The Blackthorn Key

I was completely awed by the apothecaries. From what little I’d read of them, they seemed to have talents that were almost magical. And while our headmaster, Reverend Talbot, always treated his guests with deference, the way he fawned over the Guild Council made me realize these were incredibly powerful men.

Though Oswyn was the most junior member of the Council, to me, he was the most fascinating of the three. He’d shaved his head bald, and against fashion, he wore no wig. He looked at me with intelligent eyes and said, “I’m told you’re to thank for this delicious meal.”

I tried not to stare at his scalp. “Just the broth, Master Colthurst,” I stammered.

“The broth is the best part. You have a real talent for herbs.”

He was probably just being kind to an orphaned boy—a man of his stature must have eaten at much better places than the dining hall at Cripplegate—but my heart still swelled under his praise. “Thank you, Master.”

Reverend Talbot leaned over and said, “Christopher has a small sum left from his inheritance. We’re planning to use that money to apprentice him to a cook.”

“If he has the funds,” Oswyn said, “why not send him to our Guild instead?”

Reverend Talbot seemed just as stunned as I was. Oswyn looked amused.

“You believe only men of high standing can become apothecaries?” he said. “On the contrary. All we require is a disciplined mind, an appreciation for nature, and a keen desire to learn.” Oswyn gestured at me with his spoon. “Boys like Christopher, in fact, are exactly what our Guild needs more of: plain and simple Englishmen, who grew up knowing hard work.” He returned to his meal. “Think on it, Reverend,” he said, and from that casual remark, my path was set. The very next day, my studies—and, to my dismay, the beatings I got when I answered wrong—doubled in intensity. Reverend Talbot wouldn’t tolerate my bringing shame to his school by failing the entrance test to the Apothecaries’ Guild.

I studied the face of the girl on the stoop. I’d left the orphanage three years ago, so she would have been around nine at the time. She had big green eyes and a slightly upturned nose with a dusting of freckles across its bridge.

I did remember her. She’d come to Cripplegate a few years before I’d left, after her parents died on a merchant voyage to France. I’d helped the nurses care for her the last winter I was there, feeding her chicken broth for three weeks when she’d had a terrible case of the flux. Her name was . . . Susanna? Sarah?

It came to me. “Sally.”

Her cheeks flushed, pleased that I’d remembered her. “What happened to you?” she said.

“I’m an apprentice. To Master Apothecary Benedict Blackthorn,” I said proudly. She nodded, as if satisfied. “How much longer do you have?” I asked her.

“A couple of months, maybe. They’ve been trying to find me a job. But . . .” She shrugged.

I knew what she meant. The masters did their best to place the children before they turned thirteen, but not everyone ended up with a job or apprenticeship. If you aged out without anywhere to go . . . life on the streets wouldn’t be good to you. Especially if you were a girl. I remembered how little I’d had at Cripplegate: nothing, really, but the slightest hope of something better. Sally barely had that.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the last of my pennies. I held it out to her. “Here.”

Her eyes went wide. The three parish boys stared with her. One even took a step forward, but Sally was off the stoop before him, the cat springing from her lap and bolting around the corner, knocking over a wicker basket as it fled.

Sally clasped the coin to her palm. She stared at her knuckles, as if afraid the silver might leak out. I turned to go.

“Wait.”

Sally nodded toward Stubb, who stood in the lane, waiting impatiently for a parade of brightly painted sheep to pass. “What did he do?”

“He threatened my master,” I said.

She held out her hand. “Give me an egg.”

I glanced over at Stubb’s silver cane. I’d felt its sting before. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

I handed her one of the eggs. She rolled it in her fingers, not meeting my eyes.