"So none of these symptoms sounds familiar? None of your clients reported feeling this way after they took the contaminated potions?" I asked, exasperated.
"Oh, no, deary. Those reactions were quite different. Oh, they would come in here moaning and groaning of stomach aches and all kinds of maladies, but nothing like what you're describing," Hafjorg replied. She took the ore sample I had placed on the counter. "Filnjar said he didn't know what this was, correct?"
"That's right." Over in the corner I heard the steady tamp of a mortar and pestle. I supposed that was their apprentice. Having some experience in alchemy, I could see she was making several crucial mistakes, but it wasn't my lesson to teach.
"Oh dear. We'll have to dispose of all of our vials then. Elgrim won't be happy..." The elderly woman glanced behind her into the back room where I heard a series of whistling snores. "As for your problem," she smiled, turning back to me, "Elgrim is the alchemist here, I only sell the merchandise. See if you can wake him up. He sleeps so insufferably much lately, and if I go, he'll only roll over and tell me to go sweep the store."
I went into the back room where I found the source of the tea-kettle snores laying on a damp hay mattress. A mug of ale lay overturned by the bed. Suddenly, I wasn't sure if I should wake this man. I might kill him in doing so. He looked so utterly fragile in the flickering candlelight. Throughout my life I had seen plenty of elderly men die, even attended their funerals and wept for them, but for some reason, this man in particular was an effigy of mortality.
Carefully, gently, thinking only of soft cool breezes and the sounds of morning birds, I shook him and called his name. "What is it Hafjorg! Can't a man get his sleep! By the eight, you nag more than Mjoll, and I won't be some pussy-whipped man like that Aerin boy!" Elgrim crowed as he climbed out of bed. "You aren't Halfjorg. Well, what do you want? Out with it!"
Effigy of mortality indeed.
"This young lady told me her village has a mine illness that needs curing. Have you heard of a sickness caused by a mine?" Halfjorg rounded the corner and stood before her husband with her hands clasped against her dress.
"Mine sickness!" Elgrim grumbled unintelligibly for a moment. "Ah, yes. But you won't find any potion or cure or solvents here! Hmm. No. Don't get shipments of ingredients for mine sickness around here. No mines to get sick from!" He crowed laughter.
"Well, do you know anyone who can cure these people?" I asked, feeling at my wits end.
" 'Course I do! What do you take me for, an incompetent moron like that Herluin who lives in the sewers? Best person to see is Nurelion up in Windhelm. That elf does crazier things with ingredients than my apprentice, Ingun. Complete waste of materials if you ask me. Now you can buy something or get out," he squawked.
I chose to get out. Windhelm, I thought. That means we'd have to backtrack over the entire country. Sighing, I closed the shop door behind me. "At least the roads will be clear."
Still, I felt disappointed at having gotten nowhere on this whole trip. For hours I aimlessly wandered the lower quarter, looking at the boats as I walked by them. The afternoon remained cloudy, with the kind of opalescent sky that's hard to look at directly. Cool mist rose from the water, and I at least felt some relief at being out in the open air again.
After a while, I sat down with Jorin, who had managed to track me down after I left him in the market with Derk, and ran my fingers through his fur. When he fell asleep, I idly picked at the splinters on the boardwalk, knowing full well I shouldn't, but doing it anyway. I made a game of flipping the little shards of wood across the waterway into a boat on the opposite side.
Eventually, I ran out of splinters and started using pebbles. At one point I missed, and hit the door across the way. A fellow Bosmer stuck his head out the door to see if anyone was there. Then he noticed his boat full of fragments of wood and stone.
"Sorry, I--" I began, but my voice caught in my throat when he smiled.
"No worries. Were you playing a game? You look bored." He walked across to my side of the waterway and sat down on the other side of Jorin.
"I was up to 173 points before I missed," I half-smiled.
"I see. Mind if I try?" he asked, and then proceeded to land a pebble on the handle of his door. "How many points is that?"
"20," I said, "You sound like you're from Valenwood."
"I am, actually. I suppose my accent still hasn't fallen off me. But I haven't seen the place since my childhood." His otherwise charming smile faded into a frown. "Now I work at the fishery. I was supposed to spend my life exploring the world, but somehow I got stranded here. Most nights I just wish I could go home. What happened to you?"
"I'm an escaped prisoner bent on wanton destruction," I replied with a smirk. He pretended to be afraid for a moment, causing Jorin to wake up and look about for an attacker. "No, really. I suppose I'm stranded here. Voluntarily so, I think."
"You don't want to go home to Valenwood. Don't you miss the trees, Falinesti, even those snooty Imga?"
"I'm not sure. It's something I don't understand yet."
"Well, listen, I need to head over to the fishery. If you do find a way home, let me know, I, Valindor, will follow you in spirit." He got to his feet, grinning, and walked away. I felt a little better having spoken to someone who remembered home, so, having moped enough, I got up and headed to the upper levels. While we were talking, I decided I needed to do a little soul searching, or, rather, some soul-pleading.
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