The Merchant of Vengeance

by Simon Hawke

  Freddy was ostensibly the apothecary of the shop, but although his knowledge of herbs and remedies was undeniable, it was in fact his wife who was the true apothecary. And, rumour had it, she was in truth much more than that. Granny Meg was widely reputed to be a cunning woman, in other words, a witch. People said she was adept at the art of divination with the cards and tea leaves, and dealt in arcane brews and potions, even poisons, some said, although there was never any proof. It was even whispered that the queen's astrologer, Dr. John Dee, consulted with Granny Meg upon occasion.

  Elizabeth followed Freddy through the doorway covered by the painted cloth, which depicted stars and moons and suns upon a field of sable sky, and then up the narrow stairway leading to the second floor. The stairs led to the private living quarters above the shop, a small, narrow, one-room apartment longer than it was wide, with whitewashed walls and a clean, planked wooden floor devoid of rushes. It was always kept swept clean, without a speck of dirt or dust. There was only one window, looking out over the street toward the back of the room, and this window was partially obscured from view by a freestanding wooden shelf that held numerous books and also functioned as a room divider and a screen, separating the sleeping area from the rest of the room and cutting off much of the available light.

  The furnishings were sparse and simple; there were only a couple of sturdy wooden chairs, several three-legged stools, a trestle table, and a number of large wooden chests covered with carpets. The most unusual feature of the room was the large fireplace, in which hung several black cauldrons of various sizes, suspended from iron hooks. It was rare to see a fireplace on the upper floor of a dwelling, unless it was noble's house, but Granny Meg's residence was unusual in a number of respects.

  Although everything was very clean, the overall impression was one of an astonishing amount of clutter. As in the shop downstairs, the walls were lined with shelving holding what seemed like hundreds of glass and earthenware jars, as well as ancient-looking books and scrolls, which seemed to spill out of the shelves and into stacked piles on the floor. Everywhere one looked, there was something to arrest the gaze. On the shelves were tiny figures carved from stone in the shapes of pregnant women or various fantastic birds or animals. Clay pots of every size—some no larger than a baby's fist, others as big as beer kegs—contained all sorts of mysterious powders and blends. There were pretty beaded necklaces and amulets of gold, silver, and pewter, as well as tiny leather pouches suspended from thongs and meant to be worn around the neck as charms. Displayed prominently upon one shelf were two daggers, one with a curved, single-edged blade and one a straight, double-edged stiletto, as well as a little brass bell, a censer, a plain-looking silver chalice, a silver bowl, a silken cord, two thick candles, and a short length of willow branch.

  The fire was lit, for it was a cool and breezy morning, but most of the illumination in the room came from a shaft of sunlight that shone in through the partially obscured window. Yet even though there were no shadows from the flames dancing on the walls, the space still seemed pregnant with an eldritch atmosphere of tension and anticipation. It always felt as if lightning were somehow about to strike within the room.

  Elizabeth walked over toward the shelves, staring at the same objects that had captured her interest more than any others each time she had come here: the daggers, tile candles, the chalice, and the other items all carefully arranged upon one shelf, along with the willow branch… the wand, she thought, as she started to reach toward it.

  "Good morning, Elizabeth," Granny Meg said from behind her.

  She jumped, gasped, and quickly turned around. "Granny Meg! You startled me!" And to herself she wondered, however does she do that? One moment she wasn't there, and the very next she was. It was unnerving.

  "Forgive me, my dear," said Granny Meg. She smiled. "How very nice to see you. May I offer you some tea?"

  "Please," said Elizabeth. As Granny Meg poured her a cup from the teapot, Elizabeth marvelled once again at how ageless she appeared. She had to be quite old, for her. waist-length hair was pure white, yet it was not limp, as old people's hair often was, but thick and lustrous. Her skin was so pale that it was nearly translucent, yet although it was faintly lined in places it was unwrinkled, with no liver spots or blemishes, and seemed to glow with youthful health. Her features were sharp and elfin, bringing to mind a dryad or a fairy. Her chin came nearly to a point, and her cheekbones were high and pronounced. Her nose, also, had a delicate, birdlike sharpness. She was slim and willowy; even at her age, she possessed a figure most women would have envied, but her eyes were her most striking feature. They were a very pale shade of bluish gray, with a startling, penetrating luminescence, like fire opals. Or the eyes of a changeling, Elizabeth thought.

  Freddy had melted away without a sound. They both move like ghosts, Elizabeth thought. What if they were? It was an unsettling idea. She had never seen a ghost, but it was said that spirits could sometimes walk among the living. If they could do that, why could they not work in an apothecary shop? And what if the shop were not really a shop, but instead a gateway to the spirit world?

  "What troubles you, Elizabeth?" Granny Meg asked. "Sit down. You look as if you have just seen a ghost."

  "Oh, 'tis nothing quite so frightening, Granny Meg," she replied, a bit taken aback. It was as if Granny Meg had known what she was thinking. "I am merely concerned about a friend."

  Granny Meg fixed her with a level and unsettlingly direct gaze. "The last time you came to me with such concerns, Elizabeth, I fear that things did not turn out very well."

  Elizabeth looked down at the table. "I know," she replied softly. "But I meant well, Granny Meg, I truly did. I never meant for Catherine to come to any harm!"

  "I know that you meant well, Elizabeth," Granny Meg replied. "But then, you would not be the first who, with the best meaning, had incurred the worst."

  "But this time is different, Granny Meg."

  "Is it?" Granny Meg replied, watching her attentively. "This time you are not meddling in someone else's fate?"

  Elizabeth looked sheepish. "Well… perhaps it may have started out that way," she said. "I mean, in a manner of speaking, I suppose I did meddle but 'twas truly her welfare that I was concerned about. And I still am."

  "When people seek to interfere with the destiny of others, they usually do so out of a professed concern for them," Granny Meg replied with a smile. "So, what is it that concerns you about your friend, Elizabeth?"

  "Granny Meg, do you think 'tis possible that one could go mad with grief?"

  "Aye, 'tis possible," Granny Meg replied, nodding. "If the grief is felt over a loved one, it may be powerful, indeed. There are some who may grieve for weeks or months or even years, and there are those who may grieve for as long as they may live. Betimes, tile grief may be so powerful that it may even overwhelm the will to live. Do you think. your friend may feel such grief?"

  Elizabeth nodded. "I fear so, Granny Meg. The young man she loved was killed, foully murdered by an unknown assassin, and ever since, she has been so struck with grief for him that she does not speak, does not go out, merely sits up in her room all day and all night, stating off into the distance. I have tried to speak with her, but she will not respond. And I am afraid for her. I do not know how to help her."

  "And so you came to me," said Granny Meg. "Well then, what is it you wish of me, Elizabeth?"

  Elizabeth shook her head. "In truth, I… I do not know. I came to seek your wise counsel, Granny Meg. I thought, perhaps, that you could tell me what I should do. Mayhap there is some potion or some remedy or charm that would restore my friend to her senses. I would do anything to help her."

  "Perhaps the best thing that you can do is to do nothing."

  Granny Meg replied.

  Elizabeth stared at her with dismay. "Nothing? But… but surely there is something that can be done!"

  "Oh, there are many things that can be done," said Granny Meg. "That is not the question. The question is,
should they be done?"

  Elizabeth shook her head. "I… I do not understand. If there was something that could be done to help my friend, then why should I refrain from doing it?"

  "Because often the best thing is to let people find their own way to help themselves," said Granny Meg. 'The grief that your friend feels now is of her own making. She has engendered it within herself, and now she nurtures it, and cherishes it, and will not let it go. And the reason that she will not let it go is that it serves some purpose for her."

  "What purpose could that be?" Elizabeth asked.

  "'Tis a question that only your friend could answer," Granny Meg replied. "Although 'tis possible that she may not know the answer."

  Elizabeth frowned. "You speak in riddles, Granny Meg. I beg of you, speak plainly. Please tell me what you mean."

  "Your friend's grief may be her struggle for the answer that she seeks," Granny Meg replied. "Or else it could be her struggle to avoid facing it. Betimes, when faced with a trying situation, one may already know the answer, but be unable to accept it."

  "And what would happen then?" Elizabeth asked.

  'The answer would not change," Granny Meg replied. "Nor >would the situation, unless one accepted it for what it was and faced the answer."

  "So then, you mean that unless she can accept this thing she does not wish to face, then she will be ever thus, trapped within this struggle, within her grief for this young man? Oh, but that is terrible, Granny Meg! What if she can never bring herself to accept it?"

  "Sooner or later, Elizabeth, all people must accept their fate, for refusing to accept it shall not change it."

  "What, then, is the remedy for my poor friend?"

  "Time," said Granny Meg. "Time is often the best remedy of all. Time, and patience, Elizabeth. Your patience. The patience of those who care for her."

  Elizabeth shook her head sadly. "I think that I may be the only one who truly cares about her, Granny Meg. Her father has already made another match for her, it seems. And the man with whom this match was made…" She shook her head. "Well, the less said of him, the better."

  "If her father truly cares for her, then he must give her time to accept that which she must face," said Granny Meg.

  "And if he cares less for her than for himself?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Then in the end, he shall fail both his daughter and himself," said Granny Meg.

  Elizabeth nodded. "'Twould seem clear, then, what I must do. I must speak with him and make him understand his daughter's plight."

  Granny Meg smiled and shook her head. "You cannot make him understand, Elizabeth. He must choose to understand. In the end, we must all make choices for ourselves. Even when it appears that we have no choice, the truth is that a choice always exists."

  "I must present him with that choice, then," Elizabeth replied, "and do all that is within my power to see he chooses wisely. Thank you, Granny Meg, for your good counsel"

  "We are not yet done," said Granny Meg, as Elizabeth started to get up. "Sit down, Elizabeth." She pulled out a soft leather pouch and opened the drawstrings.

  Elizabeth swallowed nervously, her gaze fixed upon the deck of cards that Granny Meg withdrew from the bag and placed face-down upon the table. "Perhaps now is not the time…" she began.

  "Shuffle the cards," said Granny Meg.

  Elizabeth moistened her lips and reached slowly for the cards.

  She half expected to feel some sort of jolt when she picked them up, but she did not. They felt like a perfectly ordinary deck of cards, even though she knew otherwise. Slowly, purposefully, she shuffled them.

  "Place them down upon the table whenever you feel that you have shuffled them enough," said Granny Meg.

  She did so.

  "And now cut the cards."

  She picked up approximately half the cards and cut the deck, making two neat little stacks.

  Granny Meg picked them up and put them together once again, then started to deal out the cards, face up, in a ten-card spread known as the Celtic Cross. The first card she placed face up was the Wheel of Fortune.

  "This indicates your present," she said, as she put down the card. "The card of fate and changing fortune."

  "We were just speaking of fate," Elizabeth said softly.

  Granny Meg smiled. "Indeed." She placed another card down, laying it across the first one. It depicted a woman with her arm around a lion. "The card of Strength. It speaks of courage and conviction. And this card crosses you."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It could mean that you are one who has the strength to soothe the grief of others…"

  "As with my friend!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

  "Or else that there are strong influences aligned against you." Granny Meg continued.

  Elizabeth bit her lower lip. "But which one is it?" she asked. "It could be either one .. or even both," said Granny Meg.

  "Let us see what else the cards may have in store."

  As she drew the third card, she said, "This shows what may arise from the current situation in which you find yourself… or else that which you hope may come to pass." She placed it down upon the table in a position above the first two. "The Chariot," she said. "Interesting. All very strong cards, having to do with destiny and movement."

  "'What does it mean?"

  "The Chariot indicates a moving forward, a sense of purpose, or a triumph over problems or adversity."

  "Well… this is encouraging, at least," Elizabeth replied. "Is it not?"

  "We shall see," Granny Meg replied. She drew the fourth card and placed it below the first two. Elizabeth gasped at the image it depicted, a tall stone tower struck. by lightning in a storm, with two people plunging from the heights.

  "The Tower," Granny Meg said. "This shows the past, that from which the current situation has arisen. It speaks of sudden change or transformation, of destruction, or of disgrace or loss."

  Elizabeth nodded, wide-eyed. "Destruction. Aye, murder is surely the destruction of a life. And when her father discovered that the man she was betrothed to was a Jew, he must have felt disgraced. And loss, which is what she feels now. 'Tis all there, Granny Meg!"

  "Let us see what influences the events that are unfolding now," Granny Meg replied as she drew another card and placed it down upon the table to the right of all the others, and even with the first two. "The Five of Pentacles," she said, gazing at the card, which depicted crippled beggars in the snow. "The card of misery. It signifies loss and destitution, loneliness, impoverishment…" She shook her head and drew another card.

  She stared at it for a moment, then placed it in the sixth position, to the left of the first two cards, thus completing the cross.

  "This signifies what is soon to come," she said. The card showed a dark-cloaked figure in an attitude of woe, standing over five cups, several of which had spilled out upon the ground. "The Five of Cups. The card of sorrow and despair. There will be loss and bitterness, illusions shattered, bonds broken…"

  "What sort of bonds?" Elizabeth asked with concern.

  Granny Meg shook her head. "I cannot say for certain. It could be the bonds of love or of friendship, perhaps, or else of family or marriage. It could be any of them, or it could even be more than one."

  "The sorrow and despair…" Elizabeth said with a nervous swallow. "Whose sorrow, Granny Meg? Shall it be mine?"

  Granny Meg looked up at her briefly. "Perhaps. Once more, I cannot say for certain. It may mean yours, or not only yours. But sorrow there shall be. Much sorrow."

  She drew the next card. This one she placed to the right of all the others, closest to the lower part of the cross formed by the other cards. This card showed the image of a shining woman dressed in bright robes and holding what appeared to be a tall staff.

  "The Queen of Wands," said Granny Meg. "This card signifies yourself, a woman with a passionate nature and great vitality, one who has fondness for others, and who possesses a nature that is generous and practical."

  She
drew the eighth card and placed it directly above the previous one. This one showed a man holding a scale and distributing coins to hands held out in supplication.

  "The Six of Pentacles," said Granny Meg. "This card represents the effect of your feelings upon what is unfolding. It signifies gratification, the return of a favour, perhaps, or else the desire to help another."

  Elizabeth nodded. "Indeed, I do so wish to help her, if I can," she said. "I am just not certain how."

  "The ninth card…" said Granny Meg, drawing it and placing it directly in line above the eighth. Elizabeth saw the image of a juggler or perhaps an acrobat, attempting to balance upon a tightrope. "The Two of Pentacles," said Granny Meg. "This card signifies your hopes and fears. You seek balance; you wish for harmony amidst change and conflict. Perhaps you seek to juggle a number of things all at the same time, thus making your balance more precarious. You hope to find a harmony and balance, but fear that you may not achieve or maintain it."

  She drew the final card.

  "Justice," she said, as she laid the tenth card down directly above the ninth. The card depicted a robed woman with a laurel wreath, holding a sword in one hand and the scales of justice in the other. "This card represents the final outcome," Granny Meg said.

  Elizabeth exhaled, suddenly aware that she had been holding her breath. "Justice," she repeated. "That is encouraging, surely. But justice for whom? For Thomas, the young man who was slain? Or for my friend?"

  Granny Meg merely shrugged. "The cards do not say. They speak merely of the resolution. The card of Justice signifies fairness and equality, balance restored, and rightness achieved. What may seem like justice to some may seem unjust to others. But however it may seem, in the end, justice will be served."

  "'Tis a hopeful resolution, then," Elizabeth said.

  "If one's hope is for justice," Granny Meg replied.

  "Well, 'tis clear to me what I must do, then," Elizabeth said, getting up from the table. She took a gold sovereign from her purse and laid it down upon the table. "Thank you, Granny Meg."