Rolduin swore he heard noises coming from within the apothecary building. He stood outside the small shop, leaning against the back of the building in the shadows. Directly in front of him was the edge of the forest. The shop stood by itself on the fringe of the village, and next to it was a home that he presumed belonged to the apothecary.
The shop should be closed at this hour. What was going on in this little village that a darkened shop emitted sounds? Still, he was certain he heard a steady, rhythmic thumping. He had no idea what it might be. All he knew was that he needed to find somewhere to stop and rest, and if someone was awake within the shop, they were his only chance at shelter without waking some poor, unsuspecting villager.
He creeped around the edge of the building, edging out of the protective shadows and into the moonlight that fell across the yard and the dirt road beyond. The grass here was healthy and sprung up after each step he took. As he came around to the front of the building, he saw a small light burning within. Not much, but enough to indicate that someone was in there, at least.
He gripped his cloak around him and walked up to the front of the shop and the wooden door there. Glancing to one side and then the other, he knocked and then tensed up as he waited. Perhaps a house would be a better choice. What had that sound been?
No time to worry about that now. The door creaked inward, and below his line of sight a small, pale face poked into the strip of moonlight shining in the narrow opening. The eyes were not wide and fearful. Nor were they twinkling with curiosity. Rather, they were cautiously inquisitive. Not a child, but a petite woman. Perhaps she was a halfling.
“Are you here for a remedy?” The small woman’s voice was soothing, like a mother’s. Not his mother’s, though.
His eyes hardened, and he shot a glance to the road. “Of a kind. May I come in?”
The woman pulled her head back from the door crack a bit and took a longer look at him with her deep brown eyes. “You may.”
The door pulled further open, and the flickering light of the lamp within danced across the wooden floor. The little woman had disappeared behind the door. He knocked the dust off his boots and stepped inside. As soon as he was in, the door creaked shut behind him, closing with a soft snikt.
When he turned to look, the woman was turning a key in the lock. She glanced over her shoulder at him, sliding the key into a pocket of the thin robe she wore. The garment was clearly made for indoor wear. Did she live here in the shop?
She strode over to the apothecary counter, taking longer steps than he would expect from one so short. Using a stool kept nearby, she hopped up onto the counter and sat down on it. She crossed one leg over the other and peered at him.
“What have you come for?”
His face got hot and suddenly he didn’t want to ask. He tried to build up his courage to request hospitality from this woman he had just met, when he noticed the look on her face. She didn’t seem intimidated at all by a strange man showing up at her doorstep in the middle of the night. In fact, was she leering at him? The heat spread across his cheeks and down his neck.
The woman raised one dark, arched eyebrow. She had chubby cheeks with a strong jaw and a splash of freckles across her small nose. From the bottom of the robe, her bare feet and legs poked out. That’s when he realized she was wearing nothing else beneath it.
“Well?”
He stumbled over his words. “Well. Umm. You know, I didn’t mean to disturb your rest. I should leave.”
She laughed heartily. “Disturbed my rest? You’ve done no such thing. Now speak up. What is it you came in for?”
He lowered his head to look down toward the floor and then flicked his eyes up to look at her from under the shaggy fringe of blond hair that fell in front of them.
“I need a place to stay for the night.”
Disappointment crossed her face. “No need for a remedy then?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, I’m afraid you can’t stay.” She hopped down from the counter, ignoring the stool and landing deftly on her bare feet. The robe flapped up as she dropped, revealing her ivory thighs.
He frowned. The woman walked past him and padded over to the door. His shoulders rose up and a jolt of tension shot through the back of his neck. His jaw felt tight.
He turned and made his way over to the door. “Is there anywhere else you can recommend I turn?”
The woman looked him up and down. “Why did you come here?”
“As I said, I need a place to stay tonight.”
“Why, though? What are you doing in Salthill?”
“The flames drew me here.”
“The flames?” The woman laughed.
“I thought there would be people about, tending the fire or performing rituals.”
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“It’s not a festival night.”
He hadn’t thought of that. It also occurred to him that he had not thought to ask the woman her name. “I apologize. I have not asked who you are.”
“I’m the Midnight Apothecary.”
“Pardon—I meant your name.”
The Midnight Apothecary looked pleased. “You may call me Chaperone Cantrell.”
“Chaperone? That’s an odd title for a healer.”
“I find it appropriate for my work.”
He looked around at the darkened shop with only the two of them. “Is it a profitable business—a night time remedies shop? It doesn’t look like you get many customers at this time of night.”
A smirk lifted the corner of Chaperone Cantrell’s mouth. “I assure you that business is well.”
That reminded him that he had heard a strange noise coming from the back of the shop. He couldn’t hear it from in here. Thinking of it, however, made the hairs rise on the back of his neck, as he wondered if other people were in here. He didn’t like the idea of not knowing who else was within.
“Do you tend to the wounded here, as well?” He spied a door next to the counter. “That’s not typically part of an apothecary’s work.”
“I administer some of the treatments personally.” The Chaperone followed his gaze to the door.
“What’s back there?”
Chaperone Cantrell’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you came here for my hospitality. Now you’re questioning me?”
“I heard a noise back there when I was outside.”
“What do you think you heard?”
“It was a thumping sound.”
Chaperone Cantrell laughed. “What do you think it was?”
He felt silly now, of being so suspicious about the sound. “I imagine it was you going through supplies in the back of the shop.”
“That seems a reasonable tale.” The Chaperone grinned at him.
He looked at the door that led back into the street. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he heard noises in the distance, the trampling of hooves. He swallowed hard, and his heart sped up its beat. He turned to the Midnight Apothecary.
“I could sleep in the supply room.”
Chaperone Cantrell eyed him. “Why do you look so nervous?”
The sound of hoofbeats was clear now—and growing louder. He closed his eyes and spoke slowly. “Please, they’re getting closer. I just need somewhere to stay until they pass through.”
“Am I going to be in some kind of trouble for having you here?” Chaperone Cantrell cocked her head. It looked as though she heard the sound of running horses, too. She scurried over to the lamp and tamped out the flame, dropping the room into darkness.
“Come over here.” The Midnight Apothecary’s small hand grabbed his in the dark, and she led him across the room to a corner.
He tried to be quiet as he followed, but his boots creaked on the floorboards.
“Quiet.”
He wanted to respond that he was trying, but he thought it was better to stay silent. Not because he was afraid of angering the tiny woman but because he was terrified the riders would hear them.
They reached the corner, and Chaperone Cantrell tugged downward on his hand. Then she let go of it and huddled in the corner. He took the cue and squatted next to her, keeping as far in the shadows as possible.
He chanced a whisper. “Why don’t we just go into the back?”
She shook her head hard.
The riders were on the road now, getting closer. They were nearly upon the apothecary shop. If he and the halfling woman made a move for the door, they could be heard, or their shadows might be seen through the window. He held his breath and was certain the sound of his heart pounding was audible.
The riders had slowed. They must be searching for activity. He’d kept mostly to the wooded areas on his way here, avoiding the roads, so he was fairly certain they wouldn’t find any bootprints. At least not of his. Even if they did see prints, lots of people traveled to and from Salthill. They’d be mingled with the prints of many others.
He and the little woman crouched there, listening for the riders to pass the shop. His eyes had adjusted to the moonlight trickling in through the shop windows, and he could see her next to him. The shape of the robe hinted at subtle breasts that created little tents in the fabric. A fabric belt tied in a simple knot pulled the robe in at her waist, but the garment’s edges had come loose as she moved around, and now there was a gap between them that revealed a swath of pale torso and just the inner edges of her breasts. He turned his head away as soon as he noticed how much of her body was showing and focused on the window and the sound of the riders.
After a while, the sound of creaking saddles and stirrups came upon the shop. He instinctually pressed himself against the wall, trying to get as far into the shadows as possible. In doing so, he pressed himself against Chaperone Cantrell and was reminded of the near nakedness of her little body. He took a breath and closed his eyes, feeling the duality of intense discomfort and tense fear.
It felt like an eternity waiting for the riders to pass, and then they were upon the shop. She was at the head of the group—the woman he’d been running from. Of course, she—the Preserver of Rites—didn’t deign to get down off her own horse to look around. Instead, the woman on the mount next to hers jumped out of the saddle.
He knew who she was, too. Rites Keeper Allidon Galanthus. Galanthus had brown hair cut short and close to her head. She was thin and just above average height for a human, and she had a tough, mean look about her. The Preserver of Rites didn’t go anywhere without Galanthus.
He held his breath as he watched them through the window. Rites Keeper Galanthus was walking around the front of the building, inspecting. Then the Rites Keeper walked up to the door. He felt Chaperone Cantrell tense up beside him. He looked down and saw her fingers curled into a clawlike shape, the nails trying to dig into the hard floor.
Unlike him, she had not stopped breathing, and her chest rose and fell methodically. He tried to follow her example, and took in a small, shallow breath. The Chaperone must be accustomed to staying calm in tense situations. That was good for him. The Chaperone’s eyes, however, were nailed to the front door, where Galanthus had stopped.
He couldn’t see the Rites Keeper anymore, but then he heard the knob on the door click, and then it shook as several times someone tried to turn it. The breath caught in his chest like he’d swallowed a hard lump of meat without chewing it properly, but the door didn’t budge. Thank goodness the little healer had locked it behind them when he came in.
Brief silence followed and then one more clatter of the knob turning before Galanthus gave it up, and he heard the creak of her footsteps exiting the porch. Through the window, he saw her looking up at Vivielle Falis, Preserver of Rites, and speaking, but he couldn’t hear her words. Then the Rites Keeper stepped into the stirrup and swung up onto her horse.
As the riders prepared to move on, he dared to let out the breath he’d been holding. That’s when the door next to the apothecary’s counter flung open.