39. Apothecary

Shade did not return to Dorelle. Instead, he rode directly toward the unfinished base, taking the longer and rougher route through ground where fewer people were likely to see him. The Vitalicious Flowbloom sat inside its glass case, wrapped and secured as carefully as he could manage. The stolen flow-enchanted staff was tied separately, hidden beneath cloth and straps, but Alistair’s attention kept returning to the flower.

Only after the encased bloom was placed in the central room of the unfinished base did he allow himself to relax.

The operation had been fruitful beyond anything he had expected. He had gained an invaluable resource, an expensive weapon, more practice with large-scale clone coordination, and a considerable amount of EXP. By any practical measure, it had been a success.

That did not mean the danger had passed.

If anything, the next few days might be worse. Several groups on the island had heard of the flower, and much of that attention had come because of his own rushed efforts to draw people toward the blooming site. They would not simply forget about it now that the flower had vanished. The camp force, the island alliance, Karn’s remaining associates, independent hunters, and anyone else who had caught pieces of the rumor would all know the same thing. The Vitalicious Flowbloom had bloomed during the Acclamation, and someone had taken it.

Some would watch the port. Others would watch Dorelle, Verevain, and the roads between them. A few might even search the wilds, especially if they believed the thief had avoided town.

The operation had succeeded, but Alistair was not safe yet.

His first worry was tracking. The camp force had found the blooming location before anyone else, which meant they either had good information, good scouting, or a class capable of finding rare resources. Perhaps they had only followed rumors and signs, but Alistair could not trust that assumption. If they had someone capable of tracking the flower itself, the unfinished base could become a trap.

For a while, he considered taking the bloom deeper into the woods immediately.

The thought was tempting. The base was incomplete, and if enemies found it now, he would lose more than one hiding place. But overreacting carried its own risks. Moving the flower again and again would create more chances for someone to see him or notice something strange. Because of Seeker, he knew tracking was rarely perfect. Even more useful finding skills would have limitations, ranges, conditions, and uncertainties. It was possible no one could trace the flower here at all.

So he chose caution instead of panic. Two clones would keep watch near the road and likely approaches. Another would remain close to the flower, ready to move it at the first sign of danger. If anyone came too near, Alistair would carry the bloom deeper into the wilds. Until then, he would not waste strength running from a threat that might never arrive.

The staff was easier to handle. He sent Digger away with it before dawn. The clone carried it far from the base, found a place unlikely to be disturbed, and buried it deep enough that casual searching would not reveal it. Later, when the island calmed and Alistair was more certain no one could track the stolen weapon, he would recover it and decide how to use or sell it. A flow-enchanted staff was valuable, but it was not urgent.

The Vitalicious Flowbloom was different. The flower demanded an answer.

Alistair stared at the glass case for longer than he intended, thoughts moving through every possibility he could imagine. How should he use it? When? Could it be eaten directly? Brewed? Processed? Preserved? Would cutting it wrong ruin the effect? Would waiting a day weaken it? Was the glass case enough to keep it stable, or had it only been meant to protect the bloom during transport?

He did not know. That ignorance was suddenly more frightening than the battle had been. Stealing the flower had been difficult, but at least that problem had been clear. Find the bloom, create confusion, take it, then escape. Now he possessed what might be the most valuable resource he had ever touched, and he did not know how to turn it into something useful.

It was an oversight. He admitted that to himself with some irritation. He should have been gathering information before the theft. He had been so focused on getting the flower that he had not planned enough for the aftermath. If the bloom needed to be processed immediately, every hour he wasted might reduce its value.

So he took advantage of Dorelle’s widespread drunkenness. The Acclamation had left the town noisy, intoxicated, and hopefully, loose-tongued. People who would have been careful in the morning were now drinking, bragging, laughing too loudly, or half-asleep over their cups. Falsehand moved among them with a new mask and an easy posture, never asking too directly at first. He bought a cheap drink, complained about rumors, listened to nonsense, and let drunk men correct him.

Most of what he heard was useless. One man insisted the flower was a myth invented by merchants to raise the price of useless weeds. Another claimed his grandfather had seen one, eaten it raw, and broken the five upper limit of the stats. A third laughed at him for believing any flower could increase stats at all.

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Even nonsense had value, though. By comparing the stories, dismissing the obvious lies, and guiding the conversations toward more practical details, he eventually found something solid: a name.

No one he spoke with knew how to use a Vitalicious Flowbloom. Most had only heard rumors and stopped pretending otherwise once pressed carefully. But if anyone near Dorelle could process such a thing, they said, it would be the local Apothecary.

That gave Alistair a direction. Falsehand shifted his questions away from the flower and toward the woman herself, and within a few hours, he had learned far more useful information.

The more prestigious class was Alchemist. Everyone knew that much. Alchemists were rarer, more advanced, and far more respected. Even when one ascended from a smaller island, they rarely stayed there. Most went to larger islands where wealthy patrons, better ingredients, and proper workshops could support their craft. Emerier was not the kind of place that kept many such people for long.

Apothecaries were different. Their work focused on common healing, and the simple potion craft that people on small islands actually needed and could afford. There were two on Emerier, one in Verevain and one near Dorelle.

The one outside Dorelle was Mistress Mirel. She lived on a small estate not far from town, close enough for customers to reach her but far enough that she could cultivate some of her own ingredients. According to one drunk farmer, the town hall had invited her to move into Dorelle proper several times. They had even offered her a free property. Mirel had refused each time. She preferred open soil, controlled environment, and enough distance from neighbors that no one complained about smells, smoke, or strange plants overgrowing past their walls and causing accidents.

By the time the night ended, Alistair had directions, warnings, and even a few scattered details about her habits.

She was direct, disliked flattery, and charged fairly for common potions but ruthlessly for rare work. She respected useful ingredients more than polite speech. She sometimes accepted commissions from unusual clients, provided they paid in advance and did not bring trouble to her door.