COINNEACH CASTLE—

THE KINGDOM OF VANDOLAY
1238 CE

Your Grace!” Mortain exclaimed, barging into the private apartment with Mierta following behind him, “We came as quickly as we could.”

Unexpectedly he stopped walking when he noticed Ezekiel leaning over, finishing an administration of a small tincture to Orlynd. The warlock was still lying in bed, covered only by bed sheets, his chest rising and falling at an even pace for the first time since he had become so ill. It had been two days since the warlock’s initial poisoning, and he still had not woken.

Ezekiel picked his head up and pursued his mouth in a self–satisfied smirk. “Good afternoon. I am Ezekiel Kavanagh, at your service. His Grace has gone to rest. I take it you have interest in this patient?”

Mortain smiled politely. “Yes, I am his Grace’s court physician.”

“Is that so? I do beg your pardon, you are Mortain McKinnon, are you not? Your reputation precedes you.”

Mortain’s cheeks blushed. “Yes, why, thank you.”

“And you must be his son, Mierta,” Ezekiel stated matter–of–factly, noticing the large bandage covering Mierta’s left cheek. He raised an eyebrow. “Shame you had such an unfortunate accident with compounding chemicals. Hearing the tale of your circumstances sent his Grace into a bit of a frenzy.” He laughed.

“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” Mierta replied, frowning, raising his hand to his mouth to cover a cough.

“Now, now, that is enough small chat, yeah? How is the warlock?” Mortain intervened, not wanting Mierta to be further upset.

Ezekiel eyed Mortain, before turning his attention back to Orlynd, pretending to ignore Mortain. “The warlock is not fully recovered yet. I’ll admit when I first encountered the boy, I did not expect him to survive, but he has a remarkable resilience about him.”

“That is wonderful news indeed,” Mortain smiled.

“Yes,” Ezekiel replied, turning his head and staring at Mierta before speaking again. “I imagine your son inherited his talents from his father.” Ezekiel lifted the goblet, sitting on a nightstand untouched since the original incident. “Mierta, please examine the inside of the goblet. Tell me, what can you distinguish about the poison that was ailing Orlynd? Does the goblet in particular have an unusual odour? Be quick!”

Mierta glimpsed over the goblet with uncertainty. What if he was unable to come up with the answer? He hated the idea of embarrassing his father, but he also felt compelled to prove he was ready for compounding. He raised the goblet to his nose. A very faint fruity fragrance with a mix of honey suckle, coconut and vanilla filled his nostrils—the three key ingredients to the king’s favourite mead. However, the remnants of the poison were completely hidden.

“There’s nothing unusual about the fragrance. It just smells like mead,” Mierta reported.

“That’s correct, well done,” Ezekiel smiled. “The culprit is concealed to the human nose. The warlock would have had no knowledge what he was about to drink was poison. Now, please, investigate further. Do you notice anything that should not be present, but is?”

Mierta took a deep breath before inspecting the inside of the goblet. At first he noticed nothing out of the ordinary, taking note of the crest of the kingdom embedded into the goblet. Then his eyes grew wide and his pulse increased when he noticed remnants of a yellowish–green substance at the bottom. “Yes!” Mierta answered. “I reckon I have seen this before. It is some kind of flower or berry.”

“That is correct. It is the yellow flowered form of deadly nightshade. It originates from a perennial herbaceous plant in the tomato family. Mortain, may I inquire about your plans for your son’s future?”

“Yes, well,” Mortain began, proud of Mierta’s ability to pass Ezekiel’s challenge. “I would imagine it would only be advisable his father teaches him all that he knows when he is of age.”

“I see,” Ezekiel said, fixed on Mierta. “And may I ask when will that be exactly? Your son is very advanced for his age and should expect nothing but the best education.”

“And who would you suggest teach him?” Mortain retorted, feeling defensive.

“I will train the boy. I admit his limited knowledge has impressed me, Mortain. I will arrange living quarters, food and clothing for him at no trouble to you. I will also provide him a quill, paper and a pigeon by which means he can write. I will release him when I feel his skill is satisfactory, and I will not accept no for an answer. You should expect him to do great things, Mortain.”

“That is very kind of you,” Mortain replied, indigently, “but I don’t know.”

Disregarding Mortain’s comment, Ezekiel again addressed Mierta. “That cough of yours, that is a result of your accident, no? I have some medicine at my Apothecary which will help with that and promote further healing of your lungs. Come by and see me later. I do not expect I will be needed here much longer now that his Grace’s court physician has arrived,” he finished, turning to Mortain with a smirk. “I leave him in your good care. I bid a good day to you all.”