Lita covered her mouth, Archie’s rosy face drained of color in seconds, and Rosa gave a strangled cry.

“Where did you get them?” Mally asked, taking another look at the mushrooms in Lita’s basket. Yes, they looked very, very much like fairy caps, but they couldn’t fool Mally.

“At the market,” said Lita in a horrified voice. “I had to go there to get yarn for Abigail. A—a man pulled me aside and asked if I’d like some fairy caps. He had them right there.”

“This wasn’t someone with a stand?” asked Archie, still ghostly pale.

“No, but I didn’t think—I mean … he told me they were fairy caps,” Lita repeated, looking at each of them imploringly.

“It’s not your fault, Lita,” said Mally. “Not many people can recognize an amanita.”

Archie picked up the offending basket and, carrying it at arms-length like it was a venomous snake, quickly left the kitchen to dispose of the amanitas. Lita, still horribly shaken, sat down as Rosa cleaned up the broken teacup.

“Do you think he thought they were fairy caps?” Lita asked in a timid voice. She was visibly shaking.

“Possibly. If he wasn’t a good mushroom hunter …”

“But why would he give them to me if he wasn’t any good?”

“You didn’t buy them?” asked Rosa, standing up, a dripping cloth in her hand, pieces of pottery in the other.

“I offered to,” Lita answered. “But he kept saying that he didn’t like them and knew that I worked in the castle and knew that Archie liked mushrooms …”

“Who was this man?” asked Mally, starting to feel a strange iciness creep up her arms.

Lita shook her head, her eyes wide.

“I don’t know. He looked like a farmer—he was dressed like one.”

“But you saw his face,” Rosa pressed.

Lita opened her mouth, but didn’t respond. A concentration filled her eyes as if she were remembering. “No,” she admitted, her face falling. “He had this giant hat and his face was so dirty and it was so windy … it had started to rain—I—I wanted to get back. I—” Lita looked from Mally to Rosa, her expression one of deep horror. “He told me they were fairy caps.”

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Mally wasn’t sure how long it would take Lita to recover from the shock of nearly poisoning herself. Archie and Rosa didn’t breath a word of what had almost happened, so no one in the castle knew why Lita was so unnaturally silent and pale for the rest of the day. Mally and Lita were both tending a large stone fireplace in the west wing parlor when Lita finally spoke for the first time in what seemed hours.

“He must have thought they were fairy caps,” she whispered.

It was clear to Mally that Lita would rather try to convince herself that a blundering farmer had just made a mistake … a very dangerous mistake. And Mally couldn’t blame her when the other option was both much more sinister and ridiculous. Who would want to kill Lita? And what had she said the farmer had told her? That he knew Archie liked mushrooms? But who would want to kill Archie? He was difficult at times, but Mally couldn’t imagine someone wanting to kill him. And trying to do him in with mushrooms was so farfetched it almost made Mally laugh. Archie would have recognized the mushrooms for what they really were just as quickly as she had.

Lita had to be right. The farmer must have made a mistake.

“We need to get the sheets from the chambers down the corridor,” Mally said once they were finished clearing the fireplace of ash. Lita nodded, looking oddly green.

Lita gathered the sheets in one chamber while Mally headed farther down the corridor.

“You did well distracting Molick. I know that must have been difficult.”

Mally stopped. She had reached the end of the corridor, and she peered carefully around the corner. There stood Sir Leon Gibbs—his hair just as oily as ever—and Sir Brian Rendle.

“You know I’m good at causing distractions, Leon,” said Sir Brian. He had removed his red hat and his blond hair was tied back in a loose pony-tail. He stood slightly stooped, head bent toward Gibbs who was much shorter.

“He never made it to the orphanage?”

“No. Personally, I think he convinced himself it wasn’t worth looking into. You know how he hates rain.”

Mally silently backed away from the corner and hurried back to Lita.

“You think they were talking about your orphanage?” Lita asked after Mally had repeated the conversation.

Mally nodded.

“Molick wrote something down when I met with him—it had to be the name of the orphanage! And Betty said that he traveled to Halspeare. He must have gone to check my story!”

Lita looked unsure. “But there must be at least ten different orphanages in Halspeare, Mally. There might be one that hasn’t been paying their monthly taxes. Or housing rebels. Gibbs and Rendle didn’t say it was Corral and Chestnut. I think you’re overreacting.”

“But Gibbs said that Rendle distracted Molick from going to the orphanage. Maybe—”.

“Mally, please,” Lita cut her off in exasperation.

“But I’m sure it’s Sir Brian who’s been leaving gold for people. Maybe he and Gibbs are in it together!”

Lita stared at Mally as if a bird rested on the top of her head.

“Do you hear yourself?” she asked Mally. “You’re talking about Gibbs. Gibbs who orders knights to break people’s arms. Gibbs who burned down three homes last week. Gibbs sits in Molick’s pocket, Mally! And Sir Brian sits in his.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“But Gibbs knows the truth! He knows I’m not an orphan, and he’s done nothing!”

For a moment it looked as if Mally had her there, but then Lita said simply, “He must not recognize you. I doubt he can see very well what with all that winking and squinting.”

“Lita!”

“I don’t have a better explanation!” Lita huffed. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Mally. Just let it go.”

“But—”

“Let it go!”

And with that, Lita gathered up an armful of sheets and left.

***

Lita refused to listen to Mally’s suspicions about Gibbs and Rendle. Over the next two days, she would clam up and pretend she didn’t hear Mally whenever Mally would start up again. Mally couldn’t understand why Lita was being so stubborn. But Mally had to admit that it was hard to believe Gibbs was on their side, for he was nastier than she had ever seen him in the days that followed. She witnessed Gibbs taking multiple men and women to the dungeons and it took hours for her to get their wailing out of her ears. Not even the servants were immune. For some reason, Christopher was called away one night and appeared hours later in the sickroom with a black eye and bloody lip. When Meriyal demanded to know what had happened, Christopher had explained that Gibbs was “displeased” with how Christopher had shined his daggers. Mally and the rest of the servants treaded carefully around Gibbs.

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With the arrival of the bitter weather, a sudden increase in colds swept among the servants. The usually vacant sickroom was full of coughing and sneezing, and Gladys’s supply of cold tonic was nearing its last bottle.

Whether it was due to the stress of nearly poisoning herself or Gibbs’ new tendency to lash out at everyone, Mally couldn’t decide, but four days after the mushroom incident, Lita was in the sickroom, covered by three wool blankets, and still had chills.

“How am I supposed to help you find you-know-who when I’m laid up in bed?” she asked thickly.

“Badger the other poor souls who are just as miserable as you?” Mally shrugged.

“How are you not sick?” Lita grumbled, wiping her streaming nose.

“It’s all that country air I grew up in,” Mally replied playfully.

Lita’s watery eyes scowled at her sourly. Thankfully, Gladys took that moment to interrupt.

“Mally, are you doing anything?”

“Well—”

“Excellent!” Gladys thrust a small moneybag and a list in her hands. “Go to Maud’s and pick up the ingredients for my cold tonic. I’m much too low.”

“Who’s Maud?” Mally asked.

“The only reliable apothecary owner in the city,” said Gladys.

Lita suddenly snickered.

“Something wrong, Lita?” Gladys asked primly.

“Crazy, batty Maud,” Lita teased, wiping her nose across her sleeve and staring at Mally wickedly. “Ooooh, be careful, she might cut off your hair! She’ll bargain for your fingernails!”

“That’s enough, Lita!” Gladys scolded heatedly as Lita laughed wildly, looking slightly mad herself.

After receiving detailed directions to the apothecary, Mally waved goodbye to Lita, whose laughing had turned to wheezing.

A misty fog had crept into the city from the ocean, blurring and obscuring the buildings and the heavily-cloaked inhabitants. Mally tugged her own cloak more securely about her shoulders and headed down a narrow, deserted street. Her pace slowed as she looked up at the gloomy storefronts. She had never been down in this part of the city. Her shoes clicked clearly on the cobblestones, filling the silence. The rusty lamps mounted on the sides of the buildings sputtered dimly; water droplets speckled their glass sides.

It seemed to grow colder and darker as she continued down the street. Her breath was an icy vapor. Gladys had told her that Maud’s store was number one hundred and thirteen. Shivering, she tugged her cloak about her tighter.

“Hundred eleven, hundred twelve,” Mally muttered under her breath as she passed the dull metal numbers on the doors. The heavy silence was beginning to make her skin crawl. “Hundred thirteen.”

Mally looked up and saw a wooden sign hanging above a large, dirty window. The wood was so grungy and black that the letters painted on it were unreadable. Mally focused on the window display. On the other side of the smudged glass, piled on a table, were jars of cloudy liquids, strange ornaments, garlic heads the size of her fist, and cracked skulls. Shivering slightly, and praying that Lita had really just been joking about crazy Maud, Mally tentatively pushed the heavy door open.

The inside was dimly lit by smoky candles set in wall brackets and clustered here and there on tables and shelves. There was no one in the shop. Even though the room gave her chills, Mally was sure it was indeed an apothecary. On a round table next to her were mortars and pestles—white, green, and charcoal black. In a corner stood large barrels each labeled with inky signs: Beetle Eyes, Salamander Tongues, Orange-Striped Frog Eggs. From the ceiling hung bundles of dried herbs and flowers. Mally spotted a cluster of dried foxglove dangling near a set of shelves behind the only counter. Mally walked up to the counter and nearly yelled out loud. A large, black rat sat on the counter, his bald tail wrapped lazily around a rusted bell. He was the largest rat Mally had ever seen and he stared up at her with watery eyes. She stood still, her hand hovering out toward the bell, trying to talk herself into grabbing it from the rat. Quick as a flash, she picked up the bell and gave it a ring before dropping it back on the counter, her stomach queasy. The rat kept its ugly face on her and she in turn took a half step away from him.

As she waited, and in an effort to ignore the constantly staring rat, Mally’s eyes ran over the shelves behind the counter. There were more jars of powders and liquids, and in the gloom, Mally could make out some of the tiny signs on the shelves. After reading the fourth known poison, Mally deduced that the contents behind the counter were dangerous. Squinting her eyes, she made out the label under a small jar just opposite her on the middle shelf: Powdered Amanita.

Mally wrinkled her nose in distaste and took another step away from the rat and counter. A sudden thud and clunk attracted Mally’s attention and looking up, she saw an old woman emerge up a set of steps behind the counter. She was stooped and walked with a twisted walking stick. As she stepped up to the counter where three candles flickered their light, Mally blinked in surprise. It was the woman she had seen in the Lone Candle the morning she had first entered the castle. Up close the woman looked just as frightening to Mally as she had that morning, from half way across the room. Her stormy gray hair hung lank about her chiseled face. Her large nose had a long scar running down its side. Upon seeing Mally, the woman grinned, showing mossy teeth. The smile didn’t ease Mally’s mind at all.

“I knew I’d see you again,” the woman said in a slow voice that seemed to sputter and spit like her candles. “Maud knew.”

“Are you Maud, then?” Mally asked, gripping hold of the counter’s edge to keep her feet from increasing the distance between them.

The woman nodded.

“I need these please.” Mally pushed Gladys’s list toward Maud.

She picked it up with a claw-like hand, looked it over and turned away from Mally.

“Cold tonic?” Maud rasped, pulling jars and bags off of shelves.

“Yes.” Mally wished she would hurry. She inched a little farther away from the rat. A wooden box sat by her elbow with the words Live Anasi Spiders written on it. A soft scratching issued from within.

“Twenty-three,” said Maud, putting a large bag on the counter.

Mally hastily handed over the money and picked up the bag.

“I know who you are.”

Mally stopped and looked at Maud who was staring at her so intensely Mally wondered if she was breathing.

“People ain’t got no eyes, do they?” she whispered with a crooked grin.

“Sorry?”

Maud gnashed her teeth through her grin, which looked more like a grimace.

“Hold your head—hold your head just like ’er … just like ’er.” She seemed to be speaking to herself, though her black eyes never left Mally’s face. “Where’d he get it, eh! EH?” she suddenly exploded and Mally took a startled step back.

“I’m sorry … get what?”

But Maud didn’t seem to have heard Mally for she was chuckling and repeated quietly, “Where’d he get it?”

Her grin widened at the shocked and confused look on Mally’s face and her chuckling intensified to a cackling laugh. Her gaze lingering on Mally, she turned and slowly limped away from the counter, down a set of stairs into darkness, laughing and repeating her strange question as if it were a riddle that only she knew the answer to.