The Apothecary Diaries Book 5

Let Them Eat Cake

"Apothecary! Apothecary! Come quickly!" A haggard man was pounding furiously on the door of the shack. Maomao, not looking pleased, rolled out of bed and opened the little window at the entrance in a way that made it clear she found this a nuisance.

A filthy, middle-aged man stood outside—not someone who looked like he had any money. She was about to close the window and pretend she hadn't seen anything.

"I know you can hear me!"

Dammit.

She didn't want to deal with this. Why would he come to her shop, anyway? He'd probably come to her old man once, tugged at his heartstrings until some charity had been forthcoming. This was why her father never had any money.

"What happened to the old guy who used to be here?"

"He's gone. Went to find his fortune."

"What? Don't bullshit me!"

The man pounded angrily on the door of the tumbledown house, but Maomao only gave him a cold stare. She even found herself grunting "Pfah," somewhat in spite of herself.

"You're supposed to be running an apothecary shop! Don't you even have any medicine?"

"Yeah, I'm running an apothecary shop, all right. As a business. That means money talks." Maomao would hardly be averse to seeing the man, if he had cash—but he didn't seem to be here in that kind of good faith.

"You'd take money from the poor and needy?!"

"If you can't pay, then stay away. It's because the likes of you come rooting around that I have to live in this shack." Maomao gave the door a good rap herself to scare the man away. Chou-u hid behind her, holding a soup pot and a ladle. If anything happened, he would smack them together to make as much noise as possible. He might be impudent, but he had a decent head on his shoulders. It would be loud enough to bring someone from the Verdigris House.

The visitor, though, had gone silent. Maomao hated this sort. If people thought you'd hand out donations to them, they wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of you.

The man's grimy face broke into a scowl when he saw Maomao wasn't going to give in. He leaned weakly against the door. "If it's money you want, I'll pay you. Not right away, but I swear I will. So please, come look... My child..."

The old collapse-in-a-crying-heap routine. Nice. Still, the man sat there with his head down, showing no sign of moving. Now we can't get out the door, Maomao thought.

"Hey, Freckles..." Chou-u, still holding the cooking utensils, was glancing at her.

This is ridiculous, Maomao thought, but despite her frustration, she grabbed a brush off the table and plunged it into some ink. She opened a beat-up old cupboard, revealing a sheaf of paper and some wood strips. She took out one of the strips and jotted something on it, then flung it at the man.

"Can you at least write your name?"

After a beat, the man said, "No... I can't."

"Thought not." Next she tossed a knife to him. "Use that to make your mark. Just your thumb's plenty."

The man squinted at the wood strip, but he couldn't possibly read what was on it. "What does it say?" he asked.

"That you'll pay for the treatment. It's an IOU."

Reluctantly, the man pressed the knife into the pad of his thumb, then made a mark in blood on the strip.

"Seems like a lotta trouble," Chou-u muttered from behind her, but she nudged him with her toe to shut him up.