Amelia was ten years old and practically vibrated with excitement as an elderly wagon was driven exceptionally slowly down the road to her family’s cottage, pulled by a single horse. It was a strange one, in that it was for all intents and purposes, both a means of transportation and someone’s home, while most were simple affairs used for hauling cargo. It had walls, a roof and even a door, all of weather-beaten wood. Toward the back, a stove pipe stuck out to one side, with a right-angle in it and a little cone to keep rain out.
Old Mr. Pinewater was on the broad, flat board that served as the wagon’s driver’s seat, occasionally muttering words of encouragement to his horse, which looked just as tired and old. Mr. Pinewater had a long, white beard with leaves and twigs stuck in it, as if he’d never tried combing it. He perpetually wore a broad-brimmed straw hat, to block the sun, which didn’t seem to help, because what little of his face was visible was always red.
Amelia stood on the porch of the cottage as she shouted, “He’s here! He’s here! Mr. Pinewater is here!”
The modest, stone-walled, straw-roofed home was too small for the family of five that lived inside, with only two modest bedrooms, one of which was shared by Amelia and her sisters, while the other was shared by their parents. Mostly, the place was used for meals and sleeping, with everyone working or playing outside the rest of the time, with the exception of Mama, who spent her days inside, preparing potions for sale.
Amelia wore a plain dress of undyed cloth that her mother had made for her sister, Marta, when she’d been smaller. It was still in good condition, because their mother had excellent sewing skills and had chosen some rather durable cloth to make it from. Amelia’s hair was almost the same color as the faded straw of the cottage roof, though it continually got darker as she got older and had once been totally colorless. She was small and slender for a girl her age, but healthy enough.
Mama stepped outside. She was a woman of average height, with an uncanny ability to silence people with a mere look, a powerful aura of command that even Father was subject to. Her hair was a strawberry blond shade and she was in her late thirties. Around her neck was a copper necklace with little, purple stones set into a series of plates, a favorite item of jewelry she never took off. She wore a larger variation of the simple dress Amelia wore, though she’d also put an apron on over it, which was stained in many colors from the herbal ingredients of the healing potions she was perpetually making, which was part of how the family made what little money they got by on. Unlike her apron, however, her sleeves were clean. As Mama always said: “The mark of a true witch is a messy apron, but clean sleeves.”
Mama smiled at Amelia and nodded, “I see. I suppose you want to pick out a book, like I promised you could?”
“Yes, Mama!” Amelia bounced up and down at the mere thought of a new book.
She’d read everything in the house at least five times, ranging from cookbooks to alchemical manuals and journals from witch ancestors. Amelia had little talent for magic, though she put more detail into what little she could do than even her mother was capable of, despite her mother’s lifetime of experience. What Amelia always craved was a new book and some new knowledge. She had no idea what she wanted to do with it all, but craved to learn everything she could.
Mr. Pinewater arrived and slowly climbed down from his perch, complaining about the way his joints ached. When he was finally on the ground, he stooped and rubbed his lower back with one hand.
Mama stepped over and whispered with the man for a time, until they arrived at some kind of agreement. She handed Pinewater a small, glazed ceramic bottle from her apron pocket, which the old man unstopped and took a swig from. All traces of pain left his face in that moment and he straightened his back as he smiled, revealing a mouth filled with brown teeth.
“Ah, me should have come here a week earlier!” He declared, “Ye have no idea how much me needed that!”
Mother smiled, wryly, “Actually, I do, since you’re the only customer that comes to me over such terrible back and joint pain. Very few live as long as you have.”
“Aye, that’s true enough.” The old man nodded and turned to Amelia, “Yer mother says ye wants a book. Did ye have anything in mind?”
Amelia shrugged. She didn’t know what she wanted to read most, because she wanted to read everything. She knew it would frustrate her to see Mr. Pinewater’s collection, only to be forced to pick one, though she was hoping something would seem more interesting than the other books.
“Well, shall we see what piques yer interest?”
“Yes, please!” Amelia spoke with barely-contained excitement!
Pinewater led the way to his wagon and opened the door, with a little, brass key. Amelia followed him in, though the step into the wagon was a little high, so the old man gave her a hand.
Amelia looked around the interior, utterly shocked by what she saw: there were hundreds of books lining the walls, in wooden shelves that had been very securely mounted, each with removable guard rails to keep the books from falling out while the wagon was on the move. As expected, it frustrated Amelia to know she would only be allowed to read one of them!
Toward the back was a small cooking area centered around a wood stove, which was mounted on a set of firebricks. Pots, pans and even large utensils hung from little hooks on the wall. To one side was a small, narrow bed with a heavy blanket, which surely wasn’t large enough for the old man, though it was obvious he’d been making do, for years.
“What do ye want to learn?” Pinewater asked, gesturing at his collection of books, “Me has something on most every subject ye could imagine, ranging from clockwork to cooking and everything between. Me also has books that could take ye on adventures in your imagination.” He winked as he gestured to a particular section, which had smaller books.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Amelia had no interest in fiction, because the real world was far more fascinating. Why make things up, when there was real magic to learn about?
“Not fiction.” She decided.
Pinewater smiled, once more displaying his brown teeth as he asked, “What, then? Do ye want to learn to build things? Do ye want something on magic or witchcraft? Me might have an old grimoire or two, though ye must promise me ye won’t tell anyone me has such books.”
“I promise.” Amelia nodded.
She was well-aware the villagers of Daleshade feared witches and wizards. She’d been coached, accordingly, to always hide her magic and plead ignorance of the subject, lest unspecified “bad things” happen. Mr. Pinewater was an exception, however, because he was aware of and comfortable with magic, though Amelia had never seen him use it.
Ironically, the villagers thought Mama was merely an herbalist and they bought her potions on a regular basis. It was true enough, though she gave everything a measure of magic, to subtly improve their lives, despite their ignorant prejudice. Mother had grown up in Daleshade and cared for the people that lived there, despite the fact they’d do “bad things” to her if they knew she was a witch.
Pinewater dug through a chest in the corner, searching for his books on magic, while Amelia idly read the spines of some others: Rodents and How to Catch Them, One-Thousand and One Uses for Herbs, All About Steam Engines and On the Nature of Light all caught her attention, but none of them called to her.
“Hold onto this a moment, while I get to me hidden things.” Mr. Pinewater thrust a heavy, leather-bound book with a little lock in the cover into Amelia’s hands, which was so thick and heavy, it surprised her! She just about dropped it, but managed to catch it before it struck the floor, because she didn’t want to disrespect it, even if it wasn’t the one she wanted. The book was four inches thick and two feet square. The locking mechanism was some gleaming, silvery metal, from which dangled the book’s key, on a bit of string.
Lifting it back up, she noted something like the shape of a lizard had been carefully hammered into the cover. Above that was the title, also hammered, to form letters from dents. It was titled, The Book of Newts.
Amelia had the most bizarre experience as she looked on the lizard and the letters, because they both swam before her eyes, reshaping themselves into new letters and an image: Newton’s Mechanics and a hammered circle surrounded by lines for other circles, each of which bore a single bump hammered into them, at irregular, seemingly-random locations. Amelia blinked in surprise and immediately wondered if she’d imagined that, because when she opened her eyes again, it was back to being The Book of Newts.
In the background, Mr. Pinewater finally emptied his chest and removed a false bottom, revealing a few small, dusty tomes, which he hauled out.
Amelia laid the book she was holding on the bed, unlocked it with the key and carefully opened it, discovering the pages to be made of rice paper so thin, there had to be thousands of them! Inside, she was surprised to see pictures! She’d never seen pictures in a book, but each was a hand-drawn sketch of some kind of lizard, just like the markings on the cover. In fact, the entire book was hand-written, despite the fact that printing presses existed.
Mr. Pinewater smiled in a way that made it obvious he was being mugged in memory lane, “Ah, me bought that for the pictures when me was a lad. Me always liked the look of them, though me never did find out why so many herbal recipes call for ‘eye of newt’. It’s all about the little wriggling things.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Have ye never heard of newts?” Pinewater was surprised, “They’re like little water lizards, though they don’t have scales. Nothing interesting about them, at least to me, though someone obviously thought enough about them to write a book. I’m surprised ye don’t know about them, since yer mother probably uses them in potions.”
Amelia shook her head, “Mama uses herbs to make her potions, not animals. She’s opposed to unnecessary cruelty, except when it comes to Mayor Rumblecleaver, then she prefers necessary cruelty. That’s why her potions don’t work on people that hate witches. She made sure of that.”
Pinewater chuckled, “Aye, he needs more than a dollop of that. Someone ought to…” He paused for a moment, then shook his head, “Never ye mind that.”
He laid his books of magic on the bed, as if to entice Amelia away from The Book of Newts, but she ignored them, because she sensed something strange from the big and heavy book. While the others were definitely books on the subject of magic, based on their titles, The Book of Newts practically screamed to her that it was a magical book, while she sensed nothing of the like from the grimoires. It was an interesting difference. It was also a mystery she wanted to solve.
“I want this one.” Amelia declared and closed the book, holding it to her chest.
“Are ye sure?” Pinewater gave her an incredulous look, “Me has better books than that one. These books on magic-”
“I want this one.” Amelia tried to mimic her mother’s tone of command, leaving no room for argument.
Seeing the intensity of her glare, Pinewater nodded, “Very well, me’s sure ye knows yer own mind best.”
“Thank you.” Amelia bowed her head to the old man and stepped outside, with her new book held in her arms.
She was happy to have a book of her very own, for the first time. She was also looking forward to unlocking the mysteries of it, because she’d never seen a magic book before.
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Mr. Pinewater sat on his bed and smiled, quite amused his subterfuge had finally worked, after decades of working as a book peddler. His illusory disguise as a bumbling fool faded, revealing a clean, elderly gentleman in the fine, black velvet robes of a wizard. All traces of brown faded from his teeth and his beard untangled itself, the leaves and twigs stuck in it vanishing, while his hat became a pointed, black one that marked his status as a wizard of great power.
He’d been looking for someone The Book of Newts would respond to for quite a few years, most of his life, in fact. He’d long ago given up traveling the stars, because he’d crash-landed on the big moon that had become his home as a young man, which had been his escape from a sure death sentence. He’d made a great and powerful enemy up there, but looking on Amelia, knowing the book had chosen her, Pinewater knew she was destined for great things. After all, The Book of Newts was one of the oldest books in existence, absolutely filled with knowledge, all hand-written in tiny text, despite the sheer size of the thing, making efficient use of every bit of space available.
He’d only grasped perhaps a tenth of it, but Amelia? She was far more intelligent than he’d ever been, and she was only ten years old.
Worry struck him for a moment, because Amelia’s life would soon take a twist for the strange and marvelous. If she was as thirsty for knowledge as she appeared, then the book would surely raise her to the stars and that would draw the eye of that awful and powerful enemy. He briefly considered taking the book away, to spare the girl her fate, but ultimately, he decided to trust the book. If anyone could out-fox the old pirate witch that blasted Pinewater from the sky, it was Amelia.
She was a prodigy that needed encouragement and taking that book from her would stifle her potential, dooming her to be a mere fraction of her truest self. It would be a far more cruel fate to resign her to life as a mere housewife to some dullard of a man, as she made potions for a people that didn’t value her true talents. She didn’t deserve to become a reflection of her mother, who toiled long hours to help people that would gladly burn her at the stake if they only knew the truth, all because she had no better option.