The Apothecary of Athens (5) — Medicine and Poison
"...Hello."
I slowly drew back my outstretched hand.
Medea’s eyes followed the movement.
"What were you doing, child?"
"I thought the wrong medicine was about to be sent out."
The handmaid frantically shook her head.
"That isn't true, Your Majesty! Theon distinctly told me—!"
"I know."
Medea gestured to her, her face still bathed in that warm, gentle smile. After darting an anxious glance at me, the maid hurried forward. As the queen extended a slender hand, the maid passed the bottle to her and immediately shrank back against the wall.
Medea tilted the bottle once to inspect its contents, then shifted her gaze toward my hair.
"You tied it up so prettily."
She began to step slowly toward me.
Swallowing dryly, I bowed my head.
"...Thank you."
Medea came to a stop right in front of me. A pale, delicate fingertip tapped the topknot pinned atop my head.
"Quite adorable."
Her golden eyes drifted downward to my chest. Slender fingers toyed with a lock of my hair, giving it an affectionate twist.
"You don't know how to change into those clothes, do you?"
"..."
"Follow me."
Turning on her heel without another word, Medea started walking. The vial in her left hand swayed conspicuously with every step, as if daring me to look away.
Is she luring me in?
I glanced back at the handmaid, who looked as though she had forgotten how to breathe, bit my lower lip, and followed behind the queen.
She led me straight to the dispensary, slipping into its innermost room. The moment we stepped across the threshold, Medea closed the door behind us.
"Shall we start by taking off those clothes?"
Her smile remained impossibly bright.
...So I don't get a choice, then.
I looked up at her for a second before undoing the shoulder cord. The knot gave way, and the simple length of cloth that had draped my body pooled onto the floor in an instant.
"Good girl."
Beaming, Medea took the fresh garment from my arms. Shaking out the fabric, she moved behind me.
"Raise your arms."
I lifted my arms as bidden. The fragrant fabric, sweet with floral scent, was draped over my left shoulder.
"...Ungh."
Her fingertip grazed my bare spine, tracing slowly down to the third thoracic vertebra before lifting away.
"The people of this city call me a witch."
The fabric resting on my shoulder wound around my waist.
"All because I came from the east, understand herbs, and happen to be cleverer than my husband."
Her warmth drew closer still. This time, right beside my ear, her silky voice continued, "Without even knowing who I truly am."
The fine hairs on my cheeks stood on end. I fought to swallow the ragged breath threatening to escape my throat.
Her hands paused for a beat, then resumed their work, pleating the cloth neatly over my shoulder.
"One day, they will call you that as well. Men always jump straight to jealousy whenever they encounter a clever woman."
Her fingers folded the fabric, pulled it taut, and pinned it fast over my shoulder with a bronze fibula. I clenched my fists in the folds of the skirt, steadying my voice to keep it from trembling.
"Men aren't jealous of clever women. They're terrified of women they cannot understand."
Medea's hands stilled.
"Terrified, you say?"
Murmuring the word quietly, she let out a soft, amused chortle.
"Is that why you're so blunt?"
"Pardon?"
"You haven't said 'He'll get better' even once, have you? Not to Theon, and not to that stranger."
...She heard all of that?
I swallowed hard. Medea grasped the sash at my waist with both hands.
"Honesty like that doesn't last long, my dear. In this age, nothing is more useless than honesty and trust."
With practiced ease, Medea tied the sash into place. After smoothing the final folds of my attire, she caught me by the shoulders and gently turned me around.
"Come with me."
Her face, framed in my sight once more, still bore that sun-drenched smile. Keeping my expression as neutral as I could, I asked, "Where to?"
"Somewhere quiet. Anywhere you like. I will teach you everything I know." Her warm hand cupped my cheek. "So... will you do me one small favor?"
A favor. Aconite. Winning me over.
There was no need to deliberate. I opened my mouth immediately.
"Apothecaries don't deal in poison."
Medea's brow arched ever so slightly. Yet her voice remained honeyed, as soft and soothing as ever.
"Medicine and poison spring from the very same root, child. Dose alone makes the difference between what saves and what slays."
She was right. If this had been a pharmacology exam, that was exactly what I would have written.
"I know that."
Yet that was precisely why I could not yield. Meeting her gaze straight on, I answered, "That is why apothecaries exist. To keep medicine from turning into poison—so no one dies because an herb was misused."
At last, Medea's smile faded. Her grip on my shoulders tightened by a fraction.
"Is that man so precious to you?"
"Every patient is precious."
"I thought you said you weren't a physician?"
I choked for half a second. Fortunately, an answer sprang to mind at once.
"A customer, then. Not a patient."
"...Ha."
A dry, mirthless chuckle slipped from Medea's lips. Her expression went strangely blank, closer to emptiness than genuine anger.
"What a pity."
She slipped a small vial from her waist. As she pulled the stopper, the mingled scent of sickly sweetness and damp earth wafted out.
Poison?
I stepped back on reflex. Watching me retreat, Medea merely curled the corner of her lips and dropped into a crouch.
"If you were going to be this frightened, why didn't you simply listen?"
"—Ungh!"
Closing the distance in a flash, she seized my jaw. She forced my mouth open, wrenching my head back, and a flood of searing bitterness poured down my throat.
Sh-she's forcing it down my throat right here and now?!
It was completely unexpected. Part of the liquid went down the wrong pipe, and I broke into violent coughing. Medea drew back the bottle and patted my back soothingly.
"Shh, gently now."
"What... cough... what did you give me...?"
"A sleeping draught." The queen wiped my lips with a clean cloth. "Mandrake root steeped in wine. Once you fall asleep, you won't stir even if someone runs you through."
Tears pricked my eyes from the coughing, blurring my vision.
"It will be evening by the time you wake." She caressed my cheek, then pressed a light kiss to my forehead. "We can have our quiet chat then. By that time, the little commotion will have settled."
Supporting me by the arm, Medea seated me on a stool. Even through my hacking coughs, I glared daggers at her. Fortunately, reason clamped down before emotion could run wild.
I have to play along.
Throwing an empty tantrum here would only earn me a second dose shoved down my gullet. Worse, she might reach for something far more lethal.
I deliberately slowed my breathing, letting all tension drain from my limbs. Medea studied me intently for a moment, then dusted off her hands.
"See how lovely you are when you stay quiet?"
She gave my hair an affectionate pat. When I closed my eyes, her footsteps receded, followed shortly by the heavy thud of a wooden bolt sliding into place outside.
...She's gone.
I slid straight off the stool. Dropping to my knees, I spat out whatever lingering liquid remained in my mouth.
Mandrake.
Nightshade family. Scopolamine and hyoscyamine. A mnemonic scrawled in the margin of my old pharmacology textbook flashed through my mind:
Dry as a bone, red as a beet, blind as a bat, mad as a hatter.
Salivary and sweat glands shut down, causing extreme dry mouth. Peripheral vasodilation causing hot, flushed skin. Mydriasis and cycloplegia causing light sensitivity and blurred vision. Then tachycardia, hallucinations, and agitation. Classic anticholinergic syndrome—the result of muscarinic acetylcholine receptors being blocked.
It hasn't been long.
There was no time to hesitate. I thrust two fingers deep into the back of my throat.
"Hurgh...!"
The bread I had eaten surged up alongside a mouthful of sweet-smelling liquid. I shoved my fingers in again, retching violently, until on the third try, nothing but bitter bile and stomach acid came up.
"Haa... haa..."
My heart was hammering against my ribs as if it might burst. Even so, I couldn't stop here.
I dragged over the clothes I had left beneath the stool and rummaged through the folds. My fingertips struck something hard: the lump of charcoal I had used two days ago to draw lines on that bear's arm.
It isn't activated charcoal.
Activated charcoal was baked twice to create microscopic pores for adsorption. This was just charred wood.
Still, it's better than nothing.
Grinding the charcoal between my teeth into a crude powder, I took a mouthful of water from the jug in the corner and swallowed the grit down. A stench like burnt meat rose in my throat.
"...Ptui."
Wiping my mouth, I braced myself against the wall. The floor felt strangely distant beneath my feet, but I forced my focus together and scanned the shelves.
Physostigmine... yeah, right, as if they'd have that here.
An acetylcholinesterase inhibitor. A drug that delays the breakdown of acetylcholine, replenishing the neurotransmitter to override the toxin's blockage. It was the textbook antidote for anticholinergic poisoning, but an alkaloid extracted from West African Calabar beans wasn't going to be sitting on a Greek shelf. Besides, with my mind already growing hazy, I needed something that crossed the blood-brain barrier.
Galantamine.
A delicate white flower blossomed behind the thought. A slide from a pharmacology lecture.
Snowdrop.
A nodding white blossom dangling from a slender stem. Outer petals framing shorter inner ones, tipped with subtle green markings—a lovely little thing. Its genus was Galanthus, the very origin of the name galantamine. And like snowdrops, the bulbs of most Amaryllidaceae plants contained the same compound.
If it's daffodils or narcissus, surely...
I dropped low, reaching toward the bottom left shelf. Catching an overturning basket with my knees, I pulled it into my lap. Inside lay an onion-shaped bulb.
Theon called this an emetic.
Lycorine. The emetic alkaloid present in narcissus bulbs. Theon had called it a "narkissos bulb," which was unmistakably Narcissus.
Taking the bulb in hand, I drew a deep, deliberate breath. My double vision gradually converged back into one.
The trouble is, I have no idea what the ratio of lycorine to galantamine is in this thing...
Even within the same genus, alkaloid concentrations varied wildly by species, to say nothing of the other toxic components packed inside. And for the record, a heavy overdose of lycorine was lethal.
Taking poison just to keep from falling asleep.
It was ridiculous enough to draw a hollow laugh. But right now, I had no choice. If I fell asleep here, the banquet would end—and by the time it did, either the bear or someone else would be dead.
I peeled away the outer papery skin to reveal yellowish flesh. At the same time, my fingertips began to tremble uncontrollably, and the glare of the sun filtering through the window stung my eyes so sharply I could hardly keep them open.
No time. Be scared later.
I bit off a piece. It crunched like raw garlic.
And then.
"Guh...!"
I nearly heaved on the spot.
It's disgustingly bitter!
A searing bitterness numbed my entire tongue. With tears welling in my eyes, I forced myself to work up saliva and swallowed it down. Hands shaking violently, I peeled back the next layer.
Just one more piece.
Popping the second segment into my mouth, I chewed slowly. Leaning my back against the wall, I stared up blankly at the ceiling.
Please, just don't let me die.
I checked my pulse. Lost count halfway through. Started over from the beginning. Squeezing my eyes shut and snapping them open, I ran through a mental status exam.
"Choi Ji-woo."
Name. Check.
"Athens. Royal pala... dispensary."
Location. Tongue was slurring, but pass.
"Medea fed me mandrake."
...And?
My heart lurched in my chest. Trembling, I glanced down at the black charcoal dust on my hands.
"The bear... right, I have to save the bear."
The silver chalice. Aconite.
Taking another deep breath, I recited the sequence from the beginning. Then my stomach twisted inside out.
"Bleeaaargh!"
I threw up again. Probably a sign that the lycorine was actively kicking in. Completely drained, I slumped against the wall.
How much time passed after that?
...Ah.
The savory aroma of roasted meat began to waft through the cracks in the door. Along with it came the faint clinking of wine cups.
The banquet has started.
The timer was ticking down to zero.
Bracing my hands against the shelves, I dragged myself upright. I stumbled to the door and slammed my palms against the heavy timber.
"Is anyone out there?!"
My voice was a raspy croak. I balled my hand into a fist and pounded again.
"Someone, please...!"
Right then.
Clack—
The bolt sliding free echoed from the other side. The door, which had felt as though it would stay sealed forever, swung slowly open to reveal a familiar silhouette.
"...Old man."
It was Theon.
His milky white pupils looked at me. They took in the puddle of vomit on the floor, my charcoal-stained hands, and the half-peeled bulb on the table. His gnarled fists clenched tight.
"Did you not say that an apothecary never deals in poison?"
Had he been listening outside the door?
I met his cloudy gaze and gave a firm nod.
"Yes."
Biting down on his lower lip, the old man slowly unclenched his fists. His gaze flickered toward the bulb on the table once more.
"How much of the bulb did you consume?"
"Two cloves."
"Then it is enough. The immortals must have looked upon you with favor."
Theon stepped aside.
"The feast has only just begun. If you hurry, you may yet make it in time."
"...Thank you."
I bowed my head and took a step forward. But before my foot could hit the ground, a hand caught my arm.
"Your face." Holding me fast, Theon gave a slight jerk of his chin. As I touched my cheek blankly, his voice came with an exasperated sigh. "Do you intend to present yourself at a royal banquet looking like that?"
Vomiting, choking down charcoal, chewing a bulb bitter enough to bring tears. If I looked pristine after all that, I'd have to be Aphrodite herself.
"...I'll wash up first."
Only then did Theon nod, using his sleeve to brush the dust and grime from my clothes.
I had to steady myself against the wall three times on the way back to the kitchen.
My eyes still burned from the glare, and my stomach churned unsteadily. Being able to stand didn't mean my body had recovered.
I feel like I've pulled two all-nighters in a row...
Inside the kitchen, handmaids were sorting wine cups. The young maid from earlier spotted me and waved urgently.
"Hey! What took you so long?!"
"Something came up."
"Her Majesty already chose another girl! Ugh, wait here for a moment. I'll go tell the Queen—"
I caught her by the forearm. Looking her dead in the eye, I shook my head.
"I will speak to Her Majesty myself."
"What?"
"Give me the cups."
I straightened my spine and tightened my grip on her arm. The maid blinked in surprise, then stammered an uncertain, "O-okay," before handing over a tray laden with empty chalices.
"Don't you dare drop them, understood?"
"I won't."
She led me to the entrance of the banquet hall.
When the tall doors swung open, brilliant light flooded my vision first. Cedar columns polished with oil, tables overflowing with endless dishes, and guests laughing as they raised their cups.
And right at the center of it all sat Medea.
Smiling serenely as she listened to the King's words, her radiant golden eyes flickered toward the entrance for a fleeting instant.
"..."
Silence.
The finger tracing the rim of her goblet froze in place.
"Oh, you're here?"
The bear seated beside the King spotted me and beamed brightly.
I offered him a brief glance before turning my gaze straight to the Queen. Medea's eyes traveled down from my face to my lips, over my still-damp hair, and finally locked onto mine.
The smile vanished completely from her face.
...Serves you right.
You psychopathic witch.
I came to a halt right before Medea.
"I have come to serve the cups."
Curling my lips into the most flawless, innocent smile in the world, I tilted the tray of empty silver chalices just slightly.
"Exactly as Your Majesty commanded."