BREAKING AND ENTERING
By the time Taliana arrived at Ilyan’s shop, she had almost talked herself out of it. The shop looked perfectly normal. Was she jumping to conclusions? Acting too hastily? She leaned against the shop door, debating whether she should knock and wake the old man. Surely her news could wait until the morning, right?
Then the door moved under the slight pressure of her paw, swinging open silently on hinges that had definitely not been greased the day before. She squinted up at the metal latch. It had been melted off.
A crash and a stifled yell sounded from the mixery.
Taliana scurried across the shop. The mixery door was hanging ajar, the lock smashed. A faint light glowed inside, cut off intermittently by moving shadows. She stopped just outside the doorframe, listening with growing panic.
“There’s nothing I can tell you!” That was Ilyan’s voice, tinged with pain. “Please, just let me go!”
A smack, and a grunt from Ilyan.
“Try again.” That was the short pyromancer’s voice. “This doesn’t have to be painful.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” Ilyan whimpered. “There is no secret. I have specialized instruments, the finest apprentices, time-honed recipes. That’s it.”
The taller pyromancer’s cold voice cut him off. “I don’t have time for lies, old man.” The room brightened with a flickering orange glow, and Taliana heard the crackle of flames. “Perhaps losing a few of your recipe books will jog your memory.”
“Be reasonable,” said the other voice. “Start with his ledgers.”
“There is no secret!” Ilyan pleaded. “I cannot tell you a secret that doesn’t exist! Do you want me to make something up?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Wrong answer,” said the low voice.
The orange glow flared as the crackle grew.
“No!” came Ilyan’s cry.
Taliana glanced around for a weapon. There was a loose piece of wood hanging from the underside of the countertop. But what then? Charge in with a stick to confront two highly-trained pyromancers each ten times her weight? She should have gone for the night watch the moment she overheard that conversation in the alley. By now it was too late.
“We’re not ignorant,” the shorter pyromancer said. “You’re the only shop in the city whose strength potions are free of side effects. Your fever tonics kick in hours faster than your competitors’. What is your secret?”
“Please . . . there is no . . .”
“Torch those ledgers behind you,” said the low voice.
Another increase in the flickering glow.
“Please!” Iyan said. “Will you kill me? In the dead of night?”
“Of course not,” said the low voice. “Just leave you standing outside a pile of ashes that used to be your shop, if you refuse to cooperate.”
Could Taliana find anything better than a stick? The mixery would have a fire poker and various knives, but she wasn’t in the mixery. She was in the sellery, which only held . . .
. . . potions, tinctures, and elixirs.
Taliana hopped up onto a shelf, grabbing a bottle. It was too dark to read the label, but she had each shelf and shape of bottle memorized. With trembling fingers, she popped the cork and downed a gulp, then a second. Her mouth filled with the taste of cloves and cinnamon.
Elixir of Confidence.
It started as a tingling in the tip of her tail, then swept through her like a raging tide. Her hands stopped trembling.
Who did these ruffians think they were? Barging into her shop? Threatening her master? She would show them.
“I keep telling you!” Ilyan repeated. “There is no secret! You’re going to ruin me for nothing!”
Taliana hopped to a second shelf, popping a cork off a tiny bottle and downing half its contents in a single swig.
Ambrosia of Agility.
This one would take a minute for its full effect to kick in. But already she felt looser, more fluid, as she climbed to the next shelf and took a swig from a third bottle.
Tincture of Strength.
Adrenaline surged through her body. Her muscles felt fit to explode as she grabbed a bag of powder, then leapt back to the ground. Reaching under the countertop, she grabbed the spar of wood and wrenched it free. The crackle of flames in the other room would likely mask the sound. So what if it didn’t? Let these hooligans come. She was more than ready for them.
Spear in hand, Taliana kicked open the door to the mixery.