The sun had climbed some little way over the horizon and the birds had long ago begun the great cacophony that was the dawn chorus of the spring when Droon at last unfolded himself from the chair where he had spent the last many nights. It was not as though there was any real obstacle to him sleeping in his bed, the room in which it stood was free of any real debris that prevented navigation and there was no angry , sick, or otherwise incommoded spouse to fling a disapproving pillow in the direction of the apothecary. In fact the bed was entirely empty and Droon’s nocturnal sojourn in the chair had been the result of many long hours drying and oxidizing tea leaves and preparing the subtle oils and other fragrant things which would flavor the final product. At the end of the process, when the leaves were rolled and set to their final drying, he simply collapsed from exhaustion on the nearest comfortable surface, the aforementioned chair, and passed into oblivion.

It was impossible for him to say how long he had sat enfolded in that chair, his long limbs intertwining like carelessly discarded string. Clearly it was now the middle of the morning but beyond that Droon had no sense of the time. Groggily he staggered about the workshop engaged in the almost automatic task of making his morning tea; preparing here a kettle, there a pot, and now a glass cup. These preparations made, and the tea itself brewed with satisfying strength, Droon drank deeply of the brew and felt the fatigue begin to melt from his limbs. Still somewhat stiff, he made his way into the front of the shop and began to take inventory of his spices.

Long years in the trade as both apothecary and spice merchant had given Droon considerable practice in the discernment of aromas and he claimed, though there was some doubt among the more skeptical Anhai, to be able to assess the aromatic inventory of his shop by smell alone. Has any of these skeptics been present just now, they would have been privileged to see the apothecary engaged in this unusual assay. With great care Droon made the circuit of his shop and stopped before each of the many-drawered cabinets in which the spices were contained. At each of these Droon stooped and inhaled deeply through his nose, savoring the fragrant air and noting any signs that one spice or another was not in proper supply. It took nearly half an hour for Droon to complete this process, and when finished he had come to the conclusion that he needed more fenugreek, some fresh mint, a considerable quantity of ginger, and a number of pomegranates for his supply of all of these was lower than he like to have about the place. So it was that some time in the latter part of the mid morning Droon left his shop in the care of Bawn, his apprentice, and made his way down towards he Bazaar.

Like on most fine days the Bazaar was a bustling mass of merchants and buyers, the sounds and the smells of commerce floated on the still morning air, and the general atmosphere was one of cheerful industry. Droon made his way through the crowd, weaving now and then between stalls and patrons so as to avoid having to check the speed of his progress. When at last he reached a fruit seller who had a number of fine looking pomegranates he stopped to consider them. They were indeed very excellent, being large and glossy and of an inimitable shade of purply-red. Droon picked one up and began to examine it minutely, for he was picky concerning his fruit.

"Ah, Droon. How pleased I am to see you have returned to me for your fruit yet again," a large man rose from his seat under the awning of his shop.

He stood a head-and-a-half taller than Tzul, with the filled out frame of a man who dealt in food. He wore a coat, rusty orange in color, and trimmed in deep red that set off his blue eyes.

He bowed his head to Tzul, "For what do you search this fine day? I see you examine the pomegranates. They are almost very nearly ripe, and should last you a while. We also have some oranges in, and I recall that you use the peel in your shop, do you not?"

He gestured toward the oranges with a smile and a light nod.

Droon turned to face the giant of a fruit merchant and grinned the slightly sheepish smile that served as his sign of mildly unexpected recognition. He could not recall the man's name though he bought fruit and other produce from him fairly regularly.

The apothecary held the pomegranate aloft and grestured in a careless way with it. " At the moment I need a fairly large number of these as my supply of pomegranate molasses is low and it is excellent for mixing some of the more unpleasant tasting medicines. It is difficult to get someone to take a vile tasting substance, no matter how necessary it might be."

When the giant had referred to oranges Droon was somewhat surprised, for it was not the season. Yet here they were and looking in fine form. The apothecary puzzled over this for a moment and wondered where they had come from. And then Droon thought of the lands beyond the valley, beyond the fog and the hatchers, and wondered what the seasons were like there and if there might be some place where oranges grew in the spring.

"Oranges . . .yes," said the apothecary in a distracted sort of way, "yes, I think I might be wanting a few."

The man laughed, "Indeed, yes. Why otherwise would it said that truth, like medicine, is hard to swallow?"



"It is good that you need only a few. What you see is all we have," his grin broadened, taking up much of his rounded face, "We are very lucky to have them. My son has tried something new with our roof gardens. He has had a room built of glass there where he planted many dwarf trees, and has seen much success, even through winter. I do not know how he does it. He has a green thumb even greater than his grandfather's."

The vendor gestured broadly, "Take your time and choose what you will. Come to me when you have made your selection."

With another light bow of his head he turned to speak to a neighboring vendor.

Droon nodded abstractedly, it was one of those phrases he heard all his life and the constant repetition of this, or one of the dozen or so variants that came and went in popularity, had very effectively driven away any meaning that might remain. Still, the man was "showing an interest" as such things went, and Droon knew all to well that it was best to give a polite smile. This he did one the nodding had been abandoned as not sufficiently convivial.



"A glass-house, of course," said the apothecary with more interest. Droon had heard of such things, but life among the spices tended to narrow one's view as to what was going on in the wider world. Of disease and discomfort Droon could speak with some authority, as well as the best mix of spices to flavor the mead which Master Yaln now made in such profusion, and there were many other subjects on which he was a recognized authority; but concerning the latest in all-weather roof-top gardening he was something of an uninitiated novice.



Droon stared at the fruits and vegetables and with care selected two dozen pomegranates, a bunch of grapes which held somewhere in the neighborhood of ninety-three individual grapes of a fine rich red, and seven oranges of the most vibrant color. Of ginger and mint, there was plenty to be had and these he selected with care. This done he attempted to attract the attention of the giant once again, though now the man was deep in conversation, and Droon knew that such encounters between merchants could take some time.

The vendor was arguing about the best place to get a drink in the Roek territory, apparently being a Wiju Tab man himself, though the other conversant was arguing for Kitava Tab, apparently citing the "fact" that Ruddy Kith watered down his whiskey. The vendor responded by politely asking the man to "please leave my stand and seek your fruit elsewhere."

The opposing man left with a little more than a huff and the vendor finally noticed Droon.

"Ah, Droon, I must apologize. I did not see that you were finished. I suppose you have made your selection?" The man grinned and gave a slight nod as he counted through his selection, checking over the fruit himself to ensure their quality, "How would you like to pay for these today? My youngest girl has had some teething problems, so if you could recommend something as part of our exchange...?"

"Concerning your daughter, I believe that I may have something that will help," here the apothecary began to muse aloud in a detached sort of way, "She is too young and too small for extract of willow, and there is no need of anything in the way of poppy extract, pain of this sort not being too severe. . .mint extract, yet. Mint extract rubbed on the gums at regular intervals should help considerably. Drop by the shop later and I will be in, if you need it now, my niece Bawn is in possession and can find what you need. This, however, will not make the whole value of the fruit, mint extract is easily made. Perhaps I can tempt you with some tea or other?"

And so saying Droon produced a wooden box which for all the world appeared to be a miniature of the many cabinets that adorned his shop. A series of drawers were opened and a selection of teas were shown. "If not these, I can always provided spice as needed."

The vendor nodded at the suggestion of mint extract, "This sounds perfect. I can come in the evening, after I have packed up here for the day."



The tall man then did something rather interesting. Upon seeing the selection of teas, he suddenly clasped his hands together and let out a higher-than-normal, "Oo!" before perusing the selection. He sniffed expertly at the various leaves before selecting a mixture of jasmine, lemongrass, and mate.

"This should do quite well," he said, "and I think I shall also pick up some nutmeg from you when I come to pick up the mint extract.

"Do you need anything else?"

Droon smiled to see the fruit merchant so taken with the tea. It was a useful medium of trade, as were the other spices the apothecary kept about him when at the bazaar.




"Ah, concerning this spice you are in luck. I have here several whole nutmeg seeds." And so saying Droon produced from the folds of his sash a handful of the large fragrant seeds. Of these he selected two and placed them before the merchant. "Unless you are a heavy hand with the spice mill and the grinder, these two could last you nearly a year, if not more."

And with a wide smile, Droon slung his basket on his back, watched the crowd for some little time before he saw an opening. With a strangely graceful stride, the apothecary disappeared between a seller of cloth and an old woman who seemed to be engaged in the buying and selling of anemic chickens.