Rewrite That Witch
CH320 · Rewrite
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Chapter 320: Sleeping Spell

“I never expected my first paying guest would be you,” Tilly said, handing Thunder a cup of fish soup.

She meant it as a compliment. Thunder received it as one, wrapping both hands around the clay cup. He was a large man—the kind who took up the chair and a little more—and the steam from the soup softened the weathered lines of his face. “It was the least I could do, after what your witches made possible at the Shadow Islands. Frankly, if you hadn’t been willing to send them, I wouldn’t have dared take the ship that far east.” He sipped, and a long breath went out of him. “Black-tailed fish soup. I haven’t had it in months.”

In the Fjords, black tea and barley wine were drunk in moderation and fish was eaten cold in summer. Here on Sleeping Island, the custom had inverted: summer brought iced fish, cold air brought soup, and somewhere between the two the fish had acquired a flavor that had taken Tilly several months to fully appreciate. She no longer missed the tea.

“You said you wanted to go back,” she said. “What was it—the stone gate?”

“The overhanging cliff.” Thunder set the cup down and something moved behind his eyes. “A stone arch, embedded in the face of the cliff. I could see it through the observation mirror but I couldn’t reach it—the current was too strong even for the ship. What is that? Why would anyone build a gate into a cliff? Who was it for?” He grinned. “I need to know.”

This was, Tilly had come to understand, what explorers were. Not the grinning adventurers from stories, not reckless men who loved danger—but people who could not leave a question unanswered. The question was the hook; the danger was just the water between them and the answer.

“I’m planning to travel to Border Town before the Months of Demons begin,” she said, refilling her own cup. “To meet Roland. And to see the Months of Demons myself—to understand what the border witches face each winter.” A pause. “You could come with us.”

Thunder was quiet for a moment. When he smiled, it was quieter than the ones he used for enthusiasm. “Not yet. She seems well there. And—” He stopped. Started differently. “An explorer’s work is dangerous. I lost her mother to it. I have made my peace with the fact that one day a risk may not come out as planned. But I haven’t made peace with watching it happen. The way things are now—that distance—is also a kind of protection.” He looked up. “When the time comes, I ask you to—”

“She’s already one of ours,” Tilly said. “She was ours before you brought her to us.”

A silence between them. She let it sit.

Then: “Business is business.”

Thunder laughed—the loud version, this time. “Business is business. That’s the way of the Fjords.” He drained the rest of the soup. “All right. Name the price.”

The contract bore three names. Magic Servant Molly; Door of Random Orbit; Puppet Remote Shadow. Four thousand eight hundred gold royals, payable on completion.

When Tilly spread it on the table for Ashes, Ashes stared at it for a moment before she looked up.

“Where does he get that kind of money?”

“He’s Thunder. The greatest explorer the Fjords have produced in a generation.” Tilly smoothed a corner of the contract. “Every new route discovered, every cache found in unmapped territory—it all compounds. And with witches supporting the expeditions, the risk drops and the margin improves. He understands the arithmetic. Risk traded for gold royals has always been considered fair dealing.”

Ashes chewed on this. “But you’re letting people know what we can do. If that reaches the Church—”

“The Church has never cared what we can do. They send Judges. They send the God’s Punishment Army. They don’t stop to ask what abilities our hands have—they stop everything our hands might do.” Tilly folded her own hands. “What I’m trying to reach is the Fjords themselves. The ordinary people. They’re afraid of us because they’ve never had a chance to know us—the Church supplies the words they use for us, and those words are all they have.” She paused. “You can’t force people to seek understanding. So we make ourselves useful. Over and over, with nothing terrible happening. Until the word witch gathers different associations.”

“You always have three reasons for everything,” Ashes said. “It’s unsettling.”

“I’m always saying the correct thing,” Tilly said. “There’s a bonus: a guild like this gives support witches somewhere to be valued. A witch who can repair machinery, or keep a ship hull sealed through a storm, or grow food in poor soil—she’s been told her whole life that her ability is useless, that she should be ashamed of it. Let her spend a month being paid in gold for the thing she was ashamed of.” She smiled. “We’ll see how useless it seems after that.”

Ashes was quiet. Then: “Has anyone heard from Maggie?”

The smile faded slightly. “Nothing since the last message.”

“She might not come back on her own. Honey and Lotus might not either—if Border Town is what I think it is, the life there is simply better than what they had here. I told you not to send witches without—”

“Then we should leave now,” Tilly said.

Ashes blinked. “I—what?”

“We agreed to help with the Months of Demons. We need to collect the others. Lotus’s ability is essential for the immigration next year—without her the settlers from Crescent Moon Bay have nowhere to live.” She was already standing, moving toward the planning table on the far wall. “And I want to see what kind of person my brother has become.”

Ashes stood more slowly. “Winter’s still a month away. We don’t have to leave so—”

“The journey takes time. If they run into trouble early, I want to be there.” Tilly glanced back over her shoulder. “You said yourself things might go wrong.”

Ashes stared at her for a long moment.

“You were going anyway,” she said. “You’d already decided.”

Tilly said nothing, which was its own answer.

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