Chapter 1 — Pilot Light
A spoon laden with a gray powder hovered above the pan of a scale. The hand holding the spoon carefully tapped its side, resulting in a minute amount of gray powder falling onto the pan. Another hand adjusted the small sliding weight attached to the scale’s beam.
“Two point three grams... Fifty-three minutes. Might as well go a little longer,” came the muttered voice of a young woman, the scale and powder being the only things illuminated by a single candle in the darkness.
She gave the spoon another delicate tap, “Two point six grams... should be an hour flat.”
With practiced ease the young woman poured the pan’s contents into a small glass vial that was already filled with a murky solution. The caustic contents of a nearby beaker followed into the vial, and she immediately corked the vial with a crude wax stopper, gave it a shake, and rose from her seat at the apothecary worktable.
It was early pre-dawn, technically yesterday’s night, and far earlier than anyone should be awake, herself included. She shivered in the morning chill, her fingertips nearly numb. Despite this, she moved quickly through the apothecary workshop, the vial in one hand and the candle to see by in the other. She stopped only once to raise the candle to the shop’s clock and note its time. The clock’s low ticking and the near inaudible swishing of its pendulum were the only sounds to be heard.
The young woman continued through the cramped shelves of dried herbs, racks of hermetically sealed powders, and tables of well-worn glassware. Finally she arrived at the old cauldron near the center of the shop. It had been at least a generation since it had been put to its intended purpose. These days it was a glorified brazier, with a smoke hood and duct shoddily installed above it. In a way, it was about to carry out both its intended and reimagined purposes.
The young woman first placed her vial at the bottom of the empty cauldron. Next, from a small cask next to the cauldron she poured in enough cooking oil to submerge the vial by a few centimeters. Then barrick gel was mixed into the oil and finally logs of firewood were placed atop the mixture to finish it off.
All that was left was to pack.
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Across the room from the cold cauldron, tucked away in a corner behind multiple shelves, the young woman sat. She was on the ground, auditing the contents of a traveler’s pack with just a single candle for light. Next to her the floorboards had been removed, revealing a normally hidden cavity. Inside it rested a pair of leather boots, sturdy pants, a light tunic as well as a warmer one, and a hooded traveler’s cloak.
Notably absent was any kind of letter containing her thanks, farewells, or explanations. If the stash was discovered, she could downplay what her plan was, but any letter worth writing would have to mention what she’d done. Thus she’d have to save writing one till the absolute last minute.
“Water canteens, two, filled: check. Jerky rations: check” the woman muttered to herself, one hand holding a checklist and the other rummaging through the pack, “Coin pouch, savings: check. Pepper smoke flares, five: check.”
Down the checklist she went, past changes of under clothing, a small bundle of rope, and as good of forged identity papers as she could manage. She finished the list with her two bladed items: confirming the presence of the dirk she had liberated by patting its scabbard on the side of the pack, and a pat on her ankle confirmed the presence of her usual boot knife.
She was done and as ready as anyone could be. All she had to do was wait. All she had to do was trust in her preparations. Time was the only thing barring her way. Time was what she had—time and nervous energy.
With a shaky breath the young woman started working through her checklist for the fourth time.
A creaking from the floor above interrupted the audit of her supply of hair ties. She froze. It was soon followed by a half dozen more, each sounding out the beat of footsteps. With a muffled curse the young woman burst into a silent flurry, stowing her supplies beneath the floor. The last floorboard was in place as the footsteps and their accompanying candlelight entered the stairwell.
“Is someone down there?” Came a hesitant man’s voice.
“It’s just me, Master Andreou.”
“Ríoghnach? What in the hells are you doing up so early? And why is it so dark?” asked Master Andreou. He exited the stairwell into the shop’s foyer, candle in hand, and began lighting the small chandelier that hung over the center of the room.
Master Andreou was dressed in an old tunic and light trousers, both were a faded tan and likely hadn’t been worn in daylight hours in over a decade. He sported the night’s stubble which, like his short brown hair, was well inundated with shots of gray. He was tall but since he was without the muscular build that most farmers had, and therefore most of Leighton, he was immediately recognizable as someone with the luxury of an indoor career.
Still bleary eyed, he squinted through the dark shelves behind the shop’s counter and towards the single mote of light at the back of the shop.
From the dark emerged Rína, as she preferred to be called. She was covered in a leather work apron pockmarked with old acid burns and chemical stains that she nevertheless wore like a second skin. Beneath the apron she reluctantly wore the proper attire of a woman her age: a simple blouse, closed at the neck, and a black ankle length skirt, both made of rough cotton. Safety goggles adorning her forehead kept her eyes free of what few wisps of auburn hair had escaped her ponytail.
“I, uh, woke up a few hours ago and, well,” she delayed before catching on to an idea, “I had this idea for streamlining our extraction of lentshi wax, and I couldn’t go back to bed before I tried it out.”
“Ha, I should have—yawhhh—guessed. So how’d it go?” Master Andreou asked, interrupted by his own yawn, as he grabbed for a leather apron hung on a wall inside the workshop.
“It involved using a solvent to bypass the usual boil off, but the later decanting took more time than it saved,” Rína rattled off, going by memory as she had experimented with the process more than a week ago. With wide eyes she spied the shop’s clock in the growing light.
“Ah, shame it—” started the half-asleep apothecary.
“Why are you up so early?” interrupted Rína as she shifted uneasily beside a worktable, her eyes unconsciously snapping to the still cold cauldron.
“Oh, a few days ago Mrs. Ambrisque chewed me out after hearing that her last order of aspirin was made by a ‘mere apprentice’”, he quoted with derision, “not that there’d be a—yawhhh—difference. I woke up early, figuring it’d take a couple attempts. Excuse me,” he continued as he shambled past Rína and into the reagent shelves.
Rína sidestepped to bar his passage, “You know I could just handle the aspirin. I’m already awake and if she had to be told that I made the last batch, she won’t know I made this one either.”
“True, but I promised—”
“Plus the coffee required to keep you on your feet would cost more than whatever amount of product you’d make. You might as well go back to sleep,” Rína added, motioning to his general state.
Master Andreou considered for a moment, as he rocked slightly on his feet, his eyes dipping in and out of focus.
“Just this once,” he stipulated with a single finger upheld.
“Just this once,” Rína agreed.
“And not a word to anyone.”
“Not a word,” Rína confirmed with a shake of her head.
“Alright. Thank you Ríoghnach, I appreciate it.” Master Andreou said as he took off his leather apron and turned back towards the stairs.
“Do you appreciate it enough to just call me Rína?” she asked for what may have been the hundredth time.
“Nope,” he replied dryly, completing their usual ritual of thanks, and disappearing up the stairs.
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Rína waited until she heard Master Andreou’s footsteps reach the spot above her where she knew the bed he shared with his wife was. Mrs. Andreou would be a liability if her husband woke her up at this hour, but after ten minutes Rína heard neither of them stir.
She heard nothing except the old cauldron, now brazier, coming to life.
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“HI WEENA!” a small boy with a broad smile shouted, well above an indoor voice. He was furiously waving his left hand in greeting and clearly attempting to do the same with his right, but it was thoroughly glued to a plank of wood more than twice his height. He was accompanied by his mother, who reined in a storm behind her eyes. By her stiff posture, she was trying to hold onto as much dignity as possible, but it was a lost cause as she had to also hold onto the glued plank of wood to keep it upright. The two of them stood in the foyer of the apothecary shop, with the late morning sun filtering in through the shop’s front windows.
“Hi Tobias, hi Mrs. Devisher” Rína grinned from behind the shop’s counter, returning the wave, and doing her best to restrain a laugh, “What, uh, can I help you with?”
Taking a breath Mrs. Devisher began, “There was an accident earlier today when—”
“I was HELPING!” Rejoiced her son, his smile only widening.
“Indoor voices, Tobias.” Mrs. Devisher scolded, “He got into some of the construction materials for our house. I think my husband bought the glue here, and was wondering if Mr. Andreou had anything that could help.”
“Ha, yeah, that would have been the pine-resin based stuff we sell. Don’t worry, we keep a bit of solvent for it on hand. Just a second.”
Rína turned to the shelves nearest the counter. Her eyes scanned past bottles of wood lacquer, a case of the fresh batch of aspirin, a container of sleeping pills, and a jar of matches before finding the solvent in question.
One application of solvent to a squirming child later, and the child and wood plank were separated.
Mrs. Devisher sighed in relief as she reached for her coin purse, “Thank you. How much do I owe?”
“Oh don’t bother, that barely used any at all,” Rína said, waving her off, “Though I can sell you a full bottle if you want.”
Mrs. Devisher considered for a moment, looking over her son. Then with a grimace and a nod, she completed the purchase, and left the shop with the solvent bottle, her son, and a plank of wood in tow.
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On went Rína’s day, manning the shop counter. Through the shop’s door came Mr. Hubert to refill the painkillers he used for his broken leg, Mrs. Ambrisque to buy aspirin crafted by a master’s hands, Hanna Donahue to try a somewhat experimental skin cream a friend of hers had recommended, and a gang of pre-teens to surreptitiously pick up ‘the goods’—an innocent looking bar of soap that dyed one’s skin a bright blue—from an equally secretive Rína.
At noon the shop’s clock tolled the hour and moments later Mrs. Andreou’s voice came bellowing through both the house and shop floors, “Lunch!”
Responding to his wife’s call, Master Andreou rose from the worktable he had covered in sales and supply spreadsheets. He looked across the room to Rína, whose face was entirely covered by the goggles and face mask she wore. She was hunched over a series of flasks and beakers of various solutions and with great care was using a pipette to transfer amounts between them.
“Are you coming?” Master Andreou asked as he stretched.
“Just a moment... sorry, I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
With a nod Master Andreou disappeared upstairs as the sounds of the Andreou children’s feet stampeded to where Rína knew the dining table was above. The flask that had nearly all of Rína’s attention, with the addition of just a single more drop from her pipette, started to slowly bubble. Rína quickly stoppered the flask with a cork that, through a small tube, was connected to a gas-capture apparatus. Her work done for now, she rose from her glassware-covered worktable and began removing her protective wear.
Rína’s final escape upstairs was interrupted by a knock on the shop’s door, despite the ‘Closed for Lunch’ sign Master Andreou had adorned upon it just minutes ago. With a reluctant sigh, Rína answered the door, finding Madam Leigh at the doorstep.
Madam Leigh was a whole head taller than Rína, with her long Savick-blonde hair in a neat braid down one shoulder. She was dressed in a fine samite gown of blue with green accents and a long-sleeve fur shawl. She stood with a straight back, and with her hands clasped in front of her in the usual stately manner. She could have been called slim, were it not for the prominent bulge of her soon-to-be fourth child dominating her silhouette. And for all her children and elegant manner, Madam Leigh, or simply ‘Eva’ as Rína knew her, was only three years older than Rína’s own twenty years of age.
“Hey Eva. Uh, we’re just about to start lunch,” Rína motioned to the sign on the door, “Can whatever this is wait an hour?”
“Hello Rína. I’m not actually here as a customer,” Eva clarified with something between a sheepish smile and a grimace, “I wanted to talk with you privately, if I could. May I come in?”
“Uh, sure,” Rína agreed warily, leading Eva into the shop foyer, “What’s up?”
The elegant façade of Madam Leigh cracked slightly as she hesitated. Standing in the middle of the foyer, she took a breath, and began with a probe, “Do you speak with your father much these days, or do you two still practice polite, mutual avoidance?”
“Still the latter. I actually moved into the Andreous’ spare room a few months ago,” Rína said, motioning up to the second floor, “It was mostly to not have to trek across town each morning, but now I only happen to see him a few times a month.”
“Oh...” Eva muttered as she fidgeted with the end of her braid and tried again, “Have you seen him recently, or—”
“Eva. Yes. I know.” Rína said, saving the woman from her own inquiry, “My father came by a few days ago and told me about the...” Rína paused and involuntarily swallowed against her rising bile, “engagement. I assume that’s what this is about?”
“Yes... That would be it. I just wanted to make sure that you knew. Magister Leigh is holding something of a gala tonight at the estate and he’s planning on announcing it then,” Madam Leigh said, falling into her common role as a socialite discussing parties, “Your father will be there of course, and I saw your name on the guest list, but I wanted to know if you would actually attend.”
“What do you think?” Rína asked with a flat stare.
“So I assumed.” Eva said with a melancholy smile, “There was one other thing I wanted to talk with you about. I... I just wanted you to know neither I nor Veronica are going to belittle you as the third wife—as Dame Leigh—or try to enforce the prescribed pecking order. You know, it won’t be as bad as you probably think it will be. With the three of us, we—”
“Don’t.” Rína snapped, raising her hand, “Just don’t. I appreciate that you’re trying to give me hope, but don’t lie to me, and certainly not so brazenly,” Rína nearly spat, “Or are you forgetting who sewed up Veronica’s busted lip two years ago? Or who disinfected your own son’s lashings a few months ago? How about that rib you ‘accidentally’ cracked last year?”
There was a small voice in the back of Rína’s mind telling her that she was being cruel, that she was lashing out, and at one of the people who deserved it the least. Unfortunately that small voice was drowned out by the rage Rína was steadily unshackling.
Before she could stop herself, Rína strode right up to Eva. “Or what about today? Right now? That’s a pretty warm looking shawl, with nice long sleeves. But it’s toasty in here. Are you sure you don’t want to take it off?” Rína nearly spat as she grabbed for the pregnant woman’s shawl.
Eva, surprise briefly flashing across her eyes, reflexively grabbed first for her own garment, and then for Rína’s wrists.
“Stop! Rína! You made your point!” Eva shouted as she pushed Rína away from her. Rína relented and the two women stood apart without a word, the shop foyer silent except for both women’s elevated breathing.
“I’m not some delusional fool, Rína, as much as I sometimes think that would be preferable,” Eva began, wiping a tear from her cheek, “But the three of us will be watching each other’s backs and sharing the burden. Hells, we might even be able to keep the worst of it from falling onto any of us,” she said, motioning to her own arms, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but practically speaking, being married to a Magister does provide certain perks and... safeties, of a kind at least, that you’d be hard pressed to otherwise obtain in a frontier town like this. Simply being part of the gentry insulates you from a lot of hardships. It’s better than most alternatives.” Eva concluded with a pitying shrug.
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” accused Rína as she closed the distance between them once again, “because I can think of a million things better than spending my days pumping out kids in a gilded cage. For absolute starters I could get my own mercantile license and start my own apothecary shop, maybe in a city, or just another town, or I could—”
“But you can’t.” Eva interjected, pain and pity visible across her face, “I couldn’t, Veronica couldn’t, and you can’t. Under very different circumstances, maybe, but in your case you’d need capital and connections that you just don’t have. I’m sorry, but this is the world we live in.”
“And for all I care, this world can bur—!” Rína caught herself, smothering her last word. Rína paused, her breath suddenly heaving, and walked away from the other woman, “I think you should go.”
A saddened nod was Madam Leigh’s only reply. She turned and left the shop.
Rína stood alone in the shop foyer, the sky seen through the shop windows was bright and crystal blue as if to mock Rína’s own state of mind. As her rage slowly returned to its cell, she replayed the conversation in her mind; she replayed the words she had tried to cut Eva down with.
“Fuck…” Rína cursed under her breath.
“You owe that girl an apology.” came the matter-of-fact voice of Mrs. Andreou. Startled, Rína turned to see that the woman was standing on the bottom step of the stairs and was fixing Rína with a cold stare. The slightly portly woman was wearing her customary cooking apron, with her graying-brown hair kept in a tight bun.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Just a minute, not that it matters. I reckon the whole house heard nearly every word that was spoken between you two. Now come.” Mrs. Andreou commanded, “The food’s getting cold. You can draft your apology while you eat.”
Rína nodded, and silently followed Mrs. Andreou up the stairs.
It was regrettable, but Rína doubted she would ever see Eva again. She had to leave tonight, since for all she knew, after tonight’s announcement she might be kept from the Andreou apothecary. And besides, an announcement party was the perfect time to deliver to the Magister an early wedding present. It would just be a matter of Rína lighting the present’s fuse and escaping Leighton in time.