“Hook, line, and sinker,” Sponda said, laughing. “What was the thing he found?”
“Just a sphere of camphor, dipped in a few coats of essence d’orient.” She saw the blank look on her lover’s face. “It’s a mixture of carp scales and varnish.” She pointed to a piece of linen spotted with lustrous patches that shone like a rainbow. “Wouldn’t fool a jeweler for a moment, but he was delighted.”
“How do you know?”
“I stayed to watch. Once the flash powder hit the candle I had plenty of time to scamper up to the loft and hide.”
“You’re the most clever girl I’ve ever known.” Sponda gave her a hug. “He’s headed back to the capital. When he tries to fob off that ‘pearl,’ he’ll get his comeuppance.”
“But we won’t get to see it. Where’s the fun in that?”
Sponda stared. “You’re up to something.”
“I am. You put the powder in his ale this morning?”
“I did.”
“Then it will be an interesting afternoon,” Anna said. “What are you making for supper?”
“Biscuits and drippings.”
“I do love your biscuits.”
“It’s the buttermilk,” Sponda nodded. “It makes them sing in your mouth without you putting a name to any particular flavor.”
Anna stared at her. “That’s it!” She jumped up and began jotting notes into her journal. “That’s exactly what my spread lacks. Buttermilk will add a creamery flavor, it will keep for ages, it can’t go rancid—” she threw down her pen and flung her arms around Sponda. “Now who’s the clever one? I’m going to make a new batch this afternoon. We’ll try it at supper, and if it passes the taste test, we’ll be on our way to the capital!”
They capered around the room for a minute in a most unscientific way.
Anna finally stepped back. “I must get back to work. But when your Da comes in, send him back here. He’ll play along, won’t he?”
“Da loves a good prank as much as anyone.”
“Good.” Anna turned to her well-stocked shelves and handed Sponda a metal canister.
“What does this one do?”
With a wicked grin, Anna told her.
WHEN NATTO HAD finished his ale he went up to his room. As he lifted his rucksack, the two pints he’d consumed that morning began to vie for his attention, too urgently to make it to the stables. He looked down and saw the empty chamber pot, back under the washstand.
With a sigh of relief, Natto opened his fly and aimed at the pot, closing his eyes for a moment as the pressure inside him was released in a long and satisfying stream. He shook himself off and opened his eyes to do up the buttons of his trousers, then shrieked in surprise.
His piss was blue.
He began to shake. It had been too easy, getting the pearl. He should have known there’d be a spell. He grimaced as he looked down at himself, but saw no difference on the outside.
“Is something wrong?” Sponda called from the bottom of the stairs.
“Yes!” Natto cried.
“I’ll be right up.”
“No!” He stared at his open fly. “I’ll come down.” He did up his buttons, then put the lid on the chamber pot and took it downstairs.
“Is there a problem with the pot?” Sponda asked. “I just cleaned it.”
“I know, but—” And here Natto stopped cold, because although he was not a man of courtly manners, there were some things that weren’t proper conversation with a woman, even if she was just the renderer’s daughter, and—“Hell,” he said. “Look.”
She took off the lid. “Oh dear. Not again.”
“Again?”
“More than once.” She tilted her head and looked at him. “When you were at the wizard’s house, you didn’t eat or drink anything, did you?”
“No, nothing.”
“Hmm. Touch anything, other than the seat of a chair?”
“Well, I might have—”
“That’s it, then. He’s got protections everywhere. He whisks them off when he knows there’ll be company, but you took him by surprise.”
“Will it go away?”
“Usually does. Unless—” She stopped and lowered her eyes. “I don’t mean to be bold, Mr. Petin, but did you notice any other changes in your—your manhood?”
Natto shook his head. “No. And I did look.”
“Well, that’s good. One poor fellow had his turn black on him. Within a day it had shriveled like an old carrot. Nothing the doctor could do, by then.” She took the pot and set it on the floor, replacing the lid. “’Course he deserved it. He was a black-handed thief. And a stupid thief, if you ask me, stealing from a wizard.”
“Only a fool,” Natto said in a small voice. He felt the blood drain from his face and barely made it to one of the tables before he sat down with a thump. “Might I have another ale? It was, as you can imagine, a bit of a shock, seeing...” He stared at the pot as his voice trailed off.
“Of course. Best thing for it. The more you drink, the faster you’ll get rid of it.” She went behind the counter and busied herself with the tap. “Oops. I’m sloppy this morning.” She held the tankard up by its rim and wiped it off with a rag, removing the cloth with a flourish when she set the ale down. “That ought to help.”
“Thank you.” Natto gripped the mug in both hands and downed half of it in one mighty gulp. “I’ll finish this and be on my way.”
Sponda shook her head. “You can’t ride, not in your condition.”
“Really, I must return to the capital.” Natto felt as if the box in his coat pocket were burning a hole through the wool. “Urgent business.”
“What if complications set in, out there—?” she gestured toward the window and the desolate country beyond.
“Hmm. Perhaps one more night might be prudent. The same tariff?”
“Three coppers more,” Sponda said. “It’s the week-end.”
“Oh.” He withdrew his purse and counted out all the coins from the day before.
Sponda glanced at the cash box, then put the coins into the pocket of her apron and smiled. “I’ll even make another pudding. Dessert, this time. Let me see, how about spotted dick? Oh, dear. Perhaps not tonight.” She thought for a moment. “I know. I’ll make you a Pond. It’s my Da’s favorite.”
“Sounds delicious.” Natto drained his ale. “I think I’ll have a little lie-down.” He bent to pick up the chamber pot, but she held up her hand.
“I’ll rinse it and bring it to you. Only way to tell if the ale is doing its job is to start afresh.” She refilled his tankard, wiping it off with the same cloth before pushing it into his hands. “There. Take that up with you.”
Natto did. He drank it sitting on the edge of the bed until she brought the pot. Once she was safely downstairs, he took off his pants and, handling himself gingerly, produced a steady blue stream. He looked down. That was still its original color, at least. He bit back a moan and crawled under the covers.
He tossed and turned for a while, bare legs itching again, but had had so little sleep the night before that he eventually fell into a fitful slumber, full of disquieting dreams. When he woke, late afternoon light slanted through his window. Cooking smells wafted up from the kitchen, and his stomach growled. The growling set off another urge, and he stood, stretching. Standing over the chamber pot in his loose shirt, he reached down and gripped his—