Leak (Notevember 2021, #23)

This is not the first time the Witch and Hortense make an appearance during Notevember. Check out “Dragonflew” from 2019 and “Potion” from 2020.

“HORTE- oh there you are,” the Witch said. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, girl.”

“Wasn’t sneaking, mistress,” her apprentice answered. “Just looking over your shoulder, like.”

“Hortense, did you – and I’m not angry if you did – but did you break this Potion of Ocean?”

“No, mistress. And you would be angry if I did.”

“I would not. Only if you had broken it and not told me.”

“Didn’t break it. So nothing to tell.”

The Witch narrowed her eyes and fixed Hortense with her gaze, but the girl just gave a slow blink, unperturbed. She wasn’t as easily rattled as she used to be, and the Witch’s usual techniques for light initimidation were failing quite often, now. Then again, Hortense had begun owning up to her mistakes – which were no longer as numerous – and acting like a somewhat responsible girl.

Or young woman, really. Puberty had hit her like a wagonload of bricks, and her face had taken the brunt of it, sporting acne like it was making a statement. Not that there weren’t magical salves and creams available for that sort of thing – working for a witch had its benefits.

Pimples notwithstanding, the changes brought on by adolescence were mostly good. Hortense was less scatterbrained now, and managed to get through entire brewing sessions without losing focus. Not every brewing session, mind. There were still times when the Witch found her assistant’s attention wandering, or caught her in a daydream. A sharp word or snapping her fingers in front of Hortense’s face was efficient to bring the girl in line, though. Unless she was dreaming of boys or girls, of course.

Not that the Witch could reproach her on that account. As long as she kept her wits about her and didn’t do something silly, like elope – and made sure to keep up with her work and studies – Hortense could fantasize as she pleased. Slightly worrying, though, was the attention she was getting from a startling number of her peers.

Not that the Witch suspected her apprentice of foul play; Hortense was charming enough in her own right. (Having a better education, smoother skin and more teeth than the average villager’s child probably helped.) Besides, she knew to leave love potions well enough alone. They were unpredictable at best, and selling them were a morally questionable practice in the first place, at least for this Witch and her sidekick.

The fact that Hortense was popular and making friends – and customers – would not have bothered the Witch so much, were it not for the strange ideas some of the village youngsters were spreading. But what teenager isn’t a fool? Though some were more fools than others, she supposed.

Hortense’s question brought the Witch’s attention back to the issue at hand. “Will you be making a new one, mistress?”

“Of course! The Naval College pays good money for these. How do you think Melihilda the Crone could afford those new gold teeth? They commissioned three from her. Three!”

“Could you, maybe, not make one?” pleaded Hortense.

The Witch was surprised at this request. “Why would I not?”

“Well, your recipe requires shark fins, and a leatherback turtle’s bill, and ground coral. All those are endangered or threatened species, and I don’t think we should be using them. We’d be contributing to an industry of exploitation, and…”

“Woah there, girl, slow down.” The Witch hadn’t seen Hortense so agitated in a long time. Where was she getting this from? “Who told you all that?”

“My friends,” Hortense said, obviously avoiding further details.

“What friends?” the Witch pressed her.

“My friends in the village.”

“Yes, which friends?”

“In particklar?”

“In particular, yes, Hortense.”

“Wilgum, and Danley, and, um, Marisett.”

“Oh dear, do parents these days not have any decent names to give their children? What is Danley’s first name?”

“Danley is his first name.”

“Really? If a boy had been called Danley when I was fifteen, he would have been the laughing stock of the entire town.”

Her apprentice was visibly upset at that. “That was two ‘undred years ago, and things change!”

“Two hundred and twenty, thankyouverymuch, and not all change is for the better. And Marisett, that’s the girl who sings in the choir, yes?”

“Yes, and she really cares about the sea! I gave her a Brew of the Deep Blue, and she almost cried. She’s so sweet, and she writes these amazing songs, and—

“Deep blues,” the Witch interrupted her.

“No, it’s more like folk songs, bard stuff really, and—“

“No, Hortense. Brew of the Deep Blues is what it’s called. That potion has nothing to do with anything marine. It just induces depression.”

“Oh. That explains a few things.”

“I can imagine. Now, how many other potions have you sold to your friends in the village?”

“None, mistress,” claimed Hortense.

“Uh huh. And if we were to translate ‘none’ into an exact number, that number would be…?”

“… eight.”

“Goddess grant you wisdom, girl! I thought we were getting somewhere, but then you go and do something like this.”

“I can fix it, mistress, I promise.”

“You promise, do you? And what solution did you have in mind?”

“Maybe a solution of meadowsweet and sun-willow in alcohol? Or if not a tincture, maybe a Mind-Mender’s Tea with an infusion of tire-me-not added to it?”

“So, my eager apprentice, am I to conclude that you want to solve your potion problem… with a potion?”

“Yes?”

The Witch sighed deeply. “Take a seat, ‘Ortense. We need to talk.”