Hearts of Darkness by Paul Lawrence

have to postpone our arrangement,’ I said. ‘I must go away for a few days.’
    ‘Go away?’ Culpepper jerked his wig straight. ‘Are you reneging on your promise?’
    ‘No.’ I assured him. ‘Lord Arlington has sent me east, on a mission.’
    Culpepper clicked his tongue. ‘I thought you turned your back on that business. Perhaps I should find another who would learn my trade.’
    ‘I
have
turned my back,’ I protested. ‘But Arlington is a difficult man to turn your back upon. He has set us one more task and I am not free to refuse.’
    ‘Hah!’ Culpepper scowled. ‘How many times will he set you one more task you cannot refuse? Either you wish to become an apothecary or you do not.’
    ‘I am determined,’ I said. ‘Have we not signed a contract? I will honour that contract.’
    ‘If you live.’ Culpepper’s eyes narrowed. ‘They still have plague in Essex, do they not?’
    ‘Aye.’ I nodded. ‘Which is why Arlington sends us. We have to fetch a man from Colchester.’
    Culpepper stayed sat upon his big chair, one brow raised, the other lowered, regarding me with big bleary eyes, lower lip protruding like he prepared to break wind. ‘Half of Colchester is dead, and the Pest shows no sign of abating.’ He wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘Lord Arlington doesn’t like you.’
    ‘No,’ I agreed.
    Culpepper dug a finger in his ear. ‘I give you a week, else ouragreement is void. I have two more offers for this business and will not be cheated. I don’t expect to live much longer.’ He struggled to his feet. ‘Though longer than you, perhaps.’
    ‘Thank you, Nicholas.’ I bowed my head. ‘Rest assured. I am determined to make a success of this business.’
    ‘Good luck,’ he muttered. ‘The road to Colchester is well guarded.’ He cleared his throat and steadied himself. ‘Wait a moment.’
    He supported himself on his desk with one hand and eyed the chest against the wall, breathing deep, preparing himself for the short walk from one side of the room to the other before shuffling off with great intent.
    He grasped the tall cabinet as soon as it was in reach, pulling out a little drawer a couple of rows higher than the one that contained the dead insect. He extracted a packet the size of his fist and held it out for me to take.
    I poked a finger into the mass of dried leaves, close-packed within. I pinched a few leaves between finger and thumb and stuck them up my nostril. ‘What are they?’
    He staggered back to his seat. ‘They will protect you.’
    Protect me from plague, I assumed, along with a hundred other concoctions peddled about the City, all of them useless.
    ‘They say it’s like sage,’ he wheezed. ‘It doesn’t grow in Europe. I paid a lot of money.’
    ‘How much do you want for it?’ I asked, grudgingly.
    He shook his head. ‘A gift.’
    ‘Thank you,’ I replied, surprised. ‘What do I do with it?’
    ‘Smoke it.’ He raised a wizened finger. ‘In the morning and at night. Do that and maybe I will see you again.’
    ‘Thank you.’ For the thought, at least. I suppose he sought to protect his investment.
    ‘Be mindful, Harry. The man who commits a sin worthy of death shall be put to death and hanged from a tree.’ He regarded me with such utter seriousness I felt obliged to bow my head, as if the words made sense.
    I edged backwards. ‘Until next week.’
    I turned and left my shop behind. Just for a week.

Chapter Seven
    Mankind, or the generality of men, shall suffer abundance of sorrow and affliction.
    Culpepper’s leaves weighed heavy against my thigh. I had smoked a pipe already that morning, a giddy experience that left my head floating a few inches above my body. If I closed my eyes I could feel Jane walking beside me in a white, shimmering dress. I opened them again after I tripped over Dowling’s foot and landed face first on the cobbles. With my eyes open I felt extraordinary lonely. Shyam was Hell, and I was afraid. Jane’s voice sounded