‘Anything and everything the apothecary can conjure,’ she says with a sigh, as if she’s answered the question too many times. ‘Don’t have anything stronger doyou?’
I do but nothing I’ll share; the results are too uncertain, a mix that might drag one down to a slumber one likes too much. I think of my own nightmares and their banishment, my evening ritual. ‘The quality of sleep would seem to be the issue. Under each pillow, put a small cloth purse with a handful of graveyard dirt and another of dried lavender. In the morning, try a tonic of honey and ginger mixed with lemon juice and apple cider vinegar. Add a little water if you find it too strong. That should help.’
The girl gives me a weary smile. ‘Thank you, Mistress Mehrab. We’ll try that tonight. And how may I help you today?’
‘Is Thaddeus about?’
‘No, he’s away for a few days, gone to Asher’s Brook to inspect some oxen on Diegan Commerford’s holding. Mistress is resting, I can—’
‘No, no. Don’t disturb her.’ Typical that Thad would leave both family and village at such a time and not bother to lay down the line of salt that might afford protection to those he’s meant to have care of… I reach into my pocket. ‘I found this on my travels this morning, by the river path. It belongs to Matthias, yes?’
Cylla stares blankly, not taking it from my outstretchedhand. ‘That can’t be his. He sleeps with it, indeed I put it in his arms not an hour ago when his mother took him up for a nap. And yet… it’s exactly like his.’
She reaches for it now, plucks it away, turns it this way and that, examining it with bewilderment.
‘I can take it – perhaps it belongs to another child, surely there can be more than just one of them.’
She shakes her head. ‘No. His mother made it for him.’ Cylla lowers her voice. ‘Mistress Peppergill isn’t the most able of knitters, but she made that with her very own hands, unwinding every mistake and fixing it with care. It was the longest time anyone has ever taken to knit a toy, Mistress Mehrab.’
I suppress a laugh.
She smiles. ‘Perhaps one of the other mothers made this one. I’ll ask around and if no one claims it, it won’t hurt to have a spare if the lad loses his – gods know he’ll scream fit to bring the roof down and we’ll get even less sleep.’
***
There are planks of wood nailed over one of the windows of the apothecary’s store, so only half of the lettering can be seen. The shop window has ever been Reynald’s pride and joy; no one else has such lovely gold lettering, most still have their signs with hand-drawn illustrations even though illiteracy is low thanks to the school and Widow Wilky’s efforts (two extra hours of enforced reading every night for her orphans). The door’s unlocked though, and the bell rings as I push in.
‘What’s happened? Your beautiful window…’
‘Fucking children. Fucking, fucking children.’ The shockcaused by Reynald’s swearing is second only to that caused by the fact that he’s clearly been crying. Red-rimmed eyes, sniffling into a handkerchief; on the floor a broom, scattered shards of glass abandoned mid-sweep. ‘Yester eve, I heard laughter and then the shattering.’
‘Did you happen to see which children?’
He shakes his head. ‘I was out back, ran out and saw them bolting away. Little shits.’
Without thinking, I blurt: ‘Might you have done something?’
He looks so shocked that I realise it sounded like an accusation. ‘I don’t mean on purpose! Sorry! I just mean… anything anyone might have taken as a slight even though it wasn’t?’
He shifts like a bird with ruffled feathers, calms down a little. ‘Nothing like this has ever happened.’
‘No.’ I bite my lip. ‘Anything strange at all the last few days? Are you sleeping well?’
Reynald looks at me strangely. ‘Well enough.’
To make up for my rudeness, I help him clear up the glass he couldn’t bear to deal with last night. I also buy more than intended – aromatic oils and face creams I can make myself – above and beyond the pads of absorbent moss, and bandages treated with a resin that numbs wounds and reduces bleeding, powdered ginger to ease a nauseous stomach, a concentrate of sage to help dry up Rhea’s milk so she’s not left with a constant reminder of what was lost, peppermint oil to get the same result but for topical application, and extra powdered yarrow to stop bleeding. The coin seems to have helped.
It’ll take an age to replace the glass; it will need to bepurchased elsewhere and brought via a nerve-wracking cart ride. It will be very expensive. The planks will remain in place over winter, letting the cold air creep in. There’s a little stove in one corner, but I don’t envy Reynald the experience he’s going to have.
Before I leave, I try one last time, though it may be unwise. ‘The children – was one of them the Hadderholm girl?’
Reynald shakes his head slowly. ‘No. No, I think they were all boys, but…’
I wait silently.
‘But a few days ago that other little girl, I think they were friends before, ran in here to hide. And I saw the other stalking past in her red cloak. You don’t think—’
‘No. Just wondering. Her father said she’s been in a mood. But don’t say anything, I beg of you, it’s just a child’s whims and nothing she should be punished for – I’m sure it wasn’t her. You said all boys, after all.’ He nods, and I hug him as I leave.
