It took Oras three days to discover that he had hired someone whose botanical terminology was a hundred and seventeen years out of date.
The problem began with a box of dried leaves.
Neria was sitting in the back of the apothecary, sorting newly arrived batches by origin and quality, when she found a small package labeled white velaria. She opened it, took out a leaf, turned it between her fingers, and frowned. The shape was correct. So was the color. The smell, however, reminded her of another species she knew by a completely different name.
Oras walked past her carrying three bottles.
"Problem?"
"This isn't velaria."
He stopped.
"It is."
"No."
Oras placed the bottles on the table.
"It's written on the label."
"Labels can be wrong."
"You've been working here for eight days, and you've already decided to argue with a label?"
Neria held up the leaf.
"This is ravel."
Oras stared at her.
"There's no such thing as ravel."
Neria stared back.
"There is."
