Potion (Notevember 2020, #4)

“Hortense?” The Witch called for her apprentice. “Hortense!” Sigh. Where had she gone off to this time?
    “Yes, mistress?” came a belated response, along with a ruddy face peering in through the workshop window.
    “Get in here, girl, and help me with the cauldron.”
Hortense traipsed into the room and set down a heavily laden basket by the table, before joining the Witch at the rack of assorted pots, pans and kettles.
    “The big ‘un, then?”
    “Yes, of course the big one, or else I’d not need help, now would I?”
Together, they hefted the sizable iron vessel from its resting place and, with synchronized grunts, heaved it onto the hook hanging over the fireplace.
    “What are we brewing?” asked Hortense as she moseyed on over to the table.
    “You tell me, girl.”
The apprentice peered over the herbs, mushrooms and other, less vegetarian odds and ends laid out on the wooden surface. “Toothwort, yarrow, red flycap. Feather of some kind… Heron? Newt’s feet. A blue moss of some sort, and dried winter-gall.”
    “Which means… ?”
    “Dunno,” Hortense shrugged.
    “Really, girl, this should not be that hard. For example, what is yarrow for?”
    “Healing, innit? Wounds and suchlike.”
    “Yes, ‘wounds and suchlike’ indeed. And the rest?”
    “Flycap addles the mind. Toothwort for ‘idden things. Newt for regaining. The rest I’m not sure about.”
The Witch joined her student at the table and pointed at the remaining ingredients one by one. “Heron for finding. Blue collier’s crown to counteract some of the flycap. And ‘winter-gall to carry the call’, remember?”
    Hortense did not particularly look like she remembered, but she gave a slow nod anyway. Then her gaze stopped at the far end of the table. “What about the coffee beans?”
    “Ah, yes…” The Witch picked up a fragrant kernel. “Most important of all, I should think.”
    “What’s it for, mistress?” The girl was genuinely curious now. Coffee was a novel ingredient, and not listed in any recipe the Witch had taught her apprentice.
    “The coffee, my dear Hortense, is to perk up very tired witches.”
    “Oh.”
    “Yes, oh. Silly questions, silly answers. Now, what might I be brewing? Give it your best guess, girl.”
    “Umm… “ Hortense looked over the assorted components for the concoction. “Could be a Retriever of the Lost? Or a Draft for the Distracted. Bit strange to use the big cauldron for that, though.”
    “Not if it had to boil down to something rather concentrated. These, dear Hortense, are the elements required to make a Potion of Recall. And I believe I need to recall something rather specific. You see, I find myself unable to remember most of yesterday, and the day before.”
    “Well, that’s because you took a sip of that Elixir of Forgetting, innit?” offered Hortense in a matter-of-fact tone.
    “I beg your pardon? I think I would remember if I had… done…” The Witch’s voice trailed off.
    “Was quite a generous sip, though. More a swig, really.”
    “Hortense, my girl – what, pray tell, would I need to forget so badly that I took a full swig of the Elixir?”
    “Oh, it’s nothing in particklar, mistress. Just some penile things.”
    “It’s ‘particular’, Hortense, and ‘senile’. And I am most certainly not senile, thank you very much.”
    “No, mistress. Penile is what I meant.”
The Witch’s eyes went very large and very round for a moment. “Hortense… I think I want some more detail.”
    “I don’t think you do. Took a swig for a reason, eh? Now I better be off.” And with that, Hortense picked up her basket and turned to leave.
    “Not so fast, girl! What’s in that basket?”
    “Just some rotten bark and old leaves and creepy crawly things, mistress. Bugs and roly polies and worms. Snacks.” Hortense did not quite manage to make it sound innocent, and the Witch had noticed.
    “Who would want a basketful of bugs for a snack?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.
    “Well, ‘ow much of yesterday do you remember, essackly?”
    “Now, ‘Ortense…”
    “Like, does ‘Bluebell’ mean anything special to you?”
    “Why?”
    “No reason…”
    “Don’t even try with me, girl.”
The workshop turned very quiet for a moment. Then the apprentice turned tail and ran, scattering bark and leaves and terrified insects as she went.
    The Witch blinked in surprise, uncharacteristically stupefied. But she quickly regained her senses and gave chase, bellowing “COME BACK HERE, HORTENSE!”