Kaz Brekker Imagines

The Killer and the Poisoner

There are a thousand shades of green before you. To the untrained eye, they all seem the same. There are rows and rows of flora all collected in the greenhouse. Some are here to heal, others to help. Some for no purpose at all.

One, though, sticks out at you like an honest man in the Barrel, all wrong in ways you couldn't begin to describe if you tried. It snags at your consciousness, drawing your focus until you start to turn towards it. You have to; if you don't, the agony of waiting here any more might kill you.

Patience snapped like a wire, you reach out a hand to point out the offending plant. "That one."

A pause, heavy as an iron manacle wrapped around your throat, and then the woman behind you scratches down something on her pad of paper. "Correct. That's most certainly a passing score, Miss L/N."

You can't help a proud smile. "Not half bad, huh?"

The woman snaps shut the pocket watch she's been using to time you. You have half a mind to tell her that the prized antique she thinks she's been coveting is actually a barely decent fake, but neither of you really want that sort of drama right now.

"Not half bad indeed," she hums, "that little show puts you in the top percentages of your class."

Your brow furrows. "Surely other people have been able to pass this test?"

The woman lifts a shoulder. "Oh, they have, but none so fast as you. You're one of our best and brightest, Miss L/N. You might as well appreciate it. Glory fades quickly around here."

You smile at her words and leave the examination room. This little stunt isn't the only part of your final exam, of course, you've already sat through written portions and verbal interviews, final presentations and extensive essays. That's what you get for trying to graduate from the prestigious biology school at Ketterdam University, you suppose. Everything is a lot of work, even down to the final test you'll take.

That being said, you're able to trade the examination hall for the bright sunlight with a smile. Even without your proctor's kindness, you know you did well. You've been working at this for quite some time, and this was the last piece of graded work you'll ever do. You knew that this was going to go well, although that didn't stop you from joining all test-taking seniors in the hallowed tradition of tossing a coin in the Scholar's Fountain in the hopes of encouraging somebody else's Fates to protect your exam score prospects.

Right now, though, you're free and clear. You get your scores back about a week later, and have sufficient results to pass with a respectable margin. Graduation passes in a blur, and just like that, you're entering your first job at a local greenhouse.

Plants are a difficult field in Ketterdam. There are hundreds upon thousands of different breeds, all requiring specific conditions or knowledge. It seems like someone turns up in the hospital every month because they accidentally doused their tea in poison instead of the proper herbs, or another unlucky fool gave themselves an allergic reaction because they couldn't tell their stimulants from their irritants.

You, however, don't slip up. Not once, not ever. You had your time of mistakes back in university, but you've learned from them. You keep your leaves in order, your flora in perfect condition. You also know which poisons are which, not just to keep yourself alive but to hurt others if necessary. And when is it not necessary in Ketterdam to have an extra weapon up your sleeve? Your tongue drips of poison whenever you need it. No insurance policy could ever be sweeter.

So you thought, at least, until you work a few months at your job at the Ketterdam greenhouse and start thinking otherwise. It's a decent job with decent pay, no problems there, but the issue lies not with the subject material but the man in charge of you. Your boss is certainly a piece of work, but it's not like you can do anything about it. You turn a blind eye when he hovers over your shoulder, slimy and sweaty and absolutely disgusting in every possible way.