Sophrayni's Quiet Hunt Chapter 4.

Chapter 4.

More Stalls and more potions.

Sophrayni used a spell that Calizone had taught her to make the journey go faster. Even so, it was getting toward evening when she reached the outskirts of Cowton. There was a coaching inn on the road. She was delighted when the landlord immediately assumed she was the Witch of the Dark Forest and welcomed her with open arms.

Early the next morning, she left Shade with the landlord and walked into Cowton. As she had done in Bartsly, she disguised herself and used the spell that stopped people from paying too much attention to her.

It was clearly market day. Even though it was early, there were plenty of stalls laid out in the town square. She found the stall selling sleeping potions in what was probably the best position in the market.

As before, there was a small café with tables outside. Sophrayni sat down and was served by a young waitress. The table gave her a good view of the stall. It was very busy. People came, bought vials of the potion, and went away clutching them as if they were as precious as gold.

As Maggie had said, one of the first buyers was—judging by the quality of his clothes—the Kingsman of the town. Someone accompanied him. Sophrayni guessed it was his clerk.

But what really shook her wasn’t that people were buying the potion. It was who was selling it.

The stall holder looked exactly the same as the woman she had seen in Bartsly.

Sophrayni paid for her drink and casually strolled across to the stall.

The woman smiled and said, “If you need a good night’s sleep with no nightmares and no disturbing dreams—no dreams of any kind—one drop on your tongue is all it takes.” She smiled again. “It even helps with... over-eagerness. Especially in grown-ups who don’t know when to leave well enough alone. Try some on your man. Both of you would have a restful night.”

Sophrayni handed over a coin. As before, she reached out with her witch’s sense to examine the woman. The feeling was exactly the same as in Bartsly.

That made no sense. The stall holder was the exact same woman she’d seen yesterday. Same face, same voice, same cryptic smile. Either she had travelled faster than Sophrayni—or something stranger was at work.

Sophrayni walked back to the café and placed the vial on the table. She waved her hands over it, with exactly the same result as before.

The waitress came over. “If you don’t mind me saying, my Nan says you shouldn’t use that stuff. My Nan’s the charmer in Cowton, and she told me it’s bad magic.”

Sophrayni nodded. “I know. Your Nan is very wise to warn against it. Do you know how long that woman’s been selling it in the marketplace?”

The waitress sat down without waiting to be asked. “She came about six months ago. It’s funny—when she started, because it was a new stall, she was right down at the bottom of the square. But after a few weeks, the Kingsman insisted she have the best spot.” She sniffed in disapproval. “That spot had always belonged to the Eggman’s family. They sold the best cheese anyone’s ever tasted. They were so upset about having to move that they stopped coming to the market altogether. Pity. I liked their cheese.”

Sophrayni gave the girl a coin and stood up. “Where might I meet your Nan?”

“Oh,” said the girl. “She’ll be sitting outside the inn, down the street.” She blushed. “She likes a drop or two of ale. Says it keeps her bones oiled.”

Sophrayni laughed. “As long as her jawbone’s well-oiled so she can talk to me.”

“She’ll talk to you. Just buy her a tankard and she’ll talk ’til the cows come home.”

Sophrayni found the old woman sitting on a bench outside the inn, just as predicted. This time, she didn’t bother trying to hide her appearance. The old woman squinted over the rim of her cup, the scent of elderflower and something stronger drifting in the air. Her boots were unfastened, her hair uncombed, and her mood comfortably blurred by drink and the long day.

She was halfway through a story about a goat that could smell lies when Sophrayni stepped into view.

The old woman froze mid-sentence, blinked twice, then let out a low whistle through her teeth.

“Well, I’ll be pickled in nettle gin,” she muttered, setting her cup down with exaggerated care. “Witch of the Dark Forest, plain as prophecy.”

She leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes sharp now despite the drink. “You ain’t Calizone. I met her a few times.” She gave a crooked smile. “So, you’re the new one, then. Took up the mantle. Hah. Thought it’d be someone older. Or meaner looking.”

She raised her mug in a toast, sloshing a bit onto her sleeve. “Well, welcome to the edge of things. Sit if you like. I’ve got stories, and you’ve got that look—like you’ve walked through more than brambles to get here. And say your name.”

Sophrayni smiled and introduced herself. “I am who you think I am,” she said softly. “But for now, I need that truth to stay folded.”

The old woman blinked, then nodded slowly, the drink’s warmth giving way to a flicker of sober clarity. She reached for her mug but didn’t sip.

“Ah,” she said. “One of those nights.”

Sophrayni’s gaze held hers—not threatening, but steady. “There are ears in the walls. “Names matter. Best not use mine until I’m ready.”

The old woman gave a crooked smile, tugging her shawl tighter. “Don’t worry, love. I’ve kept worse secrets than yours. One time I sat on a banshee’s comb for three days and never told a soul.”

She tapped her temple. “Loose lips sink more than ships. They wake things—even from dreamless sleep.”

Sophrayni sat down beside the old woman. “The stall selling sleep potions. Tell me about it.”

The old woman sniffed derisively. She made a face—half impressed, half wary. “Sleep potions, she says. ‘Gentle rest, dreamless peace.’ Hah. I tried one last week—just a thimbleful, mind—and woke up two days later with no memory of the storm or the singing eel parade. And a need for more of it. Bottle of nettle gin soon stopped that.”

She tapped her mug thoughtfully. “The potion’s too smooth. Too sweet. Like it’s meant to slip past your sense of caution. Folk are going back for more—even the ones who never trusted bottled magic. Saw the baker’s boy buy three yesterday. Said he liked the quiet. So did Lord Ballo and his clerk.”

Her voice dropped lower. “It’s not just sleep. It’s forgetting. That’s the trick. You take enough, and you stop caring what you’ve forgotten.”

She glanced at Sophrayni, eyes sharp again. “That’s dangerous stuff. Not cursed, maybe—but close. And the seller? Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe right. Too still. I’d wager they’ve never slept a night in their life.”

“There’s something odd going on here—and in other places too,” said Sophrayni.

Maggie sniffed, “Calizone wouldn’t have stood for it. Are you going to do something?”

“Not yet,” Sophrayni replied. “There’s more to this than just someone selling peculiar potions.”

The old woman nodded. “Well, don’t be too slow about it, or the whole town’ll be under the spell—or whatever it is.”

          Sophrayni called over a serving boy and handed him a coin. “Fetch this lady a mug of your finest.”

When it arrived, she placed it gently beside the old woman’s elbow. “For your silence,” she said quietly. “And your memory.”

Sophrayni pictured the coaching inn, in her mind and clicked her fingers.