Morning all and welcome to the Fifteen Minute Novel. Here I take the start of a story idea and work on it for fifteen minutes a day. I started with an old writing prompt that interested me, cleaned it up a bit to fit the basic outline of the story I want to write and then set aside fifteen minutes each week day to see it grow. Each morning’s writing starts with the last sentence of the day before. And so now we have the story of Kasca…
Day 136: The shop was then set up for the next round.
The shop was then set up for the next round. And there always seemed to be a next round. They had breaks, but the patients seemed to come in waves as though needing the support of others in order to purchase the remedy. Some Kasca thought were family groups, others maybe neighbors or people who all worked in the same location. However they came, Kasca was glad for the breaks, if only because Darien and the others always breathed a little easier when the shop was cleansed.
‘Can’t blame them,’ she thought as she got back to the workroom. The potions needed to create the next batch were complete and she set them all, all ready to be blended. She looked towards the shelves. ‘Good thing too,’ she decided.
They weren’t running low yet, but a decided dent had been made in her supply. ‘This will more than fill the gaps and then I can start on another round,’ she told herself. As Kasca reached for the first of the potions, Darien appeared in the doorway, a frown of concern across his face.
“What is it?” she asked pulling her hand back from the potion bottle.
“A messenger,” he told her. She frowned and followed him back to the front of the shop when he seemed disinclined to add more. She saw there was indeed a messenger. He was dressed in livery and had a crest picked out in gold thread on his tabard.
‘Obviously someone of import,’ she decided immediately. If the gold threads weren’t enough then the look of superiority would be enough to clinch it. Servants didn’t get that look unless their master was someone important.
“Yes,” she asked.
“I come bearing a message for the healer of this establishment,” he told her.
Kasca held out her hand. “I will take it,” she said.
“You are the healer?” he asked. He looked her up and down an eyebrow lifted in surprise.
“I am,” she told him coldly. “The message.”
He passed the message to her, but seemed reluctant. She took the letter and broke the seal. He looked even more surprised when she read the message. The message was simple.
A man named Lord Samercal had someone in his employ who was afflicted with the Blood Death and he required medicine to be sent. There were no details. Kasca took the letter into the workroom and picked up a picked of her own foolscap. She brought her bottle of ink and pen close and wrote out a reply. She added the questions that she would ask if the patient were in front of her and listed the price of the vial of medicine for him. She also informed him that until the questions were answered she could not tell which version of the medicine his man would require. She also informed him that as she was needed in her workroom she was unable to visit directly at this time. She informed him the questions could be answered on the page or the patient could visit the shop.
Message written, Kasca recapped her ink bottle and set the pen to the side. She waved the letter in the air to ensure the ink dried then rolled it up and sealed it using plain candle wax. She had no seal and didn’t bother adding any impression to the wax.
She then took the roll of parchment back to the messenger. Unlike the letter he brought it was clearly scrap paper with only a dash of wax to keep it rolled into place. He sneered slightly as he took it delicately from her, using only his fingertips.
