The castle glittered above the lower city like snow on a sun-blasted mountain peak. A main road led up to the huge white gates, but it took a circular route, winding around the hill that held the city like a lazy snake. Lined with shops and taverns, the Market Way offered almost anything a visitor could want. Before long my head was ringing from the sound of pounding blacksmith hammers and merchants calling out the quality of their wares and so jostled by the crowd that I was tempted to poke Broo Fang Tane in hopes of sparking another of his murderous rampages to scatter folks. It was unseasonable warm and my throat burned.
"So this queen, what's she like?" Seymuhr wanted to know.
"She's a woman, of course, very shrewd and not always tolerant of a good jest," I answered. I paused, removed my hat and rubbed my forearm across my damp forehead. "You had better be on your best behavior--if you are allowed into her presence."
"What makes you think I won't be?"
"The last fortnight," I snapped. "All the time I have spent with you."
In fact, that brought up another potential problem. Seymuhr was not one to mask his scents--in fact, he rather gloried in them. I was not sure if he could control the vile smells that constantly leaked from one orifice or another and any attempts to answer that question were only met with laughter. That would not do. I looked around and saw a potential answer in an alchemist shop a little further up the Market Way and near a bend in the street. I pointed to a shady alcove near a tavern, dropped a couple coins in Tane's hand and asked for them to wait for me there.
It was a little cooler inside the shop and I paused inside the door to inhale the aromas I found there: Lilac and cinnamon were the strongest, but I detected hints of vanilla, lavender and mint, as well. It was dimly lit. The walls were covered with shelves that contained various powders of different colors, along with candles of all shapes, thickness and tone. Somewhere, a cat yowled.
When my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I saw a short man with long white hair hanging down to his neck. The top of hi skull was blank and shiny. He was dressed impeccably, in matching trousers and tunic and his head was tilted back so he looked down his crooked nose at me
"Good day," I said to him. "I need some help."
"This I can see," he said, his voice stiff.
"No, no no," I shook my hands. "It's not a cosmetic thing. It has nothing to do with appearance. It's more of a..." Here, I leaned in and lowered my voice to a whisper. "More of a scent thing. An aroma. Aromas. Constant, constant aromas."
He leaned back and the stiffness in his voice became apparent in his expression. He looked at me the same way I thought he would look at a person eating a live kitten.
I sighed and tried to subtly sniff at my shoulder. I had bathed recently, and didn't think I offered any kind of offense. "Again, no." Now my voice was a bit clipped. "It's not for me."
"Of course not," the merchant tried to recover, but still wore the expression of someone who had eaten a sour olive. "Who is it for, then?"
Hmm. I thought back through the past fortnight, mildly astonished that was all the time that had passed. What to call Seymuhr? He had essentially abducted me from a tavern and my life had been in constant danger since then. I had very little coin to show for it. Although he at times could be amusing, I found him infuriating--and smelly--more often than not.
"It's for a...well, let's just said it's for a friend."
"Of course. A friend." He sounded skeptical and I felt color rise to my cheeks. He scanned the shelves, but his lip curled in mild disgust when he asked: "What kind of smells? That is, where do they come from?"
"Everywhere," I admitted. "And any time." I glanced around to see if there was anyone else in the shop. My own reactions irritated me. Why would I feel embarrassed? I had nothing to be ashamed of.
"And the content?"
"The content??!"
"What does it--I apologize--you, that is, what does your friend smell like?"
I considered this for a few moments. "If I were to try to duplicate it, I would have to bludgeon a skunk to death with a clove of spoiled garlic."
"I have just the thing. Do you prefer potion, or powder?"
"It's. Not. For. Me."
"Of course. You said that. What would your, er, friend rather have?"
"I'd rather he didn't know, truth be told."
"I see." He considered for a moment. "I suggest the liquid, then. Put a drop into your drink or soup when the aroma is noticeable--"
"Again, good sir. It's not for--"
"Not for you," he nodded. "Right. I forgot. As I was saying. A single drop should do it, although I cannot attest to how long it will last. It depends on you--that is to say, your friend."
I took the flask from him and held it up. The milky substance inside was still swirling. "I think I'll need a bigger bottle," I murmured. Coin exchanged hands and I tucked the flask into my shirt.
"No, no no," I shook my hands. "It's not a cosmetic thing. It has nothing to do with appearance. It's more of a..." Here, I leaned in and lowered my voice to a whisper. "More of a scent thing. An aroma. Aromas. Constant, constant aromas."
He leaned back and the stiffness in his voice became apparent in his expression. He looked at me the same way I thought he would look at a person eating a live kitten.
I sighed and tried to subtly sniff at my shoulder. I had bathed recently, and didn't think I offered any kind of offense. "Again, no." Now my voice was a bit clipped. "It's not for me."
"Of course not," the merchant tried to recover, but still wore the expression of someone who had eaten a sour olive. "Who is it for, then?"
Hmm. I thought back through the past fortnight, mildly astonished that was all the time that had passed. What to call Seymuhr? He had essentially abducted me from a tavern and my life had been in constant danger since then. I had very little coin to show for it. Although he at times could be amusing, I found him infuriating--and smelly--more often than not.
"It's for a...well, let's just said it's for a friend."
"Of course. A friend." He sounded skeptical and I felt color rise to my cheeks. He scanned the shelves, but his lip curled in mild disgust when he asked: "What kind of smells? That is, where do they come from?"
"Everywhere," I admitted. "And any time." I glanced around to see if there was anyone else in the shop. My own reactions irritated me. Why would I feel embarrassed? I had nothing to be ashamed of.
"And the content?"
"The content??!"
"What does it--I apologize--you, that is, what does your friend smell like?"
I considered this for a few moments. "If I were to try to duplicate it, I would have to bludgeon a skunk to death with a clove of spoiled garlic."
"I have just the thing. Do you prefer potion, or powder?"
"It's. Not. For. Me."
"Of course. You said that. What would your, er, friend rather have?"
"I'd rather he didn't know, truth be told."
"I see." He considered for a moment. "I suggest the liquid, then. Put a drop into your drink or soup when the aroma is noticeable--"
"Again, good sir. It's not for--"
"Not for you," he nodded. "Right. I forgot. As I was saying. A single drop should do it, although I cannot attest to how long it will last. It depends on you--that is to say, your friend."
I took the flask from him and held it up. The milky substance inside was still swirling. "I think I'll need a bigger bottle," I murmured. Coin exchanged hands and I tucked the flask into my shirt.
