Work Text:
Balsamic vinegar.
Cane sugar from the surface.
Melted spore-toffee.
Neath snow mixed with Black Wings Absinthe.
You once told a Benthic scholar to spell out pieces of the Correspondence with the oil before putting the mushrooms in the pan. You don't feel bad about what happened to the man; those who mess with the Correspondence are little better than those who go North after all. Mr. Apples keeps the secret to candied mushrooms carefully guarded and only those It personally chooses may make and sell them. Those It chooses must earn It's goodwill, if not It's trust, and you've worked with It for many years, making your way up from a lowly candied mushroom vendor yourself. You've learned more secrets than you care to remember; more than any amount of Laudanum can ever hope to chase away. You've grown close to your dreams since taking up your position as secretary.
There are those who would hope to bribe you for your secrets though. Those who think a few handfuls of glim or bottles of wine could make you betray the Masters. Once you may have taken the dusty bottle marked 'For the Kahn of Dreams' and spilled a little something of the truth, but those days are long past. Now you know why the Honey is used with the mushrooms and why they are sold so cheaply. Now you have just enough of an inkling of the payment of dreams to take the bottle and smile mysteriously before whispering in the fool's ear, "The tears of a Drownie."
The woman will most likely join the chorus by the Docks and you know it's for the best. You carefully place the bottle tin your bag and leave Mrs. Plenty's carnival. You'll stop on Ladybones Road for some candied mushrooms on your way back to the office to give Mr. Apples the bottle. You avoid the Honey Dens on the way out of habit.