“I have not brushed my teeth in so long,” sighed Catrin.
“Me either,” said Eefa, her grandmother nodding along.
“I cannot wait to rub a chew stick all over mine,” agreed Maureen.
The apothecary was, like the tailor’s and the cobbler’s, a large building that housed many employees. Tintarian shops were three times the size of most Ecclestonian shops and other people milled about us, picking up items and putting them down. I walked away from the rest of the women to where River hunched over, reading the handwritten labels on a shelf of jars.
“For what do we look?” I asked, squatting next to her where she was trying to read the lowest shelves’ wares.
“I need a powder made from a white toadstool,” she replied. “It is not uncommon or usually expensive, but the mushroom has to be dried in the sun and then ground down or it is not as effective. It is called Tallowgill in some places.”
“And this prevents the seizures?”
River shook her head. “It only lessens how violent I get and how long they are.”
Quinn came up beside us. “I found it,” she was holding up a small jar. “It is not cheap, River. They want a fortune.”
River took the jar from Quinn. “No one will want to hire a woman with fits. Perhaps I will scrub floors. I am not above such work, but— I had hoped to find something with a school. Or scrivener’s work. I can scribe.”
“They have no universities here,” said Quinn.
“The sergeant called Thatcher gave Helena extra coin,” I said when I saw River’s face fall. “I think he worried that she would need more than the paste they found for her back at the horse farm. We have our own coin.”
“But it is Helena’s,” River protested.
“We can pay her back,” said Quinn.
“Helena would want you to have your Tallowgill,” I reassured River.
“Yes,” said Mischa, drawing near. “Edie and I were going to buy lightleaf and a pipe to smoke it and maybe some fragrance. Helena would rather we spend the coin on actual needs.”
“Were you really?” River seemed amused, but her lover seemed surprised.
I admired Quinn and wanted her respect. “Just oils, no leaf.”
“You could not make such a purchase here in Tintar,” said River.
“Lightleaf is outlawed?” Mischa asked.
“No, but the strain they grow here along the coast does not lend itself to drying. It is a sticky weed that is better made into an oil. You can put it in water and drink it for your aches and pains. Or rub it into the skin over a bruise.”
“No smoking?” Mischa looked depressed.
River beamed. “I believe a few drops of the oil in any kind of liquor will achieve the same effect as smoking.”
“Thank the gods,” my friend said.
“How much is the Tallowgill?” I asked Quinn, opening the pouch.
“Two full silver coins.”
I had expected some copper coins inside that would add up to just that amount, but I had been carrying the pouch around all afternoon and the weight had become familiar. Inside, were three full silver coins and many copper ones. Like most coinage on the continent, outside of Perpatane’s stinginess with its gold, Tintarian currency also consisted of silver coin that was marked by grooves into four sections, divisible by a vendor with a heavy knife if they needed to make change. Smaller copper coins were whole. Twenty of them equalled a silver.
I fished out two of the silver coins and handed them to Quinn. “There is one jar. Let me count out what we have and see if there is enough for a second.”
“One is plenty,” River said in a rush. “We will make our own wage soon.”
After some back and forth, River convinced me she only needed the one jar.
