The morning sun filtered lazily through the window and right into my eyes. “Five more minutes,” I muttered, covering my head and trying in vain to fall back asleep. Now, I don’t know if it’d been the doing of my school cafeteria’s mystery meatloaf or just my weird brain chemistry, but I’d had a super cool dream about going back to the Middle Ages, complete with wizards, chamber pots, and bad hygiene. I sleepily considered writing a book about the idea when I felt something hairy brush against my leg. My eyes snapped open, suddenly wide awake. A moment later, the hairy thing squeaked, and that’s when I realized there was a rat in my bed.
There was a lot of jumping and screaming after that, and it didn’t take long to remember that what I’d hoped was a dream was my new way of life, at least until I found a way to recharge my laptop. I nervously watched the hole in my room that the rat had scurried into, hoping I wasn’t patient zero for the black plague.
True to his word, King Cassian had provided me with a spare bed chamber typically reserved for Princess Melanie. The room was painted a gaudy yellow, with a cacophony of flowers littering the windows. Despite its tacky color, the room was relatively spacious, with lovely furnishings like silk curtains, an oak desk, and a copper treasure chest to store my few worldly possessions. It kinda felt like I was in a fancy hotel, albeit one with rats and no plumbing.
Still rattled from my rodent encounter, I shuffled over to one of my room’s windows and stuck my head outside, both to get some fresh air and to hopefully blow off any rat-borne illnesses that might be clinging onto me.
A strong breeze played through my hair, and I could see my breath in the cool of the morning. My room was located several stories up the castle, and down below, the kingdom’s citizens were already going about their days. I gave them a smile and a wave, even though I was pretty sure no one could see me from up here. After all of the ruckus from the prior day, it was good to see that the people (I think they were called Praedonians) didn’t appear too rattled or frightened, especially since there was now a witch living in their castle.
Looking around the town, I noticed a stone wall in the village square that was smothered in soot. I stared at it for a few seconds, before realizing it must’ve been the wall my phone had projected onto the night before. As a result, it was also the wall the assassins had bombarded with fireworks when they saw what they believed was a real-life dragon.
I wondered if people would start treating the dirty-looking wall like a kind of kitschy tourist attraction. Come one, come all to see the marvelous dragon wall! It sounded like a pretty dull way to spend an afternoon, but in the age before television and widespread literacy, there probably wasn’t a lot to do to pass the time besides trying not to die from the plague.
Starting to shiver from the cold, I shut the window and looked across my room, pondering my situation. Even though I was stuck in medieval times and had to pee in a metal pot, I had to admit that my situation could’ve ended up being a whole lot worse. Living in a castle meant I had shelter and wouldn’t have to rough it out in the forest. It also meant I had access to food, which was great because I hadn’t seen any fast food joints on my way into the kingdom, and I’d be darned if I was going to take a bow and arrow and shoot some innocent little rabbit. I was also technically employed by the king, which hopefully meant I got paid. I’d have to ask him about that later.
With my immediate concerns taken care of, my mind drifted back to Gerard. Before my laptop had died, he’d promised to start searching for me as soon as he repaired the time machine. It was reassuring knowing that my cousin was actively working on search and rescue, but the problem was that neither of us knew where I was geographically or when I was chronologically. And if I recalled correctly, Gerard had said it might be a long time before he found me, possibly even years.
I squeezed my hands into fists and took a few calming breaths. I wasn’t sure if I could wait years to be rescued, and it wasn’t just because I was naturally impatient (although I’d be the first to admit that I detested waiting). My eyes drifted back to the hole the rat had fled through. With the complete lack of modern medicine in this time period, I could very well die from some kind of disease long before Gerard ever showed up. Also, being in the Middle Ages, I might just get stabbed by some highway robbers or die during childbirth if I met a Mr. Piper during my stay in Praedones.
Hold up, if I got married and had kids in the past, wouldn’t that cause all sorts of problems in the future? Like what if I became my parents great great great grandmother? That would be fifty different shades of creepy.
“It’s much more dangerous for a person to go to the past. If we’re not careful, we could end up changing the course of history, and not in a good way.” I grimaced as I recalled Gerard’s words, realizing that two of the first things I had done after getting here in the past were to get on a Skype call and wave a smartphone around. Oops.
When I’d first planned to travel into the past, I’d only wanted to go back a single day to redo my Hamlet audition and put on a darker shirt. That would basically be harmless, right? But what kind of damage would I inadvertently cause 1,000 years in the past? What if I accidentally caused another world war? What if I inadvertently aided the Nazis and caused the creation of Mecha-Hitler? What if I introduced technology or customs that the people of this time weren’t ready for and doomed humanity to an early and fiery demise?
I nodded to myself. Waiting around to be saved wasn’t an option, not only once again because I was impatient but also because of the untold damage I could cause to the future. I’d hold out hope that Gerard would find me, but if that never happened, I would need to take matters into my own hands.
I walked over to the treasure chest and pulled out my laptop, which I’d stored inside the night prior. Placing it onto my desk, I flipped it open and pushed the power button. Nothing happened. I sighed, not surprised, but still disappointed.
Picking up the laptop, I flipped it around, scrutinizing every piece of the machine and seeing if there was any damage or wear I’d previously overlooked. I wasn’t a techie kind of gal, but as far as I could see, the laptop appeared to be in working condition, so I guessed all it needed to function again was power.
“That’s doable,” I muttered, hoping my brain would find that reassuring. All I had to do to go back home and prevent untold damage to the future was power up my laptop and send an S.O.S. signal to Gerard. That should be easy enough in theory, but where could I find electricity to charge my computer? Short answer: probably nowhere; I’d have to produce it myself. So how could I produce electricity? Shorter answer: I had no idea.
A knock sounded on my door, jolting me out of my ruminations. “Your witchiness,” came Thomas’ voice from the other side. “I’m here for my training.”
Frowning, I went to open the door. Outside, a grinning Thomas was fully geared out in gleaming armor and holding what looked like an old piece of bread. “First off,” I said grumpily, “don’t call me your witchiness. Second, I can’t train you.”
Thomas’ expression drooped, “why not?”
“Because I’m not a real witch, and the only reason you think I’m magic is ‘cause I have a smartphone.” I paused, realizing I had said the word smartphone and app to Thomas multiple times already; crud, I was already screwing with history!
Thomas laughed a loud and bright laugh. “Wow, Piper, I didn’t realize you were such a jokester.”
“I’m not joking,” I said flatly.
Thomas leaned in towards me, “Practically everyone in the kingdom saw you summon that dragon last night,” he whispered conspiratorially, “if you wanted to keep your magic a secret, then I’m afraid that cat’s out of the bag.”
Something about what Thomas said resonated with me. He’d seen me use modern technology but had thought it was magical. Maybe I should keep up the illusion. If everyone thought my future items could only be made and used by witches, then it was possible no one would try to reproduce any of my modern equipment and thereby mess up the timeline.
“Hmm, maybe you’re right,” I replied, pretending to ponder over his words, “I guess I did make it pretty obvious that I’m brimming with magical power.”
“Exactly,” nodded Thomas. “And the fact that I could use your summoning rectangle to call forth a dragon means that I can become a spellcaster, too!”
Were we all just gonna call smart devices magical rectangles? I guess there were worse names, but if Thomas wanted me to train him in so-called magic, that was probably a bad idea. The last thing I needed was to have him get familiar with how cell phones worked.
“I really appreciate you helping me yesterday,” I told Thomas, “But I still can’t train you. I’m sorry.”
Thomas’ lip stuck out in a pout, “But it’s been my life’s dream to learn magic. Look, I even brought you breakfast.” Thomas held up the bread he’d been carrying. I leaned in to inspect it. Looking inside, I realized the bread was hollowed out like one of those fancy bread bowls in modern times. But instead of being filled with something edible-looking, it was nearly overflowing with lumpy gray porridge, with bits of mystery meat sticking out of the top.
“Oh, wow.” I replied, nearly at a loss for words. “Were there no other options on the menu?”
“Uhm, excuse me, are you the witch?”
Thomas and I turned toward the sound of the voice. Down the hall, a girl who looked no older than eight was standing half-hidden behind a banister. She had freckles all over her face, and her hair was done up in braids with a single yellow flowing woven into it. She wore a simple gray dress with the tiniest amount of white lace stitched into the hems for her outfit. In short, she was utterly adorable.
“That’s me,” I said, walking past Thomas and flashing a bright smile at the cute little kid, “I’m Piper; nice to meet you.”
The girl returned a shy smile, “I’m Annabelle.”
Annabelle slowly exited from behind the banner but didn’t move any closer. “My dad is sick,” she continued, wringing her hands. “I don’t have any money, but can you use your magic to make him better?”
Now, the only thing I knew about medicine was from when I played Nurse DieSoon back in an Elementary School play. And even then, all my character had done was use a stethoscope to bludgeon her husband to death for the insurance money. I was not equipped to help, not even a little, but when I looked at Annabelle and saw her doing that cute little lip quiver thing that all kids do, I couldn’t help myself. “I’ll see what I can do,” I replied, rushing back into my room to retrieve my cool-looking witch cape.
XXX
Annabelle hurriedly led me out of the castle and into the city proper. “My home is just a few blocks away,” said Annabelle, dragging me by the arm, barely keeping herself from breaking into a sprint. “Thank you, by the way; my mom didn’t think you’d be willing to help a family of peasants.”
“It just shows that you can’t judge a witch by her cover.” I turned around at the sound of the voice; Thomas was following behind us.
“Have you been here the whole time?” I asked, a little annoyed that he was following me, but also impressed that he’d managed to be that quiet while wearing a full suit of armor.
“I figured I could observe you at work,” replied Thomas hopefully, pulling out some parchment and a pen like he was about to start taking notes. “Maybe figure out if I have the spark or not.”
“The spark?”
“Yeah, the magical spark,” he clarified. I still had no idea what he was talking about.
Thomas seemed like a nice guy, but he also struck me as incredibly curious, which could pose a problem. If I was gonna be incognito, I couldn’t have someone around who would ask a lot of questions. With my big mouth, I was certain I would let something slip about the future, and that was a risk I didn’t think I should take. Plus, it probably wasn’t wise to take people with me into a sick person’s home.
“Don’t you have guard duties to attend to?” I asked, trying to gently nudge him back toward the castle.
Thomas nodded, “I’m guarding you, aren’t I?”
I frowned. “Explain.”
“Everyone in the kingdom knows about how you saved Princess Melanie,” answered Annabelle, still hurriedly dragging me through the town. “You’re famous now.”
Thomas nodded in agreement. “Obviously, most of the townsfolk are grateful for what you did, but you are still a witch.” Thomas flashed me an apologetic smile, like witch was a dirty word. “No matter what you say or do, there are gonna be people who are scared simply because of what you are.”
Heeding Thomas’ words, I scanned the city as we continued half-jogging towards Annabelle’s home. Now that I was paying closer attention to the people around us, I saw most of them openly gawking at me, giving a mix of reverent bows and fearful stares. Some citizens, upon seeing me, gasped in fear and ran into their houses, slamming the windows shut like in an old western movie right before the shootout.
I realized Thomas had made a good point about me needing a bodyguard. All it would take was one scared villager with a knife, and that would be the end of good ol’ Piper the Witch. Plus, if those assassins showed up again, I could definitely use some muscle to help defend myself; I’d just need to be careful with what I said around him.
“Okay, fine.” I conceded, “You can guard me, for now, at least.” From Thomas’s expression, it looked like Christmas had come early.
“We’re here.”
I followed Annabelle’s voice and noticed we were standing in front of a quaint wooden house, not markedly different from any others in the city. Beside the house, I noted what looked like a forge, an anvil, and several metal tools and weapons resting beside a currently dead furnace.
“Your last name wouldn’t happen to be Smith, would it?” I asked.
Annabelle nodded, “that’s right, Annabelle Smith.”
I grinned; that was one thing I remembered from history class. In the Middle Ages, people’s last names were typically tied to their professions. A Blacksmith was usually named Smith, a Baker’s last name was Baker, you get the idea.
“Hey Thomas,” I said, turning to him, curious, what’s your last name?”
“McBuff,” he said simply. I cocked my head to the side, confused and slightly horrified.
“McBuff?! What kind of job do your parents–”
I was interrupted by an incessant tugging at my shirt. “Please,” cried Annabelle, “we need to hurry!” I nodded, falling in step behind the little girl as she opened the door to the house.
We stepped inside, and I had to stop myself from gagging at the smell. It’s not that the interior was overly dirty or rat-infested; it just reeked of sickness, like a blanket of disease had settled into the living space and seeped into every nook and cranny.
I jumped as a man’s racking cough filled the air. I followed the sound and saw a balding man lying tiredly in a bed, chest heaving as it sounded like he was hacking his lungs out.
“Is that the witch, Annabelle?” A woman who looked like an older version of Anabelle walked over from the kitchen and stared warily at me. She was wearing a simple brown dress and had a pretty-looking face that was somewhat marred by dark bags under her eyes. I assumed this must be Mrs. Smith, and I realized upon seeing the two together that Mrs. Smith and Annabelle had been the ones exiting the throne room right before I’d been escorted in by Poofy Pants the day before. Had they been asking the king for help?
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” I said, holding out my hand to shake. Mrs. Smith practically leaped away from me, eyes widening as they stared at my outstretched palm.
“Sorry,” she said, rubbing her hands nervously, “I’m not used to speaking directly with a, well, uh, a witch.”
“It’s okay,” I said, awkwardly retracting my outstretched hand and stuffing it into my pocket. “I’m friendly, I promise.” I distinctly remembered Thomas’ words about how a lot of ordinary folk would be terrified of being around what they thought was a witch. Hopefully, she’d warm up to me.
Our conversation was interrupted by another long and drawn-out cough from Mr. Smith. Recalling why I was even here in the first place, I walked over to the bed and attempted to doctor.
I peered into Mr. Smith’s red eyes, observed his runny nose, and listened to more of his mucus-filled coughs. With all this information in mind, I could confidently deduce that the man was sick. And that was just about the extent of my medical capabilities. Normally, Dr. Piper would recommend aspirin and some orange juice, but aspirin definitely hadn’t been invented yet, and I wasn’t even sure if oranges grew around here…wherever here was.
“Can you heal him?” Annabell took her father’s hand and looked up at me with big doe eyes. I instantly regretted agreeing to see her father. I had known I probably couldn’t and shouldn’t do a thing to help, and it seemed like all I’d ended up accomplishing was giving this family a false sense of hope. It was frustrating to know something was wrong, but have no idea how to improve the situation. That line of thought immediately made me remember my dead laptop, which upset me even further.
“I’m sorry I said,” turning away so no one could see the tears forming in my eyes. “There’s a strong magical sickness surrounding your father, and I’m still too weak from last night’s battle to do anything.” That wasn’t true in the slightest, but I couldn’t just tell them I was a fraud either, as that info might somehow make its way back to the king, who might decide to reinstate my execution. Great, now I was a liar too. I felt like a big stupid jerk, but what else could I say?
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I could feel Thomas’ eyes boring into me. I’d just casually mentioned there was a magical sickness around Mr. Smith, and I could tell he was dying to ask me about it. Thankfully, he could read the room and had decided to keep silent for now.
Annabelle started to cry, burying her face into her father’s chest as he continued to wheeze pitifully. “I appreciate you at least coming to check on him,” replied Mrs. Smith, tears also welling up in her eyes. I nodded woodenly in response, not even sure what to say.
Mr. Smith broke into another coughing fit, this one sounding way worse than the last. A few globs of blood flew out of his mouth and trickled down his chin.
Mrs. Smith knelt over her husband and lovingly cleaned away the blood with a dirty-looking handkerchief. Then, straightening herself, she turned to Thomas and me and gave us a small smile. “I was in the middle of preparing a meal for my family,” she said, her smile never quite making it up to her eyes, “would you two be willing to stay and share it with us?”
I had lost my appetite, but the least I could do was accept poor Mrs. Smith’s hospitality. Thomas looked like he was feeling the same way. “O-of course.” The both of us managed to croak out.
Mrs. Smith wiped the edges of her husband’s mouth one last time with the now bloody handkerchief before stepping back into the kitchen and preparing what looked like a plate of stale bread and cheeses.
I frowned as I watched Mrs. Smith work in the kitchen. My future brain found something upsetting about the scene, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was wrong.
Mr. Smith started to wheeze and cough again, hacking up another impressively sized glob of blood and mucus. The concoction of gunk slowly slid down his face and mixed into his copper-red beard. Gross.
“Mommy.” Said Annabelle, pointing towards her father. Mrs. Smith returned to her husband, handkerchief in hand, and cleaned the bloody mess away. She then headed back to the kitchen to finish preparing our meal, setting down the blood-soaked handkerchief and wiping her hands on the hem of her dress.
Something clicked in my mind; I’d just realized what was wrong. “Uh, shouldn’t you wash your hands before touching the food?” I asked, pointedly staring at the bloody handkerchief she’d just been handling.
Mrs. Smith blinked in surprise. “Oh, of course, I’m sorry. With everything going on, it just slipped my mind.”
Mrs. Smith walked over to a small wooden basin and dipped her hands inside; they came up wet with water. She then proceeded towards a dead fireplace at the other end of the house, grabbed a pinch of ash from inside the hearth, and rubbed the ash across her hands. I stared at her, confused at what she was doing, but no one else seemed to react to the strange behavior. Once her hands were nice and ashy, Mrs. Smith returned to the water basin, rinsed her hands again, and air-dried them before returning to the kitchen to continue preparing our meal.
“Wait, that’s it?” I asked, looking into the water basin and seeing the liquid inside was murky and discolored.
“Whaddya mean?” Asked Thomas, walking over and inspecting the basin with me. “She washed her hands. Is there a problem?”
My eyes widened in horror. I was in the middle ages, and it seemed like basic hygiene wasn’t being practiced yet! At least not to the standards of a modern person. And why’d she rub ash on her hands? I suspected that’d feel really rough on your skin.
Wanting to test a hypothesis, I turned to Thomas. “Thomas, gross question, what do you do after you use a chamber pot?”
Thomas frowned, turning a little red. “Uh, I get up and leave.”
“Do you clean your hands afterward?”
Thomas nodded vigorously, “Of course! I ash up, rinse my hands, and I’m good to go.”
“Ash up?” I asked, realizing what Mrs. Smith had done to clean her hands might be relatively common. “Why don’t you guys use soap?”
Thomas looked at me like I’d started speaking Swahili. “I’m just a knight, Piper, not a noble. Do I look like I can afford soap?”
Okay, thankfully, soap existed, but it sounded like it was really expensive. Instead, it seemed common folk would rub ash on their hands and rinse everything off with water. I guess if the ash was gritty enough, it could scrub off grease or animal fat. Still, I didn’t know if it served any disinfectant purpose, and I seriously doubted anyone else in the kingdom knew either. I looked at Mr. Smith, my superior future-person brain beginning to form a plan, maybe there was something I could do to help.
Thomas perked up, seeming to notice that I was scheming. “Are you about to do a magic?” He whispered, staring from me to Mr. Smith excitedly.
“If that’s what you wanna call it, Thomas,” I said with a smirk, “then yes, I’m about to do a magic.”
XXX
I rifled through my backpack, desperately trying to remember if what I was looking for was inside or if I’d stuffed it into my locker back at school. If it was 1,000+ years in the future, that was gonna be a problem.
“What’re you working on?” asked Thomas, his voice muffled by the locked door between us.
“Witch secret,” I replied, still rifling through my bag’s contents. When we’d returned to my room, Thomas had wanted to come inside too, and I quote, “Watch the witchening.” I didn’t want him to discover any more details about the future, but I told him that I’d be more than happy to have him guard the door to my room.
“Y’know, an assassin could probably come in through your window,” said Thomas casually, “probably be a whole lot safer if I was in there to watch you do magic, er, I mean, guard you.”
“Thanks, but we’re like three stories up, and I doubt anyone has a helicopter they can just fly over with.”
“What’s a helicopter?”
“Forget I said anything.”
Still not finding what I wanted, I flipped my backpack over and dumped all of its contents onto my bed. After a few more moments of rifling around, I finally located what I’d been looking for, a baby-blue paperback book with a delicious-looking apple pie emblazoned on the front.
I hadn’t exactly wanted to sign up for a Home Economics class, as I didn’t find the idea of knitting sweaters for an entire school semester especially appealing. However, I’d been suckered into the course when I heard that we’d be baking apple pies for the final exam, a method of testing I found both engaging and delicious. The class itself was okay, and I’d learned that I was surprisingly decent at crochet, but what I was currently searching for wasn’t a cool sweater design but a recipe for homeopathic disinfectants.
I flipped through the book’s pages, finally locating the chapter on keeping a clean household. The reading was pretty dry, but after a few moments of skimming, I found what I was looking for.
“There are many fun and exciting ways to keep a house clean,” said the book. Doubtful, but I’ll keep reading. “Typical disinfectant wipes and sprays do a great job of reducing the amount of bacteria in your home, but if you want a more natural approach, there’s a very popular herb that you’ve probably already got inside your kitchen cupboard: oregano.”
After seeing Mr. Smith’s condition, it became apparent that I lacked the knowledge to help him directly. But if I could disinfect his house, maybe I could get rid of some of the harmful bacteria that were slowly killing him. Plus, using a plant-based disinfectant would totally look like a witch potion and not give away I was from the future.
“Whaddya need oregano for? Is that an ingredient for one of your potions?”
I looked to my side and saw Thomas staring down at my book inquisitively. I’m ashamed I kept doing this, but I screamed, like, really loud.
“How did you get in here?!” I demanded, throwing a pillow at Thomas.
Thomas nimbly sidestepped the pillow. “The door was unlocked.”
I glared at him. “I locked the door not even five minutes ago.”
“Look, we can point fingers all we want,” replied Thomas with a shrug, “but if you need oregano, I’ve got tons.”
I perked up, “Really?” I knew oregano grew in the wild, but I wasn’t exactly sure where to find it. For all I know, it could’ve turned out that oregano was more expensive and rare than soap, which would’ve defeated the entire purpose of what I was trying to do.
Thomas nodded, “Yeah, I’ve got tons in my Secret Lair.”
I frowned, “Secret Lair?
XXX
Thomas had already given me the grand tour of his so-called Wizard Room the day before, and I had foolishly assumed that was where we were heading when he took me to his self-titled, Secret Lair. I had not, however, expected him to have a literal secret hideout inside the castle.
It was a largish stone room on the second floor, hidden behind a false wall, and it was practically overflowing with greenery and plant life, albeit slightly wilted due to the encroaching cold weather.
“Why do you have a random room full of plants?” I asked, admiring what appeared to be a rose bush out of bloom. “And how come the king allowed you to set up shop in all these random parts of the castle?”
“Plants can be used as the base for all kinds of different spells and potions,” explained Thomas as he closed the false wall behind us, “this is where I come to test out my latest concoctions.” Thomas picked up a glass bottle and uncorked it. “I’ve been working on a potion to cure hair loss,” he said proudly, holding it up for me to smell. “Can I get your magical opinion?”
I gave the bottle a sniff and instantly recoiled. The odor was a pungent combination somewhere between cat urine and rotten tomatoes. “Maybe run a few more tests before you bring it to market,” I said, politely moving the vile concoction away from my face.
“And as for why I have these rooms all to myself,” continued Thomas, grabbing a pair of shears and lovingly pruning one of his plants, “There were a lot of murders that took place in the castle a few years ago, and everyone else thinks these spare rooms are all haunted by vengeful spirits.
“Lovely,” I replied, walking further into the room and past dozens of different plants, many of which I recognized and several others I didn’t. I made my way over to one of the windows, and hanging by a frayed old rope were several stalks of dried-out oregano leaves. “Jackpot!” I exclaimed, doing a happy little tap dance.
“Huh?” Asked Thomas, walking up beside me.
“It’s a witch expression,” I said dismissively, “Is this all the oregano you have?”
Thomas grinned, “Oh, I’ve got tons more; oregano is the base ingredient for most of my potions.
I grinned back. “Excellent, then we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“We?” asked Thomas excitedly.
I shrugged. If Thomas was gonna be following me around everywhere, I might as well make use of him, and as long as I kept up the magical ruse, there hopefully wouldn’t be any problems. “We’ll be crafting disinfectant potions,” I said, grabbing as many leaves of oregano as I could and stuffing them in my backpack.
“What’s a disinfectant?”
“You might not know this, Thomas,” I replied, waggling my fingers, but there are billions of tiny magical organisms that live in and around our bodies, some of them good, a lot of them bad. Disinfectant helps us to kill the bad organisms before they can harm us.”
Thomas’ eyes went wide. “Wow, that sounds super magical!”
I nodded. “Super magical and completely unexplainable. Now, first up for our mission, can you show me where the kitchen is?”
XXX
It turns out making oregano oil disinfectant was super easy, barely an inconvenience. According to my Home Economics textbook, all you needed were oregano leaves, olive oil, boiling water, and a jar. After boiling the water, you were supposed to add the oregano leaves and olive oil, pour everything into a jar, heat up the jar for 5-10 minutes, and then seal said jar in front of a sunny window. Then, you’d leave the concoction alone for one to two weeks, shaking occasionally, and by the end of it, you had disinfectant. It was a surprisingly simple process, and for someone with my G.P.A., I reveled in simplicity.
There were a couple of roadblocks, however, the first being that jars hadn’t been invented yet. “A mason jar,” I said to Thomas in exasperation, “are you telling me you’ve never heard of a mason jar?”
Thomas shook his head sadly.
We were in one of the castle’s kitchens, currently boiling a pot of water. It was close to dinnertime, and I assumed this place would usually be filled with cooks preparing the evening meal, but for some reason, all the staff had decided to work in one of the castle’s other kitchens. I had a sneaking suspicion it was because this room was being occupied by a witch.
Thomas had been invaluable in the potion-making process, mainly because he had oregano and olive oil, plus he knew where all the pots and pans were. He was also utterly adorable, so excited to make what he thought was a magical potion that he was bouncing up and down like a kid on his birthday. I whispered a few magical-sounding words over the oregano oil just so he could have a more fulfilling experience.
But back to the Mason jars, this could present a potential problem as the recipe had explicitly called for them. I guess I could just store the oregano oil in a vase or some kind of glass container, but neither of those storage containers would be airtight, and the directions had clearly said that oil had to be poured into an airtight jar.
Maybe it wasn’t a big deal; maybe having the oregano oil exposed to the air would only slightly reduce the effectiveness of the disinfectant, but as it was, I had no clue, and the book didn’t say squat. For all I knew, without an airtight jar, I’d just be making smelly olive oil, and that wouldn’t exactly be helpful to the Smith family.
“Thomas,” I said, turning to him as I stirred our pot of bacteria-killing goodness. “For the disinfectant to work, the oil needs to be in an airtight container.”
“Airtight?” asked Thomas. His vocabulary probably having expanded significantly over the past two days.
I nodded. “It means that nothing can get in or out once the oil goes inside the container, not even air. Is there anything like that in the castle?”
Thomas took a second to ponder. “Do you have any spells that could remove the air for us?
I shook my head.
“Hmm.” Thomas absently tapped his foot as he thought. “Do you think we could pour the potion into a wine bottle and seal it with a cork stopper?”
I sighed, disappointed at the lack of any apparent solutions. I didn’t know much about science, but there was no way a simple cork could–. Hold up, maybe Thomas was onto something. I vividly recalled on my mom’s 40th birthday, we’d gone out to eat at a fancy restaurant, and she and Dad had ordered an expensive bottle of wine that apparently had been bottled all the way back in the early 2000s. I was pretty sure that once wine was exposed to air, it went bad after only a few days. So if the corked wine served to my parents was several decades old, that meant–.
“Thomas, you’re a genius!” I replied, grabbing and shaking him.
“Thanks!” replied Thomas, his face lighting up. “Does that mean I have the spark?”
“The what?”
“The spark! The magical potential a person needs to be a witch or wizard.”
Oh yeah, I’d forgotten he’d mentioned that spark thing earlier. “Uh, no, but you get an A for effort.”
XXX
“You need soap?” asked a confused King Cassian.
I nodded vigorously, “Yes, Your Majesty, some sort of evil charm has been placed over the Smith family, and soap is one of the primary ingredients in my healing potions.”
After bottling our oregano oil, sealing it with a large cork, and setting it out on a window sill per my textbook’s instructions, Thomas and I had headed to the throne room to meet with King Cassian. I had asked if there were any spare bars of soap lying around, assuming that being the literal king of the land, he’d probably be willing to share some with his favorite witch.
Cassian stroked his beard, looking concerned. “This evil charm you spoke of, any ideas where it might have come from?”
Crud, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.
“If I have permission to speak, sir,” interjected Thomas, bowing reverently to Cassian, “I’d assume the charm came from none other than evil spellcasters who have infiltrated our kingdom, much like the assassins from the other night.
Cassian’s eyes widened in alarm. The nobles in the throne room with us crossed themselves nervously.
“No, no, no!” I said, waving my hands and trying to prevent mass hysteria, “This magic has been with the family for a long time; my guess is that they picked it up accidentally while traveling outside your kingdom’s borders.” Yeah, that sounded safe. Saying the curse was old and from outside the kingdom would help put everyone at ease.
The room visibly relaxed at my words; I shot a glare at Thomas. The last thing these people needed was the fear that evil wizards had infiltrated the kingdom and were cursing its citizens.
“Very well,” replied Cassian, settling back into this throne, using a rag to dab away some nervous sweat that had broken out across his forehead. “We can provide you with several bars for your potions.”
I gave a grateful bow, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Also, while you’re here,” he said, suddenly looking uncomfortable, “I have a favor to ask.”
“A favor?”
Cassian nodded. “I’m sure you’re very busy doing whatever it is witches do in their free time-”
Mostly, I just hyper-fixated on my hopeless situation, but I was gonna keep that tidbit to myself.
Cassian continued, “But if you have the opportunity, I’d deeply appreciate it if you would try to befriend my sweet little Melanie.”
“The Princess?” From my very brief interaction with Princess Melanie, she’d seemed like a total grump bucket, definitely not someone I would consider B.F.F. material. “Why does she need a friend, is she lonely?”
Cassian shifted in his throne, “Not exactly,” he replied, eyes momentarily flicking away before focusing back on me, “The two of us have been trying to reach an agreement on something significant, and I was hoping that having a friend might, uh, soften her up, make her more agreeable.”
Okay, this was a weird and vague request, but the king hadn’t technically ordered me to befriend Melanie; he only asked that I try if I had the time. “I’ll see what I can do,” I replied, noting that I should at least say hi to her if for no other reason than to placate my new employer.
Cassian visibly relaxed at my words. “Thank you, Piper,” he said with a grateful nod, and best of luck with your potion.”
“Do we need soap to complete the potion?” whispered Thomas as we left the throne room, arms laden with rectangular bars of soap that looked remarkably similar to what we used in my time.
I shook my head. “Yes and no. The oregano disinfectant should get the job done, but it’ll take some time to finish fermenting; until then, we need a stopgap to help the Smith family.”
Thomas stared inquisitively at the bars of soap in his hands. “And these are supposed to magically protect against evil charms?”
I nodded, trying not to smirk. “Indeed, young one, with the help of these magic bars, they’ll be able to ward off the dark powers of the evil wizard Bacterio.”
Now, it was Thomas’ turn to look concerned. “Bacterio, is that one of the tiny guys you told me about from earlier?”
I couldn’t help it; that reaction was hilarious; I let out an unladylike snort as we headed toward our next destination.
XXX
“And remember,” I said, handing the bars of soap to Annabelle and Mrs. Smith. Use this enchanted soap every time your hands get dirty. I don’t care if you’re making food, using the chamber pot, whatever. If your hands look even the slightest bit messy, clean them with these to counteract the evil magic that’s permeated your home.”
Annabelle stared at the soap, eyes wide. “Should we use this on Daddy too?”
“Especially your dad,” I said with a nod, looking at Mr. Smith. Upon returning to the Smith residence, it appeared he’d fallen asleep, but his breathing still sounded super congested.
“I don’t know what to say,” replied Mrs. Smith, tears beginning to well up in her eyes as she rushed forward and wrapped me in a back-breaking hug. “You’ve done all this kindness for our family, and we have nothing to repay you with.”
“Helping the people of this fine kingdom is payment enough!” replied Thomas with a grin. I struggled out of Mrs. Smith’s iron grip and flashed him a sour look; that was gonna be my line!
We exited the house, Mrs. Smith and Annabelle waving us off. I waved back, feeling a strange warmness in my chest. It could’ve been heartburn, but since I was only 14 and hadn’t eaten anything today, I guessed it was the pleasant afterglow of a job well done. Well, a job hopefully well done. Since I still knew nothing about medicine, the best I could do for the Smith family was to make the home more hygienic. The oregano disinfectant would hopefully serve that purpose, but until it was ready, I was sure a few bars of soap couldn’t hurt either.
“Wow,” I can’t believe I got to make a real magic potion!” Thomas was practically skipping with joy, to the point that several villagers gave him weird looks as we passed by. “Maybe I do have the spark after all!”
I’d been thinking a lot while we’d been bottling the oregano oil, and I’d realized that Thomas may have been born in the wrong time period. He was super curious about the world, seemed to quickly grasp complex concepts like my homemade video projector, and was always excited to learn how things worked. He might have thought this all was magic, but if he’d have been born in my time, he probably would’ve made a pretty smart scientist.
An intrusive thought leaped to the front of my brain. Maybe I could leave behind a few pages from a science textbook for Thomas to study after I left. I know that sounded like a terrible idea, but Thomas clearly wanted to help the people around him, and if I could give him the tools to improve the lives of everyone in Praedones, then shouldn’t I do that? Wouldn’t it be to everyone’s benefit if disinfectant was invented hundreds of years before it was supposed to be? Wouldn’t the amount of lives that ended up being saved justify meddling with the past?
Did I even have a science textbook with me? I knew that I had my Home Economics book, and thinking on it now, I was pretty sure one or two of Gerard’s nerdy genius books had gotten sucked into the portal with me. If I left one of Gerard’s books with Thomas, I was sure there was all sorts of cool stuff he could learn.
I froze midstep.
“Something wrong, Piper?” Asked Thomas, looking at me with concern.
I broke into a run, heading back to the castle as fast as I could.
“Hey, where are you going?”
“Witch emergency,” I called back, “I’ll see you later!”
It was dark when I returned to the castle, but someone had been kind enough to leave a lit candle outside my room. I picked it up, headed into my room proper, and opened my treasure chest, eyes scanning for a particular book. It wasn’t hard to find. The Book of Genius Stuff for Super Smart People was emblazoned in neon font on the front of the textbook. Albert Einstein was on the cover doing a sick 180 on a skateboard. I wasn’t sure if this was required reading in one of Gerard’s classes or if he’d simply purchased it for himself. Either way, I was relieved to see it.
I flipped open the book and quickly scanned the pages, my heart pounding. After using my Home Economics book to learn about disinfectants, I realized that maybe there were other valuable things in my school textbooks that I could reference. I certainly wasn’t smart enough to know how to create a laptop charger or electricity all on my own, but maybe, just maybe, there was something about it in Gerard’s nerd book.
After a few minutes of flipping through pages, my search was finally rewarded as I read a chapter titled How to Make Electricity When the Grid Fails. “Alright, losers,” said the book, “We know that the normies are gonna drop like flies if they ever lose their precious electricity, but not you, ‘cause you’re smart. You eat quadratic equations for breakfast!”
I frowned, realizing I was one of those so-called normies, but I also felt myself buzzing with excitement. I literally had a book on how to create electricity. I could power up my laptop and make it back home in no time flat!
“Electricity comes in many shapes and sizes,” continued the book, “first, let’s go over a few basic terms; the primary difference between amperages and ohms is that…”