Pete’s Priceless Potions
By Scott Wilson
Word Count:270

“Look,” Pete said, using a harsh whisper that reeked of insincerity, “I promise you this won’t hurt at all.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard, you...you...thief,” Ian Bottomsworth said. “It’s hurting my pocket every time I come in here.”

The customer browsing in the dried manticore and dragon section of Pete’s Priceless Potions, looked up briefly, then made his way out of the front door. From the look on the irate Bottomsworth face, the customer assumed things were going to get ugly pretty soon.

“Fair’s, fair, Mister,” Pete said, “I need to make a living, you know. If you want the remedy for that nasty skin irritation of yours, then you’ll have to pay for that.”

“But they’re made from my Brockelroots!” Ian yelled. “I sold them to you for two copper pieces.”

“Yes, yes, and I paid you fair and square, didn’t I. It costs time and money to make that lotion you know.”

Mr. Bottomsworth slammed the jar on the counter, rummaged through his coat pocket and pulled out a silver piece.

“It’s highway robbery. The only reason I have this rash is from growing those blasted things, you know.”

“If you knew that before I sold you the Brockelroot seeds, you most likely wouldn’t have grown them for me, now, would you?”

Mr. Bottomsworth snatched the bottle off the counter and stormed out of the store, almost knocking over the farmer walking into Pete’s Priceless Potions.

“Ah, Mr. Silvergroot,” Pete said, “How’s the Pumpcarrot crop coming along?”

“Not bad, not bad at all, Pete. But I seemed to have developed this nasty sneezing lately. Got anything for it?”