After about an hour, I watch as the big, burly men that accompany the trader finally carry the last few barrels of supplies down into the cellar. I've never actually prepared for an extended period of time without any sort of restocking before, so this is all very new to me. So far, I've only experienced city life in a temperate climate, so the whole concept of needing to prepare was in fact a complete novelty to me. But now, I find myself in a wizard tower surrounded on all sides by snowy wasteland that is currently being ravaged by an unbelievable blizzard, and the trader I'm receiving my supplies from is only going to show up once every season, so stocking up is going to be vital. Cured meats, long-lasting fruits and vegetables, some spirits and other alcohol with long shelf life, spices, honey, plenty of rice and noodles... it seems like a lot, but it's going to be a long time until the next meeting, so I suppose I'll be glad to have all this later on.
A lot has changed in my life, I suppose. Why, only a month ago, I was sitting in my little alchemist's lab—which, when you get right down to it, was just a table with some gear on it—seething that I was getting no support from the local mages guild in starting my career. Seething that it seemed just like a good old boys' club that exploited the little guys to benefit the old, established wizards. And then, the letter came in. The letter informing me that an old, distant relative of mine I had never heard of in my life passed away, and in his very arcane and complex will, he apparently bequeathed his tower to me. Now, at first glance I did not think much of it, as it did note that the tower is situated squarely in the icy wastes of the north, reading through the long list of items included revealed some rather interesting tidbits. The names of the alchemist's equipment stood out as being top-notch, arch-wizard level gear I could previously only dream of. A library with thousands of books was included. But what really blew my mind was a little entry that I could have easily skipped over... a magic garden. Magic gardens are insanely rare and said to only exist at the courts of kings, with them being able to grow absolutely anything. No matter what, with the correct ingredients, one can grow anything in a magic garden.
This had the potential to catapult me up the ladder in an instant, but there was one problem: I had, and still have, no idea what I'm doing when it comes to plants. Yes, this is a strange thing for an alchemist to admit, but what can I say, I'm a city boy, I've only ever dealt with ingredients in their harvested, prepared form. So I needed some sort of solution, and that was most likely going to come in the form of convincing an herbalist of the guild to come along. Given that the teleportation to the tower was going to cost everything I had left, making it a one-way trip—the regular supplies are actually a long-term contract included in the inheritance, believe it or not, I'm flat out broke right now—and the prospect of being stuck in the middle of blizzard wastes is not going to convince a lot of people. Thankfully, I found Florinus. A very recent transplant to the city, I hoped that he wouldn't have been ingrained enough into guild business yet that I could convince him to leave. I took a great risk, and told him of the magic garden—knowing full well that my life could be in danger if the word got out—and the way his eyes lit up told me I had him.
That brings me back to now, seeing off the trader at the front gate of the tower and watching as he, his crew, and his pack animals slowly fade away in the blizzard. And now it's just me and Florinus again. Me, Florinus, and the boundless amounts of magical knowledge just waiting to be uncovered in this tower... and nobody else here to interrupt us. Where is Florinus, anyway? I think I lost him somewhere along the way when I was taking care of supplies. Thinking about it, he's probably in the library somewhere, so I head up the central spiral staircase, slowly making my way towards the library. I will admit, I genuinely do not know how many floors this tower has or what the higher ones hold. So far, all we've really explored is the ground floor with its living quarters and storage, the first floor with its laboratory, and the second floor library. For all I know, there could be several more library floors with even more books higher up, I just don't know right now.
Arriving at the library entrance, I decide to be lazy and yell as loud as I can, "Hey, Florinus, you up here somewhere? I'm at the staircase!"
Sure enough, I hear a quiet "Coming!" in response, and after waiting a minute or two, I finally spot him, giddy as can be. "Hey, Ambrose! This place is great! There's so many books about plants here, I could read for years! I'm so happy you invited me here, this is going to be amazing! We're gonna be the best alchemist and herbalist duo the world's ever seen when we're done here!" he says, the excitement clearly audible in his voice. That's something I really like about him—he is into this. The enthusiasm he's showing me is something I've never seen before, and it's probably going to fuel my own enthusiasm as well. But then, his voice kicks up a notch more, even more excited now. "Oh, wait! Are you done with the supplies? Does that mean we can check out the magic garden now?" he asks. This is what he wants, what's been on his mind all this time... the magic garden, an herbalist's paradise. I give him a nod, and I can tell he's restraining himself from just bolting off down the stairs. It's kind of adorable, honestly.
Because indeed, we do also know what's on the first basement floor, and it's that magic garden. I only gave it a very short look and asked Florinus not to check it out yet because I know that the moment he lays eyes on it, he's gonna be stuck there for hours, so I wanted to at least get the supplies covered before we got to that. And now, it's the moment he's been waiting for. We make it to the first basement floor, open the heavy door right in front of us, and step inside.
The first time you see a magic garden is a strange experience, because it doesn't make sense. It's an underground chamber, for one, so how can things grow inside it? The only light comes from torches and candles spread out along the walls and in more central locations along the paths, but a lot of plants need sunlight. And yet, it works. That is the wonder of the magic garden. Even in its current state, where pretty much nothing is actively set up to grow due to it not having been used in a while, you can see plots of grass, some muddier, wetter areas, some areas that are downright swampy, some tilled fields... whatever you could imagine needing to grow something, it's here. Wild flowers are sprouting all over the place, and ivy is practically growing out of the stone walls. And sure enough, Florinus's eyes almost bulge out of their sockets, his head darting around, trying to take it all in at once. Then, with a yelp, he takes off, sprinting over to a particular spot of grass further in the back. I follow him, curious as to what caught his attention.
With him kneeling in the grass, seemingly in awe as to what he's looking at, I kneel down right next to him, taking a look myself. There, in the grass, is a little patch of white bulbs. It's not something I recognize, but when he notices that I'm next to him, he points towards it and begins to speak, his voice soft and wistful. "Silverworts... very common in some particular southern territories, and there, they feature very heavily in cooking, in poor families, that is. Once you're even moderately well off, using silverworts in cooking is frowned upon, as it's seen as the peasant's plant. But if you're poor, it's a godsend," he explains.
It's not hard to put the pieces together from the way he's talking. "You grew up poor, then?" I ask.
In response, he nods. "Yeah. Silverwort stews, silverwort pastry, silverwort steaks... you wouldn't believe the dishes people have attempted to replicate using silverworts. And they have a very distinctive taste, too, so once you've had them a few times, you're going to remember that taste, for better or for worse. This is what made me become an herbalist, you know. Back then, you needed to know a lot about plants, because whatever you could forage was usually what you got for dinner back then. I wanted to learn more, to be able to find new plants, maybe something that could feed more people. ...we're going to do great things through this tower, I'm sure," he says, finishing that by giving me a look that speaks volumes. It's such a sweet expression that it's hard not to get swept up in his altruistic fervor. He then points at one of the bulbs. "Oh, look really closely..." he adds, almost in a whisper, leaning down closer and motioning for me to join him, which I do. "See that bump?" he asks, gently running his finger along a little hump on the bulb. "That means it's about as good as it going to get for eating. I used to look for these bumps all the time... it means the aroma of the silverwort is going to be less strong and almost fruity in a weird way. Oh, I can practically taste it now... reminds me of home..." he trails off before letting out a soft sigh.
It is only now that I actually realize just how close I am to him. Our heads are practically touching as we kneel here, and with anybody else, this closeness might be unpleasant, but with Florinus... it's just fine. In fact, I could get used to this, especially with him so happy. After a few moments of pleasant silence, I get an idea. "Say, why don't we cook with them, then? If they're just right to eat, it'd be a waste not to, and there's a great kitchen above us on the ground floor. You know some recipes we can make with them, right?" I ask.
A glint of excitement flashes in his eyes.