn refuse, as well. Yet another blessing.

Eila had been delighted at my request. He talked breathlessly about the local area, prices of odds and ends, and local news. He also gossiped incessantly about his neighbours and local competitors. I decided he could be a useful asset, if used correctly. I would need to budget more time whenever I needed to speak to him though.

With Eila’s help, I had generated a substantial list of places to visit, and he’d even scrawled me a rudimentary map. I was in the process of figuring out which way up this went, when I heard the scraping of metal on metal. The chandler, just on the other side of my/ Iffan’s shop, was letting herself in. Judging by the plump sack over one shoulder, she’d just come from the market.

“Can I help you with that?”

“What’s that, dear?” The bespectacled pensioner said.

“Your bag. Would you like me to carry it in for you?”

She laughed at that. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying my shopping, thank you. Sweet of you to offer, though.” She eyed my crate, covered with the trailing end of my cloak. “Perhaps I should be offering to help you! That looks a mighty pain to carry.”

“It’s not so bad. Besides, I’m making it lighter, bit by bit.” I grinned. “Do you want to have a look?”

The chandler leaned in as I swept back the cover, revealing some solidly mediocre cabbages, that I felt sure would gain celebrity status in Magalat.

It seems my hunch was right.

“Where did you get these?” She sucked in a breath. “These are beautiful!”

“Aren’t they?”

“You can’t have got them from Crannoc, I’d have seen them. Rawfields? Ludgate?” She reeled off a list of markets that had no meaning to me. I’d tried to remember them for future trading, though.

“These are all mine, actually. I grew them.”

“Never!” she said, playfully pushing my shoulder.

“It’s true!” I giggled with her. “I was actually going to stop by later and trade some for a bunch of candles, if you’re interested?”

“If I’m interested, she says. Of course, I’m interested! Please, please, do come in! Let’s so some business.” She said business in the same way people say “delicious”.

“Well, I hope you’re ready to do a lot; we need quite a few candles. I just moved in next door, and the place is a pigsty. It’s as dark and empty as they come. Those looters didn’t leave us with so much as a blob of wax.”

I’d been speaking away so merrily that I hadn’t noticed the chandler freeze on the spot. I almost ploughed her over with my crate.

“Next door?” she said.

“Yeah, the old herbalists. I’m Iffan’s niece,” I explained, and realised instantly that I shouldn’t have.

Her demeanour had flipped entirely. All warmth disappeared. “I should have known,” she half-whispered.

“Excuse me?” I laughed because I had no idea how else to react.

“Young lady, you will not be having any of my candles, and I will not be taking any of your cabbages. Those” —she inclined her head so slightly that I wondered if she might be afraid of the offensive veg— “were grown with a heretic’s magic. The Glade lives in those vile things. No good comes from anything born of the Glade.” She took a deep breath before saying, “No matter what, or who, it is.”

It wasn’t hard to guess what she meant. She was talking about druids. She considered Iffan — and, by extension, me — born of the Glade, literally a product of evil itself. The Glade, for Anvil’s sake.

I made the people of Braxus uneasy with my unfortunate affliction, but this was different. This lady saw druids as sub-human, if she saw them as human at all. It baffled me. Could people really meet a man like Iffan and think he had crawled from the dark heart of the Glade?

Yes, Mel. They executed him, didn’t they?

“They’re just cabbages.” I tried to laugh again, but had to gulp the remnants of it down.

“Do yourself a favour: get out of there, dear. Get out of there and don’t ever think on it, or that man, again.” The way she said it so genuinely was utterly terrifying.

She had insulted me, my dear family, and everything we stood for. Yet, somehow, I felt like the one who should be sorry. I felt like the one who was in the wrong. Who was wrong. Who was unclean.

I cleared my parched throat. “I—”

“I’ll ask you to leave now, please,” she demanded.

I wish I could say I answered back. That I stood up for Iffan’s good name and put her in her place. What I actually did was nod, and leave.

I knew I was hated here but…

Get it together, Mel.

To the Glade with that nasty witch. Let her stew in that hell she hates so much. You know what you are an what you aren’t. She has no clue.

And what you are right now, is on a mission.