Sophrayni's Quiet Hunt Chapter 5.

Chapter 5.

 

Slipsy

         

Early the next morning, Sophrayni made her way to the next town Maggie had mentioned. Once again, she arrived at a coaching inn just outside the town.

The inn looked fancier than any she’d seen before. It had shiny windows, flowerpots lined up like soldiers, and a painted sign that read The Steam & Solace. Two little fountains bubbled by the door, and the water smelled faintly of eggs and mint.

A lad took Shade away, promising the best of treatment for such a fine animal.

Inside, everything was polished and neat. The floorboards gleamed, and the chairs had soft cushions that didn’t match but somehow still looked tidy. The landlord was waiting with a big grin and a towel that smelled of lavender.

“Welcome, welcome!” he said, handing her a token shaped like a snail shell. “Free bath for our special guest. The springs here are famous! People say they wash away all your worries. Everyone in Slipsy uses our baths.”

Sophrayni nodded, but watched him closely. She was wearing her full witch’s outfit—the long black dress and the traditional hat. But the landlord didn’t blink. He didn’t recognize her at all. Not as the Witch of the Dark Forest. Not even as someone unusual.

His smile stayed fixed, like he’d practiced it in a mirror. His words sounded rehearsed, as if he were reading from a script. And the other guests? They moved slowly, dreamily, like they were half-asleep.

Sophrayni tucked the token into her pocket and kept her witch’s sense open. Something wasn’t right. The inn was too quiet. Too perfect.

The man went on, “Perhaps your ladyship would prefer a private bathroom. We have plenty of them. And while you soak away the dust from your journey, your clothes can be washed and dried, ready for when you’ve finished.”

She allowed herself to be led to a side room. In the centre was a set of steps leading down into a pool. Wisps of steam rose from the water.

A young woman came bustling up. “I can take your clothes when you’re ready,” she said.

Sophrayni shook her head. “No thank you. You may go.”

Once the woman had left and shut the door behind her, Sophrayni stepped closer to the steaming bath. She waved her hands over the water, using the same spell she’d used on the vial of sleep potion.

The result was the same.

Her witch’s sense prickled. The water wasn’t just warm—it was laced with the potion. The same one that dulled dreams and made people forget. Worse still, it carried the same spell woven deep inside it. The spell that let someone else take control of whoever used it.

Not just sleep. Obedience.

Sophrayni shuddered. If everyone in Slipsy used the baths like the landlord claimed, then the whole town was under the spell. Not just sleeping—but controlled.

She clicked her fingers, thought of the inn’s front steps—and vanished.

A moment later, she was outside, walking into town.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

People were out and about, but they moved slowly, without chatter or laughter. No one called to a friend. No carts rattled. Even the dogs were silent, curled up or padding along without a bark.

It wasn’t market day, so the town square was empty of stalls. But there was a row of shops, just like in any other town. Nothing strange at first glance.

Then Sophrayni saw the sign: Apothecary.

Outside the shop was a cart. A very familiar figure was loading boxes onto it. Sophrayni stayed back, watching from the corner of the alley. The woman was exactly the same one she had met in Bartsly and Cowton. Same face. Same movements. Same quiet smile. The woman gave off the same feeling as before— like a shadow wrapped in cloth. Not evil exactly, but not ordinary. Not safe.

She didn’t speak. Not yet. She needed to watch. To listen. To understand what kind of magic could wear the same face in three towns and never blink

She didn’t approach. Not yet. Instead, she reached into her pouch and pulled out a knotted thread. Whispering a soft spell, she flicked it toward the cart. The thread vanished midair, and a faint shimmer settled over one of the boxes. She could follow it later—no matter where it went.

With the tracking spell in place, she turned her attention to the apothecary. She didn’t need to go inside. Her witch’s sense stretched out like a breeze under the door, slipping through cracks and corners. Shelves. Bottles. A worktable. A book with no title.

There—behind the counter, motionless but alert—stood another figure. Identical in every way to the one she’d tracked. The shelves behind her were fully stocked: rows of sleep potion glinting under a preservation charm, each bottle humming with the same enslaving spell.

Sophrayni narrowed her eyes. The supply hadn’t been removed—it had been replenished. Maintained. The copying network wasn’t just expanding; it was sustaining itself. That meant coordination. That meant something deeper than she’d feared.

The potion’s magic was strong here—sleep and forgetting—but beneath it, something older stirred. A spell of copying. Of echoing. The woman she’d seen in three towns wasn’t just traveling fast. She was being repeated.

Sophrayni opened her eyes.

She wouldn’t confront the seller yet, not until she found the one who made the copies. The original. The source.

She was about to move on when she felt a prickling on the back of her neck. Someone was watching her.

She turned slowly.

A small girl stood nearby, maybe eight or nine years old, staring up at her with wide, serious eyes.

“Can I help you?” Sophrayni asked softly.

The girl didn’t blink. “My granny says you’re dressed like the Witch of the Dark Forest. She says, if you are, she’d like to talk to you.”

“I am who she thinks I am,” she replied. “The Witch of the Dark Forest. Where is your granny?”

The child didn’t answer. She simply turned and walked away.

Sophrayni followed.

They left the quiet streets behind and reached a small cottage at the edge of town. The girl opened the door, pointed inside, then turned and ran without a word.

Sophrayni stepped through the doorway. The air was cool and smelled faintly of herbs and old wood. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light.

Then she saw her.

An old woman lay propped up in a bed, wrapped in patchwork blankets. Her hair was silver and wild, her face lined like tree bark. But her eyes—her eyes were sharp and waiting.

Sophrayni stepped closer to the bed, careful not to disturb the dried herbs hanging from the rafters. “You wanted to see me?”

The old woman gave a dry chuckle. “There’s something going on here that you need to know about. Started quiet, like most trouble does. A few folks sleeping longer than usual. A few forgetting things they swore they’d never forget. Then the baths got popular. Then the potions. Now everyone in the town—except me and my granddaughter—walks around like they’ve misplaced their minds.”

She reached for a wooden cup on the bedside table, hands trembling slightly. “Calizone would’ve stormed in and rattled the rafters. You—” she squinted at Sophrayni, “—you look like someone who listens first.”

“I try,” Sophrayni said softly. “But I think the time for quiet listening is nearly over.”

The old woman nodded slowly. “Then you’d best be ready. Whatever’s behind this sleep spell—it’s not just trying to soothe people. It’s trying to keep them quiet and under control.”

“How long ago did it begin?” Sophrayni asked.

The old woman leaned back against her pillows. “About nine months ago,” she said. “That strange woman bought the apothecary shop. Started selling her sleep potion. At first, it was just a few people. Then more. Then nearly everyone. And after that, she must’ve poured it into the bathwater. Now she’s got the whole town under her thumb.”

She took a sip from her cup and gave a dry laugh, which turned into a wheezy cough. Sophrayni stepped forward, but the woman waved her off.

“It would’ve got me too,” she said, catching her breath. “If I could still walk. But this old bed kept me out of the baths.”

Her voice dropped lower. “You’re not safe here. She controls the Kingsman. He sends guards after strangers. I think the innkeeper lets her know if someone skips the bath. Most folks don’t even notice—they just go along with it.”

She looked up sharply. “You didn’t take a bath, did you?”

Sophrayni shook her head. “I saw the spell in the water. I left the inn and came straight into town.”

The old woman nodded. “Good. But if I were you, I wouldn’t hang around too long. Sooner or later, the guards will come looking.”

Sophrayni frowned. “Why would a Kingsman need guards in a quiet town like this?”

The old woman snorted. “He didn’t. Not until she arrived. They showed up soon after she took over the apothecary. Hired thugs, if you ask me. Not local lads. They don’t ask questions—just follow orders. And those orders come straight from her.”

Sophrayni’s gaze darkened. “Then she’s not just selling potions. She’s building control.”

The old woman nodded again, her voice low. “And she’s nearly finished.”

Sophrayni nodded. “She was loading up a cart with what looked like the sleeping potion. I wonder where she’s going next.”

The old woman shook her head. “I don’t know. All I do know is that she came here from Burnock. Bessie Curlees is the charmer there. It would take a powerful spell to work on her.”

“Will the guards bother you?” Sophrayni asked. “You and your granddaughter seem to be the only ones not affected.”

The old woman sniffed. “I may be just an old hedge witch, but any guard who tries anything with me or her will regret it. I spent years helping folk get rid of warts. Giving them is just as easy. And believe me—they know it.”

Sophrayni smiled. “Then stay safe. And thank you.”

She turned and stepped out into the fading light, the door clicking shut behind her.

Sophrayni had barely stepped back onto the street when two armed guards appeared from around the corner. Their boots thudded against the cobbles, and their hands were already on their swords.

“Halt!” one barked. “By order of the Kingsman, you’re to come with us.”

Sophrayni didn’t flinch. She raised one hand, palm open, and whispered a word that buzzed like bees in the air.

The guards froze mid-step.

With a flick of her fingers, they lifted gently off the ground—arms and legs stiff as broomsticks—and floated toward a nearby tree. They hung there, harmless and confused, blinking at the leaves, each suspended by invisible threads just above the lowest branch.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Sophrayni said calmly. “But I won’t be taken. You can forget that you ever saw me too.”

She turned and walked away, leaving the guards dangling like forgotten laundry, blinking at the leaves. She clicked her fingers, thought about the inn—and disappeared.

As she did so, the guards fell heavily from the tree and ended up in a heap on the cobbles.

Sophrayni collected Shade from the stable boy. Once again, the innkeeper tried to persuade her to take a bath. She waved her hand at him and struck him dumb.

“You can stay like that until I’m out of earshot. And you can forget that I was ever here,” she said.

She rode away. “If Burnock is like Slipsy, then there’s no point going there. It will be under the control of whoever is making the potions and the spell,” she said to Shade. “We’ll follow that cart—wherever it leads.”