“But that's impossible.” Gretchen almost toppled as the wagon fell into another rut. “And after pulling that stunt Mandell thinks he can win him over again?”
The Cauley Brothers' eyes flickered almost as one behind her and Gretchen turned on her bench seat. The scribe had urged his mount to fall into step beside them and an open book rested in the crook of his arm. She turned back to the brothers who had fallen into silent stares.
“So, when are we going over the flash bang stuff? Not that I can’t handle myself, mind, but those things are dangerous.”
Another of the brothers cleared his throat and spoke in measured tones. “We have prepared the supplies for travel in those crates.” He nodded toward a wagon at the back of the line. “It would be irresponsible to handle them out in the open air. Once we get to the fort, we will go through the instructions.”
The hair prickled at the back of Gretchen’s neck and she swiveled to stare at the scribe who scratched away with his quill. He looked up at her with narrowed eyes.
“Anything I can help you with, bucko?” Gretchen sat straighter and glared.
“I am capturing your likeness.” His voice was crisp. “For the historical accounts.”
Gretchen bristled at his tone and waved a finger in front of him. “It’s people like you that give witches a bad name. One of these days, you normal folk will realize how much we contribute to society. It’s like Nora says—”
“We approach the crossroads.” Mandell trotted up on his plump pony and gave Gretchen a warning look before addressing the scribe. “If you are to rejoin the Prince's party, we must part ways. I trust you have all that you need?”
The scribe sniffed in Gretchen’s direction and snapped his book shut. “It will have to do. Ten years from now, the Prince himself will remember his deeds precisely as I have written them. “He urged his horse into an easy canter, and Mandell held up a hand before Gretchen could call after him.
“It’s his ‘account’ that delivers our bonus.”
“State sponsored propaganda,” Gretchen muttered.
Yowls erupted from behind the party and Mandell sighed. “At least the goblins held it together until he left.”
Gretchen turned and held her hand up against the glare. A green lump of tangled limbs raised a cloud of dust behind the last wagon. She chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t know how those guys survive out in the wild. They should have wiped themselves out by now carrying on like that.”
It was one of the Cauley brothers who educated her. “Mountain creatures, out in the wilds. Hardy, but there are high fatalities in family groups. Offset by high fertility of course.” He smirked. “Typically, they roam solo to hunt.”
“Yeah, well. Alls I’m saying is that if this Prince were clever, he’d throw a bone their way and let them fight to the death before moving on.”
Another of the brothers reached into his cloak and produced what appeared to be a small leather ball. Standing, he took aim and threw. The explosion left a cloud of purple smoke, and the goblins sprang apart circling the impact zone. Gretchen held a hand to her stomach as she cackled, tears stinging her eyes. The goblins began pointing and conversing in their guttural tongue appearing mystified at the strange assault. Glancing back at the caravan, they slunk back to trot quietly alongside the wagons.
Another rut in the road jostled Gretchen on her seat, and the wagon halted. The driver peered over the side and cursed.
Gretchen paid no mind to the driver speaking in animated tones with Mandell as she climbed down from the wagon holding the small of her back. A walk would do her good. At the rate they were going, they would deliver her to her station a cripple.
They’d reached the fork in the road, and dust on the left-hand side told her which way the scribe had gone. The other path looked less worn, overgrown with verdant green. She rubbed the muzzle of the horse leading the trail of carts and wagons. It looked relieved to rest while the procession had stopped.
“Where is this wraith holed up, anyway?” she called to the driver.
“A ruined tower a few miles yonder.” He pointed down the overgrown road. “And if we don’t make haste, we will probably have to make camp there tonight.”
His rounded eyes told her he didn’t relish the idea, and Gretchen pursed her lips. Sometimes she thought the relations between magical and normal folk were in a sad state of affairs. Nora would be livid if she knew what she was up to. But coin was coin, and a witch had to eat.
Voices called out behind them and as the driver pushed forward, Gretchen narrowly avoiding the turning wagon wheel heading toward her. She eyed the seat next to the driver but decided against it, choosing to walk on her own for a time to clear her head wondering at how she always ended up in those kinds of predicaments.
She was somewhere far away in her own reverie when shouts from the drivers snapped her attention back to her surroundings. A crumbling tower missing its top half stood in a small clearing, vines entombing the stone blocks. The path ended at the entrance, its wooden doors long rotted away, and tumbled blocks made for a minefield within twenty feet of the building.
“What a way to spend the rest of eternity.” Gretchen halted with her hands on her hips. “Fixer-upper is an understatement. What a dump.”
The wind picked up around her feet and she turned to see the rest of the group battered by an invisible force. A howling came from all around, and the skies darkened. Gretchen held onto her hat and crouched by a segment of wall.
“You dare set foot here, Mandell?”
Mandell’s pony seemed propelled forward to the entrance. The man himself batted away the frothy lace at his collar which whipped his face, his hat long gone. A dark shape emerged from the doorway. Gretchen squinted to make out the form of a knight in a full suit of armor. He stood with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his chin thrust upward.
“Sir Courtenay.” Mandell seemed to have his collar under control. “I beg a word, nay, a proposition.”
The wind settled around the caravan, and Gretchen saw the goblins cowering inside a wagon.
“A proposition is what you made last time.” He glared beneath bushy eyebrows, his long mustaches puffing up as he pursed his lips. “You, sir, are a charlatan.”
Mandell held up his hands and scrambled off his mount. “A misunderstanding, no more. Did you not enjoy the ethereal elixir?”
Gretchen smirked as the knight’s cheeks darkened. If wraiths could go purple, he’d have looked like a beetroot by then.
“You promised an end to my misery on this plane of existence. Instead, you brought me swill.”
“Now, now. A good brandy always puts an end to my misery. Top shelf stuff it was, cost me a pretty penny—”
“Leave this place,” Sir Courtenay bellowed.
Gretchen screwed her face up as the wind swirled and stumbled toward the pair, hand clamped to her hat. Mandell braced himself against the gusts with eyes clenched shut, and Sir Courtenay turned his attention toward Gretchen.
“You bring this hag into my presence? More empty promises of seeing my fair lady beyond the veil?”
Gretchen paid him no mind and narrowed her eyes as she waved a hand through his midsection.
“Get your vile hands off me!”