Plenty of Creep Cluster left, without any hint of wilting. The young man stuck his hand into the barrel to further investigate, nimble fingers gliding across the coral-colored stems and verifying that the stock had maintained its proper gloss and firmness, even on the delicate tendrils. Everything met his rigorous standards. Content with his findings, he slid the lid back on the barrel and picked up his inventory log, scrawling some notes in quick, crisp handwriting.

Each month, he had to assess the quantity and quality of the ingredients being stored in the back room. It was a dull job worthy of an apprentice, certainly not worth his master's time, but one necessary for the running of the alchemy store. Truthfully, he didn't mind the job other than the chill in the air that aided in preserving many of the ingredients. He'd come from the south and more temperate climes, and despite the years he'd spent in Skyrim, he'd never quite adjusted to the temperature difference. Still, organizing and categorizing was a calming activity, and one that always provided a sense of accomplishment.

The apprentice next moved on to a crate of Scaly Pholiota, which was stored on a shelf near the barrels. He frowned when he noted the fungi had started to shrivel. It would not be as easy to obtain fresh stock, seeing as they could only be harvested in the golden forests of the Southern Rift. He'd have to note that more should be purchased at the next possible opportunity. In the meantime, perhaps they could use the deteriorating ingredients with their abundant Creep Cluster to make some fortify carry weight potions; that would be the best way to recoup the money.

As he moved to note this in his records, he heard the metallic jingle of the bell above the shop door, followed by the sound of the door slamming shut with far more force than was necessary. Quintus Navale couldn't help the scoff that escaped as he shook his head and returned to his work. No doubt the customer was yet another muscle-bound mercenary that didn't know their own brute strength. The White Phial saw more than its fair share of customers such as this. It was, after all, one of the best alchemy shops in all of Skyrim, and in a province that as a general rule looked down on magic, that meant steady business from all walks of life, especially the adventurers and warriors. The traditional brews derived from plants and animals served as much more trusted remedies to the citizens of Windhelm than restoration spells from even the best-trained mages. These strange Nord beliefs were positively barbaric, but he couldn't argue seeing as it gave him his livelihood.

Once he finished writing his findings in the notebook, he gave pause and frowned. It was too quiet. The customers that came in always placed their orders at the front counter, and rather loudly too. The local Nords were not shy about making demands of an elf, regardless of the fact that his master, Nurelion, had lived at least five times longer than them and possessed remarkable expertise in the field of alchemy. It was a good thing that Nurelion would tolerate nothing but the utmost respect and had enough self-confidence to fill the entire Abeccean Sea…. Some days, Quintus wondered whether the old alchemist even realized the customers were looking down on him, or if he was too busy looking down on THEM to realize that fact.

Shrugging, he turned back to the supplies and began to count the bundles of small antlers on the bottom shelf. He didn't have to focus on their quality, given that they would never lose their potency like many of the other ingredients, and so his mind continued to muse over the puzzle. The Dunmer customers from the Grey Quarter were much more soft-spoken and respectful, but he didn't even hear that much from the other room. Perhaps this was one of the rare occasions where a patron had some skill with alchemy and simply wished to use the crafting station in the front room? But even then they'd give some precursory greeting before going to work, assuming they were decent, polite people.

If it wasn't that either, had it just been Master Nurelion going out without telling him? This idea seemed even more unlikely than the rest. Nurelion no doubt believed that if left alone, he would accidentally blow up the store with an errant experiment. There was no way in Mundus he'd leave without providing explicit instructions to be carried out in his absence, even if for five minutes. To Nurelion, he would always be little more than a child. Quintus had come to accept this. Why shouldn't he? Compared to the long life awarded by Nurelion's Altmer blood, his twenty three years was hardly anything.

"I don't appreciate loiterers, if that is what you are here to do."

Nurelion's cross voice nearly made him drop his pen. It definitely made him lose count. So there WAS someone in the shop. Now, for the first time, he could hear the clinking of heavy boots on the floor, most likely part of a full suit of armor. He'd been right about the mercenary part as well, it seemed. What caught him off guard was the flippant, feminine voice that followed. "Oh, sorry, didn't see you standing there. I was just looking for a few things in my pack."

It wasn't necessarily the fact that this mystery customer was a woman that threw him off; he'd seen plenty of female sell-swords enter the shop. Some of them had been even more masculine than he was, unsettling as that felt. What got him was the lightness in her voice despite the heaviness of her movements. Something about it just didn't seem to equate. Finally, the young apprentice could handle his curiosity no longer and rapidly invented an excuse to bring the box of aging Scaly Pholiota out to the front counter. Even as he neared the entrance to the main room, peering around the corner while remaining half-hidden by the wall, he remained silent and cautious, as was his way.

To his surprise, the armor-clad woman he'd heard was now standing at the alchemy table, throwing this, that and the other ingredient together. She hadn't bothered to take off her helmet, or even her steel gauntlets as she worked, a fact he mentally noted contributed to her clumsy technique and unsteady hands. A second, similarly-armored woman stood nearby, shaking her head in disbelief at the haphazard display while keeping her arms folded. They were apparently ignoring Nurelion completely, and unsurprisingly the old man looked as if he'd just bitten into a sour apple. "Are you here to shop or just use my facilities?"

"Ah, don't worry, if I can't find any ingredients to cure disease, I'll be buying a potion or two from you in a moment," the strange experimenter stated absently, reaching for more snowberries and throwing them in with creep cluster. Quintus furrowed his brow. That wasn't going to work… And indeed, the mixture made a poof of smoke and turned black. No good. Instead of being discouraged, she simply hummed thoughtfully, reached into her pack for more snowberries, and this time withdrew jazbay grapes as well. And that wasn't going to work any better than the last combination…

"You don't know anything about alchemy, do you?" Nurelion accused in utter annoyance, giving voice to Quintus' own thoughts. He had worked for Nurelion long enough to know that this waste of ingredients irked him to no end.

"I do know a little bit, actually. I know how to mix things together, I just don't know WHAT to mix together. That's what I'm trying to figure out." She paused, thinking. "Hey Lydia, would you jot down in my journal that snowberries and creep cluster do not mix?"

Her silent companion finally responded as she moved to retrieve the object in question. "As you wish, my…"

"Thank you!" Poof. "And add jazbay grapes to that list."

"You know, you could just BUY recipes and…"

"Haven't got the money for that. Spent it all on those cure disease potions. You know, for something so crucial to saving lives, those things cost an awful lot. I've gone through four of them this week alone!" Heaving a dramatic sigh, she paused her experiments to finally remove her horned helmet. Sweat-soaked strands of the shoulder-length hair remained plastered to her head. "Holy Akatosh is it warm in here…"

Nurelion ignored this outburst. His mind was and always would be preoccupied first and foremost with alchemy. "You're wasting money on ingredients. I don't see how this careless massacre is any better."

"What, these?" For the first time, she turned around as she held open her bag. To Quintus's shock, there were visible strands of spider silk tangled in her copper hair, and dirt smudging what he judged to be a normally fair face. Some kind of adventurer then? Hard to believe she would go out in public looking so disheveled! By the time he'd drawn his focus away from her face, she was already tucking the bag away before he could look at its contents. "All stuff I picked up on the tundra. Not like it cost me anything, and not like it will fetch much of a price."

Nurelion grunted thoughtfully, his bony fingers drumming against the counter. Finally, he barked "Quintus!" The young Imperial snapped to attention, nearly dropping the box he was carrying. For the first time, all eyes in the room came to rest upon him. He clutched the box nervously to his chest.

"Yes, Master?"

Nurelion's green eyes narrowed to find his apprentice had been standing there the whole time. "Slacking off instead of cataloguing, were you? Go check our stores of spider eggs and silk. Perhaps we can exchange some for a simple recipe that even this amateur can use!"

More than his master's sharp voice, he faltered when he felt the hazel eyes of the outgoing customer study him curiously. Strange, it was as if they couldn't decide whether they were gray or green…or maybe blue? "Of course, Master Nurelion. Right away." Spinning around abruptly, and still hanging onto that damned box, he retreated back to the storeroom to take inventory as instructed. From back there he could only make out bits and pieces of the conversation as it continued, despite his best efforts to quietly slide the lids off the containers. Something about how she came from Morthal, knew a lot about swamp fungal pods and deathbells, and was the daughter of the alchemist out there. He also caught Nurelion's incredulous snort at the thought of her being related to a practitioner of the art with such poor form. By the time he finished his hurried assessment and returned to report his findings, he managed catch her answer.

She remained upbeat despite Nurelion's lack of tact. "Well, my mom is hardly an alchemist. We haven't got many people in town, certainly none that can do better, and at the least she can make mixtures that do more than kill you faster. Other than the tried and true recipes for restoring health and stamina with local ingredients, she really just throws things together to see what will happen though."

"Then I can see where you get it from," he muttered, turning his attention back to his apprentice. "And?"

"We have a decent amount of spider eggs. Spider silk, on the other hand, is running low. Not many people willing to take on the actual spiders to get it, I imagine."

"So how many should we buy?"

Quintus blanked. "Ummm…"

His master sighed. "Fool boy, how long have you been doing this job?"

He felt his face turn red, which he always hated all the more given his vibrant red hair. He'd been so busy trying to eavesdrop that he hadn't counted out the exact amounts. Nurelion was right, it was an amateur move on his part. "I'm…I'm sorry master, let me just double check…"

"Never mind!" Nurelion waved him away, turning once more to the customer. "I'll buy whatever you don't need."

The quiet woman, Lydia she'd been called, nodded to her companion encouragingly, so the apparent leader of the pair reached into her pack and withdrew twenty strands of spider silk, which she presented to the merchant. "At least we'll get SOME money out of that endeavor," Lydia grumbled under her breath.

The copper-haired woman nodded, though seemed to lose some of her spark after the tongue-lashing Nurelion had given his assistant. "Here we come all the way to Windhelm to accept a job, and in the end all we get out of it was a bit of smithing training. For being commissioned by the Jarl, that's pretty shoddy if you ask me." She continued to talk despite her change in demeanor, as if talking were a force of habit, and she was completely oblivious to the fact that Nurelion looked pained at the prospect of hearing the story of how she'd acquired the item to be purchased. "I'd hardly break even without this, not after resupplying the cure disease potions…"

"You spent them on the spiders?" Quintus surprised himself at his timid question. After being embarrassed in front of these customers, he hadn't expected to find the nerve to ask. Somehow, though, in contrast to Nurelion's disinterest, he got the feeling that this woman had an interesting story to tell, and would tell it in a manner that would be equally interesting. She had thus far proven to be anything but boring.

"No, I was able to snipe the spiders for the most part without them noticing me. Even the giant brood mother wasn't so bad, considering the mammoth skeleton hanging in her lair…" His eyebrows raised in shock beneath the furry brim of his hat, and this seemed to perk her up, a smirk emerging across her features. "It was actually the vampires who claimed my last cure disease potion. Found a secret cavern behind a switch-activated door in the spider's lair and brought them to an end, but man, without that spare I'd be sucking your blood as we speak!"

"It's broad daylight," Lydia pointed out. "Besides, the disease wouldn't have even taken over yet." Nurelion too was rolling his eyes, though for other reasons. He clearly wanted business, not small-talk.

Still, she paid those two no mind. She realized that she had a captive audience in Quintus, and that was more than enough to fuel her narration. "So you see, I'm more than a bit vexed that retrieving that sword for the Jarl earned me such a pittance. All that work, but you can't loot anything from vampires, being that their things might be tainted with their cursed disease…"

"People think that Sanguinare Vampiris can only be contracted directly from the vampire, but they forget that the weapons vampires carry often inflict the disease as well. It wouldn't surprise me if their other items carry the pathogens. Consuming any edibles would be a huge risk. However, perhaps if you found jewelry or gems, you could soak them in a purifying salt solution…" And now, Quintus was on a roll, contemplating the practical applications of alchemy towards this problem.

Her eyes lit up. "Hey, maybe I should go back to that cave then and we can test it out! You know, assuming I have a cure disease potion just in case it doesn't work…"

Finally, Nurelion had had enough. "If you are quite finished, the spider silk, please!"

The woman jolted back to reality. "Oh, right. Here." Finally, she laid the silk on the counter. "How much can you give me?"

Quintus ran through the numbers in his head. It looked like about twenty strands, so by his reckoning, 250 septims would be appropriate, and that was erring on the side of the buyer, not the seller.

Nurelion squinted. "200 septims." Quintus stifled a sharp inhale at this low-ball offer. Surely his master knew better and was just annoyed with the chatty client. He wanted to say something, but knew he couldn't without being disciplined for it later. All he could do was hope she grasped the need to counter.

The woman frowned in disappointment. "Only 200? Darn, that won't buy me even one potion. I guess I'm losing out on this venture…" She was talking to herself, not bartering, and accepted the coin offered to her without another word about the total. Given his Imperial sensibility, Quintus nearly groaned; this woman was a typical Nord with no haggling skills! "And how much for three cure disease potions?"

"750 septims." Nurelion didn't even bat an eye.

She visibly winced, but moved to pull out her purse. "Can't be helped, I suppose, not after having that gangrene scare."

"You were fighting draugr?" Again, Quintus couldn't help himself but ask. What else could infect a person with gangrene? Well, Dwemer machinery, but in this part of the world, it was far more likely that someone like her was raiding tombs. It certainly wasn't a disease a normal person picked up from day to day life.

"Yeah, to get an artifact for someone." She finished counting out her coin and slid it across the counter to Nurelion, who eagerly snatched it up. "I barely made it to a store in time after using all of my healing potions to stall its progression."

"So, you are a professional adventurer then?" An idea was forming, a proposition of sorts. At first it barely registered, but the more he heard about her exploits, the more feasible it became. She may seem a bit flighty, but apparently she knew how to handle herself in combat if she was still standing here. Maybe the being broke part was more bad luck than lack of ability?

"Quintus, quit babbling and get me three cure disease potions from the back room!" For the first time, his raised voice triggered a coughing fit. It sounded like the cough was lodged deep in his lungs, rattling his body. The demanding old man suddenly seemed frail.

Whatever plans Quintus had been making flew out the window at this display, deep concern written all over his face. "Master! Wait, let me fetch you your tonic first…"

"Damn it all boy, there is a customer waiting for her purchase! That is much more important than fetching me a tonic that won't even do anything to help!" He continued to cough, grasping onto the counter for support.

The young man's ears burned with embarrassment. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't waste your breath with apologies, just get me that order!"

He opened his mouth to apologize again, but caught himself. Recoiling slightly from the verbal blow, he ducked his head and slunk into the back room. Damn it, why was Nurelion getting to him like that? Normally a few harsh words never got under his skin, but today he could feel the prickling of tears in his eyes as he clumsily searched through their stores. It was that easy-going copper-haired warrior. For whatever reason, he hated being scolded in front of her…

"Hey, it's my fault for talking to him, so don't take it out on the poor guy! And he's only worried about you, so don't fault him that either! I am in no hurry." His ears perked up, and he could hardly believe what he was hearing. She was defending him?

"He needs to focus. I don't have much time left, as you could probably deduce."

"What, he's your apprentice?"

"Yes, the boy is my apprentice! And he's got a lot to learn before he can take over. He can't afford to be bumbling around like an incompetent child!"

Quintus froze with his hand reaching into the storage crate. Oddly enough, he and Nurelion had never had this conversation. His master was getting sick, but he seemed to live in denial about it in all ways except one. That was the one thing he had wanted to ask the adventurer. But this talk of taking over, of completing his training, like time was running out… This was a new concept. It felt like a pressing weight and a burden lifted all at the same time. So his master did have confidence in his abilities? He was simply expecting so much from him that it felt impossible to meet those expectations?

Finally deciding in a burst of courage fueled by this revelation, Quintus grabbed what he needed and marched back into the shop. "If you're an adventurer, then maybe you can help with something for my Master!"

"Quintus…" Nurelion warned, but he would not be deterred.

"He's been looking for an artifact for over a decade now, and we know where it is, but can't get to it. He's too old and sick, and I have no skills in that department, but maybe someone strong like you could retrieve it for us!"

Before Nurelion could interject, the woman pounded her hand into her fist enthusiastically. "That sounds exactly like my department alright. Nordic ruins?"

"Y-yeah. Not too far from Windhelm."

Nurelion sighed heavily, cutting both off. "So be it, boy. I'd contemplated it myself, but I guess there's no going back now. But you go make yourself useful and grab a map while I explain."

"Of course, Master, right away!" Relieved for the first time all morning it seemed, he scrambled up the stairs to grab the map on the sitting area table where Nurelion did all his reading and research. As he reached down to grab it, he contemplated the pen and ink sitting at the ready nearby. A slow smile crossed his face. He plucked the quill from the table and dipped it neatly into the inkwell. Then he scribbled a few notes on the back of the map while still wearing that stupid grin, blowing the ink dry before carefully rolling it up. She had been getting the short end of the stick today between her employer and Nurelion. Surely she deserved that information, if for no other reason than she had really truly seen him.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

"My Thane, what's gotten into you? We only came to Windhelm to complete the contract you had BEFORE everything with the dragon, as honor would require. We're supposed to head to High Hrothgar and speak with the Greybeards, not pick up new jobs from cranky old shopkeepers! I mean, you are a once in an era figure, not just some mercenary!"

Fjori grinned mischievously as she and her housecarl headed back to the inn along the snowy, cobbled streets. Lydia hadn't said hardly anything while in the store, undoubtedly feeling it wasn't her place as a glorified bodyguard, but now that they had exited she was getting an earful of everything the woman had wanted to say. "I know, I know… But how are we going to get to High Hrothgar if we don't have any money for supplies?"

"And what if he decides to pay you in recipes or something? Haven't you learned to get a detailed payment agreement since Queen Freydis's sword?"

Fjori just shrugged. "At least then I'll hopefully be able to make more potions, then turn around and sell them for money. I've got enough ingredients, just not the knowledge. It would pay for itself."

Lydia squinted at her Thane carefully. She'd been reserved at first, like the proper housecarl she was trained to be. It didn't take long for her to see Fjori was not the kind of person who liked people bowing to her though, no surprise seeing as she had grown up a poor girl from the marshes, completely unused to having someone at her beck and call. Lydia had changed her habits accordingly. The changes came with surprising ease despite the years of training embedded within her. Still, never in a million years did she expect she'd be calling out her master as she was about to do. "If I had to guess, I'd say you took that job right away just because that shopkeeper's assistant asked you. You couldn't say 'no' to him, could you?"

Fjori threw her hands in the air defensively. "Oh come on, Quintus looked like he needed a break! Is it a crime to feel sorry for him?"

"Aha, you even remember his name!" Lydia pointed a finger accusingly.

"Yeah, so? Nurelion only yelled it how many times!" Fjori batted the finger away.

"Like three. Maybe four. Usually it was just 'boy'."

"Whatever, Lydia. It's nothing."

They walked in silence for a few paces before a new question emerged. "You think he's cute, don't you?"

For the first time since the pair had been united, Lydia saw her boss blush. Was Quintus cute? Fjori honestly couldn't remember. She could recall his shy demeanor, his keen interest in hearing her exploits, the body language that screamed deference to the old man. Why the hell couldn't she recreate the image of his face in her mind? It made her feel horribly guilty. "Would you believe me if I told you I don't remember what he looks like? I just remember what he acted like."

"Hmph, so do I. In one word, wimpy."

"He's not wimpy, he's earnest! And that's a nice quality in a man." Fjori was staring at the sky now trying to avoid Lydia's gaze. "Suffice it to say I know what a self-centered man is like, and I much prefer the earnest type. Whether he's cute or not is completely irrelevant."

"I see. So you just like him for his personality."

"I didn't say I-"

"You don't have to. It's my job to know these things."

"It's your job to protect me, not pry into my non-existent love-life!" she scowled, casting an unamused look. That was enough to get Lydia to back off. The warrior wondered if she was beginning to get too comfortable with her charge and had overstepped her bounds.

"Well, at any rate, any more subservient and that Nurelion is going to run him into the ground. I suppose I should thank you for not being a master like him, huh?"

This seemed to break the tense mood. Fjori scoffed. "Definitely. I'd tan your hide for making accusations like that otherwise." Hoping to change the subject, Fjori pulled out her map as the pair left the market area. "Now, let's see where we're going exactly. Hopefully we can make a day trip out of it. Quintus said it was pretty close…" She unfurled the scroll, revealing the image of Skyrim. Windhelm was marked by the symbol of the bear along the eastern border, and a little ways to the west along the Yogrim River was an 'x' symbol. There was also some writing along the bottom that rippled in the biting wind.

Lydia started to wonder what her boss was reading that left her speechless after so many moments, and when she looked over she saw that her Thane was blushing again. "What does it say?"

Fjori swallowed. "Charred skeever hide (make sure it is thoroughly cooked, as it alters the properties significantly), combined with mudcrab chitin (one large male or two smaller female) yields a cure disease potion. Hopefully both ingredients are plentiful in your travels, and you don't contract Ataxia in the process of procuring said ingredients!"

Now it was Lydia's turn to grin. "Aww, he left you a gift! Poor guy was probably super happy someone was being nice to him after spending all that time with Nurelion."

Fjori just smiled despite the ribbing. "He gave me the recipe under his master's nose! Maybe he's not as wimpy as you make him out to be, huh Lydia?" Then, suddenly, her eyes widened and she smacked her head. "I never said my name!"

"You told Nurelion…"

"But HE doesn't know my name! Damn it…"

"Oh, so you DO care!"

"Shut up, Lydia, this is serious! He's gone out of his way to help me and I haven't even offered it as a courtesy. Would it be weird to go back to the store and tell him?"

"Yes, yes it would. Just wait and tell him when we deliver the Phial."

"I guess…" Fjori lowered her head sullenly while she rolled the map back up.

"Don't be so dour, My Thane, we'll get the Phial tomorrow, deliver it, and hopefully get paid this time. You can tell him your name, and then we can get going to High Hrothgar."

But Fjori wasn't really listening. She was wondering if he would forget her by tomorrow. Maybe she'd just imagined the way he seemed to focus his attention on her? It wasn't as if she was an overly attractive woman, pretty plain in fact. The grime of her adventure and the spider webs in her hair hardly made a decent first impression either. No, he was probably just staring at her because she looked ridiculous. If she took off the armor and came in a dress looking presentable, surely he wouldn't remember her. Why did that thought bother her so when she couldn't even visualize his face?

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

As soon as the colorful pair left the shop a good half-hour from when they'd entered, Quintus went to work cleaning the alchemy station with distilled water, a typical task for an apprentice. The talkative woman had certainly left it a mess with all of her failed experiments. Nurelion seemed invigorated despite his coughing fit earlier, clearly due to the prospect of someone finding his White Phial, and was poring over manuscripts for the twentieth time from his place at the corner table. By all accounts, this should have been a typical Morndas. But something was off. Quintus couldn't stop thinking about the strange customer as he scrubbed at the residue she'd left behind. He wondered if she had found his note on the map yet. And he wondered…

"What was her name? Did she ever say?" Despite his outburst, he focused on the task at hand without diverting his gaze.

Nurelion, however, looked up from his work and stared at him. "Fjori. Like that old Nord legend. Why do you ask?"

"Just…wondering…" he attempted lamely, dipping the rag in the water again and wringing out the excess. "I mean, we did hire her, so…"

"She really got you flustered, boy," Nurelion observed grouchily. "I'd thought you immune to the charms of women. Normally even the sultry tavern wenches that show up to buy snowberries and honeycombs don't throw you. I suppose you thought that eccentric Nord lass was CUTE with all her ramblings." The way he said it made Quintus believe his Master had felt the complete opposite.

She was no fair lady, that was for certain. What a mess she had been, and so careless in her alchemy! Such traits should repel him given his own tidy, methodical nature. With no conceivable reason for him to show interest in someone who seemed to contrast him on all levels, why in Aethereus couldn't he get her off of his mind?

"She was kind," he finally decided, swallowing hard. That's what it came down to though. Even if she needed a good washing and couldn't brew a potion to save her life at the current moment, her warmth had drawn him in. Not only that, but she'd stood up for him, defended him against Nurelion! Not that he was going to mention that detail at this particular moment… He couldn't think of anyone who had made him feel that important since he'd left Cyrodiil.

Now Nurelion set down the book with a thud loud enough to make his apprentice jump. "You gave her a recipe, didn't you, boy?"

Quintus had no poker face to speak of, so he knew there was no use denying the accusation. He hung his head as he admitted "Yes sir. On the map. But sir…" He looked up, finally wearing an expression that challenged the Altmer. "She might need it if she's going to get you that Phial. Draugr are rife with gangrene, and you didn't exactly give her a good deal at all on those potions or with her spider silk."

He braced himself for another lecture about how he didn't know his place, how he was a useless assistant, but it didn't come. Instead, Nurelion sighed wearily. "Quintus, I could see you flinching as we did business. You knew, you were counting, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir. Current market prices would have put those spider silk threads at at least fifteen septims per strand. You gave her a whole 20% less than she should have gotten!"

"And she didn't barter, so whose fault is that?"

"Well, it seemed like you took advantage of the fact that she didn't know what she was doing," he shifted uncomfortably.

Again, the old man sighed. "This is one of the things you need to learn yet, Quintus. We run a business. If you want to come out on top you need to be more aggressive. You are still too nice for your own good. If a customer is willing to give you more for something than it is worth, you sell it for that price; that is just how business goes. I'm afraid you'll end up giving the store away to charity the way things are now."

That reminded the young man of another thing. Summoning the last of his nerve, he asked "Was it true what you said about leaving the store to me?"

Nurelion snorted. "Heard that, did you?" But Quintus didn't flinch, peering at him intently, waiting for a response. His mentor finally huffed. "Well, who else would I leave it to? I haven't exactly got any family or heirs or anything. And you could handle it, if you could just buckle down. Boy, you have all the intelligence. Half the time I can't pry you from your books to do your chores around the shop! But all that talent will be meaningless because you haven't got any business sense, nor have you got a backbone. The fact that you gave away that recipe only proves me point!"

The offhanded compliments made the young man's head spin. Funny how Nurelion could only offer such encouraging words in the middle of a scolding. Still, he had a point to make. "Master, with all due respect, she is going out of her way to help us. I do not feel bad giving away that information free of charge, and I will not apologize for it." Quintus dropped the rag on the table and folded his arms, frowning.

Slowly, a smile played at the corners of the old man's lips. "Perhaps this will teach you a thing or two after all." Then he cleared his throat. "Now, don't you have some cataloguing to finish, boy?"

Quintus was surprised at his lack of reaction to his defiance, but quickly nodded in agreement. Earlier this morning he'd repeated the names of ingredients as he took stock of them, blissful in the task at hand, but now as he retreated to the storage room which had practically become his domain, he muttered her name under his breath instead. He'd say a prayer to the Divines for her safe return. And maybe, just maybe if they felt so inclined, they'd let her still remember him by the time she got back.