“Fourteen thousand aerlicks is the typical amount to be billed. Oh, and my mistake, I completely forgot—five bushels of ember’s core, the freshest you have.”
“Of course, of course!” Merrill stood and curtsied. “If that’s good enough for Fel, that’s good enough for me!”
Ember’s core was the most expensive item on his list, something that no other person could grow on this side of the gates, and Merrill knew it. By asking for five, rather than four while holding the price constant, the merchant would be placing Merrill at a loss for the entire order. He held a steady gaze as she walked away, but there was a glimmer of hope behind his eyes, knowing that he might have completely fleeced her.
Merrill made several trips back and forth from the table to the store rooms, keeping up small talk with the merchant as the table slowly filled. First she brought the promised sourbean, a greenish brown liquid that filled corked bottles to the brim, extremely viscous and with small particulates that clung to the sides of the glass. Next she fished deep in her cupboards for the crushed heavenly falls. That one had to be harvested just before winter struck, as the leaves prepared to fall of their own accord. Harvest during any other season, and picking the forty-year-old bush clean of its blue green leaves would kill it within weeks. That meant the only stock she had was several months old, though heavenly falls would keep so long as it was kept away from heat and light. Then there was the radiant grass, which she clipped out of a patch in the very center of the garden, where it would receive the most heated sunlight out of any other plants, bearing the full brunt at noon and the hottest parts of the day. Four mirrors hung at the corners of the courtyard, angled to catch the sun at its zenith and redirect the rays down to that lone grass patch. Even now, relatively early in the morning, the patch was nearly too bright to look at, and the hairs singed on Merrill’s hands as her scissors weaved in and out to cut the stalks. Had it been afternoon, she would have had to redirect the mirrors first, or risk burning her hands and going blind from staring at the blades.
Just as the merchant had done, Merrill left the ember’s core flowers for last, pretending not to notice as agitation built upon his face. Instead of walking to the garden, where the tiny crimson flowers grew on long stems among coals that Merrill kept alive and burning at their roots, she instead traveled to the basement, selecting five bushels of demon’s hair. Dried, the hair and the flowers would look similar—long stalks with the hints of red—but demon’s hair retained its properties almost perpetually after harvesting, especially when dried. Ember’s core, on the other hand, had to be kept among coals for long distance transport. Even then, it could only retain its properties for two months. After that the plant was utterly useless. Even seeds could not be scavenged from the dried waste, and its taste would be that of ashes and burnt bread. Then the plant would no longer spring into flame as dust fell, its fires lighting up the brilliantly red, four-petaled flowers at the end of its long stem.
“Five bushels of ember’s core, freshest we have!” announced Merrill, dropping it onto the table. So old were the bushels of demon’s hair that dust puffed up from the mound, wafting into the merchant’s stunned face as Merrill continued with the price. “Now for your fourteen thousand aerlicks.”
“Th-that isn’t what I said!” the merchant protested, his chair screeching back. “That ember’s core has all gone bad! It’s expired!”
“Now hold on, you’re not going to trick me,” said Merrill, folding her arms across her chest. “We had a deal here. You asked for five bushels, and I brought you five bushels.”
“But not of that!”
“Yes! That is the freshest ember’s core I have, which is exactly what you asked for. Picked and bunched them myself only three months ago!”
“You, you’ve ruined them! Does Fel know about this? He’ll be furious. Do you have any idea how much that is worth?”
A small fortune. It’s the bulk of your order, as we are both aware.
“It’s just plants. We can grow more,” Merrill said, waving a hand. “Now, back to our negotiation.”
“Bargain is off.” The merchant said, backing away and leaving the rest of the herbs on the table. Merrill sighed loudly, collecting the remains of the “ember’s core.”
“Guess I‘ll just have to give this to the next merchant. I hate harvesting these: Gets so hot it makes my hands sweat. And I’m planning on collecting the next batch tomorrow, so it will save me the work.”
“You have another batch growing? Girl, just get that for me then! That’s what I wanted!”
“You never specified that,” Merrill let frustration creep into her complaint. “Besides, that one is for the other merchant. He ordered it special and was very particular. I suppose I could switch out these two batches, but I’m not so sure.”
“What’s he paying you for them, then?” The merchant asked, his purse already on the table. Merrill hid her smile, as she watched the speed at which he unzipped it. Ember’s core was likely the main reason he was visiting her and what would make him the most profit. That was why he’d tried to trick her into giving him more. To him, it was worth the most. And with only that remaining, and the potential to lose it to someone else, the negotiations were now in Merrill’s hands.
“Well, he wanted six bushels, but he was going to pay more than you were. About three thousand a bushel, if I remember right. That’s probably too much for you. Besides, it takes me forever to regrow those, and they’re a real pain. If he doesn’t like the dried ones then I’d rather pull my hair out than sweat away the afternoon in this heat.”
“Well, here’s the deal, then,” said the merchant, and Merrill could almost see the figures and numbers running across his mind—figures and numbers she had anticipated and estimated in the trips to and from the table and had led to her faux price. “I can match that, but not only that. I can give you an extra fifty aerlicks for your own trouble. Consider it your own payment, that Fel doesn’t need to know about, for your work in regrowing them. You could buy yourself something incredibly nice with this. Certainly would go a long way in the market. But I’m going to need something else to make it worth my while.”
Worth your while for a fraction of what you tried to steal from me. Well, two can play that game.
“How about I throw another order of sourbean in then, for the trouble? After all, I do share some of the blame, don’t I? Just don’t tell Fel, ok? He can’t know I made a mistake.”
“I won’t breathe a word,” promised the merchant as they shook, then she departed to collect the real ember’s core. That part about harvesting it had been truthful: She had to don special boots when walking among the flowerbeds and take special care the blooms did not touch her skin. At the center, they were red hot, and while she couldn’t feel the petals immediately, their burns would set in a few hours after brushing against her.
After the merchant had departed, Merrill released a sigh of relief, recounting the payment and storing it away in a lockbox. He should be among the last merchants that quarter, completely emptying the remainder of her ember’s core and crushed heavenly falls, which she had kept specially just for him. Each of the merchants had their own personalities, and Merrill studied Fel’s old notes before she expected their arrival. This one’s orders never wavered. Always showing near the end of the quarter, always inquiring after ember’s core, and as Fel had recorded, always seeking a deal even if resorting to trickery.
With him departed, she locked the front entrance to her foyer, drawing three large bolts across the door, then locking the hallway beyond. Only one of the locks had existed before Fel’s death, the other three she had installed after taking inventory of the garden and realizing just how valuable the contents were. Fortunately, few common thieves would recognize that, and even if they did, they would just as likely ruin the plants with improper harvesting. What use would tiger’s paw be if not stored under alcohol, for instance? Regular grass clippings would likely fetch more from the market.
&nbs
p; But whether or not the thief made a profit had no impact on Merrill's loss. Any criminals that would try their hand would have to break through the four locks first, as well as the other precautions that she had prepared.
One of these included the patch of ember’s core just inside the gate of the garden, all barely germinated. Growing them to that stage only required planting them in a soil composed of eighty percent charcoal, but already the cores of the stems were like solid fire, hard as steel—walking through the patch would be like passing through a field of red hot pokers with some of the most persistent plants piercing through leather shoe soles. A select few had matured enough to start forming flower buds, the tightly bound ovals explosive at the slightest touch until they bloomed, so much so that the particularly windy days in their native habitats sounded like the applause of giants. For Merrill, the benefits of the ember’s core were twofold: They turned heavily burned trespassers back on their heels with no intention to return and made enough noise to wake anyone within a hundred paces.
She leapt over the ember’s core with well-practiced grace, landing on her toes on the mulch path, the gate leading to her foyer shuttering behind her. As she walked, her fingers fluttered among specimens, rainbows of colors and flickering sensations that passed her by, each contained within neat azure pebble segmentations, the straight lines cordoning off each area by type. Despite the mess of her room, and a kitchen where the cutlery occupied the countertops as often as it did the drawers, she kept the garden as organized as Fel once had.
She passed purple blossoms that swirled with chilled air, frost clinging to the stems and icicles hanging from thorns. There were bushes that seemed more berries than leaves, the small orbs swiveling toward her like eyeballs, tracking her motion and freezing when she cast a glance their way. A collection of shriveled trees twisted together, each an individual plant but their branches meeting to clasp pumpkin-sized fruits between them, tethering them to the ground as the buoyant fruit struggled to float away into the air. Merrill stopped at a thicket just beyond them, with sweet smelling flowers that would push her into a deep sleep before she could lie down if she sniffed them too closely. She snapped one off, carrying it with her as she walked, making a direct line toward a mound of dirt at the back of the garden.
Holding the flower in both hands, she bowed her head before the mound, where the remains of dozens of other varieties lay with varying stages of decomposition. A sad smile pulled at her lips as she parted her hands, letting the flower drift to the ground and settle among the other offerings.
“Sleep well, Fel. We’ve made it through another quarter, thanks to you. Here’s to preparing for the third.”
She bowed her head as dusk started to set, standing for a moment in silent respect. Fel hadn’t specified where he had wanted to be buried, but among his creations seemed most suitable. Then she turned to start preparing dinner, just as three loud raps sounded on the garden’s door.
Chapter 23: Merrill
The man was small—small enough that at first, Merrill thought him to be a child, begging for food or for shelter at her door. But instead of holding his hands out to beg, the man adjusted his spectacles, glancing down at a sheet of paper contained within a small binder, then glanced back up at her.
“Is this not the residence of the gardenmaster Fel?” he asked, scanning the paper once more. “Are you his wife?”
“Oh no. Well yes, this is his house. But not his wife.”
“I was thinking you would be a few decades too young. And he would have had to remarry, as well. Who, then?”
“His assistant, actually. Helps to have someone do all the heavy lifting, with his arthritis and all.”
“Ah, I see,” said the man, and made a note on his paper. “The joys of age, I know them too well. Well, Ms., could you please fetch Mr. Fel? His yearly licensing renewal is due at the Keepers’ Tower, and our records indicate he is nearly a month late. With his record, he’ll have only a warning of course. I dare say no one else in our system has had so many consecutive years paid early. We used to use him as our shining example of a perfect customer. I’m sure we are even more disappointed than he is with this mistake.”
“I’d love to show you to him, but he’s out. At the baths. Says that the aromas there are the only remedy that work on his sore bones.”
The man paused, then folded away his sheet of paper in the binder and looked her over once more. A different look this time: not so much a cursory glance, but as if he were taking in the details, studying the make of her shoes, or her buttons, or her hair style.
“A garden full of remedies, and he turns to the baths? Curious. Very curious. I would have supposed that Fel would have grown his own solution, would he not?”
“Oh, well cures are kind of like cooking.” Merrill put her hand on the doorknob, stepping back into the darkness, but the little man followed, standing so that his torso blocked the door frame and prevented her from closing it.
“Like cooking? I don’t suppose I’ve heard that analogy before. Perhaps I can come inside, and you can explain it to me?”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary. It’s like a chef that cooks the same dish all day. The last thing he wants to do when he goes home is eat the same thing he’s prepared. He’s all tired of it, you see, and would rather try something else.”
“Hmm. I can’t say I’ve heard of cures working that way before.” Then the man’s expression lightened, and he took a step forward. “But who am I to know? I’m a simple regulator. I’m sure if someone were to know the proper administration of medicines, it would be Fel. I’m sure when he arrives back, he will be excited to tell me.”
He took another step forward, but Merrill moved to block his path. There was little in the entrance way of the house that could be used to infer Fel’s absence, but beyond that, the clues would stack quickly. In the kitchen, dinner was simmering for one, not two, and there were hardly enough dishes to indicate multiple people. A thin layer of dust coated his room, something she vowed to remove the instant the squat man departed, and the last entry in any of his journals in his handwriting was the night before his death months before.
“I’m sorry, but Fel has me under strict orders not to allow others into the house when he is not around. I’m sure you are respectable and reputable, but you just can’t be too careful. As his servant I could not ignore his request.”
“Ah, indeed. Of course. You absolutely could not let someone in without his supervision, business or otherwise.”
“What can I say? I am but a lowly servant.” Merrill spread her hands in a gesture of mock helplessness. “And you have my sincerest apologies.”
“Of course, of course, how rude of me to ask,” he said, backing away and turning, as Merrill slowly shut the door. Then he stopped and snapped his attention back to her, as his toe prevented her from closing the door. “And is that what you have told every one of the merchants you have been doing business with for the last few months? From their own mouths, it seems that you allowed them into your foyer, and conducted your own business with them. Without Fel. Unless, of course, he was at the baths then, too?”
Merrill froze, her blood chilling. How had the man known that Fel had been missing for months? Then she snapped to attention, improvising with each word.
“He listens in. He wants me to be self-sufficient enough to handle his business while he tends the plants.” The man continued to smile. A smile that made her more uncomfortable with each passing second, too static and plastered upon his face, while his eyes roved over her and beyond, trying to peek into the darkness of her foyer.
“Interesting that he wants you sufficient enough to negotiate, but not sufficient enough to wait upon a guest until he returns?” he prodded, starting to push the door open. Merrill’s voice turned harsh as she held it fast, refusing to budge, hardening her face and removing the politeness as she spoke.
“I do not question my master’s wishes. This is what he has instructed, and therefore, this is
what I shall do. Should you disobey his direct orders, he will neither be happy with you nor me. Leave the property, and you may return when he is available.”
“When he is available…” The man echoed, clucking his tongue. Then he dropped the smile, and lowered his voice to a whisper, as if he and she were sharing a private secret on the already deserted street. “If he is available. Young lady, I am not interested in Fel’s health or whereabouts. What I am interested in is the fraud and counterfeit of the most valuable manufacturer of aurel essences within this city. A manufacturer that is licensed by an individual, not by the facility. To impersonate that individual carries a hefty price—one that you will not simply be able to pay off in gold or aerlicks. The Keepers take the illicit distribution of such materials seriously. Very seriously. And the rumors do not take kindly to you.”
He leaned back, and the same smile returned. “But of course, you have nothing to worry about, since Fel still manages this facility. Pass along my well wishes to him. And let him know that I, Gervis, will be back for his renewal of registration. Soon.
Gervis took hold of the door, and closed it of his own accord, then turned from the doorway. Merrill rushed upstairs, then peeked through the shutters, watching as he strutted down the lane, then turned at the corner and moved out of sight.
“Fel, Fel, what the hell am I supposed to do,” muttered Merrill, sighing, her fingers clutching the windowsill. Ten plants that Fel had warned her away from due to their poisonous properties flickered through her mind, but she pushed them away. She was trained in how to grow them, but administration and preparation of them was beyond her. And even if she could use them, killing Gervis would only bring more investigations down upon her. No, she would have to find another way.
She could try fooling him, maybe, by hiring out another old man to play Fel. But at the first mishap, the investigator would turn even more suspicious. Afterward, would she need to use the same old man every year? And even if she did trick the investigator, then there were the rest of the merchants, who knew Fel and would not recognize a random person off the streets.
Heaven Fall Page 15