The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Three

"What you got for me this time?" said the witch, reaching under her cap to give her scalp a scratch. She wanted the boy to know she didn't give a rat's arse about him turning up unannounced, even if he found her wearing her nightdress.

John rummaged in his bag, pulling out a few posies and chucked them over to her. The witch turned them over in her hand, pulling off leaves and rubbing them between her fingers to release their scent. "The usual. Meadowsweet, Feverfew, Pennyroyal," he said. "I've also got some Lad's Love. Held it back, just for you. Thought you might be in need of some." He was practically winking at her with those huge brown eyes of his. Next he'd start flicking his hair.

"Yes, yes," said the witch, pointedly ignoring that last comment. She shifted in her chair, trying not to sneeze. Pennyroyal always made her nose itch. "Anything a bit more specialist?"

"Fairy lights?" He pulled out a small glass jar with two sparks of light lazily buzzing around inside.

"How much?"

"Ten."

"Ten coppers? I ain't paying that for two dozy fairies who look half dead."

"Ten silver," he corrected. "Each." He ran his fingers through his hair, making the unruly curls even messier.

She snorted at that, spitting into the fire so the flames sizzled.

"Impressive," said John.

"I was aiming for the pot," said the witch, hauling herself out of the chair and giving the contents of the cauldron a good stir. It didn't need it, but the boy was looking at her in that intense way of his. It made her feel sluggish, and that was no way to do business. She laid the spoon down across the top of the pot, an old trick taught her by her mother to stop it boiling over. The fire was far too hot, but it would have to wait. "And you, my boy, are trying to distract me from your hogwash. In my day they were a copper each and could brighten a room for a month through."

"In your day people didn't spend all night trying to poach the darn things because candles are taxed too high."

"Right enough," she agreed. "Times are hard." She clucked her tongue. "Fine. I'll take them. Both of them. I'm not sending another copper up to the citadel if I can avoid it."

"Good girl."

She snorted at that. Patronising sod.

He set the jar down on the table, pulled a small notebook out of his bag and made a note of the purchase. That earnt a look of surprise from the witch. What kind of man wastes paper on something as trivial as commerce?

From the corner of his eye, he caught her look and suppressed a smile. He knew what his customers thought about him and his stub of pencil, which is exactly why he did it.

"Anything else?" he asked, sticking the pencil behind his ear. "Eye of newt and toe of frog, or perhaps some wool of bat and tongue of dog?"

"Don't be disgusting."

"On the subject of disgusting," said John, wandering over to inspect the contents of the cauldron now bubbling happily on the fire. "What spell are you cooking up in here? You going to turn me into a prince?"

"Hardly. That there is my dinner. I would invite you to stay, but I ain't got space at me table for a peddler."

"And so ends another beautiful relationship." He gave a dramatic sigh and clutched his chest. "You're a real heartbreaker. You know that? Would it be appropriate to ask if we can still be friends? No. Should have guessed not. Well, let's keep it strictly professional then. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"What do you mean?" She squinted at him. She could never guess how much he really knew.

"You just looked like you wanted to ask me for something. It's all right. No request too small and all that." He grinned, something that always set her on edge.

That boy was far too charming for his own good. She hated charming men. It made her feel old. Ah well, what did it matter? She needed him, she wasn't too proud to admit it.

The witch eased herself back into her chair, taking her time to settle before rummaging in her pocket for a single gold crown. She laid it down on the arm of the chair, making sure to make it click against the oak.

"It ain't small."

"So it's big? Great. Big is good. I like big." He tore his eyes away from the coin just long enough to find a fresh page in his notebook and poise his pencil stub.

"I want you to go south," she said once she was sure the coin had done it's work. She could see he was trying to tear his eyes away it, and failing. "There's a book I need you to get for me."

"A magic book?"

She smirked. So he really was that ignorant. Good. "I suppose. I need you to steal it for me and bring it back here."

"Steal?"

She nodded. "Oh yes."

"Is it guarded?"

"Probably. But not as well as it will be a month from now when it's completed."

John frowned, trying to understand what she meant. "Are you saying that it's still being written?"

"So they say."

John's arms fell to his sides, all thoughts of taking notes forgotten. "What do you mean 'they'? God, you know, I really hate it when people say they. Who are 'they'? Where do 'they' go when they are not being 'they'? Do 'they' go down the pub on their nights off?"

"'They' are none of your business. Now do you want to hear the rest of it?"

He opened his mouth to say no, that he wasn't interested. He had enough to be getting on with sourcing ingredients for other witches in the valley. He could do without this one. The others might limit themselves to dried herbs which they were too lazy to grow in their own gardens, but at least they paid on time.

She placed her elbows on the armrest of her chair, nudging the coin ever so slightly so that the gold glittered in the firelight. He swallowed hard and nodded. "Go on," he said, his voice catching in his throat.

The witch smiled. Perhaps charming men weren't so bad after all.