"What kind of business? Let's hear it."
Furan was curious too, so she asked.
"Let's find somewhere quieter. Follow me."
Elan stood up and walked toward a corner.
Furan was puzzled. What trade could rival his Spell-dealing? In Lodris, no shop was allowed to sell spells; an apprentice could obtain them only by excelling in class or joining a School, just as Mentor Rita had said.
Before arriving, Furan had asked around for other sources. She had uncovered two, but they operated on a patronage system, so she'd ended up here.
Since then she'd heard nothing more, which showed how the entire Apprentice City felt about Spell trafficking.
He'd just sold her a Spell in public; now he needed a "quiet" place to discuss business?
After a moment's thought, she followed.
Elan rounded a corner, pressed the wall-sconce, then pushed part of the wall. A dim passage appeared.
Furan stepped inside, keeping watch. In a bare room Elan turned and asked:
"All right, here we are. May I ask—what's your success rate brewing energy potions? One in five?"
Furan was startled. How did he know she could brew energy potions?
Elan smiled and explained:
"No need to panic. I caught the scent of sunbloom. Once an energy potion is made, the aroma clings to whoever's nearby for a few days.
Among Apothecaries the smell is stronger; after you've met a few it's easy to tell.
I've quietly bought goods from several such Apothecaries...
So, can you manage one bottle in five?"
Furan didn't answer at once. After a pause she said:
"I can do slightly better—but why would I sell to you?"
Elan countered:
"Not to me—to other people."
Crap, this was worse; the "business" he meant was bootlegging right under the Apothecary Association's nose—suicidal.
Furan wanted to leave. She wanted no part in a head-losing scheme, yet her high success rate left her with surplus stock. Hoping for a workable plan she asked:
"What about the Apothecary Association?"
If Elan could give a solid answer she'd stay; otherwise she'd walk.
His next words stunned her.
"The Apothecary Association..." he echoed in an odd tone, then said:
"You really don't know? The Association can barely save itself."
"Barely save itself?"
"Last week its funds were diverted by a committee member to invest in cargo—spices, gems, precious metals...
But," he went on, "civil war erupted in Antire and the rebels seized everything. Worse, the delivery deadline arrived and, since the deal was made in the Association's name, penalties are due.
The diverted sum equals 220% of last year's revenue; the committee can't plug the hole..."
Furan thought the Association was finished. Why hadn't she heard? "Of course you didn't," Elan said. "The Association has always used a two-tier pricing system: one price for Apothecaries, another for outsiders.
The gap used to be small, and members got cheaper materials, so everyone looked away.
After the disaster the Association hushed it up, kept member prices steady, and more than doubled public prices.
Word leaked anyway; news of the embezzlement broke, and every Apothecary from Velos and Blackwater Colleges quit.
Apothecaries let the Association store their potions because it protected their interests and provided services.
Now, with the funds gone, operations have stalled; only the steep potion prices keep some branches running.
Once sales dry up, the Association collapses.
The Velos and Blackwater Apothecaries abandoned ship, judging the crisis fatal.
The Association's lifeline is energy potions.
Since prices rose, other potions barely sell—except energy potions.
The Formal Mage resource contest is near, and this year extra places mean more competitors, so every High-level Apprentice is preparing frantically.
Everyone wants an edge; energy potions are essential, giving stamina to use every spare hour.
Sales remain robust.
Furan understood: if Elan bought from her at today's inflated benchmark, even slightly below retail, profit was guaranteed.
"But if we undercut them, what if the Association retaliates?"
Elan knew he had to reassure her; only if she felt safe would she agree.
"What are you afraid of? The Association scrapped its enforcement protocol ten years ago to cut costs. Even if they catch you, the worst is expulsion.
Expulsion means losing Association channels, tying her to Elan, who clearly has his own.
"That's the worst case. I'm not afraid of the Apothecary Association—I sell Spells, remember?"
He had a point: Spell-dealing provokes Lodris authorities; potion-dealing merely angers the Association.
One is more heinous, the other more lucrative... Furan decided: expulsion meant nothing; one deal could fund her rise to Formal rank.
"How much per bottle?"
"The Association charges 45 silver coins; I'll pay 30."
Seeing her frown he added:
"I must sell below 40 or customers won't come. I need margin too, but 30 still leaves you a tidy profit."
"Done."