He is pretty much gonna go for the closest mandrake and if this results in him fighting a monster, well, that's a bridge he can cross when he gets there.

The closest mandrake is inside a red circle labeled MARSH-WOLF. As he approaches the location, he does not see a marsh-wolf; he does see a bright green sprout coming out of the ground which matches the Naturalist's description of the mandrake plant.

How convenient! And can he get it out of the ground and into the jar without meeting the marsh-wolf?

The mandrake screams abortively as he shoves it into the jar, and there's a howl from a few hundred yards away, among the towering mushrooms that make up the forest.

He might want to start running.

But if he runs, how will he ever get to fight a marsh-wolf?

No, fine, fine, he's going, he's going.

The Scarred Naturalist greets him at the door to his marshy house. "Excellent, excellent! You have the mandrake?"

"I do! And I didn't even have to fight a marsh-wolf for it!" he says, with only a hint of disappointment.

The Naturalist laughs. "A true hunter, you are. Now, in order to tame the mandrake, I'll need you to procure a few bottles of wine - ten is a high but reasonable estimate - and then, once it's tamed, you can take it with you to train it to sing. Alright?"

"All right!"

And where does he go to look for wine?

Veilgarden is recommended. He can get a bottle for tuppence at the still-appropriately-named Singing Mandrake, or he could just steal some.

Okay, he can't resist buying wine at the Singing Mandrake to tame his soon-to-be-singing mandrake.

Then, twenty pence poorer but ten bottles of Greyfields richer, he may return to the Naturalist's house.

The Naturalist takes the wine and the jarred mandrake and hooks them both up to a diabolical-looking machine, which fills the jar with wine without exposing any of it to the air.

It's unclear where all the wine goes, but after ten bottles, the Naturalist opens up the jar. It's mostly empty apart from a thick layer of dregs at the bottom, and the mandrake is curled up on the bed of mushroom particles, apparently asleep. Its pale flesh has turned faintly pink.

"So now I have a drunk mandrake. How do I teach it to sing?"

"There are music instructors throughout the city, mostly in Veilgarden. I imagine it'd be more difficult than teaching a child, since the mandrake can't talk... but then, I've never tried to teach a child. Perhaps it'll be a refreshing change of pace."

"Guess I'll go find one of those, then!"

"I wish you the best of luck. Once your mandrake can sing, we can discuss finding a Vake-tooth."

"I might disappoint you there, I mostly just want a singing mandrake because having a singing mandrake sounds amazing."

"Hmm. Well, you're free to do whatever you like. There will be other hunters, I'm sure."

"Good luck finding them!"

As for this particular hunter, he's going to go find a singing instructor for his drunk mandrake.

Veilgarden contains many singing instructors! Few, however, are willing to consider working with a screaming vegetable. Eventually he is directed to an apartment close to the border between Veilgarden and Spite, which houses a Sardonic Music-Hall Singer.

She opens her door and looks at him, raising one of her painstakingly pencilled eyebrows. "You're a bit old for business, and a bit young for pleasure. What're you about?"

"I'm trying to teach a drunk mandrake to sing," he says. "Unaccountably, nobody's been interested so far."

She raises her other eyebrow. "Well, if that's not a euphemism, it's the most interesting thing I've heard so far tonight. Show me the mandrake in question? If, again, it's not a euphemism - one euphemistic mandrake is much like another."

He produces the jar and opens it to display the wholly non-euphemistic mandrake.

She looks inside. "Well, I'll be."

The mandrake wakes up and yawns.

"...never thought I'd say this about a vegetable," the Singer says, "but it's awfully cute, isn't it? And it can't be much worse than a six-year-old... My fee's four ounces Prisoner's Honey, unadulterated."

"It is awfully cute!" he agrees, smiling down into the jar. "Guess I'd better go find some prisoner's honey, then."