After weeks and months cooped up in the office, slogging away at your desk 9am to 5pm five days of the week, you finally save up enough time and money to take a well-deserved break. You decide to head north for a healthful walking holiday; two weeks in the beautiful Lake District trekking up hills, soaking in the scenery and hopefully sweating off a few pounds from around your middle. You've booked a room in a local hotel for no small expense, though judging by the reviews you've seen online it's all money well spent.

One evening, less than a week into your holiday, you find yourself at a loose end. Too early in the evening for dinner and too late in the day for a walk, you wander aimlessly up and down the shore of Vinandir's Lake, admiring the wide, smooth waters. But soon skipping stones and throwing bread to waterfowl loses its lustre and you find yourself wandering into town once again. Most shops are shut at this hour or in the process of shutting down but you eventually spot one that seems to be open. It's a chintzy little thing, painted a pastel green and with a twee, striped awning in matching colours. You can see through the windows that the inside is filled with shelves and shelves of glass jars and wooden crates, giving it the air of an old-fashioned sweet shop. Boxes of flowers bloom outside, filling the air with scent and attracting what seems to be every bee in miles around. There's a man sitting on a tall stool at the counter, bent over a set of old-fashioned brass scales and a ledger. You see him weigh something, nod to himself, then turn and jot something down intently.

You glance up at the sign above the awning: Cornelius Geld's Specialty Teas.

Well, why not? You fancied a cup of something hot after your long day and PJ Tips just wasn't cutting it anymore. And you were on holiday, you should treat yourself. And besides, a box of locally-made tea would probably make a much better souvenir than a tacky mermaid mug or yet another fridge magnet.

A little bell gives a silvery tinkle as you push open the door, causing the man at the counter to look up and give a lopsided smile in your direction. "Good evening. I'm, ah, I'm afraid I'm shutting up in half an hour but feel free to take a look around in the meantime. I'll be happy to answer any questions you have or make some recommendations." His accent is pure Cumbria, even if his voice is so quiet you can barely catch it. You thank him quietly and he merely nods in response. The air inside is even more scented and floral than the outside and you feel your nose begin to itch. Mr Cornelius Geld, as you assume is his name, is a nervous-looking man of nearly middle age. His pale skin, long blond hair and thin frame bring to mind a whisp of straw, ready to be blown away in the wind at any time. He rubs his hands together almost constantly, twining his long fingers, and his watery blue eyes never stop following you around the room as you browse the shelves. There's far more types of tea, dried herb and even mushroom here than you had ever heard of or possibly could imagine existed and you're quickly swamped by it all. You eventually cross over to the counter, not only to ask Mr Geld some questions but to break the silence; neither of you had spoken for some minutes and in your opinion it was all getting extremely awkward.

"There's a lot to choose from here. I didn't even know half of these plants existed, nevermind that you could make tea from them!"

Geld nods again. "W-well, I've worked for a long time to build up this collection. Some of these teas come from the other side of the world, from Africa, Asia and the Americas, but many-" He gestures to a shelf marked 'Local Blends' "- many have barely travelled twenty miles."

You suck in a whistling breath between your teeth. "Wow. Do you make them yourself or buy them?"

"I make as many as I can. There's a lot to find around here, you know, if you look carefully. These herbs - the, uh, lavender - that I was just weighing now were collected just three days ago and dried as soon as I got back to the shop. Many of the fungi I sell are from the woods that you see from the window there. Oh yes, there's a lot about if you know where to look."

"Uh-huh."

A moment of silence stretches on until Geld clears his throat and speaks again, his voice as quiet as ever. "Is there, uh, is there anything that's caught your eye? Any help choosing? Tell me what kind of brew you're looking for and I'll find you something that fits."

"I was hoping to find something to help me relax, maybe sleep better at night? I'm under a lot of stress at work and I'm always exhausted, but I just can't seem to get any rest. I feel like cra- Bad. I feel bad."

"Oh, I know exactly what you need." Geld slips off the stool and trots to a door at the back of the shop, coming back a minute later holding an unmarked deep purple box. "This is one of my special blends, you know. You won't find this anywhere else but in this shop. Luckily for you I always make myself a cup at about this time of the evening, so I'll be happy to let you have a free sample before you buy."

You watch as he pulls a small travel stove, copper kettle, two teapots and tray full of tiny cups and saucers out from under his desk with a flourish and the air of a stage magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. A click of the fingers and a small spark - strange, you'd never have put him down as a pyromancer - lights the stove, the flames soon setting the water to a boil. Geld prepares two cups with equal flourish, filling one with a brew from the purple box and another from yet another unmarked box that he produced seemingly from nowhere. Unlike any of the other boxes you've seen before, this one was small - barely the size of a man's fist - and made of what seemed to be gold.

As the tea steeps and cools enough to be, you attempt to make small take with the man. "So, how did you end up running a tea shop?"

"It's... not a very interesting story, I'm afraid." Geld shrugs. "I used to be a research alchemist, working in one of those big labs in the city. I made insecticides and pest killers, mostly. But then the stress got too great and I decided to quit and found a job at a cafe. That's when I found my fascination for tea... I have a PhD in Alchemistry, you know. From Liuerpul University.” he adds abruptly, a small smile of pride appearing briefly on his face. "I… had a good time at university, you know. I made a lot of friends. That was unusual for me, you know - having friends. Having a group of people around me that genuinely liked me for… well, me. We had a house together, all five of us, and jobs and we planned to stay together after graduation… I could have stayed for years and years, you know. I could happily still be there today…"

"So what made you come back to Vinandir’s Lake if you liked it so much in the city?"

"My mother became sick, very sick. She made me - no, I had to… I came back to look after her. Father is dead, you know. He died when I was very small."

"I... see. And your mother is…?" This conversation is getting very awkward very, very quickly.

"Dead." You think you hear a hint of vicious satisfaction - a tone of good riddance - in the shopkeeper’s voice. So, obviously, did Cornelius as he blushes and hastily stutters an explanation. “Of cancer! Brain cancer. Completely natural. I… They, the police here, thought that I might have… you know, so they did an autopsy and everything. Nothing but cancer. Not that… Not that I would ever…" He stutters to a halt and stares silently into the dark depth of his cup as if wishing he could drown himself in them.

Desperate at this point for an excuse to change the subject, you point to his steaming cup. It has a strong fragrance; you can smell cinnamon and what seems to be baked apples even the scent of your own brew. "That smells delicious. What's in that one?"

Geld perks up immediately. "Oh, my special personal blend - not for sale anywhere for any price, I'm afraid. Black tea, apple blossom, cinnamon and my very special secret ingredient."

"Oh?" You raise an eyebrow, wondering what could produce such an appetising smell.

The shopkeeper pauses for a second, tap-tapping a long finger against his bottom lip, clearly considering whether or not to spill the beans. You try to look as trustworthy as humanly possible. You wouldn't have thought you'd be so fascinated by dried leaves floating in a cupful of hot water, but there you are; you're hooked now and there's no way you're going back home without knowing what's in the mysterious Mr Geld's enigmatic brew.

Geld leans in closer and you mimic the movemen