by P. A. Mason
Copyright © 2020 P.A. Mason
All rights reserved.
First Edition
Editing services provided by CJ Skye
Cover design by P.A. Mason
ASIN: B0872QSYNV
Gretchen’s (Mis)Adventures
Series 1, Episode 2
‘Of Hair and No Hair’
By P.A. Mason
For everyone who wondered what happened to that gal after she got rescued. We don’t hear from her much anymore.
Chapter 1
“She’s lying!” Spittle flew from Ewan’s mouth. “She promised that vile concoction would have my hair grown back in no time.”
He waggled a finger over the guard's shoulder and Gretchen guffawed.
“Your hair grew back, buddy. You never specified where you wanted it.”
“Enough.” The guard held up his hands in the close confines of the narrow alleyway. “This is a matter for the magistrate. Move along.”
“Tell that dreadful hag to give me my money back before I talk to the sheriff about this.” Ewan scratched at a tuft of hair poking through his collar, and Gretchen smothered a giggle.
“You brought a hair potion off the shelf for a couple of coins. You want to be a cheapskate with beauty products? After accusing me of fleecing you when I offered to brew something specific? You deserve all the unwanted hair you get.”
“Ah ha!” Ewan clapped his hands. “You heard that, didn’t you? I’ll be calling you as a witness to that confession. She’ll be chased out of this city once I’m through with her.”
Ewan spun on his heel to march to the market square. The guard turned to Gretchen, his leathery face creased in a toothy grin.
“It’s all anyone’s been talking about for weeks. He’s the laughingstock of the marketplace.” The guard clapped her on the shoulder. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
Gretchen snickered and pulled a vial from her pouch. “Time to make amends, I guess. “She sidled past the guard to her stall and stood on her soapbox to get a better vantage of the crowd.
“Listen up, folks.” She held the bottle aloft which sparkled golden in the afternoon sun. “Today’s special offer is my famous ‘de-hair’ potion. Tired of all that back hair? Bikini line chafing? This is the solution you’ve all been waiting for. All for a low price of three silver coins.”
A few people stopped to stare, one guy scratching his rear end. She glimpsed Ewan’s glossy scalp as he stormed over and she coughed to hide a smirk.
“You’ll never see a price like this again, and I have one dose left. With ingredients from the far-flung reaches of the realm, some only available a few months a year, it will be some time before I can prepare another batch.”
Ewan elbowed past the onlookers and snatched the bottle from Gretchen’s hand.
“Hey! You plan on paying for that?” Gretchen put her hands on her hips and glared.
“Just taking what I’m owed.” Ewan glowered at the bystanders and turned his nose in the air as he marched off.
The crowd dispersed with animated whispers, and Gretchen dusted off her hands, whistling as she packed up her stall.
“What was that all about?” The guard leaned against an adjoining booth with a twinkle in his eye.
“Ah.” Gretchen tapped her nose and winked. “Wait until you see what happens to his eyebrows.”
“Poetic justice.” The guard shook his head and chuckled. “Going so early?”
With the jars out of the way, Gretchen folded the cleverly designed, bamboo stall into a long bundle of sticks and tied it together with the cloth that served as shade over the top.
“Yup. Won’t be here tomorrow, neither. Tomorrow’s the big day; pumpkin growing competition in the next village over.” She held up her untied pouch and bit her lip as she pushed the bamboo through the impossibly small space. “Shame I can’t get my pumpkins into the pouch. It’ll be a wagon and donkey farting in my direction all morning.”
The guard watched in fascination as she arranged her things inside the infinity pouch. “I still don’t understand how that thing works.”
“Truth be told, neither do I. All I know is, it was the best investment I ever made. Even if it did involve a wizard.”
Gretchen tied the pouch strings to her belt and leaned her broom’s handle over her shoulder. She had her entire inventory stowed away and wasn’t a pound heavier. Doing business in the city each day was out of the question without it.
“Well, it’s probably best if you aren't around tomorrow, anyhow. Ewan doesn’t let things go easily.”
“Thanks, Bill. I know you’ve got my back.” She clapped his shoulder as she walked past him into the laneway toward the stables. There was a strip around the back she used to take to the air without having to walk all the way out of the city walls, which was worth it, even if she got crap in her boots.
Ewan would be a problem. She knew she shouldn’t have ticked him off but couldn’t help herself after the holier than thou attitude he’d spewed when she’d first set up in the city. The other traders were mostly friendly, there wasn’t much direct competition, and Gretchen had felt at home a few weeks after she’d started her little enterprise in the big smoke.
As she passed through the stables, she tipped her hat to the lad who took care of the animals during the afternoons. On the sly, she pulled a hunk of bread out of her pocket to slip to her favorite mare who already had her head hanging out of the stall. She was her favorite because she had spunk, and if she didn’t hand over something, the mare was quick to take a swipe at her pointed hat.
Around the back she was pleased to see the ground had dried throughout the morning, and it boded well for the fly home. It was a longer commute than the marketplace back home, but her aversion to flying was limited to taking off and landing. She usually managed well enough once she got into the air.
Rolling her shoulders twice and dropping into half a dozen squats, she shook the tension from her limbs to psych herself up. She wouldn’t make an ass of herself in front of the kids shoveling dung into the middens. Or land face first in the middens either. Positive thinking would give her wings. With a deep breath, she pumped her legs on the spot and launched down the track to spring into the air.
The kids had plucked up some courage though, and a poop projectile narrowly missed her head as she swung the broom under her rump. She made a face at them as she swooped by and decided on a prank of her own when she next landed. A tonic of stench would hardly make a difference in that yard but conjuring an itch cloud may do nicely. Turning her attention upward, she pivoted the broom in time to miss the walls and snapped her mouth shut against wind-borne insects in her path.
Once clear of the city and the perilous plumes of smoke from the outlying buildings that housed the more unsavory industries, she relaxed in a comfortable thermal. From there on out it was a matter of keeping the broom pointed in the right direction and avoiding the occasional duck.
She was looking forward to tomorrow’s venture at the county fair and thought her crop of pumpkins stood a good chance of snagging a ribbon. With Nora officiating the competition, she’d made it crystal clear that magic was prohibited. But with the wood nymphs giving her garden a helping hand at a working bee at her cottage, she could solemnly swear her magic played no part in its impressive girth.
The skies ahead of her looked blue as far as she could see,
and she smelled no hint of moisture in the air. She hoped fair weather would follow her travels and that after showing off her green thumb, she’d have enough time to taste-test every barrel of ale brought in by hopeful brewers. The fair was one of the few events in the year which Gretchen looked forward to, and for the first time in years, she had the means to enjoy herself. If not for guarding her pumpkins against sabotage from vindictive types, she’d have likely booked a room at a well-to-do tavern. Well, maybe not all that fancy.
When the fields below arranged into a familiar pattern of brilliant, yellow canola butted against leafy, green lucerne, she edged slowly downward. Ahead was the edge of dense forest close to her cottage, a dwelling off the beaten track which was just as she liked it. She dipped into lower wind drifts more frequented by smaller birds and turned circles around her freshly thatched roof. As she nosedived to land, she muttered a prayer to whatever passing deity might heed her and screwed her eyes shut. Her boots brushed past leaves in the trees and dragged enough to veer the broom. Her eyes snapped open just in time to register her roof as the likely impact zone. She squeaked and rolled from the errant broom onto the thatch with a thump that knocked the wind from her lungs.
“Yoo-hoo! Everything okay up there?”
Gretchen cringed and rolled on her back to stare up at the sky. What was Nora doing here? She sucked in a few deep breaths and sat up.
“I’m fine. Just checking the thatch is all. Seems to be holding up well.” She unsnagged her dress from the hardened reeds and shuffled down toward her garden.
“Sure,” Nora scoffed. “I’m starting to see why it needed repairing in the first place.”
Gretchen climbed down the accommodating lattice on the north side of her house, mindful not to damage the caapi vine on the way down. When her boots hit the ground, she turned to frown at Nora sitting on her favorite garden bench.
“And what are you doing here, then? Isn’t it against the fair’s rules or something?” She couldn’t help the smug smile as she cast her eye over her fat crop basking in the afternoon sun.
“Hardly.” Nora slapped her knee and stood to circle the largest pumpkin, which was a good deal bigger than the rest. “Not when I’d wager Mildred’s harvest is plumper than this lot. You know she took hers off the vine last week? Didn’t want to risk it spoiling.”
Gretchen’s lip curled at the mention of Mildred. Snooty green thumb she was.
“Gives her the perfect excuse when she doesn’t win this year.” Gretchen sniffed. “It’s about time someone knocked that woman down a peg or two.”
“Oh come, now,” Nora snorted. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Let’s go have some tea.”
Gretchen bit back a reply and followed Nora inside, glaring at her broom which dangled from a tree by the window.
“So, what are you doing here, anyhow?” Gretchen scraped her boots on the way in and prodded the fire back to life before putting the kettle on.
“Just passing through. Thought I’d stop in before making my way to Oakdale. There’s a special dinner for the judges tonight before things kick off in the morning.”
Gretchen filled her teapot and gave an appreciative murmur. Her cottage wasn’t on the way to Oakdale from the baron’s estate, but she’d bet money on Nora coming from The Salt and Bog, which was her usual haunt.
“So how do you plan on getting that pumpkin to the fair? I don’t suppose it would fit in that pouch of yours?”
Gretchen slid the tea tray onto the kitchen table and fixed Nora with a level stare. On account of the confidentiality agreement she signed, she couldn’t tell her friend how she’d gotten the means to buy the infinity pouch, so she’d made up some story about inheriting it. Nora didn’t believe a word of it.
“Jurgen will be by in the morning with a cart, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
Nora cleared her throat as she poured for both and planted a warm smile on her face. “Oh, I think he did say something about that last week. It’s been a while since I stopped in at the tavern.”
Gretchen quirked an eyebrow as she took a sip of tea. With her new enterprise she was more inclined to stop by in the mornings to share a cup of coffee with the troll than to fritter away afternoons drinking ale. There were only so many hours in the day, and she had to keep her inventory up to scratch to keep up in the city. But there were several occasions where she’d tiptoed past a snoring Nora in the taproom to sit with Jurgen in the kitchen.
“So how are the preparations coming along? I’m sure the baron’s household is in a flap?”
“His lordship has really gotten himself into a pickle this year. Was running his mouth in the city and has agreed to host some fancy party at the estate to pay homage to the year’s bounty.” Nora’s lip curled as she stirred sugar into her cup. “So not only is everyone trying to organize a county fair, they’re preparing for the gentry to arrive. Poor souls won’t have any time to enjoy the festivities. Would serve him right if his sheets are itchy and meals are bland for a few months.”
Gretchen let out a low whistle. “Well, I can’t say I’d blame them. And I’m guessing you’re off the hook?”
“He hardly has any need of hexes during a grand soiree.” She waved her hand. “That’ll come after. Once they’ve traded insults over one too many brandies.”
Gretchen smirked. Nora had been in the baron’s employ for a few years. If she wasn’t careful, he’d have nobody left to curse soon.
“But enough of that.” Nora took a last gulp of tea and set her cup back on the tray. “I must make a move if I want to miss the birds flitting around at dusk.”
Gretchen saw her out and waved as she took off neatly from her garden and into the air. She scowled at her own broom before trotting over to her pumpkin patch where she gave the big guy a knock, her ear pressed to its side to check the sound.
Not as plump as Mildred’s, eh? Well, she could do something about that.
Chapter 2
“Discreet, I said!” She thumped her desk beside the spell book, and the letters on the page jittered. “Nora can’t suspect anything!”
The words on the page swirled, and the letters rearranged themselves. Gretchen squinted at the page and rubbed her chin.
“That could work…”
Committing the spell to memory, she slammed the book shut before returning it to her stash spot underneath the floorboards. She tottered to the kitchen and unlocked her reinforced pantry door. As it swung open, a flurry of activity scuttled across the floor as light reached the darkened corners, and Gretchen stamped her foot for good measure.
“You can count yourselves lucky I haven't had time to cook up some poison. If I could trust Mulligan to keep his nose out of the jerky, you’d all be cat treats by now.”
She shuffled in under bundles of dried herbs hanging from the low ceiling and followed her nose to the right ingredients. The small cupboard was getting crowded, and if things kept looking up, she’d need to think seriously about having a cellar dug out the back to house her growing collection. Rounding up a few stoppered jars and sprigs from various bundles, she climbed out of the pantry and held back a sneeze. Mulligan’s scruffy head poked around the corner, and Gretchen held a finger up in warning.
“No, you don't, fleabag. I’ve got things just as I like them in there, and I won’t have you trashing it.”
Mulligan glared and dropped to his haunches as Gretchen emptied her hands and locked up behind her.
“Never you mind. I stopped by the butchers today for those gizzards you like.” She untied her pouch and reached in shoulder deep to retrieve the waxed paper package. Mulligan’s nose twitched, and he scampered to his dish as she bent to empty the stinking contents into it.
“Now,” she set the paper aside and held hands to her hips. “A quick brew before dinner and a good night's sleep before Jurgen gets here. Plumper, indeed! The only thing Mildred has that’s plumper than mine is her rear end.”
Gretchen chortled as she crumbled herbs and seeds into
her mortar and a scant few drops from the bottles. From the doses prescribed she’d likely have a lot left over, but she could think of a few customers who would jump at the chance to make some of their appendages bigger, if only for a few hours. She pounded the mixture into a thick paste, all the while muttering incantations with half-lidded eyes. The recipe called for a moderate amount of heat, so Gretchen fetched down one of her smallest cauldrons and added just a little boiled water from the kettle. After stirring in the mixture, she hung it on the far side of the fire to warm slowly and refilled the kettle to lie in wait with a cup of tea. When she sat herself in front of the fire to keep her eye on the brew, a thump on the door almost ended with a lap full of scorching liquid. She set the cup on the mantle with a grumble and reefed the door open with a glare.
A young woman, gentry by the look of her tailored dress, stood on her porch with a satin scarf wrapped around her head. Gretchen blinked and shook her head, but the apparition failed to dissolve as expected.
“Oh, thank goodness,” the visitor said holding a hand to her forehead. “I thought perhaps you weren’t home. I desperately need help.”
Gretchen looked her up and down from the satin slippers to the jewels she wore in her ears. A carriage with a two-horse team stood in the lane, and Gretchen wondered at not having heard them arrive.
“I think you’re looking for the Fairy Godmother. She lives a few fields over.” Gretchen went to push the door closed, but the woman thrust her dainty foot in through the doorway.
“Oh no, I’m exactly where I need to be.”
Gretchen stared with her mouth agape as the maiden stepped into her kitchen and brushed off a stool with a delicate hand before perching on its edge.
“You must be going to the shindig over at the estate?” Gretchen cocked her head. “Hexes aren’t my forte, if that’s what you’re after. And I refuse to deal in love potions after the last debacle.”