The Poisons of Caux: The Hollow Bettle (Book I) Read Free Page A

departure.
    He must stay with his charge to the bitter end.
    It was Ivy Manx’s hope that that end would come soon, and from this wish was finally born a plan, a dangerous plan, which she decided to implement only after it became sadly clear that her uncle was not coming home.

Chapter three
The Deadly Nightshades
    ooking down at the world of Caux, say, from a passing cloud, there is no telltale sign—no indication at all—of the mischief and malingering of its inhabitants. Why, Caux from up here looks positively cozy—snug within its borders of sea and cliff. Vast green plains and fertile rolling hills. Thick, fecund forests filled with luscious flora and fauna. Bustling cities. Clever castles. Winding rivers, picturesque trains, and, of course, glorious trestles.
    But as we draw close, looking down now as a circling crow, there is hardly anything to spark the same surge of joy. From even here, high above the tallest trees, you can feel the land’s misfortune—a poison that the citizens endure. You might feel it even pulling you in.
    And were you to actually put your two feet on the ground, thus falling under the rulership of Caux’s contemptible new king—King Nightshade—why, the world at your doorstep might not seem very bright at all.
    In fact, positively dismal.
    King Nightshade of Caux was a wicked and unhappy man. He was unhappy because he suffered greatly from a hideous affliction he possessed since birth. He was wicked because, well, he was unhappy. (Or perhaps he was just born that way—we’ll never know for sure.) But from being shamelessly vile he derived great pleasure—thus forgetting momentarily his own unhappiness in the utter suffering of others.
    The king maintained one wish, which was a simple one. He wished that his suffering—his dismal disfigurement—would disappear. He wished to be alleviated of his defect, and he thought that this might finally make him happy. Still wicked, but happy.
    So he devised a plan and put the word out, in the form of a Royal Proclamation, that anyone who might cure him of his affliction would benefit greatly. He was intentionally vague, mostly because he was undecided about what form his reward might take. He was unused to acts of kindness, and so, incidentally, was the queen.
    But it was finally announced that whosoever might provide him with a cure would receive a handsome fortune—his weight in gold and priceless bettles. And since bettles were beloved by the citizenry of Caux not for their beauty and rarity (and they possessed both), but for their supposed charms against poison, this was a tempting prize indeed. The kingknew that most of the people of Caux who were presently alive preferred to stay that way.
    But the punishment for failure, well, that was quite natural and easy for the Nightshades. Queen Artilla would see to their demise. She was, after all, quite famous throughout Caux for her spectacular acts of ruthless poisoning—a reputation she worked hard at maintaining.
    King Nightshade enjoyed his power. Indeed, he had worked hard to take it away from his predecessor. It was an unusual day when he did not issue forth a Proclamation of some sort—whatever struck his royal fancy—and it would instantly become law. He was, after all, the king.
    After assuming reign in what was generally believed to be Caux’s most dismal day, his first act as quite a young king was to abolish at least one thousand years of learning in an enormous bonfire, targeting for the flames anything remotely connected to the previous king. He raided the famed Library at Rocamadour—the fire burned, it was said, for eight days and eight nights.
    It so happened that the previous king was also a learned apotheopath, so what was thought to be a priceless collection of irreplaceable medical and herbal healing books was lost forever. With the Deadly Nightshades in the seat of power, apotheopathy evolved into poisonry quite quickly, and people soon foraged deeper in the forest for