Spider forgotten, her face lit up, and she trod straight through the wraith and peered down a small ravine where trees clustered close together. Paying no mind to the knight’s protests behind her, she slid down the slope and sniffed at the damp air.
Clustered among the roots were clumps of speckled, green mushrooms. Enough to pay for an entire apocrypha of ingredients. She frantically shook to empty her bag and plucked at her prize being mindful not to break the stalks from the cups. When she eased onto her backside and grinned up the slope, she noticed Sir Courtenay’s spectral form had disappeared. Casting around, she gazed up at slopes too steep to climb, on each side of the ravine.
“Sir Courtenay?” she called. Crickets. Blinking a few times, she pushed herself to her feet. “Little help, here?”
When no response came, she scowled and reached to a tree root winding down the slope. It was slick to the touch and the lichen slimy. It wouldn’t offer the kind of purchase needed to haul herself out.
“Darn it. Should never have trusted that spookster. Why, when I find him, I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind.”
With clenched teeth, Gretchen dropped her bag of mushrooms and re-gathered the discarded yarrow from the forest floor. From a pouch hanging from her belt she retrieved the field kit she kept on hand for times like these.
“Down a hole, now let me see…”
She narrowed her eyes at the tiny, corked vials strapped into the leather case and bit her lip. It looked a little light on account of the alchemist holding her to ransom on supplies, and nothing stood out as particularly useful.
“Unless…” Gretchen shook her head. “Dangerous. Irresponsible.”
But she was damned if she was going to stay in that hole while Sir Courtenay collected her paycheck.
Chapter 6
She landed in sight of the old fort coughing purple smoke and wheezing. Staggering to her feet, she checked under her shirt to see if the mushrooms had survived the blast. They remained nestled along with her field kit in the waistband of her hose and she barked a laugh. When she looked up her face sobered.
“What, madam, do you call that?” Mandell’s eyebrows climbed his forehead.
“A well-placed explosion to get me out of that darn hole. Now, where is that crap-filled suit of armor?” Gretchen spun around, and the caravan behind her squawked with laughter.
Gretchen’s eyes widened, and she ran hands down her dress to the burned hole in the back where her rump hung out. Her cheeks burned as she turned a glare over her shoulder. “Here, now. You never seen a witch’s derriere before? That’s a prime piece of real estate, right there. I should be charging you gawkers a viewing fee!”
The laughing turned to snickers, though some drivers had the decency to avert their eyes. Mandell puffed himself up and glowered. “You stray from our party and get lost. With the Prince on his way, you let off an almighty explosion, likely visible for miles, and you have the audacity to admonish us?”
Gretchen wrenched at her skirt and turned, painfully aware of the scorching on her rear end. After unwinding her shawl and tying it in place over the offending hole, she flexed each muscle starting at her toes and rolled her neck with a satisfying crack. “Well, I wasn’t about to sit this one out. Not after coming all this way.” She squinted at the sky where the sun’s last rays shone directly into her eyes, but there was no missing the plume of purple smoke billowing above the tree line. “Let’s call that atmospherics. Encouragement for the young whippersnapper.”
“This changes nothing, Mandell.” Sir Courtenay’s head popped up over the ramparts. “I will not be relegated to a cave on account of that harridan. She can work her foul magic in that stinking cavern!”
“You!” Gretchen glowered and pointed at the knight. “Throw me down a hole, will you? I know a few choice spells to use on your kind, buster, and if you think—”
“Silence!” Mandell held his hands up and stepped up into the wagon bed. “This is my production. Carefully planned with our benefactors. A witch in the fort, a wraith in the cave. If you will not play your part, you can depart.”
Gretchen folded her arms in front of her and pouted. Sir Courtenay breezed down to the wagons with his chin thrust in the air. “You may be able to dress one of your drivers in a frock, but how will you replace someone of my… visage?”
Mandell’s jaw clenched, and he balled his fists at his sides. The drivers and the two Cauley brothers stood motionless as they looked on with barely concealed smirks.
“Fine.” Mandell sagged. “Have it your way. I can station you both in the fort.”
Gretchen’s eyes boggled. “You can’t mean that I have to hang out with this screwball? It was a hole last time. What if he conjures up a wind and tosses me off the wall?”
“You are a witch, madam. Surely you can handle a ghost.” Mandell curled his lip. “Even one with party tricks.”
He turned to walk away, and a torrent whipped up around him. Gretchen fell backward and cursed as she landed on her tender tooshie clamping her hat to her head. Mandell flew from the ground in a spinning blur, and the Cauley brothers leaped into action.
From under their cloaks they produced vials which they hurtled in Sir Courtenay’s direction. When they smashed on the ground a white mist enveloped the knight freezing him in place. Mandell dropped to the ground with an undignified grunt, and the drivers urged the wagons away from the spectacle.
“Is that…?” Pain forgotten, Gretchen pushed herself to her feet and circled round the mist.
“A freezing potion. We thought it may come in handy when Mandell said we needed him.” The Cauley brothers stooped to collect the glass from the ground and waved their arms around the site, presumably to contain the spell.
“I’ve half a mind to leave him like that.” Mandell yanked at his coat and tucked his lace collar into his shirt. “I hope you have a steady supply?”
The brothers mumbled their assent, and Gretchen turned to the wagons disappearing down the trail.
“Hey!” She waved an arm. “You plan on leaving me with this wardrobe malfunction? What am I supposed to do, moon the Prince from the ramparts when he arrives?”
“Our supplies are already here.” One of the Cauley brothers rummaged through a crate by the door. “You are fortunate that we always pack burn salves. The needle and thread are surgical, but they should do the job.”
Gretchen blinked. Burn salve, surgical equipment? “Look, just show me where I can fix myself up and catch a nap.” She twisted her skirts. “I plan on being ready and rested by the time that guy thaws out.”
Mandell trudged off grumbling about ale, and Gretchen followed the Cauley brother through the main door into the crumbling keep. They ascended stone steps into a drafty hallway filled with spider webs and arrived at a door seemingly out of place. Its hinges didn’t protest, and the wood seemed sturdy; beyond was a simple room with sparse furnishings.
“We expect the Prince to reach the woods in the early morning. All being well, he should reach the fort by noon.” He set the salve and surgical kit on a small dresser. “We can discuss the plan and the props after you have… recovered.”