Pete's Priceless
Potions
by Scott Wilson
“Look,”
Pete said, using a harsh whisper that reeked of
insincerity, “I promise you this won’t
hurt at all.”
“It hurts
my pocket every time I come in here, you...you...thief,”
Ian Bottomsworth said.
The customer
browsing in the dried manticore and dragon
section of Pete’s Priceless Potions, looked
up briefly, then made his way out of the front
door. From the look on the irate Mr.
Bottomsworth’s face, the customer assumed
things were going to get ugly pretty soon.
“Fair’s,
fair, Mister,” Pete said, “I need to
make a living, you know. If you want the remedy
for that nasty skin irritation of yours, then
you’ll have to pay for that.”
“But
they’re made from my Brockelroots!” Ian
yelled. “I sold them to you for two copper
pieces.”
“Yes, yes,
and I paid you fair and square, didn’t I. It
costs time and money to make that lotion you know.”
Mr.
Bottomsworth slammed the jar on the counter,
rummaged through his coat pocket and pulled out a
silver piece. “It’s highway robbery.
The only reason I have this rash is from growing
those blasted things, you know.”
“If you
knew that before I sold you the Brockelroot seeds,
you most likely wouldn’t have grown them for
me, now, would you?”
Mr.
Bottomsworth snatched the bottle off the counter
and stormed out of the store, almost knocking
over the farmer walking into Pete’s
Priceless Potions.
“Ah, Mr.
Silvergroot,” Pete said, “How’s
the Pumpcarrot crop coming along?”
“Not bad,
not bad at all, Pete. But I seemed to have
developed this nasty sneezing lately. Got
anything for it?”
|
