Apothecary (First Contact)

Apothecary CopyrightCopyright Peter Cawdron © 2023. All rights reserved. The right of Peter Cawdron to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.Cover Art: Composite image created from NASA ISS027E012224 image of sunrise and Robotic Hand Making Contact by Guillaume.Disclaimer: No Artificial Intelligence (AI) was used in the creation of this story. Some would argue, no intelligence was used at all. DedicationFor you, the reader.Without you, none of these stories would be possible.Thank you. Notes on LanguageAs Apothecary is set in the United Kingdom, this novel has been written using British English. To give you some context, the first act takes place several years before Shakespeare was born. Initially, I used dialogue from the 1550s, but after a few chapters, I realised it was too cumbersome for the modern reader. I had to find a balance that helped readers immerse themselves in the period without the prose becoming unreadable. To this end, I’ve used modern sentence structures while avoiding modern terms like, ‘Okay.’ The dialogue in critical moments, though, such as during the executions at St. Paul’s have been lifted word for word from historical records to ensure authenticity. Act I: 16th Century___________________ Blue SkiesAnthony hops up on the stone window ledge at the front of the apothecary. He shuffles in beside Julia without saying a word.“What do you see?” she asks.Unlike everyone else bustling between the stalls, her head remains still. She stares blindly into the distance. Flies buzz around fish laid out on drying racks in the sun. Crates full of medlar, mulberries and crabapples sit beneath a canvas awning. A mule neighs softly, pulling at its reins as it stands before a hitching rail. It’s trying to reach a tuft of grass growing beside the village trough. Its hooves stamp impatiently at the cobblestones.A cock struts in the dirt, ignoring the crowd. Its feathers are proud, arching high above its back. It’s a patchwork of conflicting colours. Black tail feathers, orange wings and a brilliant red comb on its head make it a delight to watch as it scratches at the dirt, looking for insects. For Anthony, it seems cruel to enjoy a sight Julia is forever deprived of seeing.Julia’s patient.Anthony wonders how he should respond to her. She nuzzles against him, imparting some warmth on a cool October morning. He looks down at her arm rubbing up against his. For him, it’s intimate—inviting. But he understands that’s not her intent. For her, sound takes the place of sight, while touch is how she connects with the unseen world immediately around her.A breeze blows across in front of the bakery, causing the smell of fresh bread to drift on the wind. Sunlight breaks through the clouds, resting on his cheeks. Water drips from the eves of a thatched roof with a steady rhythm. An autumn storm rolls on, grumbling and complaining as it wanders off into the distance. These are all things she can sense. He could tell her about them, but she already knows they’re there. She’s far too perceptive to have missed any of the subtle hints drifting on the wind.“I see the white of the clouds,” he says. “The blue of the sky, the green of leaves swaying in the trees, shifting like waves lapping at the shore. The yellow of hay being thatched into the roof as workmen clamber up and down their ladders.”Julia nods. She’s been blind since she was six. Sometimes she sees bursts of light in the darkness, although she thinks it’s random. She has no idea what these ‘ghosts,’ as she calls them, mean—if anything. Maybe those flashes are like the crackle of wood burning in the hearth, sending sparks drifting into the chimney. Sometimes, on the darkest of nights, she’ll swear she can see the faint outline of a man similar to her father, but Anthony suspects she’s remembering rather than seeing him. It breaks his heart to know there’s no recourse for her, no recompense to ever recover her sight. She’s been robbed of a joy few ever deeply consider. One day, the world was full of sights and shapes, bursting with colour—and then it was gone—only it wasn’t. It was still there. It is still there. Try as she may, she opens her eyes each morn, but her eyes never wake for themselves.Rather than watching the crowd, Anthony turns to look at her. Admiration lights up his face, although she won’t know that. Perhaps she suspects as much as a slight smile reaches her lips. She must be able to feel the motion of his body through the subtle change in the way his leg rubs up against her thigh. Anthony wishes she could see the world as he does. If only wishes came true.Julia faces the sun, bathing in its light, listening to the cacophony of sounds around her. Her fingers reach for him, missing his arm. Her hand brushes lightly against his shirt, so he shifts his arm, allowing her hand to rest on the back of his wrist.She nudges him with her shoulder, wanting more detail. For Anthony, the challenge is how to describe something so mundane and yet utterly astonishing.“Tell me more, Ant. What does it look like today? The sky?”“Blue is still blue,” he replies, unsure how to describe something so radiant. “It’s the same as yesterday.”No sooner have those words left his lips than her visage drops. He’s being lazy. He can do better.“Blue is… it’s cool, but not cold. It’s soothing, like dipping your feet in a creek on a hot summer’s day. Blue is somehow light and dark at the same time, but mostly light. And it’s vibrant. It’s as though the sky is alive. When I see the blue of the sky, I think of the promise each day holds.”Julia smiles, and he wonders