Boxcar Blues

[Katarya Frost]

Running an apothecary was hard work. There was mixing medicines and tonics all through the day, all while serving customers, cleaning (thank Ny'tha for young Lily, who was a deft hand when it came to a mop and bucket, and the appointments in the consultation room where she would be shown a variety of spots, rashes, sores … sometimes in places Katarya really wished she didn’t have to see), but the biggest pain was getting the supplies she needed. Ordering in the regular herbs was easy and cheap enough, but getting the rarer ones delivered was sometimes expensive, so Katarya was forced to pick them up for herself. It was cheaper, even if it did take a big chunk out of her day.

***

Settling into her chair in the cramped boxcar, Kat opened her small book and took out a pencil. ’Might as well make some notes for tomorrow.’ She thought. She had three appointments, all with women who were ‘in the family way’, as they say. She detested expecting mothers … and new mothers … well, most mothers, to be honest; especially those who fawned over their children as if they were any better than all the other irritating children in Fellsguard.

Katarya was not maternal.

“Oh such luck to find myself a seat next to such a beauty!”

Kat looked up from her book as a man took the seat next to her. He was dressed in a yellow doublet, and a fancy (if a little worn) cap, sporting what looked like a pheasant's feather sticking out, proudly. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes (she worried someday that her eyes would get stuck, so often did they roll!) “Good afternoon,” she said, and looked back to her book.

“The afternoon is not simply ’good'-, my lady! It is most positively splendid!” He tried to do a sort of courtiers bow from his seat, which might have been amusing to anyone who wasn’t Katarya. “Dainyil himself is smiling upon me, for surely it is most certainly divine intervention that brought me to this very seat, in the presence of such a lovely young lady.”

Kat let out a long, slow sigh. ’Ny'tha save me!’ “I’m afraid you might need your vision checking, good sir. I am but a plain herbalist and not …”

“Oh, my dearest lady!” The man put a hand to his chest and made a pained expression. “Not only beauty, but so modest! How can it be so?” He took her hand, and bowed his head. “Falin Silversong, a most humble poet, at your service.”

’A poet? Oh no.’ She thought. This could only mean one thing …

“Please allow me the greatest of honour in reading a poem that may do the smallest of justice to one such as you?”

Kat placed a finger to her temple, as if anticipating a headache before he had even begun. “That’s very kind but …”

”Oh flower fair,
Blooming there,
So very fair,
Fresh as air.”

’Ny'tha take me now! Please take me now! Throw this boxcar into the ocean!’ “That was very …” She began, but it seemed he wasn’t finished.

He was half standing now, and the eyes of other passangers were turned his way, and to her mortification, even hers.

”Then she like a candle,
A most beautiful flame,
It shone so brightly,
Never to …”

Filan Silversong (which Kat heavily doubted was his real name) seemed to falter a moment. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said.

Katarya smiled, but it was of relief rather than any enjoyment. She was pleased he had lost his way. Maybe now he would keep his tongue from flapping nonsense any more!

Suddenly, the poet clicked his fingers (which made Kat’s heart sink). “I know, why!” He said, pushing a lock of ashen blond hair from his face. He was undeniably good looking, almost in a feminine kind of way. It was just a shame that his poetry was so awful. “Perhaps if you did me the great honour of telling me your name, then inspiration will strike me like lightning!”

’If only.’ She thought. She also thought about giving him a fake name, but there were people in this boxcar who knew her, and she wasn’t that popular that someone would be happy enough to belay the lie. “Katarya Frost,” she said, sighing as she did.

Filan looked like he would faint as she told him. “Oh, what a name! ‘Katarya Frost’,” he repeated back at her. “Like the beautiful frost that sprinkles the world like diamonds!”

’Well, that was a mistake.’ She preempted.

”As beautiful as the early morning dew,
A sparkling glitter that blinds a poor man’s eyes!
Katarya Frost, the Lady of the Morning!”

He turned to grin at her. “Lady Frost, you are a most wonderful muse!”

Kat snapped closed book closed. She turned to give him her full attention. “Mr Silversong,” she said, holding her hand up for him to be silent, just as he seemed to be ready to launch into another pout of questionable poetry. “I am not a ‘lady’, I am simply a ‘miss’, and I run a modest shop. I am also in need of a little quietness while I write in my book.” She fished out some coins, took his hand, dropped them in it and nodded her head. “There you go. Now, thank you, and …”

“Oh my dear!” He said, dramatically! “I do not want coin from you! I simply want to exact the and show through the beauty of prose, what a splendour you are to my weary eyes!”

Kat raised a brow. “You seem quite happy with the coin, from where I am sitting.” She said, as he had quickly slipped the money into his pocket. “If I wasn’t clear; I am paying you to shut up!" With a glare, she turned back to her book. If he dared …

“Won’t you just let me have this one last verse that is roiling and boiling inside of my heart, have it’s moment in the sun? Would you deny a poor poet such a thing?” He said, taking his hat off and putting it over his chest, bowing his head and pouting.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes I would.” She didn’t glance up, when she said: “Now kindly bugger off and irritate someone else, or I’ll take that feather and stick it where the gods won’t look.” She was suspicious of the silence that followed, so sure he was going to burst into another song.

Instead, Filan Silversong got to his feet and gave her another awkward bow. “I shall leave your ladyship in peace.”

As the poet left, Kat rested her head back in her seat and sighed with relief. ’What an unutterably irritating man.’ She thought.

When she heard, coming from a little further down the car the words “Oh what luck is this, that I may find a maiden as fair as thee …” She groaned, a little. “Well, the good thing at least, was that it was no longer her who was the victim, but she couldn’t help but feel sorry for whomever he had now accosted.

Next time, she’d make sure to wear her hood up!