He was getting away at a good clip juggling a pie and a tankard of ale, chatting with a man who bore a familial resemblance. With a full head of hair. Gretchen sidled past onlookers and people standing around chattering in walkways and cut the pair off in the intersection of wool displays and blocks of lanolin.
“Ewan!” Gretchen threw her arms up with a grin. “Fancy seeing you here, pal.”
His eyebrows were indeed intact and furrowed as he glared at her. “The witch from the marketplace. Charlatan, fraudster, and rogue operator.” His lip curled as he turned to his companion. “This is the one I told you about.”
The smothered smirk told Gretchen the guy saw the funny side of her hairy prank.
“Listen, ah, I can see from your eyebrows,” she pointed vaguely at her own. “That you thought better of my de-hair potion. So, if you want to give it back, we’ll just call it even, yeah?”
His face turned mottled red, and he bunched his fists at his sides.
“Of course, I didn’t fall for your ruse.” He reached up to scratch his neck. “I wanted to put a stop to your wicked schemes. I know your sort. Give them something with unexpected consequences and charge exorbitant fees to put it right again. Give it time and the word will spread about you, mark my words. You won't sell so much as a sniffle tonic after that.”
Gretchen drew a deep breath through her nose and gritted her teeth. This wouldn’t be easy. “Look, do you have it with you or not? It seems you have me over a barrel, as it were, and I’m willing to play nice to make a deal.”
Ewan burst out in a raucous laugh, slapping his companion’s back. Gretchen was thinking it may be his brother, and from the look of calculation in his eye, she wagered he’d won the brains in the family. Prepared for an involved negotiation and cataloging what she had on hand to offer, she clapped her hands to get Ewan’s attention.
“What is it you want, Ewan? Like I said from the start, I can brew you a tonic that will give you a luscious head of hair by morning. You’ll have women braiding flowers in it with wistful looks in their eyes all day long. I’ll take care of that impressive pelt you’ve got going on down your back, too. Alls I need is that potion back.”
It was the brother’s turn to chuckle, and Ewan’s face sobered as he looked at her with contempt. “I don’t believe a word of it. You won’t have your vile concoction back until I see proof.”
Gretchen scrubbed a hand over her face, knowing full well she didn’t have what she needed on hand to mix a potion even if she could find someone willing to lend her a cauldron. “I need that potion now, and it will take days to get a hair brew like that right. What else do you need? Surely, you aren’t at a county fair to drink in the sights?”
“We’re in negotiations,” The brother piped up. “With the butcher who has signed a contract with a grazier from up north. Forgive my brother. My name is Cal.”
Ewan glared, but Cal gave him a dismissive wave.
“Pleased to meet you, Cal. Now, I suspect these negotiations are… problematic?”
“The reason why our goods are the finest is a matter of the quality of the raw product we work with.” He pressed his lips together. “The bargain is stuck on the issue of delivery. The butcher would prefer to make less frequent trips to the city, and we cannot agree to have our materials drying out in his storerooms.”
“I see.” The cogs in Gretchen’s mind turned as she tried to figure out a plausible way to help the transaction. “Who’s the butcher?”
Cal’s eyebrow twitched to a spot behind him where Rosaline’s husband Billy stood yammering with some other shop owners from her own small town. Gretchen had been a customer for years and felt villainous when she’d started buying from the guy in the city after long days manning her stall.
“Well, um.” Gretchen patted her pouch, racking her brain on what kind of potion fixes a problem like that. “Let me talk to the guy.”
Ewan opened his mouth to protest, but Cal clamped a hand on his shoulder to silence him. Gretchen left them to mutter in animated tones at one another and sauntered toward Billy.
“Gretchen.” He lifted his tankard in greeting, his face already flushed from drink. “How’s the pumpkin competition coming along? I think my Rosaline is in with a fine chance this year. She’s been crooning over her garden for weeks now. If only she’d croon like that for me—”
“Good to see you, Billy. Rosaline’s harvest looks spectacular. But if I could have a word about something else…”
“I was starting to think you’d blown yourself to bits or something,” he chortled. “You haven’t been by in weeks. I had to feed most of the gizzards you usually buy to the dogs. Not that they complained, and it's not like I could sell it to anyone else.”
Gretchen felt her cheeks burn, and she scratched her head as she scrambled for an excuse.
“Just on one of those cleansing diets, you know. Read about this one in the Witch’s Digest. Supposed to be good for your chakras. Of course, it only lasted a few weeks before everything started to taste like sulfur, and I feel just as unbalanced as I usually do.”
“Pah,” Billy waved a hand. “You should give up listening to that rubbish. A good feed of liver is what you need.”
“I’ll be by in a few days.” Gretchen nodded and reached to tap his shoulder as he turned back to his buddies. “But I need to talk to you about something. I hear you have a deal going with some leather smiths from the city.”
“That lot?” He rolled his eyes. “They want me to bring them a new delivery every week! Never heard
