Young Writers Society

“I have a house you can rent.”

The Apothecaries turned their heads, a moment of silence ruling the guild. Then the shouting started once again. I sighed. For as small as the guild was, one would think we’d get along better.

“Where? The slums?” the oldest Apothecary yelled, hooting with laughter. “Wonderful. A clinic just as filthy as the patients!”

“Andrea!” Edna, a woman only a few years younger than her, hit her shoulder, but that only quieted her to soft chuckles.

The room was lit by a single lantern, burning so dimly that we could barely see each other’s faces. It was just a group of us, as it always was. Mostly older women, with Joan and I being the youngest. Even then, I was older than Joan by ten years. Each of us held a staff, decorated with dried herbs and other such medicinal plants. The more one had, the higher their rank. While Andrea’s wooden cane was covered so that the wood was barely visible, poor Joan had a single lavender wrapped around a vine that creeped up a staff that was far taller than her. Joan’s lip tremored slightly as she saw the Apothecaries argue. I patted her back soothingly, yet it only sent tremors down her spine.

The village girl in front of us was almost indistinguishable from Joan; pale and clammy skin, long skirts and aprons- they even shared the look of a bandana wrapped around their hair. The only difference between them was their heights, hair, and expressions. While the village girl was a blank slate with long brown hair, Joan couldn’t keep herself in check, fidgeting with her short and messy black hair by rubbing it through her fingers.

The village girl stared stoically. “It’d be cheaper than anything else you can buy in the area. It’s run-down and in need of repair, but I’m willing to lend all the money I have. Please… Our lord won’t even notice. We go to him; he doesn’t come to us.”

Edna scoffed, “Why go to him at all?”

To that, the village girl stilled. Poor girl, only now facing reality. Status amongst the village meant nothing to us. Just another poor soul who wanted help. She kneaded her apron tightly between her fingers. “My father’s ill. I-I’m already going against our lord’s wishes by even thinking of consulting an apothecary!” She stomped her foot down like a child in need of a toy.

Joan looked around anxiously, her nails picking at the wood in her staff. “Can’t we consider it? I mean, this is the first time we’ve ever been able to even attempt to make an outpost in vampire territory.”

Andrea squinted at the younger girl and scrutinized every detail of her shy face. “There’s a reason we stay out of it, young one.”

Joan slowly retreated to the shadows, only whispers lingering. “We can’t be scared of vampires forever.”

“The girl has a point,” Arthur chimed into the conversation, scratching his dark grey beard. “Declaring war yet refusing a battle is nothing short of foolish and cowardly. If we don’t start making moves, we’ll fade away. Our outposts will be taken down until people realize we’re a real threat to complacency.”

The other Apothecaries nodded. Arthur went on, “So, I propose a vote. I vote in favor of the clinic.”

“As do I!” Joan yelled, only to recoil at her own noise.

Edna and Andrea voted against it.

“Well?” Edna called, tilting her head up at me. “Quinzel, you’re the tiebreaker.”

It was not often they consulted me. The child between the youngest and eldest never got as much attention or recognition as the others, I came to learn. The first time they had asked for my opinion in years was during the acceptance of Joan, asking if I could be her teacher.

My student to my left, Andrea to my right, and a livestock girl in front of me.

As much as I wanted to hesitate, chocolate-brown eyes staring up at me and smaller hands tugging my sleeve won me over. “I vote in favor of the clinic.”

Andrea cursed under her breath. Edna leaned on her knees with a pensive expression. Before Andrea could rant and moan about the next topic, Edna stepped in. “How much does this residence cost, girl?”

The village girl stood up straight, swallowing hard before she spoke. “Three hundred shillings. No more, no less.”

Joan gasped quietly. “So cheap, too,” she muttered. I smacked her over the head shortly afterwards. Joan simply flinched and sighed. She was a smart girl, she caught on quick to the ways of subtle disrespect that was meant to be avoided at all costs.

The village girl didn’t seem to mind as she continued. “It used to be a library. That’s what my grandfather told me, at least. There may still be some archives hidden away. I-I wouldn’t know,” she said. “But I imagine words on a page may be useful to you.”

Joan’s jaw dropped, but she quickly covered her mouth to hide her shock. Thank great mother Gaia for the dim light, lest the city street-rat girl get berated by a farm girl with no shoes on. The wind outside shook the damp and cramped shed we hid in, but nobody dared to move when it picked up speed. The howling sounds were welcome in an uncomfortable silence.

Finally, Arthur stood up, his cane clacking against the few wood planks in the hut. “Alright, then. It’s decided.”

Andrea cackled. “We haven’t decided a damn thing, Arthur. Sit down.”

Arthur’s gaze hardened at the old woman. “We have. Three against two votes in favor of the clinic and it’s being loaned to us at a remarkably inexpensive price. Joan, Quinzel, and I will set out for it in the morning.”

The village girl perked up, shallow light sparkling in her newly awakened eyes. “I can take you tonight, if you wish!”

Arthur smiled at the young woman and shook his head. “Silly girl,” he said, affectionately, “Us old bastards have been fighting for so long that the sun is gone. While you have the protection of your undead master, us Apothecaries our master's unto ourselves. Extra precaution must be taken at night for us unbound.”

The village girl flattened a little bit. “How unfortunate…”

Arthur sighed with whimsy, “How delightful.”

All the rubbish spoken about their vampire lord was true, but even we couldn’t deny his accommodations. The cottage, albeit small, was fitted with all natural needs pleasantly attended to. Food, water, and all the likes seemed to be of little consequence or fear. Anything beyond that, though, seemed to scare and confuse the group of cattle that lived here.

The cottage the village girl had stationed us in was a quaint one. A gift from her late brother that her sister-in-law was lending to us. She only passed by us occasionally, refusing eye-contact at most opportunities. Joan first seemed offended, but a murmur passed by Andrea made her drop her hardened gaze solemnly. The most interaction she gave us was a humble request to watch her newborn as she tended to the home.

Joan grasped my shoulder, giggling like a spoiled child. “I’ve never seen Arthur look so...” she didn’t dare speak the word, in fear of upsetting either of us. Arthur never looked more at home than with a baby cradled in his arms. No matter how colic, how sick, how fragile, those small things never stirred while they were tucked into his elbow while he went about finishing the woman’s supper.

Still, it wasn’t a crime to entertain a girl. “The most ugly of women,” I muttered to her with a hand covering my mouth from his sights. That didn’t mean he didn’t hear, though. He shook his head and sighed under the guise of the baby wailing once more.

Joan cupped her hand around my ear. “A foolish one, too, she must be! Dressing so garish and manly. And that beard! Most effeminate of men, or the manliest woman!”

We laughed in unison. Tears kept Joan from seeing the fond smile on Arthur face. In fact, I believe even I gave a look of affection she didn’t catch in time.

When the woman returned, she took the babe gratefully and went on her way, ignoring our very existence. We ate separate meals, we showered on opposite sides of the river, and the Apothecaries slept on the floor as the woman slept in her own bed. It was the way things worked.

The night was cold and quiet, uncomfortably so. The countryside was never supposed to be silent. The only noise that penetrated was the crunching of herbs down into a miniscule powder and the silent steam a stirred soup let off. “No need to fight it,” Arthur laughed. Joan ceased her pounding of her medicine, standing straight up like a lost doe hearing a branch snap. “You just need to grind it down, no need to be so violent about it.” Gently, Arthur took the bowl from her and handed her the ladle instead. She snuck a sip from the bowl, before coughing with a dramatic flair.

“Is that much garlic necessary?” she asked, pretending to choke.

“Better consumed than to wear it on our person,” I said, tirelessly listing the vegetables and herbs on a blank document. Edna watched over my shoulder, pointing out every little mistake. When the pen pooled on the page too long, when the lines of letters were somewhat sloppy, when a single dot was misaligned. It was helpful, yes, but infuriating as well.

Joan watched my pen flow with a keen eye, before carefully pouring the soup into five separate bowls. Arthur hummed with delight when he saw the even portions.

We ate on the floor, using our mats as seats. Once we were sat, Andrea was the first one to dig in. “Don’t want to say grace?” she chuckled wryly. Andrea was always the first to eat, primarily due to her eccentricities and old age, and sweet Joan was always the last. She didn’t even touch her soup, instead conversing with Edna over the idea of learning to read and write. I was handed the bowl of medicines Arthur had been grinding. My brow raised and he eyed Joan with caution. “Quite a big dosage she’s giving herself,” he muttered while she was still distracted.

Examining the bowl of crushed lavender, chamomile, lettuce, and magnolia, I came to learn it was three times the usual mixture. I turned to Joan, just about to speak, when I saw her already staring at me. A soft smile on her face, deep bags under her eyes, and fidgeting nails that plucked the fresh skin on her fingers. Her left leg trembled, despite using both hands to try and settle it on the ground.

A glance towards Arthur, then a gaze held with poor Joan. “Desperate times,” I whispered and handed the bowl off.

Joan bowed her head and began stirring it into her soup. “Yes.” Her voice was weak under its own weight. “Apparently so.”