CHAPTER ONE
They say that intelligence is better than beauty. I say to be ruthless is higher than the both of them. But then, I would. I take after our real father, after all. Too slender, dark hair, dull grey eyes, and always, always the last word. Mary, though…she is everything I’m not. Blond, full figured. Flashing blue eyes, an infectious laugh (all the boys she toys with certainly catch something, anyway). The one thing we have in common is a taste for manipulation. Nothing really bad, understand. It’s just that sometimes, sometimes people are so easy to move.
We used to have contests. Toss the fists, winner gets Mom. Dad’s just too easy, so we always tried to get her every time. Then, over a course of, oh, say two weeks or so, we’d pit them against each other. It’d go like this:
“You really going to eat the rest of that cake, Dad?”
He sighs. “What now, child?”
“Oh, nothing. You see Duncan’s dad at the farm the other day? Mom said he’d just toss bales of hey over his shoulder, quick as you like. Strong as an ox, she said.”
Dad wipes his mouth, drops the cake, and goes to his workshop, working on clocks for the next six hours. Then Mom gets home, tired and aching from a day of dealing with customers. Mary offers to cook. I clean dishes. Mom goes straight to bed, Dad walks in, having gotten increasingly more neurotic over the past afternoon.
“Where’s your Mom?”
“She went to bed. I think she’s got the vapours.”
Me to Mary: “Hey, did Duncan come in with his dad to the shop today?”
“I think so. If he could fit through the door frame with all those muscles!”
Dad’s face doesn’t twitch. He and Mom don’t talk all night. She wonders if there’s something wrong, but can’t think of a way to ask that wouldn’t have him sigh and go back to the workshop. Easy. Then we’d do the hard part: reversing the trick. First person to get caught loses.
We still haven’t been caught.
It wasn’t until I was thirteen or so that I thought to ask why I didn’t look like either of my parents. Or why Mary doesn’t have Dad’s, to put it politely, rather large forehead. Sometimes not getting an answer is all the answer you need. Particularly when Duke Cunning stops at your shop that same day with his new bride, sees Mom, turns grey, and walks back out the door without another word. Even at thirteen we were precocious.
Needless to say, we pestered Dad until he told us the whole sordid story. Apparently, he couldn’t sire children, and Cunning likes to do what Cunning likes to do. Ahem. It is his right, after all. Dad just thought hey, why not make the best of a bad situation? Mother simply didn’t go to Lady’s shop after the ordeal. This was all a bit shocking, but true to form, we were able to swing it to our benefit. Mary and I spent many happy hours together, planning out a way to scheme the good Duke out of his easy earned money. Not that it ever came to fruition, but still…those were good days.
Fast forward a few years. Now it’s nothing but “Aelita, why don’t you ever bring boys over like Mary does?” Or, “Aelita, have you ever considered attending to the church in a few years?” As if I wanted to get married or become a priestess. Both ridiculous ways for people to spend their lives.
Now I spend most of my time at Lady’s, learning the apothecary trade. Potions, powders, tinctures. A girl’s best friend. Not that I would mind having a boy drool over me and serve my every whim. Hell (pardon my language), I can hear Mary outside right now, working her magic. That laugh penetrates wherever you go. This is the only time the apothecary shop seems as dark and dreary as it really is. I work in the back, dealing with the light sensitive plants. For some reason Lady never wants me up front.
The place is pristine, naturally. Ivy covers the walls on the inside. I’m still not sure how Lady pulls that one off. The smell of green, growing things surrounds me. I think this might just be the best place in the world. I like the mandrake root the best. I was stealing a look at lady’s books while she slept the other day, and apparently I have to use gloves to tend it because if it even touches your skin, you have nightmares for days. We use it for animals having trouble giving birth. One sniff and they go berserk, straining and heaving like there’s no tomorrow. Of course, then we have to nurse the baby to health ourselves, since the mother won’t go near it for weeks afterwards. It reminds me of the duke.
I pull off my gloves, walking through the low hanging vines marking the entrance to the shop proper. Mary’s inside, turns out. I see her wink at me quickly, a flash of the eye that I’m the the only to catch, because she turns to the side at just the right moment. Her hands flash sign that we taught ourselves to speak. Mostly so we can make fun of everyone else around us with no one the wiser.
Duncan is really on his game today.
You going to throw him a bone today, or make him cry into his pillow tonight?
We’ll see. Check out laugh a minute over here. Trying WAY too hard. Watch this.
Mary does the Hair Flip. Golden locks toss over her shoulder, she breathes just a little too heavily, and everything just stops. Duncan stops. Laugh-a-minute stops (seen him around for years, still don’t know his name). Hell, even Lady and I stop. Then she puts her hand Duncan’s shoulder while looking into laugh-a-minute’s eyes. Definitely a challenge. Things are going to get interesting later.
Behind the miller’s. Midnight after mass. Chores for a week on laugh-a-minute.
You’re on. Duncan can take him with one hand tied behind his back.
Mary flashes a pearly smile and says, “Alright, boys. I’d love to stay and chat, but I really need to get back home with Mom’s flowers.”
Cries of protest abound. Duncan glances at me once, blinks his eyes, and then abruptly turns and leaves the shop. What was that all about?
Lady turns to me after they leave. She’s a heavyset woman with hands the size and shape of garden spades, but she’s sharp as a tack. Sometimes I think she sees more than she lets on. She lets me work here, though, so I let it slide. Normally I cannot abide sharpness.
She turns to me and speaks. A rare event!
“You’re not playing her game.”
I feel a wry smile twist it’s way onto my mouth. “Who says I’m not?”
“You never do. You’re the only one who doesn’t.”
Lady turns and heads to the back room, vines parting as she makes her way to the back. I’m a little unnerved. Oh well. Time to put my own plan into motion. Mary’s not the only one who can play games, and I already owe her a week of chores as it is. No chance I’m letting this one go.
“Lady! I’m heading out for now!”
A grunt of response.
The shop’s bell rings as I walk out. The sun shines bright, but I can see clouds coming in from the East. Another reminder that any day now, the sun will fall and rise for the another six months or so. I’m looking forward to it. During the winter months, people mostly stay inside, so I get to spend more time with Mary. Mom and Dad never seem to enjoy it as much as we do, though. There’s always a sudden resurgence of them going to church, without ever feeling the need to take us. Although sometimes Mom gets it into her head that I in particular need to come with. I suspect it’s in the vain hope that I’ll charm some poor sod into marrying me. Maybe someday. After I’ve had my fun.
I head down the town’s bright road, wagons rattling past, people scurrying, hustling and bustling to get prepared for winter. I can see Duncan’s place up ahead. He’s working in their small garden today, pulling up plants. His broad back works in the sun, muscles pulling and stretching. Such a waste. I could do so many things with muscles like that. Wait, what am I saying? I already have them. I walk intentionally louder, letting him hear me coming.
He straightens, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“Hey Duncan.”
“Hey.”
He looks suspicious. Guess it’s been a while since we talked. Sometimes I get lost in my own head.
“How’re things with Mary?”
He takes off his hat, twisting it absently. Probably not even aware of how frustrated he is. “Not great, Aelita. I can’t ever figure her out! One second I think we’re great. Next I go from planning the wedding to hoping she’ll notice me this afternoon. I can’t keep this up.”
He angrily pulls up a carrot, dirt flying up in small chunks. Bingo. Got to play it subtle, though. I’m a little rusty. Mary has more natural gifts than I do. Not that I can’t be effective, though…
I hunch down just a tad, then look up at him through a few wisps of black hair. “Maybe I could help.”
He looks wary. “Why would you help me? No offense, but we’ve spoken maybe three times in the last month.”
I straighten and look him in the eye. Staring just a bit too long can work wonders. Makes women nervous and men angry. He might could use a bit of anger.
“I’ve had enough, Duncan. I love my sister, but she’s an idiot and so are you. You two obviously care for each other, but you’ve never even tried to prove it to her. And she’s worse than you are! Too afraid that you won’t be able to protect her. I wish she’d quit talking to that jerk…”
Is scuffing my foot just a little in the dirt too much? I decide to go for broke. I glance sideways, acting embarrassed, then look back up. His jaw clenches, working like he’s got a piece of gristly in there that he just can’t back down from. Looks like I’m home free.
