Chapter 487: The Value of Being Needed

It took Oras three days to discover that he had hired someone whose botanical terminology was a hundred and seventeen years out of date.

The problem began with a box of dried leaves.

Neria was sitting in the back of the apothecary, sorting newly arrived batches by origin and quality, when she found a small package labeled white velaria. She opened it, took out a leaf, turned it between her fingers, and frowned. The shape was correct. So was the color. The smell, however, reminded her of another species she knew by a completely different name.

Oras walked past her carrying three bottles.

"Problem?"

"This isn't velaria."

He stopped.

"It is."

"No."

Oras placed the bottles on the table.

"It's written on the label."

"Labels can be wrong."

"You've been working here for eight days, and you've already decided to argue with a label?"

Neria held up the leaf.

"This is ravel."

Oras stared at her.

"There's no such thing as ravel."

Neria stared back.

"There is."

"Not by that name."

Silence.

They both realized it at almost the same moment.

Oras pulled up a chair, sat down, and took the leaf from her hand. "What was it used for?"

"A weak infusion for persistent fevers. A poultice for certain inflammations. In very high doses, it causes numbness in the hands and nausea."

Oras's permanently raised eyebrow rose even higher.

"White velaria."

Neria closed her eyes.

"So they changed the name."

"Probably a long time ago."

"This is going to happen a lot, isn't it?"

"How long were you away again?"

Neria opened her eyes.

"A hundred and seventeen years."

Oras nodded with absolute composure.

"It is."

She rested her forehead against one hand.

Oras pushed a thick catalog toward her.

"Read."

Neria raised her head.

"All of this?"

"You said you wanted to work."

"This looks like studying."

"Work tends to go badly when someone doesn't know what they're doing."

Neria stared at the catalog.

"I'm starting to understand why Damon complained so much."

"Who's Damon?"

"Someone who complains a lot."

"Then perhaps he's intelligent."

Neria looked at Oras for a few seconds.

"Don't tell him that."

"I don't know him."

"Good."

That evening, she returned to Mirath carrying the catalog.

Damon was in the dining hall when he saw her enter with the book tucked under her arm.

"That looks like an awful lot of work for someone who only wanted to earn money for traveling."

Neria dropped the volume onto the table hard enough to make his glass vibrate.

"They changed the names."

Damon looked at the catalog.

"Of the books?"

"The plants."

"All of them?"

"I don't know yet."

"That sounds worse."

"It is."

She sat across from him.

"Ravel is now called white velaria."

Damon waited.

Neria continued staring.

"Am I supposed to know what ravel is?"

"No."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"Because I'm irritated."

"Fair."

She opened the catalog.

"Some species have been reclassified. Others have been crossbred. Some have disappeared from certain regions. Two that I knew as completely distinct species are now treated as varieties of the same species."

Damon looked at the pages.

"Aria is going to love this."

"She already wants to see it."

"Naturally."

"I said no."

Damon smiled.

"You're getting good at that."

Neria began turning the pages. There were old notes from Oras in the margins, corrections, and small marks identifying reliable suppliers.

"The worst part is that sometimes I know more about a plant than the catalog does."

"That sounds good."

"Until I come across one I don't know."

"That sounds normal."

She fell silent.

Damon noticed.

"You don't have to be right all the time to be useful."

"I know."

"Your face doesn't."

Neria looked up.

"That's spreading far too much."

"Finally, someone understands my suffering."

She returned to her book.

Oras discovered something else the following week.

Neria was very good at noticing when a batch had been stored incorrectly.

Not because she possessed some extraordinary ability.

Smell.

Texture.

Color.

Experience.

Most of it came from a life that had begun long before Vermillion.

She picked up a handful of dried bark, bent one piece between her fingers, and listened to the sound.

"Damp."

Oras didn't even raise his head from the counter.

"It isn't."

Neria bent another piece.

"It is."

"It arrived yesterday."

"That doesn't change anything."

Oras sighed and came over to check.

From the outside, the bark looked normal.

He opened the entire sack.

The lower layers had small dark spots.

Oras stared.

Neria crossed her arms.

"Victory."

"Don't celebrate."

"Why?"

"Because now you're going to check the other six."

Her smile disappeared.

"That sounds like punishment."

"It's employment."

Neria sighed.

That afternoon, she found two compromised batches.

At the end of her shift, Oras placed a few extra coins on the table.

Neria looked at them.

"What's this?"

"Payment."

"I've already been paid."

"Extra."

"Why?"

"You prevented me from selling bad materials."

She continued staring.

Oras frowned.

"Don't start again."

"I didn't do anything special."

"You did your job well."

"That earns extra money?"

"Sometimes."

Neria slowly picked up the coins.

"That's very inconsistent."

"Welcome to commerce."

She put away the payment.

"I'm starting to think surviving the Order was conceptually simpler."

Oras stopped.

Neria realized her mistake too late.

He knew very little about her.

Only that she had been away for a long time and that Jian Li had recommended her.

Oras didn't ask.

He merely replied:

"Maybe. But here you can ask for a raise."

Neria stared at him.

Then began laughing.

"I'll remember that."

"Not anytime soon."

"You just taught me."

"My mistake."

When she told Eir about it, the reaction was predictable.

"Dead plants."

Neria was sitting near the great trunk with the catalog resting on her legs.

"Dried."

"Dead."

"Yes."

"You organize them."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because some become medicine."

Eir fell silent.

Neria opened the catalog to a marked page.

"This one still exists."

A root approached the page without touching it.

"Know it."

"They call it white velaria now."

Silence.

"Bad name."

Neria began laughing.

Damon, sitting nearby, agreed.

"Finally, something we can all agree on."

Eir continued:

"Was ravel."

"I know."

"Why change?"

"I don't know."

"Aria knows?"

Damon pointed at Neria.

"Don't do it."

Neria was already closing the catalog.

"She probably does."

"There. We've lost."

It took less than ten minutes for Aria to appear through the passage carrying three historical records and far too much enthusiasm.

Neria looked at Damon.

"I blame you."

"I tried to stop it."

"You failed."

"Frequently."

Aria sat on the ground.

"The change happened about seventy years ago."

Neria sighed.

"Of course you know."

"Ravel was the old regional name. Velaria came into use when botanists unified the classification across four commercial regions."

Eir replied:

"Bad name."

Aria stopped.

"It's a technically more accurate classification."

"Bad."

Damon turned his face away to hide his smile.

Neria didn't bother.

The job changed something small about her routine.

Two days a week, Neria needed to be in Mirath at a specific time.

Not because Ester ordered her to.

Not because Eir needed her.

Not because some treatment had been scheduled.

Because Oras expected her to arrive.

The first time she was late, it was by twelve minutes.

She entered the apothecary breathing a little faster because she had miscalculated how long it would take to get from the Transfer to the commercial district.

Oras looked at the clock.

Then at her.

"Twelve minutes."

"I know."

"Going to happen again?"

"Probably."

He raised his eyebrow.

Neria corrected herself.

"I'll try to prevent it."

"Better."

And pointed toward the boxes.

That was all.

No examination.

No punishment.

No report.

No authority demanding to know why her body had failed to meet an expectation.

She had simply arrived late to work.

Neria spent the first twenty minutes expecting some greater consequence.

None came.

During her break, she asked:

"Aren't you going to do anything?"

Oras looked at her over his cup.

"About what?"

"Being late."

"You arrived."

"Twelve minutes late."

"Yes."

"And?"

"If it becomes a habit, I'll deduct it from your pay."

Neria stared.

"That's it?"

"Did you want me to hit you?"

"No."

"Then get back to work."

She did.

Feeling strangely relieved.

Damon noticed the change one afternoon when Neria appeared in the courtyard five minutes before her training session with Jian Yue.

She placed her bag on the bench, took out her wooden sword, and began stretching her arms.

"You're being far too punctual," he remarked.

"Work."

"Oras is destroying your personality."

"I was late."

"How late?"

"Twelve minutes."

Damon adopted a grave expression.

"Unforgivable."

"He said he'll deduct it from my pay if it becomes a habit."

"Monster."

Neria smiled.

Jian Yue arrived shortly afterward, and the training began.

Neria had improved.

Not dramatically.

She still lost almost every exchange.

But she could now force Jian Yue to adjust her footing more frequently. On two occasions, she managed to knock Jian Yue's sword off its intended line. On the third, she tried to exploit the opening too early and received a tap on the shoulder.

"Impatient," Jian Yue said.

"I saw the opening."

"You did."

"Then why shouldn't I attack?"

"Because seeing it doesn't mean you can reach it before it closes."

Neria returned to her stance.

"Then I'll wait."

"Or create another one."

Damon remained quiet this time.

For almost an entire minute.

Until Neria managed to deflect a short sequence of attacks, retreat, and touch Jian Yue's sword near the guard.

It wasn't a hit on her body.

But it was enough to interrupt the attack.

Neria smiled.

Damon spoke.

"Does that count?"

Jian Yue sighed.

"You were doing so well staying quiet."

"Legitimate question."

Neria looked at her.

"Does it count?"

Jian Yue thought.

"It counts."

Her smile widened.

"Again."

Damon shook his head.

Some things really never changed.

At the end of the month, Neria opened a small wooden box in her room.

Damon saw because she had left the door open.

Inside were coins.

Not many.

But clearly more than her first payment.

"Hiding a fortune?"

"I'm saving."

"What for?"

Neria closed the box.

"I haven't decided."

"A trip?"

"Maybe."

Damon automatically grimaced.

She smiled.

"Maybe really."

"You're abusing that word."

"It could be something else."

"Like what?"

Neria looked around the room.

The bed.

The table.

The key.

The wooden sword leaning against the wall.

Oras's catalog.

"I was thinking about buying something that stays here."

Damon raised an eyebrow.

"You already have things here."

"Things people gave me."

He understood.

"You want to buy something of your own."

"Yes."

"Like what?"

Neria thought.

"I don't know."

"Excellent planning again."

"I don't want to choose something just because I have money."

"That's strangely sensible."

"Oras said people who get their first paycheck usually spend it on something stupid."

"He's right."

"Did you do that?"

Damon thought.

"Food."

"That's not stupid."

"It was expensive food."

"Then maybe."

She laughed.

Then looked at the box again.

"I'm not in a hurry."

Damon nodded.

"Better that way."

It was at that moment that the tablet on the table vibrated.

Neria picked it up.

The message was from Oras.

She read it.

Then frowned.

Damon noticed.

"Problem?"

"I don't know."

"Excellent start."

Neria turned the tablet toward him.

The message was short.

TOMORROW, DON'T COME AT YOUR USUAL TIME. COME EARLIER. I NEED YOU TO LOOK AT SOMETHING BEFORE I THROW IT AWAY.

Damon read it again.

"That sounds suspicious."

"It's a plant."

"You don't know that."

"It's Oras."

"That narrows down the possibilities considerably."

Neria continued staring at the message.

"He wants my opinion."

"Yes."

"Before throwing it away."

"That too."

She fell silent.

Damon smiled.

"Nervous?"

"A little."

"Why?"

"Because now he expects me to know something."

Damon considered his answer.

"Then tomorrow, you take a look."

"And if I don't know?"

"You tell him you don't know."

Neria made a face.

"Everyone is using that far too much."

"It's contagious."

She placed the tablet back on the table.

The box of coins remained closed beside it.

For the first time, what awaited Neria the following day wasn't a medical appointment, a recovery session, a journey, or a test of independence.

It was work.

Someone had found something strange in a box of plants and thought it was worth asking what she thought.

Neria discovered that she liked that quite a lot.