Gottfried rode in the quiet of the carriage, his bodyguards said nothing, they only sat cross-armed on opposite sides of him and stared out the windows as it rocked along on the pavement. The gentle rattle of wooden wheels over stone and the noise of horse hooves was the closest thing to conversation. Xagen and Xagin’s sour faces might have been mistaken for displeasure, but Gottfried knew better.

“Xagen, did you hear any of what was said?” Gottfried finally asked, glancing up at the mountain of an orc.

The orc didn’t look down at him, or away from his position at all. He only made an affirmative grunt.

“You have an opinion?” Gottfried prompted.

Another affirmative grunt.

“Give it to me.” Gottfried ordered, briefly rolling his eyes. ‘Dragging thoughts from an orc is harder than dragging a dragon out of its lair when it doesn’t want to leave.’

“Kill the elf.” Xagen uttered.

Gottfried dropped his head away from the orc and looked at the empty seat opposite himself.

“I plan to. Fa’Alenshi will wish he was only ‘offended’ when I am done with him.” Gottfried snarled and tightened his fingers into a fist. ‘I’m not really going to get an answer of the sort I wanted… but at least that one isn’t wrong.’ He thought and shifted the subject.

“What about the surviving Abacleon slaves? It’s been a few weeks since she asked me to do something about them.” Gottfried probed.

Xagin answered, again without looking away from the window where he constantly scanned for threats. “Orders sent to mines. Sold to softer places. Others, dead. Word has not reached everywhere, but a few weeks, yes.”

“No objections?” Gottfried asked.

“No one dares.” The orc retorted.

“Mother’s reputation continues to serve me well.” Gottfried said and ran a hand over his face. He did his best not to think of the sort of request that Iris had made of him, and he wasn’t doing very well, his mind was struggling for an allegory, turning it over and over in his mind, he finally hit on it. ‘Like the sort of request a beaten general makes. ‘Spare my soldiers and I surrender.’

It made his heart skip a beat in spite of himself when he hit on the analogy, and it inflamed him. “I begin to understand what you meant about her.” Gottfried said in a quiet and almost reverential voice. “I want to be left alone when she’s with me this evening.”

He waited for the objection.

Instead he got two affirmative grunts.

It made him only want her more, desire rushed through his body like a torrential rain through a dry riverbed. Gottfried leaned forward, opened the slat to where the coachman sat and said, “Take me to the nearest apothecary.”

“At once, my lord.” The elderly driver replied with a sort of scratchy little voice.

The carriage made a turn and within a few minutes Gottfried stepped out into the morning air blowing through a market. The sun on his face felt immediately pleasant, the warmth spreading out over his skin, the streets of the district were lined with shops opening up for the day, their storefronts each identical in size and showing off a variety of goods.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Not far away, Gottfried heard the sound of a hammer on metal where a smith was busy at the forge. He glanced in the direction of the sound, but didn’t see the source, ‘Around the corner.’ Gottfried concluded, people still hadn’t come out in numbers to shop, and so for just that lucky moment, Gottfried had his place on the sidewalk to himself. He glanced up to confirm what he sought, and there hanging from a metal pole jutting straight out of the building over the right side of the door, like all the other signs, was the universal symbol of the apothecary hanging down and swaying lightly in the breeze. A white circle with a red mortar with a snake headed pestle sticking out over the rim.

Gottfried dropped his eyes to the door in front, like any other shop’s door it was wide enough for two to fit abreast and made of common oak. A wide square slat at eye level had a red criss cross shape painted where it could be seen. ‘Not open yet? Odd.’ Gottfried thought and raised his hand to knock, and just as he was ready to knock, the slat snapped down, removing the ‘closed’ symbol.

Gottfried reached for the door, opened it, and stepped inside that very instant.

An old man with a hunched over back and a slow shuffling gait stared in disbelief before stammering, “P-Prince Gottfried…”

The old man started to try to go to one knee, but the young Prince held up his hand with his palm out. “No need, old man.” Gottfried gave him a magnanimous grin. “It’ll take you till I’m your age to get back up again, won’t it?”

A scratchy old laugh was Gottfried’s reward to enjoy while he looked the gentleman over. He wore an apron over a simple set of brown overalls, a beard that had not been ‘properly’ shaved in years, and long snow white hair hung down to his shoulders. Wiry but well fed, he had a constant little tremble to his body that befit his scratchy voice. He licked his lips a few times and gave a toothy smile that revealed ‘those’ at least were still intact. “You’re not wrong, My Lord, you are not wrong.”

A miasma of smells was all over the shop, and the many shelves were filled with items of all kinds. Glass vials, clay vials, metal and stone vials, small bowls of individual ingredients and vases with protruding stems with things Gottfried couldn’t have identified for the life of himself. It was fair to say, the shop stank.

But it was a ‘professional’ stink, the floor was clean and everything was as orderly as the finest military encampment. However, when Gottfried caught the faces of Xagen and Xagin, it was immediately obvious that they thought worse of it. ‘If they could turn more green than they are… they would.’

“Wait outside, there’s no reason to think an assassin would be here.” Gottfried ordered without looking over his shoulder.

The quick grunts were faster than any answer they’d ever given, and they immediately ducked back under the doorframe and stood outside, shutting the door behind themselves.

“Orcs have sensitive noses, I don’t blame them.” The old man said as he finally finished shuffling behind the smooth wooden counter and laid his hands on the surface. “What can I get for your Majesty today?”

“I need some Silphium, I’m not quite sure how men take it or what dosage is required for the best performance but…” Gottfried stopped speaking, the old man was looking at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Old man, did I say something strange?”

“Beg pardon, m’Lord, but are you sure about what you’re asking for?” The old man pressed.

Gottfried looked up and stroked his chin, “I think that’s what she called it. There’s a woman, she drinks it before we’re together. She said it wouldn’t have the same effect on a man, but…”

“You mean like Vrigian Leaf?” The apothecary guessed. “I can provide your majesty some of that if you’re… having trouble, I promise discretion to all my clients of course, it’s against the Apothecarian Oath to reveal anything about our clients.”

Gottfried blushed, “No, no, it works fine, better than fine in fact it’s just… I was thinking maybe Silphium would have an enhancing effect… is that not what it’s for?” He asked, now more than a little curious.

“Majesty…” The old apothecary shook his head and leaned forward to whisper, “Silphium Tea is a contraceptive, or an abortive, depending on when it’s taken. It has no other purpose, it’s how brothels keep their whores from getting pregnant every month. A weak dose hours before sex will prevent a child from being formed, a slightly stronger dose a few hours after will stop the conception process, and a stronger dose weeks later will terminate it. Though that will also cause much greater sickness. The lower doses will only cause a loss of appetite and some mild queasiness, not as bad as being seasick, but similar.”

“Oh.” Gottfried said, straightening up. “That explains a great deal.”

The apothecary reached behind him to a series of shelves and pulled off a little red clay vial, he laid it down on the counter in front of the Prince, “We all sell these in the same vial, no other medicine is used in them in order to avoid confusion. If a man drank it, at most you’d have the most bitter taste in your life and want to vomit. But it has no other effect on us, if a woman however, were to drink it too often?” The apothecary shrugged.

“What happens then?” Gottfried inquired, still looking down at the little red vial.

“If a woman consumes too strong of a dose too often, or has a weak preventative dose over an extended period of time, eventually she is rendered permanently unable to conceive.” The apothecary took the bottle back into his hand and turning around, he set it on the shelf.

“Now if you want something to ‘enhance’ your pleasure… may I suggest some opium cakes…” The old apothecary asked and turned around, only to find his shop was empty, and the door was slowly closing shut.

He scratched his head, “That was strange.” He muttered and reached for his mortar and pestle to get back to his usual work.