The Poisons of Caux: The Hollow Bettle (Book I) by Susannah Appelbaum
Authors: Susannah Appelbaum
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king untie the straps that secured the plain sack, and just then Sorrel Flux got the second shock of his already stimulating day.
King Nightshade produced from the small bag a collection of priceless bettles and selected one—a translucent rose—and, with shaking hands, dropped it with a clink into a marble receptacle on the tabletop. He felt around the embroidered tablecloth for his pestle, the tip of which seemed to catch the light.
With a quick stab, he splintered the priceless bettle and began grinding the shards into a fine rosy powder. Sorrel Flux nearly dropped to the ground with astonishment at such decadence. King Nightshade was humming a little excited tune.
The powder was now transferred to a heavy chalice reserved for this purpose, and the contents of a gleaming pitcher were poured on top. King Nightshade stirred the concoction with a golden spoon.
“Drink it, before it thickens,” he muttered to himself.
And he soon thought no more about the unfortunate encounter with the antique throne or his menacing company.After a moment of anticipation, the king reclined, awaiting the mellowing results of his terrible tonic.
“Oh, Artilla needs another taster,” the king remembered.
“Of course. She can take Flux here.”
The Director had said it so casually, Sorrel almost didn’t understand he’d just been handed his third awful surprise of the day.
Chapter Twenty
Southern Wood
he thing about Southern Wood, the thing that both her uncle and Axle had always told Ivy, was that it was to be avoided at all costs.
Growing up with it looming darkly right across the Marcel, she never once had any desire to disagree. The edge of the Wood ran right to the riverbank, where it formed an uneasy truce with the water. In the summer, when the sun set over the enormous trees, there was hardly any deciphering of the forest floor—Southern Wood seemed intent on keeping its secrets.
It was an unlikely place to find herself, Ivy thought. But it was the best way to go—other than by train—if Ivy was to get word of her uncle.
It was hard to tell just what time of day it was. The Wood existed in a sort of permanent twilight; the enormous canopy of treetops was interwoven into a vast veil, allowing hardly anytrue sunlight through. Everything floated in an amber light—dust motes and a preponderance of wasps and bees, flying fretfully with the end of their year.
The trees of the forest were ancient things, enormous in girth and height, and now that Ivy was right up next to one, she could really marvel at it. The bark grew in huge shaggy strips, and occasionally it would flake away from the tree and float lazily down to the ground, landing in a muffled thud. These unpredictable noises did much to enhance Ivy’s nervousness—the Wood made her uncomfortable, and she couldn’t help but feel they were not alone. They had slipped silently from Axle’s trestle earlier, but she couldn’t shake the sensation that the eyes of the awful Outrider were turned toward her. The forest floor was soft and springy, and she found herself searching for any signs that they were being followed.
The Wood was also host to a vast array of lush plant life. It was filled with a veritable delight of many interesting specimens—undisturbed and ancient. Rowan was thrilled to pull out his newly autographed copy of the
Field Guide
and research his findings, but it soon started slowing them down. Ivy wanted to make some progress—after all, there was an uncle to find, and she knew that Templar was no easy journey. There was something else, though—something in the air that made her want to hurry.
“Look at this!” Rowan called ahead to where Ivy was.“This species of vine. I’m almost certain it’s shadow phlox; I’d know it anywhere! A complete rarity, it blooms only in the deep of night.”
“That?” Ivy turned for a quick look. “Common bindweed.
Convolvulus scammonia
.”
“Bindweed?” Rowan scoffed. “Please. I’ve studied
King Nightshade produced from the small bag a collection of priceless bettles and selected one—a translucent rose—and, with shaking hands, dropped it with a clink into a marble receptacle on the tabletop. He felt around the embroidered tablecloth for his pestle, the tip of which seemed to catch the light.
With a quick stab, he splintered the priceless bettle and began grinding the shards into a fine rosy powder. Sorrel Flux nearly dropped to the ground with astonishment at such decadence. King Nightshade was humming a little excited tune.
The powder was now transferred to a heavy chalice reserved for this purpose, and the contents of a gleaming pitcher were poured on top. King Nightshade stirred the concoction with a golden spoon.
“Drink it, before it thickens,” he muttered to himself.
And he soon thought no more about the unfortunate encounter with the antique throne or his menacing company.After a moment of anticipation, the king reclined, awaiting the mellowing results of his terrible tonic.
“Oh, Artilla needs another taster,” the king remembered.
“Of course. She can take Flux here.”
The Director had said it so casually, Sorrel almost didn’t understand he’d just been handed his third awful surprise of the day.
Chapter Twenty
Southern Wood
he thing about Southern Wood, the thing that both her uncle and Axle had always told Ivy, was that it was to be avoided at all costs.
Growing up with it looming darkly right across the Marcel, she never once had any desire to disagree. The edge of the Wood ran right to the riverbank, where it formed an uneasy truce with the water. In the summer, when the sun set over the enormous trees, there was hardly any deciphering of the forest floor—Southern Wood seemed intent on keeping its secrets.
It was an unlikely place to find herself, Ivy thought. But it was the best way to go—other than by train—if Ivy was to get word of her uncle.
It was hard to tell just what time of day it was. The Wood existed in a sort of permanent twilight; the enormous canopy of treetops was interwoven into a vast veil, allowing hardly anytrue sunlight through. Everything floated in an amber light—dust motes and a preponderance of wasps and bees, flying fretfully with the end of their year.
The trees of the forest were ancient things, enormous in girth and height, and now that Ivy was right up next to one, she could really marvel at it. The bark grew in huge shaggy strips, and occasionally it would flake away from the tree and float lazily down to the ground, landing in a muffled thud. These unpredictable noises did much to enhance Ivy’s nervousness—the Wood made her uncomfortable, and she couldn’t help but feel they were not alone. They had slipped silently from Axle’s trestle earlier, but she couldn’t shake the sensation that the eyes of the awful Outrider were turned toward her. The forest floor was soft and springy, and she found herself searching for any signs that they were being followed.
The Wood was also host to a vast array of lush plant life. It was filled with a veritable delight of many interesting specimens—undisturbed and ancient. Rowan was thrilled to pull out his newly autographed copy of the
Field Guide
and research his findings, but it soon started slowing them down. Ivy wanted to make some progress—after all, there was an uncle to find, and she knew that Templar was no easy journey. There was something else, though—something in the air that made her want to hurry.
“Look at this!” Rowan called ahead to where Ivy was.“This species of vine. I’m almost certain it’s shadow phlox; I’d know it anywhere! A complete rarity, it blooms only in the deep of night.”
“That?” Ivy turned for a quick look. “Common bindweed.
Convolvulus scammonia
.”
“Bindweed?” Rowan scoffed. “Please. I’ve studied
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