I’ve always considered myself a plucky optimist, but even I knew that going directly to Princess Melanie and asking to become BFFs would most likely result in me disappearing under mysterious circumstances. For fear of my well-being, I decided it was time to once again channel Lady Porktrude and look at my situation analytically. I couldn’t think of this meeting with the Princess as a simple attempt at making a new friend but as a life-or-death encounter on the battlefield. Suppose Lady Porktrude had been in my human-shaped shoes. In that case, she’d have drawn up battle plans, considered every potential angle, and given herself any and all possible advantages.

With this in mind, I decided that if I was gonna deal with the Princess, first I had to learn more about her, and I figured no one would know better than the man who had helped raise her. Unfortunately, King Cassian was busy trying to make sure the kingdom wasn’t overrun, and its citizens subsequently murdered, so he didn’t have time to draw up a detailed list of Melanie’s dislikes and preferences. That certainly put a dampener on my master plan, but thankfully, Cassian was able to point me to the second-best person for the job, Princess Melanie’s former nanny.

“You?!” Shrieked Poofy Pants as he opened the door to his home and stared down at me with naked hostility. “What are you doing here, witch?”

“Believe me, I don’t wanna be here either,” I grumbled, striding past Poofy Pants and into his quarters. Poofy Pants’ home was surprisingly zen. Everything was immaculately arranged and seemed exactly where it was supposed to be. There was a shelf full of books, a cute little bonsai tree was growing by his window, and was that a yoga mat I spied in the corner? Yah aashchary kee baat hai!

“I need to know more about Princess Melanie,” I continued before Poofy Pants could speak. “King Cassian told me you used to be her nanny.”

Poofy Pants sighed in irritation, “I lost ten years of my life to that little brat.” Said the Inquisitor as he massaged his temples.

“Maybe you were just a terrible nanny,” I offered helpfully.

Poofy Pants flashed me his signature scowl. “I’ll have you know I’m great with kids!” Doubtful, but okay. “But that girl,” continued Poofy Pants with a shudder, “she’s different. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was the witch, not you!”

“Is there anything you can tell me about her?” I asked, ignoring his witch-ist comments. “Whenever she was acting out or being violent, what did you do to calm her down or listen to you?”

“Mostly, I ran and hid.” Admitted Poofy Pants with a shrug. He lifted his shirt, revealing a sick-looking scar across his lower stomach. “That’s from when I told her it was time to take a nap.”

“How old was she when she did that?” I asked, shocked.

“Three-and-a-half.” Replied the Inquisitor, “That girl was born to stab things.”

“But surely there was something you could do to get her to behave, right?”

Poofy Pants considered for a moment. “Well, since I knew she liked stabbing so much, I decided to turn it into a game.”

The Inquisitor opened a closet door, and after rifling around for a few moments, pulled out a straw dummy that looked like it’d been repeatedly shanked in a back alley. Straw was coming out of the dummy in large tufts, and half of the face looked like it’d been slashed off.

“Whenever the princess was upset, we’d play a game of stab the peasant.” Continued Poofy Pants, shaking the eviscerated dummy as he spoke. “It didn’t necessarily get her to behave, but it burned through enough of her energy, so she’d be willing to lay down for naptime.”

I stared grimly at the dummy, imagining the straw pouring out of it being replaced by my bowels. “Alright,” I laughed nervously, “I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but thanks for your help.”

“I helped you?” Asked Poofy Pants, appearing mildly offended at the thought.

I quickly explained the situation to Poofy Pants and how I was attempting to befriend Princess Melanie per King Cassian’s request. “Oh gracious, you’re almost certain to die,” he said, looking overjoyed.

“Do you have any better suggestions?”

“No, please, go ahead,” he replied, smiling crookedly, “Talk to the princess, befriend her; I’m dying to see what happens.”

Alright, Melvin, I’m the only one whose allowed to be sassy here. “I’m glad you think so,” I said, returning his sickly sweet grin, “because King Cassian specifically said that you’re supposed to help me with this assignment in whatever way I deem fit!”

That was a lie, but with my acting skills, I was pretty sure I could get away with it. “Oh, um, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Stammered the Inquisitor, his bravado disappearing instantly, “I’m far too busy doing, uh, inquisitor stuff.”

Poofy Pants grabbed a broom and quickly started sweeping the floor.

“Well, that’s a real shame,” I replied, shaking my head like a disappointed school teacher, “King Cassian ordered that you help me, and if you’re refusing, then that means you’re defying the King. Do you want me to tell him you refused to help?”

“N-no, of course not!” Poofy Pants started to sputter and shake; his eyes darted nervously around the room like he was thinking about making a break for it. Time for the kill.

“Y’know, I’ve been working on this brand new spell that’ll turn snooty royal inquisitors into beef jerky.” I took a step forward and mirrored his crooked smile with one of my own. “We’re in the middle of a food shortage, so if you’re not able to help me with Princess Melanie, I’ll find another way you can serve your king.”

Poofy Pants gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. I don’t think he knew what beef jerky was, but I’m sure he understood the intent of my threat. “First order of business,” I said as I waggled my fingers, “What’s Princess Melanie’s favorite food and drink?”

XXX

If there’s one thing I know about women, it’s that when we’re in a bad mood, it never hurts to bring us food. Princess Melanie was in a constant state of bad moodiness, so if I came to her with an edible peace offering, maybe that would help lower my chances of getting stabbed.

After threatening to turn him into dried meat, Poofy Pants had been more than happy to assist with my quest and had told me that the Princess was a diehard fan of baked potatoes. That was good news for me because baked potatoes were stupidly simple to make. The plan was somewhat complicated because we were still in the middle of a siege, and it was challenging to find any food besides lumpy oatmeal, stale turkey legs, and a recently introduced dish to the kingdom, water soup.

Fortunately, Poofy Pants came in clutch yet again, informing me that he had a few connections in the Praedonian underworld and that he could find me a guy who knew where the taters were. I was surprised that Poofy Pants had been so forthcoming with helpful information. However, I suspected he secretly wanted me to succeed in my mission, as there was still a good chance I’d get offed by the Princess. When I confronted him about this, Poofy Pants whistled innocently and wouldn’t meet my glare.

Poofy Pants led me out of the castle to a seedy-looking tavern named The Ill Refute. The interior was dimly lit, a few weak candles flickering on the wooden tables, and the windows so caked with potentially decades of grime, barely any outside light could filter through. A few ne’er-do wells were sitting around the heavily stained and splintered tables, and every eye in the room turned and scowled at Poofy Pants and me as we entered.

I took an unconscious step back, more than a little intimidated by the clientele. If we were in my time, I’d assume everyone in here would be wearing ankle monitors. “Don’t worry about the riff-raff,” scoffed Poofy Pants as he casually strolled past the glaring faces, “These mooks aren’t even in the same tax bracket as the two of us.”

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I squinted at the weird insult but scurried along to join him, pulling up my witch cloak to my face to try and appear intimidating. At the front of the tavern, a heavily-muscled barkeep was cleaning a table with a dirty rag. The rag was so filthy it looked like he was only spreading grime around the table, but I doubted he’d appreciate me pointing that out.

“How’s it hangin’ Prison Mike?” asked Melvin, sliding easily into one of the table’s empty seats. Prison Mike looked up, his face breaking into a grin and exposing a mouth missing most of its teeth. “Big M!” Exclaimed Prison Mike, grabbing Poofy Pants’ hand in manly camaraderie.

“Big M?” I whispered to Poofy Pants.

“I’ve got a social life,” he snapped back. I briefly wondered what a guy like Poofy Pants did in his free time.

“It’s been too long, friend,” Continued Prison Mike jovially, he and Poofy Pants separating before performing a manly chest bump, “let me treat ya to something for old time sake; how ‘bout some water soup on the house?”

“Tempting,” replied Poofy Pants, “But I’m here on business. Poofy Pants leaned towards Prison Mike, whispering so I could barely make out what he was saying. “I need to know if you have any potatoes.”

Prison Mike frowned, “Yeah, I’ve got a few of ‘em left,” he confirmed, eyes scanning the tavern to ensure there were no unwelcome eyes or ears, “but I’ve already got several buyers interested, and they’re big spenders.”

“How much are we talking?” Asked Poofy Pants shrewdly. Prison Mike whispered even lower so that I couldn’t hear. Poofy Pants’ face went white. “Oh, that’s a lot of zeroes.” he choked out.

Prison Mike nodded, “You know I’d give you a couple extra if I had’em, but these might be the last potatoes in the kingdom.” Prison Mike turned and stared in the direction of the castle gate, “For all we know, these might be the last potatoes any of us ever eat.”

Alright, it looked like it was time for me to jump in. I was on a time crunch, and if bartering wasn’t gonna work, then there was more than one way to peel a potato. I hopped onto the table, shone my flashlight under my face, stared directly at Prison Mike, and shouted, “WITCH TAX!”

There was a lot of screaming and yelling after that. But a few minutes and a couple of threats to curse his entire bloodline later, I smugly thanked Prison Mike for his service to the kingdom and stuffed the five dirty potatoes into my backpack.

“Oh, so when I tax the populace, I’m the bad guy,” mumbled Poofy Pants, crossing his arms, “but when you do it, it’s for the greater good?”

I ignored his jab and scanned the bar. Everyone who hadn’t immediately fled the premises was staring at me, wide-eyed, clearly terrified by my witchiness. I felt a momentary rush of power at the sight. When I’d walked in, all these guys had looked super intimidating, but all I’d had to do was shine a plastic flashlight under my face, and suddenly I was top banana. Yeah, I felt kinda bad for abusing my position as a witch, but we all gotta let loose every now and then. “While I’ve got your boys’ attention,” I said, staring down everyone in the tavern, “I’m also looking for a specific drink. Does anyone here know where I can find some DeathTap?”

In addition to loving baked potatoes, Princess Melanie couldn’t get enough of an alcoholic beverage called DeathTap. Apparently, it was incredibly expensive, and unlike my recently acquired potatoes, this drink was hard to come by even in prosperous times. I had the potatoes, so there was already a little bit of insurance against being stabbed, but seeing as I enjoyed my internal organs not being perforated, I decided some extra precautions wouldn’t hurt either.

The bar patrons stared back at me in dumb silence; no one stepped forward. I sighed. It’d been silly to think that some random dude would have a bottle of really rare and expensive wine just lying around, but at least I could say I tried. Now I just had to whip up some baked potatoes, and I should be good to–.

“I’ve got some DeathTap, but you ain’t gettin’ it for free.”

I perked up in surprise; that was a woman’s voice. In the far corner of the tavern, shrouded almost completely in darkness, sat a young woman, maybe a bit older than me. She wore a crimson duster, had her hair pulled up beneath a hat of the same color, and was in the middle of arm-wrestling a dude over twice her size. Sitting beside her on the table was an already opened bottle of wine. DeathTap was emblazoned on the front of the black bottle in flame-red text.

I gave the woman a weird look. Besides me, she was the only female in a bar filled entirely with lecherous men, but she didn’t look like she had a care in the world, plus she had an absolutely awesome outfit! The woman probably had a pretty cool backstory, and I would’ve loved to chat, but unfortunately, the clock was ticking, and I needed that drink.

“WITCH TAX!’ I shrieked, running up to her table and shining my flashlight under my face again.

I thought I looked pretty scary, but the woman didn’t appear phased in the slightest. “You’re gonna need to try better than that, honey.” She said with a grunt, slamming her opponent’s meaty fist onto the table and causing the guy to tumble out of his seat and onto the ground.

I frowned. “You do know who I am, right?”

She nodded, whipping out a small blade and using it to clean her fingernails. “Piper the witch,” she said simply. “Kind of a big deal around here.”

“And you’re not gonna give me that drink, even if I threaten to turn you into a toad?”

“Unfortunately not,” she said with a shrug, “‘Cause I’m pretty sure you’re bluffing.”

Crud, I was 100% bluffing. “Fine,” I mumbled, pulling up a seat and sitting across from her. “My magic needs some time to recharge anyway,” I continued, trying to save face. “Whaddya want for the drink?”

A mug slid towards me; I barely caught it before it slid off the table. “A drinking game,” the woman said simply, “If you can drink more than me, the DeathTap’s all yours.”

I peered inside my mug; it was filled with a horrendously smelly and inky black liquid. I’m guessing that was the DeathTap. I chewed my lip, considering. Even though there was tons of alcohol here in the Middle Ages, most of it seemed to be pretty watered down, not nearly as strong as the stuff we had in my time (not that I’d ever drank any before, trust me). But this DeathTap seemed like the real deal. Plus, I’d heard somewhere that alcohol stunted your growth. I was only 5 ‘2, so I needed all the height I could get.

I turned back to Poofy Pants, my eyes asking a silent question. “Don’t look at me,” he said, shaking his head vigorously, “I’m a man of the cloth. I don’t drink…much.”

“You don’t have to participate if you don’t want to.” My gaze shot back to the table; the woman stared directly at me, a smirk forming at the corner of her lips. “I understand that a drinking game is probably scary for a child.”

Okay, that did it. I was the only one who was allowed to be sassy here. I lifted the mug to my mouth, staring daggers at the mysterious woman. “Bottoms up,” I said, taking the tiniest possible sip of the black liquid.

XXX

“Is she alive?” I heard the woman ask.

“Gosh, I hope not.” Replied Poofy Pants.

I groggily opened my eyes, feeling like a construction team had just jackhammered my skull into a million pieces. Poofy Pants and the mysterious woman were staring down at me, which made me realize that I was splayed out on the sticky tavern floor.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re okay,” breathed the woman, lifting me off the ground and wrapping me in a hug. I gasped, the world seeming to spin around me. I opened my mouth, about to ask her to put me down, but instead, all that came up was the water soup and lumpy oatmeal I’d eaten for breakfast.

“Sorry about that,” I mumbled, wiping the sick from my mouth and staring at the table where the bottle of DeathTap was still sitting. “Did I win?”

“You blacked out after your first sip,” replied Poofy Pants, glaring at me as he wiped vomit off from his shoes.

Well, I guess I learned two things from this experience. One, I wasn’t getting the DeathTap, and two, I’d make a terrible alcoholic.

“You can have the DeathTap, by the way,” said the woman, gently leading me to a seat.

“Huh?” I asked, listing slightly to the side.

“I was always gonna give it to you,” she replied with a smile, “I just thought it’d be fun to challenge a witch to a drinking game.” She winced apologetically. “I didn’t realize you were such a lightweight.”

I squinted at the woman; maybe it was just my alcohol-addled brain, but now that I was getting a better look at her, she looked and sounded familiar. “Do I know you?” I asked, my tongue feeling dumb and leaden.

The woman gave a short and sweet-sounding laugh. “We’ve been acquainted for a while now.” The woman removed her hat and undid her bun, causing beautiful locks of red hair to fall past her shoulders.

I blinked. “Ellie?”

Ellie grinned. “Hi, Piper.”

I stared at her, my mind trying to connect two pieces of information that seemed irreconcilable. “B-but you’re so girly,” I finally said, “And you’re nobility. What are you doing in a dirty, run-down bar?”

Ellie laughed again. “I already told you, noble life can get a bit stuffy sometimes, and when I need a break, I come here to unwind.” She stared at me, suddenly serious, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But you should probably avoid using my name while you’re here; I doubt the other nobles would appreciate someone of my status associating with bar patrons.”

Ellie turned towards Poofy Pants. “Sup Big M?” she said, sticking out her hand.

“What it do, E-Dawg?” Replied Poofy Pants as the two engaged in an incredibly elaborate secret handshake.

“Anyways,” I said, my mind having trouble comprehending all the weirdness that had just occurred, “Can I still have the DeathTap?”

“Of course,” replied Ellie brightly, handing me the bottle of dark liquid. “I hope you’re not gonna try to drink anymore of it?” She asked, looking at me, concerned.

“I was planning on having someone else drink it,” I admitted, quickly filling Ellie in on the situation and my quest to become Princess Melanie’s BFF.

“Piper,” said Ellie seriously once I’d finished recounting my story, “You do know she’d rather stab you than become your friend, right?”

“I know, but I don’t have a choice. I’ve gotta do this for the King if I’m going to get Thomas back.”

“Thomas?” Ellie’s face immediately broke into a girlish smile. “Is he doing alright? Is his arm still giving him trouble?”

“I kinda forgot to ask?” I admitted guiltily, “But he seemed okay when I spoke with him.”

Ellie nodded happily, “That’s a relief; I tried speaking with him today, too, but well–”

She trailed off, looking frustrated. It sounded like their first kiss hadn’t made Thomas any less awkward around her.

“Well, anyways,” I said, enjoying catching up with Ellie but needing to get a move-on, “wish my luck with Princess Melanie, and thanks for your help.”

“Good luck, Piper,” said Ellie with a cautious smile, “you’ve probably got this.”

“And you.” I turned to Poofy Pants, and we stared sourly at each other, neither saying anything. “Thanks for your help too.” I finally said.

Poofy Pants gave a quick, single nod of his head in acknowledgment. “If you ever need my help again, witch, don’t.”

I stuck out my tongue and exited the bar, liquor, and potatoes in tow. It was time for a playdate with my new BFF.