Sasha pulled away from the light.
She was certain that he had seen her this time.
For a moment, everyone held their breath.
Sasha’s arms shook with cold and fear. She closed her eyes and tried to be more still than she had ever been before.
“Come on,” said Vadim. “We’ve secured our bet.”
The two men walked out of the stables. Gorch put out his lamp so no one would see them leaving the stable.
Sasha waited till she was certain they were gone. Then she gasped for air.
Her teeth began to chatter.
As she left, she patted the horse in her stall and said, “Thank you for not kicking me. I pray your children will be Bloomhoof stallions.”
The horse knocked into her with his muzzle as if to say she was welcome.
Sasha snuck out of the stables and ran all the way home.
She had just heard Vadim Gentry cheat to help Scolario the Bad Hander in the knights’ tournament. But who could she tell?
And if she did tell, what would Vadim do? He had always schemed to buy the shop from Papa, but would he double his efforts if he knew Sasha had caught him?
As Sasha went to bed that night, she wondered if she had gotten herself into more trouble than she could possibly handle.
CHAPTER 5
The next morning, Puck refused to wake up after a long night of helping Mina at the inn, so Sasha and Papa loaded their wheelbarrow and pushed it all the way to the village green. Merchants, peddlers, tinkers, and cooks were all setting up their stands to sell their goods at the festival. At the center of the field were the tournament grounds, where the knights would joust.
It’s going to be a rough day, thought Sasha, as they lifted a giant rock of sugar and set it on the counter.
“It’s going to be a great day!” said Papa as he began to assemble his scales.
Sasha got to work making the recipe. She mixed the spices in a round pot over a low fire. She found a snowbank that looked untouched from the night before and scooped ten handfuls into the pot. As she stirred, Sasha pulled her cloak tight to protect against the wind.
The cloak was a gift from her mother.
Everything seemed to remind Sasha of her mother—the holiday festival, the mulled cider, even the smell of fried dough rolled in cinnamon, wafting from the cinnamon man’s tent. Mama loved all those things. Sasha tried not to think about it.
When the cider was ready, she lifted the pot and poured it into a samovar to keep it warm. Then she started a new batch.
She worried they wouldn’t sell enough cider.
She worried they wouldn’t have enough money for taxes.
She worried that Mama would never come back.
She worried that Latouche would demand a refund and cause a stink if he lost the tournament.
“Come one, come all!” shouted the greengrocer, who was also the village herald whenever there was news, because he had the loudest voice and biggest personality. He stood on a turnip crate and cupped his hands around his mouth. “The tournament of knights is about to begin!”
People were starting to fill the market. Sasha and Papa already had a few customers. For each one, Papa weighed a lump of sugar, dropped it into a cup, and handed the cup to Sasha.
She poured the cider from the samovar and received a coin as she handed out the drink. She was distracted the whole time, looking at the tournament field. Sasha knew she didn’t have the time to spend all day pouring honey mull cider, not if she was going to help Latouche find his bravery.
“First up,” shouted the greengrocer, “Scolario the Bad Hander against the Coral Knight.”
No one cheered for Scolario. Sasha heard Coral’s sister, Sage, shouting from the stands, “You get ’em, Coral. Knock that goon from his horse!”
Sasha strained to see through the crowd.
The two knights mounted their horses and grabbed their jousting spears.
The crowd from the night before stood beside Sasha’s cider stand and made their bets. “Who you got?” said a bearded soldier.
“That coral knight’s pretty stout. I says he wins.”
“Yarp,” said another. “Wouldn’t wanna cross paths with Bad Hander in a dark alley, or nuffin. But he ain’t no joust type.”
As Bad Hander and Coral rode their horses to the starting positions, the whole fair seemed to turn and look. Only Papa was uninterested.
The greengrocer raised the flag in the air.
Bad Hander’s horse made an angry snort.
Coral sat in his saddle. He looked noble.
The grocer dropped the flag, and both men spurred their horses into a gallop. Their flat-tipped spears were pointed at each other.
Sasha noticed a leather strap dangling loose on Coral’s saddle. And suddenly, she knew exactly what was about to happen.
“Coral’s going to fall,” said Sasha.
And at that moment, Coral’s saddle slipped to the side, and he fell off his horse.
The crowd gasped in shock that such a strapping knight would tumble from his horse. Coral landed in the mud.
Bad Hander rode past.
Gorch and Vadim Gentry both cheered from their seats.
A soldier from the night before turned around and looked at Sasha. “How’d you know he was gonna fall?”
“Who, me?” said Sasha.
“Yeah, you. You said he was gonna fall, and he fell.”
Of course, Sasha knew it was because she had heard Gorch and Vadim cut the saddle straps the night before. But the small crowd of soldiers didn’t know that. She could tell they were a little scared. “Maybe she’s got magic,” said one soldier. Everyone stepped away from the cider stand. One made the knight’s salute and spit into his cup.
Sasha started to protest, but then she saw Latouche sitting in the stands with a mopey expression on his face, waiting for his turn. At that moment, Sasha had her plan to save him.
She turned to the soldiers with a smile and said, “That’s right. I’m kinda magic.”
One of the soldiers fainted and fell back into a pile of snow.
CHAPTER 6
“Papa, I gotta go,” said Sasha.
“You can’t,” said Papa.
“But I have something very important to do.”
“Understood.”
“So I can go?”
“Of course not. What could be more important that this?” Papa gestured at the samovar of cider, the block of sugar, and the line of customers. “We’ve just begun to make some coin,” he said, “and we’ve got taxes and bills—don’t forget.”
“I didn’t forget,” said Sasha. As far as she was concerned, her plan to help Latouche in the tournament was most important because it would prove their potion was magic and keep their shop out of trouble.
Papa handed her a cup without even looking. They were so busy that Sasha hardly had time to complain.
She poured cider into the cup. She handed it to a young woman wearing a long fur coat, then said, “Thank you,” and took the woman’s coin. In her mind, Sasha fretted about what to do. Latouche had already gone to the stables to get his horse ready. She was running out of time.
When she turned around to grab another cinnamon stick to stir with, she saw Puck standing right beside her, as if he appeared by magic.
Of course, it wasn’t magic, thought Sasha.
It was just a coincidence.
“Of all the odds and oddity,” she said, “where have you been?”
Puck yawned and scratched his head. His eyes were still droopy from sleep.
“While you were napping, we had about three emergencies.”
“Guh,” said Puck.
“No, I will not give you cider.” But as soon as she said it, an obvious idea occurred to her. “Actually,” she said, leaning down to whisper. “Actually, you can have some cider.”
“Guh!” said Puck.
“With extra sugar. But you have to stand here and do my job so I can take care of something.”<
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“Guh! Guh!” said Puck, excited to help, or maybe just to drink extra cider. He tried to push past her to get started, but Sasha stuck her palm out.
“Wait,” she said, “not yet. Do you understand what to do?”
Puck seemed insulted. He gestured that he’d take the cup and pour the cider. He rolled his eyes as he did it.
“Wrong,” said Sasha. “The important part is the coin. You have to remember to take the coin. And you can’t lose them.”
“Guh. Guh,” said Puck.
“So you’ll take the coins, then?”
“Guuuuuuuh.”
“And you’ll put them in the safe box.”
“Guh!”
“And you won’t drink from the cups before you hand them out.”
Puck just sighed.
“And you stir with this cinnamon stick. Not your hand. Not your feet.”
Puck gave her a look.
“Fine. Okay. I trust you. Thank you,” said Sasha.
Puck nodded and jumped onto a stool to take up his position. Sasha waited for a particularly long line of customers, and then she snuck off. Papa was happy chatting with people, chiseling lumps of sugar. He handed cups back to Puck and didn’t bother looking over.
Sasha hoped it would stay that way until she returned. She pulled the hood of her mother’s cloak over her head. She grabbed a cup of cider, covered it with the hem of her cloak so it wouldn’t spill, and dashed across the fairground. As she weaved between the kebab stands and carnival games, she reviewed her plan. If she had the time, she would have written it in her detective’s notebook.
First, her problem: Latouche wanted to win the knights’ tournament to show off his bravery, but Latouche wasn’t a knight. And there was no way he was going to out-joust the real knights on his own.
Then she would list her resources, like “pluck,” which she certainly had. She was very plucky. And “Puck,” who was a very useful creature for climbing things and biting other things. And lastly, she would write in big letters, “BAD LUCK,” because the soldiers all seemed terrified by it.
At the inn, when the soldier had rolled snake eyes, he had immediately made the knight’s salute and spat in his hand. It seemed the soldier believed that in order to ward off bad luck he had to salute and spit on the source of the luck. So he spat in his hand because he had thrown the dice.
Then, after the cup broke, the other soldier had spit in the fire—where clay pottery was made. And when Bad Hander had called Puck a black cat, he’d spit on Puck’s head.
Of course, Sasha didn’t believe such silly superstitions. But the information was a powerful tool she could use. With pluck, Puck, and bad luck, Sasha had everything she needed to execute her plan.
“Hiya, Mister Latouche!” said Sasha. Before he could answer, she added, “You look great up there. Very heroic. Unstoppable. Not nervous at all. Supercapable…and strong…and handsome.”
Latouche snapped out of his worrying. “Huh? Oh, yes. I’m fine. They should be calling us any moment.” As he spoke, Sasha barely paid attention. She was busy checking the harnesses on Latouche’s saddle. She inspected every strap to make sure Vadim Gentry hadn’t cut them.
“Great!” said Sasha. “I’m sure you’ll be great.”
Then she ran off to find his opponent.
She crossed the snowy field, still holding the cider with two hands. On the other side was one of Bad Hander’s friends. She had tiger stripes painted on her face and long braids. Her armor was covered in spikes. Her helmet was shaped like a tiger head. Her horse was also armored and looked mad enough to charge through a castle wall. Its giant hooves clopped on the cobblestone like giant hammers.
When Sasha arrived, the knight was shouting at her squire. “No, not that one, the other one!”
The squire grabbed at a different jousting spear and looked up at the knight, who snorted like an angry dragon. The squire quickly grabbed another. This one seemed to be the right one, because the knight had nothing mean to say about it.
As she snatched the spear away from the squire, the knight said, “And where’s that village goon? What’s his name? Gorch. Tell that Gorch I don’t like the hay he’s feeding Daisy.”
Sasha decided she had better present herself before Gorch arrived. She approached the terrifying warhorse and said to the knight, “Hello, I’m Sasha.”
“Get outta my way,” said the knight.
That hadn’t worked. Sasha tried another approach. “Is your warhorse really named Daisy?”
“It stands for Deadly Apocalypse Is Surely Yours, why?”
“Oh. Wow. Okay, that is very aggressive,” said Sasha. The greengrocer had already begun to call the audience to begin the joust. Sasha had to hurry.
“I just wanted to say good luck.”
“Okay, you said it,” said the knight.
“And I wanted to give you this cider. It’s for good luck too.”
The knight considered it. Then she put out her spiky glove. “Fine. Give it.”
Sasha bounded up to give her the cup. But just as the knight touched it, Sasha tripped, and the cup fell from both their hands. It landed on the cobblestone and shattered. The squire, the knight, even Daisy, all seemed to gasp at once.
The knight sat up straight. She put one hand to her eye and looked around for a fire to spit into, but there wasn’t one close by. She spat toward Sasha instead and said, “You clumsy fool.”
The greengrocer finished calling their names. The joust had begun.
“Well,” said Sasha, “good luck!”
She jumped out of the warhorse’s path and watched as the knight began the competition. The knight seemed distracted, and when she met Latouche in the middle of the green, he managed to graze his spear off her shoulder. She fell to the ground with a thud and a curse.
Latouche also fell—he’d lost his balance—but that was after he cleared the field, so he won.
Sasha ran up to him. “Are you okay?”
She tried to help him up, but he pulled away. “Yes. Fine. Thank you.” He was embarrassed because everyone was laughing at the double knockdown.
“You seemed really confident out there,” said Sasha.
“I did?”
“You did.”
“Well, I felt terrified.”
Latouche walked his horse back to the stables. Sasha was tempted to follow him and give encouragement, but the odds were that Papa had already noticed she was gone. “Crumbsy bumsy,” she said to herself. “If only he hadn’t fallen from his horse.”
Her plan to make Latouche feel brave had only sort of worked. She had a lot more to do if Latouche was going to win the tournament. In the meantime, she ran back to the cider stand, hoping she could sneak in.
But when Sasha arrived, the stand was empty, except for Puck sitting on the counter with his feet dangling, and Papa with his arms crossed and his mustache in the angry position.
“Uh-oh,” said Sasha.
She was caught.
CHAPTER 7
“I know you’re mad,” said Sasha as she walked behind the counter to busy herself. “And you’re right to be mad, but I just want to say I only left for a couple minutes, and I made sure Puck could handle it, and I ran right back.”
She scooped handfuls of snow into the pot to melt. Papa remained silent. Sasha poured a basket of blackberries into the pot and began to measure the spices. She glanced at him. He was still watching and waiting.
“What?” said Sasha.
“You know what,” said Papa.
“Okay, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“For running off. For not being responsible. I don’t know.”
Papa sighed. “You knew I needed you here.”
“Right, yes. I’m sorry.”
Papa helped Puck get down from the counter. He said, “Puck has a lot of wonderful qualities, but we needed you. He forgot to take coins from half the customers, and he spilled cider on the other half.”
“I
understand,” said Sasha.
“But that’s not the worst of it.”
“Oh crumbsy. He didn’t bite anybody, did he? You didn’t bite anyone, did you?”
Puck shook his head. His eyes were big and innocent.
Papa said, “No, Sasha, the worst part is that you disobeyed me. I trusted that you heard me when I told you I needed you here.”
For the first time, Sasha was truly sorry. She was so worried about her plan to help Latouche that she had betrayed Papa’s trust. She stopped stirring the blackberries and said, “I’m really sorry.”
“If we can’t trust each other…” said Papa.
“I know. I know.” Sasha didn’t want to think about it—the fact that her mother was off somewhere, and all they had in this world was each other.
“I’m going to buy more blackberries,” said Papa. “Would you promise me you’ll stay here?”
“Yes. Sure.”
Papa turned and walked into the holiday market.
Sasha kicked at a pile of snow. “This holiday is the worst.”
“And you,” said Sasha, “why didn’t you collect money for the drinks?”
Puck shrugged.
“Do you even know what money is?” said Sasha.
Puck shrugged again.
“Okay, well, the odds are that you’ll completely bungle this, but I’m stuck here, so I need you to help with the next part of my plan.”
Puck made a happy grunt and ran around the counter to hear what Sasha needed him to do.
A few moments later, Puck was running off toward the tournament field, giggling as Sasha watched from the stand. Puck was perfect for this part of the plan because Latouche’s next opponent was none other than Scolario the Bad Hander. And Sasha already knew that Scolario thought black cats were bad luck.
Puck, who probably hadn’t bathed in his entire life, was still covered in dirt. So when he scurried in front of Bad Hander on all fours and dove under a wagon cart, Scolario was certain it was a cat.
Sasha and Puck and the Cure for Courage Page 3