Golden Scarab - Free excerpt.
Bells jangled above his head as Seraphis parted the beaded curtain at the shop’s entrance. Bottles, colors of every hue, lined the shelves from floor to ceiling of the small space. Dark shapes floated within some of the jars and Seraphis saw eyeballs, tails, and scales suspended within. Scents of aniseed, sulphur, and camphor mingled in his nostrils. He coughed.
The shopkeeper, a man of middle years, bowed and the tassel on top of his box hat swung in an arc. He swept his arm toward his wares. “Noble sir, how may I be of assistance?”
The High Priest kept his hood up, shrouding his features and flicked a gold coin at the shopkeeper. “I seek Moorak.”
The man snatched the coin from the air faster than a lizard’s tongue catching a drowsy fly. The coin disappeared inside his robes as if he was a magician. He pointed to a doorway almost hidden in the shadows at the rear of the shop. “The last door on the left. Knock seven times.”
The corridor was smothered in shadows and smelt of decay. A rat scurried away from his footsteps. The last door was solid and studded with iron spikes. He rapped exactly seven times, stood back and waited, drumming his fingers against his upper arm. Moments later, he heard a series of bolts being drawn and the door groaned open a crack.
“Moorak?”
Chains rattled and the door opened further. A hand crippled into a claw and tipped with yellow fingernails motioned him inside. Moorak secured the door behind Seraphis before shuffling to the work bench. A cauldron, blackened with soot, bubbled above the fire pit, belching green fumes. Seraphis’ eyes watered. He blinked rapidly and tried to mask his surprise. Moorak was a woman. She was fair of face, but mottled skin, pitted and burnt, sheathed both her forearms.
She must have become accustomed to her customers’ reactions to her ruined arms as she glanced down and shrugged. “My art demands some sacrifice.”
Moorak shooed a toad off a chair and offered the seat to her visitor. “What service do you require?”
Seraphis ignored the seat and paced, tugging his earlobe. “A slow-acting poison to stop the heart, but leaves no trace.”
Moorak nodded. “How do you want to administer it? By ingestion, a few drops trickled on food? Or slipped into a drink, or by touch?”
“Touch?”
“I have recently acquired a rare but expensive ingredient that can be smeared upon items, but it takes one to two days to work. The reactions vary dependent on the dosage. With a light dose, the victim succumbs to a failed heart, while heavier doses produce flu-like symptoms and kills the sufferer by dissolving their internal organs. It leaves no residue. Be warned; there is no antidote.”
Seraphis smiled. “Perfect. Name your price and I’ll take some now.”
Moorak shook her head. “The potion takes time to prepare. Pay me one hundred goldens now and I’ll have it delivered. I know who you are.”
The High Priest bristled at the witch’s arrogance. “How do I know you’ll keep your promise?”
“This is my business and I’ve survived by acting smart. All my clients wish me dead once our transaction is complete. By the time your potion arrives I will have moved on. You keep my secret and I keep yours.”
Seraphis tugged on his ear. He didn’t like it, but what choice did he have. “Done, but I want proof your poison works.”
She nodded. “Don’t kill the shopkeeper on your way out.”
Seraphis lifted his brows. Could the witch read his mind?
Moorak ushered him out her door. “I’ll infect him before sending him to you with the potion.”
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The shopkeeper, a man of middle years, bowed and the tassel on top of his box hat swung in an arc. He swept his arm toward his wares. “Noble sir, how may I be of assistance?”
The High Priest kept his hood up, shrouding his features and flicked a gold coin at the shopkeeper. “I seek Moorak.”
The man snatched the coin from the air faster than a lizard’s tongue catching a drowsy fly. The coin disappeared inside his robes as if he was a magician. He pointed to a doorway almost hidden in the shadows at the rear of the shop. “The last door on the left. Knock seven times.”
The corridor was smothered in shadows and smelt of decay. A rat scurried away from his footsteps. The last door was solid and studded with iron spikes. He rapped exactly seven times, stood back and waited, drumming his fingers against his upper arm. Moments later, he heard a series of bolts being drawn and the door groaned open a crack.
“Moorak?”
Chains rattled and the door opened further. A hand crippled into a claw and tipped with yellow fingernails motioned him inside. Moorak secured the door behind Seraphis before shuffling to the work bench. A cauldron, blackened with soot, bubbled above the fire pit, belching green fumes. Seraphis’ eyes watered. He blinked rapidly and tried to mask his surprise. Moorak was a woman. She was fair of face, but mottled skin, pitted and burnt, sheathed both her forearms.
She must have become accustomed to her customers’ reactions to her ruined arms as she glanced down and shrugged. “My art demands some sacrifice.”
Moorak shooed a toad off a chair and offered the seat to her visitor. “What service do you require?”
Seraphis ignored the seat and paced, tugging his earlobe. “A slow-acting poison to stop the heart, but leaves no trace.”
Moorak nodded. “How do you want to administer it? By ingestion, a few drops trickled on food? Or slipped into a drink, or by touch?”
“Touch?”
“I have recently acquired a rare but expensive ingredient that can be smeared upon items, but it takes one to two days to work. The reactions vary dependent on the dosage. With a light dose, the victim succumbs to a failed heart, while heavier doses produce flu-like symptoms and kills the sufferer by dissolving their internal organs. It leaves no residue. Be warned; there is no antidote.”
Seraphis smiled. “Perfect. Name your price and I’ll take some now.”
Moorak shook her head. “The potion takes time to prepare. Pay me one hundred goldens now and I’ll have it delivered. I know who you are.”
The High Priest bristled at the witch’s arrogance. “How do I know you’ll keep your promise?”
“This is my business and I’ve survived by acting smart. All my clients wish me dead once our transaction is complete. By the time your potion arrives I will have moved on. You keep my secret and I keep yours.”
Seraphis tugged on his ear. He didn’t like it, but what choice did he have. “Done, but I want proof your poison works.”
She nodded. “Don’t kill the shopkeeper on your way out.”
Seraphis lifted his brows. Could the witch read his mind?
Moorak ushered him out her door. “I’ll infect him before sending him to you with the potion.”
Follow link back to read or buy page /archived-read-or-buy.html
