He spoke to the pepper pot with which he toyed. “I was asked for a love potion.
She said she just knew he was fond of her but when he’s up close he loses ardor, unto aloofness. I gave her what she needed. A vial of colored wotter with a bit of wine and camomile for aroma, and soap made green by simple herbal coloring. I bade her bathe daily and well, putting a bit of each into the bath wotter and drying thoroughly.”
Esaria looked very skeptical indeed. “That’s a love potion?!”
“It is what she needs. She stinks. If he doesn’t respond to her better aroma, someone will; she’s attractive. For that I earned two coppers. Stop laughing, brat. My business is help for the people. I had to turn away a clubfoot. I can do nothing about that-by the Flame, how I wish I could! A former client returned. Looked good: I had indeed removed his acne, but his Price took the form of diarrhea he could not bear. I removed the spell and returned his two coppers. So-he has acne and a settled stomach.” Strick shrugged. “He’s seventeen. The acne will go. Mine did.”
“So has most of mine,” she said. “But at this rate you could
starve!”
He shook his head. “Hardly. A certain friend of your mother’s is very sensitive about her scraggly hair. I put a little spell on it and made her promise to wash it at least every other day. For that, she left fourteen silver Imperials-old
Imperials. Said it is her magic number.”
“Is it?”
He smiled. “No. Must be mine, though,” and they chuckled together. “Too, a messenger arrived from Volmas. His message was a nice fat gold piece.”