by P. A. Mason
Gawking turned to suspicious whispers, and Gretchen picked out Nora in the crowd, elbowing her way toward her.
“What on earth is all this?” Nora jerked her head toward the carriage and fixed Rapunzel with a shrewd stare. “And who is she?”
Gretchen puffed out her cheeks and clapped her hands.
“I ah, had quite the eventful afternoon after you left. You heard of those Tallest Towers hotels? This is the brand behind the operation, Rapunzel.”
Nora blinked. “She’s bigger than she looks in the posters.”
“That’s the problem, see.” She wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulder and steered her away from the crowd. “She came to see me about her hair and there was a mix-up. Took a growing potion instead.”
Nora rounded on Gretchen, her eyes wide as she brushed her arm from her shoulder.
“That growing potion wouldn't have been for your entry, now, would it?”
“Of course not!” Gretchen swallowed. “No, it was something I had on hand and old butter fingers here slipped her the wrong dose. Happens to the best of us. She won’t believe me when I tell her it will wear off, so now I’m lumped with her until she starts shrinking. If you’d just have a word with her, assure her the effects are temporary—”
“Where’s the pumpkin?” Nora leveled a finger at her.
“Resting. Just keeping out of the sun, you know. Can’t have it getting soft spots. Nothing out of the ordinary, by the time we get started it will be waiting in line with the others. I think you’ll find—”
“Hush!” Nora shook her head. “If there is anything irregular about that vegetable, I’ll disqualify you faster than you can say potato! I won’t have you throwing a shadow over my good reputation. People will already be running their mouths about this parade you’ve brought with you.”
With a groan she turned toward the crowds and pushed her way back through the milling townsfolk. By the looks of things, the livestock were still center stage, which was not unusual at those kinds of fairs, but it meant she had a couple of hours before the spotlight would move toward their end of the fairgrounds.
Curious folk had come closer to Rapunzel’s wagon and a few girls plucked up the courage to fondle stray locks of her luxurious hair. She smiled graciously at everyone and chattered to the adults even as the girls began braiding her hair in lengths that looked like ropes from a distance. Evidently, she didn’t mind looking out of place among the common folk.
“Are you okay?” Jurgen clapped a hand on her shoulder. “I should get to the ale stands. I need to keep on top of where the better brews can be found this season.”
Gretchen hung her head and nodded. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for everything this morning. I promise I’ll have that broad out of your wagon by the time we need to head home.”
“I don’t mind.” He barked a laugh. “I’ll keep the carriage if she wants to trade.”
Gretchen chuckled as he trudged away and then she snuck over to the carriage, tugging the makeshift curtain door closed behind her. The next growth was well under way, and she sank to the bench seat racking her brain for a magical solution to her problem. It couldn’t be anything blatant; Nora wouldn’t let her get away with it, and she had nothing in her inventory which would help with that particular problem.
She took the shears out again and cropped what she could, resolving to put off the shaving until she could see the procession at the baked goods section. Gretchen’s belly rumbled at the thought of the long tables strewn with pies and cakes, and she dropped the shears and dusted off her hands. Just a little mingling. Show her face among the competition and get a bite to eat. Hiding in the carriage could be seen as meanspirited, and she didn’t need anything else casting doubt over her entry.
Giving her pumpkin a pat, she climbed from the carriage and ushered Peter the driver over, who was unhitching the horses and tethering them on a clear patch of grass. “If you see anyone trying to poke their noses in this carriage, you use that whip to discourage them, you hear? I’ll get us something to eat.”
Peter’s face brightened at the mention of food, and he gave a nod as Gretchen strode into the throng. Rapunzel had gathered a crowd of her own from her wagon soapbox, and she spoke with arms waving toward the sky, her hair glittering in the sun. Gretchen didn’t know what customers she expected to drum up among simple village people, but at the moment, she wasn’t whining, and at least it looked like she’d shown up at a backwater fair for a reason.
Other contestants already had their produce laid out on canvas sheets with makeshift stools gathered around so they could smile and nod at those passing by. She tipped her hat to Farmer McBride who was the merriest of all the losers, but he boasted that his pumpkins tasted the finest and did a good trade with the bakers. He gave a jolly wave back, and she continued her winding path around the spectators. An unlikely player in the pumpkin game was the butcher’s wife, Rosaline, who waved as she went by looking as proud as punch over her considerable pumpkin. She usually placed somewhere in the top three every year.
Gretchen did a detour around Mildred’s set-up, which had vines and smaller pumpkins carved into smiling faces decorating the lawn. She did that every year. Winning just wasn’t enough, she had to do a song and dance about it. Checking over her shoulder to make sure she was clear, she scooted into the line of people who were admiring the baker's finest, with trays of public fare next to the fancier ones for the taste-test. She rummaged in her pouch for a few gold coins and loaded up with savory pies and sweet tarts. An accommodating ale cart stood at the end of the line, and Gretchen had her skin refilled before juggling the feast back to their setup.
She thought she’d gotten clear of Mildred’s view when the woman stepped in front of her with a smarmy smile.
“Gretchen. Thought you’d never arrive! And with such a grand entourage.” She swatted Gretchen’s arm with a snort. “You do know it’s the pumpkins that’s being judged today, hm?”
“Oh, the carriage?” Gretchen shrugged. “Rapunzel’s an old friend of mine. Couldn’t resist a good PR stunt. She figured attaching her brand to my winning entry would draw some press—”
Mildred doubled over clutching her belly as she chortled. “Oh, stop! You’ll give me the hiccups. I don’t know what I’d do without you here. Someone has to be the comic relief.” She patted Gretchen’s shoulder and wiped her eye with her sleeve. “Now, I’ve made plenty of pumpkin pies to celebrate my victory. Be sure to take a few extras for the road.” She pressed her lips together in a sympathetic pout. “I know how hard eking a living is for your sort.”
Turning her nose up, she caught the eye of someone behind Gretchen and elbowed past with an absent pat on the back. With teeth clenched and controlled breaths, Gretchen stormed back to the wagon and dropped her bundle beside Rapunzel. Peter followed soon after, and Rapunzel begged reprieve from her enraptured audience to turn toward the pair and eye the food greedily.
“I’m starved! Those people are unrelenting.”
“It’s not every day they meet a giant dressed as a wood nymph.” Gretchen bit into a pie and sagged.
“And what has you in such a foul temper? Coming to terms with the fact your ruse will not fool anyone?”
Like she could talk about foul tempers. Peter made off with his meal back toward the horses where he looked more comfortable. Rapunzel went straight for the tarts and stuffed them in her mouth as though they were bite sized pastries.
“Just one win, you know?” Gretchen sighed. “Just one year that I’m not laughed at. Is that too much to ask? I mean, it’s not as if pumpkins are the hardest thing to grow. I’ve got a whole garden full of medicinals. And if you ask me, keeping the caapi vine growing through a hard frost—”
“Tell me,” Rapunzel interjected. “What is the attraction, exactly? You’re a witch. Shouldn’t you be entering spell competitions or some such?”
Gretchen pressed her lips together and toyed with the wine skin cork, unsure how to answer the question.<
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“My Great Aunt Esme,” Gretchen cleared her throat. “Back in the day she used to take home the ribbon every year. From the same patch of dirt I grow mine in. I never was a keen gardener, but it became a matter of family pride. Particularly after Mildred came by with some sob story about her goat straying into the old mine. The last I ever saw of Aunt Esme was her flying off with a goat luring mix set to camp that night by the cave.”
“You blame your rival for doing away with your aunt?” Rapunzel snorted. “And here you are growing pumpkins instead of brewing hexes. You witches are a strange sort, you know.”
Gretchen groaned and shook her head. “I told you I’m no good with hexes. Knowing my luck, I’d bring her good fortune for years to come.”
They finished their meal in silence with Rapunzel grumbling under her breath about the size of her stomach, and Gretchen lying back swigging ale. Promising herself not to get inebriated before handling a razor, she corked the skin and passed a cursory eye over the crowd when she saw it. An unforgettable scalp.
Ewan was a long way from the city.
Chapter 5
“Lady luck!” Gretchen swung her legs to the grass. “I can see his eyebrows from here!”
Rapunzel screwed up her face, and Gretchen left her guessing as she burst off into the crowd. Ewan’s shop in the city faced out into the marketplace where other vendors erected their stalls each morning. It was the main reason he got around the market looking like he had a stick up his backside. He dealt in finely tooled leather items and boasted whenever he could about the contracts he had with the royal armory. It figured he’d need to source his leather somewhere, and Gretchen had never paid mind to the rows of makeshift pens that stank of animal leavings.
He was getting away at a good clip juggling a pie and a tankard of ale, chatting with a man who bore a familial resemblance. With a full head of hair. Gretchen sidled past onlookers and people standing around chattering in walkways and cut the pair off in the intersection of wool displays and blocks of lanolin.
“Ewan!” Gretchen threw her arms up with a grin. “Fancy seeing you here, pal.”
His eyebrows were indeed intact and furrowed as he glared at her. “The witch from the marketplace. Charlatan, fraudster, and rogue operator.” His lip curled as he turned to his companion. “This is the one I told you about.”
The smothered smirk told Gretchen the guy saw the funny side of her hairy prank.
“Listen, ah, I can see from your eyebrows,” she pointed vaguely at her own. “That you thought better of my de-hair potion. So, if you want to give it back, we’ll just call it even, yeah?”
His face turned mottled red, and he bunched his fists at his sides.
“Of course, I didn’t fall for your ruse.” He reached up to scratch his neck. “I wanted to put a stop to your wicked schemes. I know your sort. Give them something with unexpected consequences and charge exorbitant fees to put it right again. Give it time and the word will spread about you, mark my words. You won't sell so much as a sniffle tonic after that.”
Gretchen drew a deep breath through her nose and gritted her teeth. This wouldn’t be easy. “Look, do you have it with you or not? It seems you have me over a barrel, as it were, and I’m willing to play nice to make a deal.”
Ewan burst out in a raucous laugh, slapping his companion’s back. Gretchen was thinking it may be his brother, and from the look of calculation in his eye, she wagered he’d won the brains in the family. Prepared for an involved negotiation and cataloging what she had on hand to offer, she clapped her hands to get Ewan’s attention.
“What is it you want, Ewan? Like I said from the start, I can brew you a tonic that will give you a luscious head of hair by morning. You’ll have women braiding flowers in it with wistful looks in their eyes all day long. I’ll take care of that impressive pelt you’ve got going on down your back, too. Alls I need is that potion back.”
It was the brother’s turn to chuckle, and Ewan’s face sobered as he looked at her with contempt. “I don’t believe a word of it. You won’t have your vile concoction back until I see proof.”
Gretchen scrubbed a hand over her face, knowing full well she didn’t have what she needed on hand to mix a potion even if she could find someone willing to lend her a cauldron. “I need that potion now, and it will take days to get a hair brew like that right. What else do you need? Surely, you aren’t at a county fair to drink in the sights?”
“We’re in negotiations,” The brother piped up. “With the butcher who has signed a contract with a grazier from up north. Forgive my brother. My name is Cal.”
Ewan glared, but Cal gave him a dismissive wave.
“Pleased to meet you, Cal. Now, I suspect these negotiations are… problematic?”
“The reason why our goods are the finest is a matter of the quality of the raw product we work with.” He pressed his lips together. “The bargain is stuck on the issue of delivery. The butcher would prefer to make less frequent trips to the city, and we cannot agree to have our materials drying out in his storerooms.”
“I see.” The cogs in Gretchen’s mind turned as she tried to figure out a plausible way to help the transaction. “Who’s the butcher?”
Cal’s eyebrow twitched to a spot behind him where Rosaline’s husband Billy stood yammering with some other shop owners from her own small town. Gretchen had been a customer for years and felt villainous when she’d started buying from the guy in the city after long days manning her stall.
“Well, um.” Gretchen patted her pouch, racking her brain on what kind of potion fixes a problem like that. “Let me talk to the guy.”
Ewan opened his mouth to protest, but Cal clamped a hand on his shoulder to silence him. Gretchen left them to mutter in animated tones at one another and sauntered toward Billy.
“Gretchen.” He lifted his tankard in greeting, his face already flushed from drink. “How’s the pumpkin competition coming along? I think my Rosaline is in with a fine chance this year. She’s been crooning over her garden for weeks now. If only she’d croon like that for me—”
“Good to see you, Billy. Rosaline’s harvest looks spectacular. But if I could have a word about something else…”
“I was starting to think you’d blown yourself to bits or something,” he chortled. “You haven’t been by in weeks. I had to feed most of the gizzards you usually buy to the dogs. Not that they complained, and it's not like I could sell it to anyone else.”
Gretchen felt her cheeks burn, and she scratched her head as she scrambled for an excuse.
“Just on one of those cleansing diets, you know. Read about this one in the Witch’s Digest. Supposed to be good for your chakras. Of course, it only lasted a few weeks before everything started to taste like sulfur, and I feel just as unbalanced as I usually do.”
“Pah,” Billy waved a hand. “You should give up listening to that rubbish. A good feed of liver is what you need.”
“I’ll be by in a few days.” Gretchen nodded and reached to tap his shoulder as he turned back to his buddies. “But I need to talk to you about something. I hear you have a deal going with some leather smiths from the city.”
“That lot?” He rolled his eyes. “They want me to bring them a new delivery every week! Never heard anything more absurd in my life. There’s nothing at all wrong with my cellar, and if they think they can bully me into scurrying into the city whenever they crook their finger, they’ve got another thing coming.”
“Listen, I need this deal to work out. They have something of mine, and I need it back. What would you be agreeable to?”
Billy looked momentarily befuddled and smothered a belch with the back of his hand. “I said I’d make a trip once every three weeks, same as always. I bring in cured meats for the palace and bring back salts for the shop. There’ll be no special deliveries, if it’s good enough for the palace, it's good enough for the likes of them.”
He had a point. And if Billy only made the trip every three weeks, they
were poles apart on a settlement. Unless there was a third party who was making a trip to the city regularly—
“Billy, how thick is a rolled hide?” Gretchen narrowed her eyes.
He frowned and held his hands up in an approximation. “Why?”
Gretchen undid the laces of her infinity pouch and held its mouth as far as it would stretch. When Billy screwed up his face, she thrust her arm in up to her shoulder and waggled her eyebrows.
“Well, I’ll be.” Billy rubbed his chin. “Full of tricks, your sort. Shame it would be too narrow.”
Gretchen chewed her lip and sagged. “What if you sliced the hides in half?”
“Don't ask me,” he shrugged. “It’s them who are the fussy buggers.”
Gretchen spun on her heel and cast around for the pair. They’d since moved on, and she muttered a curse under her breath. The crowds had thickened around the baker’s section. She was running out of time.
Elbowing past people who were dawdling, she pushed in the opposite direction toward the livestock and combed the aisles before spotting Ewan’s scalp. She groaned and trotted toward them, ignoring Ewan’s curled lip when he saw her.
“I have,” she gulped a mouthful of air, “a plan. There’s no chance old Billy will make a delivery once a week. But I travel to the city most days.”
Cal rolled his finger in the air impatiently.
“Now, given I’m on a broomstick, there will have to be a compromise. I can’t carry a full skin in my pouch, but if we slice ‘em in half, I can bring as many as you’d like.” She unstrung her pouch, and Cal’s eyes boggled as she gave the same demonstration she’d shown Billy.
“Is that from Elod’s Emporium? How does one such as—”
“Don’t believe a word of it!” Ewan interjected. “She’s not to be trusted. And cutting the hides will only make for more wastage, which eats into our profits.”