Witch Webb and the Exploding Enchantress

Chapter 1
The Messenger from the Castle

“What are we still doing here?” Webb Weaver dug her fingers into the dark earth, feeling for and finding the roots of a weed. She pulled and tossed it onto the growing pile with ruthless glee. “You are not wanted here,” she said under her breath.

“Did you say something?” Her husband Eustace asked.

“I was wondering why we’re still living in this part of the kingdom.” She reached into the dirt again and felt the magic flow through her hands. She concentrated and returned it into her garden, giving the plants a little boost. “This is a bad time for witches.” She knelt on her hands and knees and plucked three new weeds, just sprouts really, and added them to the pile. “You know last month the people of Rostok chased their witch out of town with pitchforks and torches. And before that, Witch Nokks found her cabin mysteriously aflame late one night. She escaped unharmed, thankfully, but then she’s always been especially skilled at elemental magic.”

Eustace stood shirtless in the afternoon sun and wiped the sweat from his brow. A stack of freshly split wood lay around the tree stump and at his feet. “Nokks lived near Belnap, a village known for its religious zealotry and Rostok is more closed-minded these days now that the new queen has taken the throne. But Gastonia is progressive and open to new ideas. Always has been.” He picked up another piece of wood and set it on the stump in front of him. “Although, I’ve found Gastonians to be far too lazy to stay angry at someone long enough to burn a house down.” He brought the ax down and two more pieces of firewood fell to the ground.

“The Gwires had a cow give birth to a two-headed calf the other day. And the crops went bad at all the farms located along the southern mountains.”

“Coincidence.”

“Of course, it’s a coincidence! But things like that start people to thinkin’. They look for excuses and portents and get all sorts of foolish notions in their heads.”

“Aren’t the Gwires the same family where you successfully delivered that breech birth last winter?”

“Yes, but goodwill only goes so far. The people you help one day can be the same ones coming at you with pitchforks the next time the creek dries up and the crops wither.” The two of them worked at their respective tasks in silence for a few minutes before Witch Webb spoke again. “You know that goat I slaughtered yesterday? The entrails gave omens of change. There’s change coming Eustace, and we need to be prepared for it when it arrives.” She shook a carrot at him for emphasis.

“Big deal,” he replied. “Life is nothing but change. What makes this change any more omen-y than any other change?” He split another log, repositioned it, and split it again. “What’s for dinner tonight anyway?”

Witch Webb gave him a pointed look.

He nodded. “Right. Goat.” He was getting to the end of his chopping pile and all that was left was stacking the cut wood against the side of the house. It was a task he was not looking forward to. Instead, he glanced over to his wife as she was bent over the garden between the cabbages and the carrots. She was facing away from him, he idly watched as her backside swayed slightly while reaching for another weed. A moment later Witch Webb felt two familiar hands circling her waist.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey what?”

“Hey,” he said again, this time filling the word with more meaning.

Witch Webb turned around and greeted her husband anew. “Well look at you. Right here? In full view of the world?”

“Not the world, just the forest. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen, we shock a couple of prudish deer? We’re leagues away from another homestead.”

She tugged her hands at his breeches as he reached under her skirt. A moment later her bloomers enthusiastically struck a cabbage. He nuzzled her neck as she settled into the dirt around her. Suddenly she stopped.

“What’s that?” Eustace lifted his head.

“We’ve been married for over a year. I should think you would know what that is.”

“No, no. I thought I heard a sound.” They waited a moment until they both heard knocking coming from the front of the house.

Eustace leaned back. “Figures.”

“I’ll get the door. You put those away,” she said, pointing to the enbloomered cabbage. Brushing herself off as best she could and straightening her skirts, she entered her home through the back door and walked briskly to the front. Good thing people coming up the walkway couldn’t see what went on in the garden, she thought. She ran her fingers through her hair, took a deep breath, and opened the door just as a man appeared ready to knock a third time.

To Witch Webb he had the appearance of a man who did not have to work hard in his life. He was in his early thirties, but the fleshiness around his neck and jowls and the paunch around the middle told her that his livelihood was made not in the fields or a merchant’s shop but probably at a desk. He wore the royal colors of Gastonia, and the fabric was of better quality than those given to messengers. Also, messengers ran quickly from place to place, which this man did not. “Howdy,” she said, leaning on the door jam. “You’re here from the castle on a mission…” She noted the small crown embroidered in gold thread on his left lapel. “… from the king himself. My, my, what could King Mund want from me?”

The man seemed to lose his breath for a moment. His eyes opened wide, and his mouth hung open in a gawp. “Remarkable! They said you had powers of perception beyond mortal ken and surely you do!”

Witch Webb smiled and shrugged. He remembered his manners and removed his hat. “My name is Melbourne ma’am, attaché to his glorious majesty. Would you be Mrs. Webbeville Weaver?”

“How formal you are. Call me Witch Webb. Everyone does.”

“I am here on an urgent but delicate matter. May I come inside please and discuss it with you?” She moved aside allowing him through but when he crossed the doorway he suddenly stopped and shuddered. “Heavens, what was that?”

“Protective wards. They keep the house safe. You never know what kind of weirdos are out there. But you didn’t burst into flames, so I guess you’re okay.”

“Flames? Good Lord! Would that happen?”

She shrugged. “Possibly.” She pulled a chair from the kitchen table. “Please sit Mr. Melbourne. Are you hungry? We have some leftover goat.”

“Oh, no thank you very much. Although something to wash the dust out of my throat would be appreciated.” She handed him a simple wooden cup with runes carved around the rim and poured water from a pitcher. Melbourne looked dubious. Then she poured one for herself and took a drink.

“I purify it myself so there’s nothing in here that shouldn’t be.”

Mr. Melbourne took a sip, smacked his lips, and then finished the rest of it. She poured him another. Eustace entered through the back door, and she introduced the two men. They shook hands and her husband left to give them privacy to converse. Melbourne took another sip. “He seems like a pleasant fellow.”

“He is.”

“He seems disappointed about something.”

“Well, never mind about that. What brings you here Mr. Melbourne?”

He took a sip. “It is not common knowledge yet but there has been a murder at the castle. The death appears to have the trappings of magic about it and his royal highness would like someone with your skills to take a look at it.”

“Doesn’t the king have someone living there at the castle whose sole job is to deal with magic in all of its many permutations?”

“You’re referring to the king’s Preceptor of All Things Magical. Yes, it is she who is the victim. All we know is that she met with some unpleasantness.”

Witch Webb leaned in closer, and her voice dropped to a more conspiratorial volume. “What sort of unpleasantness?”

“No one is sure yet. It was a big, sudden and unexpected unpleasantness considering they are still mopping her off the walls.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Yes indeed. Nasty business. Now you see a bit of what we are dealing with. On the floor they found a sigil burned into the stonework. I made a drawing of it.” Melbourne reached into his tunic and produced a piece of onion skin which he flattened on the table with the palm of his hands.

Witch Webb looked at it, immediately snatched it off the table, and threw it into the hearth fire. It flared up in purple flames and was gone. Melbourne stood up, a look of panic on his face.

“What was that? It couldn’t be harmful! I drew it myself and I have no truck with magic.” Witch Webb poked at the ashes with a small stick.

“That’s likely what saved you. That and your minimal artistic talent.” She stood and wiped her hands on her skirts. “That was a summoning mark. A high-powered spell to draw nether beings from their murky world and into ours. It’s like a gold-embossed invitation for demons, hellions, imps, and succubae. You say this symbol is burned into a floor somewhere?”

“Er, yes, in the Preceptor’s workroom at the top of one of the castle towers. Her name was Madame Malvo and she consulted with his majesty on all things dark and arcane. Early yesterday morning one of the maids heard an explosion in the tall tower and it was she who found the, um, remains. We decided it best to get someone more familiar with magic to look into it.”

Witch Webb smiled. “So, you came to me, huh?”

“Well, no, not at first. Our first choice was Witch Gudrunn but she is traveling abroad to see a new grandchild.”

“Oh. But after that?”

“Witch Carmodie was attending a workshop on incantations a few villages west of here and couldn’t easily be reached.”

“So, I was…?”

“The closest.”

“Oh.”

“Truthfully when I asked around, the villagers warned that you might not be the best choice. They said you could be a bit prickly.”

“Prickly? Who’s prickly?” Her voice raised just enough to be heard outside and Eustace quickly interceded between her and the bureaucrat, much to Melbourne’s relief. Once she had calmed down, Witch Webb returned to the table and fixed Melbourne’s gaze in hers. “All right this is what’s going to happen. I’ll investigate this because I don’t like anyone thinking they can go around killing us practitioners of the arts. First, it’s your Madame Malvo and then they try that foolishness on one of us witches and I won’t have that. Best to let people know right off that that butter will not churn around here!” She thumped her fist lightly on the table. “It’s a slippery slope, Mr. Melbourne!”

The bureaucrat sat back in his chair. “Well, it shows wonderful loyalty to your fellow witches that you would defend her this way.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, this Malvo person was certainly no witch. Most likely she was a talented amateur or maybe someone with a real skill who left her studies to pursue politics instead. Some people value that sort of thing although I’ll never understand why.”

Melbourne seemed to take offense to that comment in his quiet way, so quiet that Witch Webb missed it entirely.

“Madame Malvo sounds more like a brothel owner than a preceptor, whatever that is.”

“A preceptor is like an instructor or the head of a school,” Eustace added.

Witch Webb turned to her husband. “Look at you, being all smart and stuff! Anyway, I’ve never met her before, but she’s not a witch. Being a real witch takes aptitude, study, practice, and a few years of apprenticeship. Oh, and empathy. People always forget empathy but it’s one of the few traits that separate the good ones from the, well, not-so-good ones. Anyway, by the time we’re finished with our studies you can bet we use the title of Witch every chance we get! Besides, we’re a small group around here and I would have remembered hearing about someone arriving in these lands calling themselves Witch Malvo.”

“So, it’s done then?” Melbourne rubbed his hands together. “You’ll be coming with me to the castle?”

“Sure, we’ll need a cart and horse to take us to the castle. Gastonia is a ways away and I’m sure you’d like us to get there as soon as possible.”

“I thought you would ride there.”

“We don’t have any horses. I walk where I need to go unless I am in a hurry and then I use the broom.”

“The broom then.”

“It’s too small to fit both my husband and me.”

“Ah, I see the confusion. I was only asking to hire you and you alone. Not your husband. No offense.”

“None taken, but it’s both of us or none at all.”

“Both of you? But I…”

“We’re a team Mr. Melbourne, so go make arrangements to travel with two extra people instead of one or you can go find the next closest witch.”

Melbourne leaned back in his chair. “Fine. Both of you then.”

“Good. You can rent us a horse and a cart in the village. It is a few miles east of here so it shouldn’t take you more than an hour or so.”

“Rent you a cart?”

“You better go now, time’s a’wastin’ and all that. I’m sure the king won’t mind you spending some of his massive wealth on a tiny little two-person cart.” Witch Webb helped Melbourne up out of his chair and angled him towards the door. “Good man, getting on this quickly. His majesty will be very pleased with your efficiency. Off you go now.”

Melbourne was about to protest but when he turned around, he found himself outside the cabin and the door closed firmly in his face.