Ravenheart by David Gemmell Page A

exact weight in ounces the customer had asked for.
    But then, the silver-haired Ramus had been an apothecary for twenty-nine years. Judgment to the quarter ounce, he considered, was a small enough skill to acquire in almost three decades and certainly not one to cause undue pride. Ramus was not wealthy, nor was he poor. He lived in a small house with a slate roof and a half acre of ground on which he grew many herbs. Other plants and fungi were gathered for him by women who lived in the barren empty areas of the high hills.The apothecary Ramus had no friends and no wife, for he was not a man comfortable with intimacy of any kind. Neither did he have enemies. He was not even disliked, which was unusual for a Varlish living among clan folk. Ramus was punctiliously polite to all, Varlish or Keltoi, and never offered an opinion except on matters herbal and never entered into debate with anyone. It was, he had long ago decided, safer that way.
    Ramus cast a quick, nervous glance at the black-haired youth standing at his counter. He felt uneasy around Kaelin Ring, though in truth he could not think why. “Fever, you say? What is the nature of the fever, Master Ring?” He listened intently as the young man told him of finding Shula Achbain and her son on the verge of death from starvation and cold.
    “Aunt Maev said to ask you to select herbs to heal them. She told me to ask also for fat hen and something for a festering wound.”
    “Good, yes, very good,” said Ramus. “Please take a seat, Master Ring, while I prepare the necessary ingredients.” Ramus was anxious to please Maev Ring. She had become a powerful personality in Old Hills and, truth be told, in Eldacre itself. More than sixty women were now employed by her in the making of dresses, shirts, blouses, and other articles of clothing. It was said that she was a shareholder in three other ventures, though Ramus knew of only two. Maev Ring now had minority interests in the businesses of Gillam Pearce the bootmaker and Parsis Feld, owner of the forge and armory in Eldacre town. Both men had been in danger of bankruptcy and debtor’s prison, but Maev Ring had settled their debts. As soon as she acquired her stake in the businesses, their fortunes changed. Orders came in, and prosperity followed. Other merchants talked of Maev Ring being lucky. It was easy to see how they would think that, but Ramus was not fooled. Once might be luck, not twice. No. Maev Ring was a clever woman with a sharp eye for opportunity.
    The apothecary stood for a moment surveying the scores of earthenware jars on his shelves. Each jar was marked witha symbol or a series of letters. The first he chose bore the legend “DHS” in black. Uncorking the jar, he scooped out a portion of the contents and then, with his left hand, opened a small bag of muslin into which he tipped the powder.
    “What is that?” asked Kaelin Ring. Ramus jerked. He had not heard the young man leave his seat and move once more to the counter. It unnerved him a little. Had it been anyone else, he would have asked him politely to return to his seat. But this boy was the nephew of Maev Ring and therefore needed to be treated with a little more respect.
    “It is the leaf of the dwarf honeysuckle,” said Ramus. “I shall give you four half-ounce bags. The powders must be boiled with sugar to make a jelly. It will help dispel the fever.
    “For the festering wound I shall also make up a potion with honey wort and saffron. Your aunt will know what to do with it. You may expect some immoderate movements of the bowels in the early stages of their recovery. To alleviate this I recommend myrtle berry extract. This is, however, expensive. It is six daens a bottle, and you will need two bottles.”
    “A whole chailling?” said Kaelin Ring, astonished.
    “Aye, Master Ring. The myrtle tree does not grow in the highlands. Indeed, no one has successfully grown it on this side of the sea. The extract needs to be shipped from Goriasa