"Wake up sonny," a gnarled finger jabbed Benedictus' ribs.
Getting up in the morning had never been difficult for him. It was his normal routine that kept him awake. The tingling of mouthwash. Cool water splashing on his face. Steady hands for his razor. Jittery hands in anticipation for a fresh cup of coffee. Two cups sugar, 3 cups crème.
All of those little things felt so far away.
He slipped out of the cart, almost twisting his ankle. Benedictus hopped a little, anchoring himself. He frowned, the nauseating feeling of a churning empty stomach accenting an achy back and low blood sugar.
"Ya got a hangover son?" the old man, who Benedictus assumed was a farmer, asked.
Benedictus' head was pounding. The world was too loud, too bright. Blood rushed in and out of his ears, making the experience worse.
"Water. Please," Benedictus gasped. He slid. He wasn't quite sure when the cart had gotten so far away. The farmer had disappeared, but his horse stood with weathered patience. She nibbled on a patch of grass.
Hard glass met Benedictus' teeth, followed by cold lavender smelling water. He coughed at the bitter tastes of pepper and cinnamon.
"Don't spit!" the old farmer had returned. "This is Witch's Water. Precious and expensive!"
It tasted strange. The texture made Benedictus gag again. He felt like he was drinking dirty pond water. Bits of pepper seeds kept irritating his throat, making him gag. Thankfully the old farmer was generous and patient. Letting him drink until he was full.
"Thank you."
Benedictus' world had stopped spinning. The world's tiny irritations no longer attacked his senses. He was in shade, sitting under a large tree. A slight wind shook the long branches. This was nice. The unremarkable pastry chef waited, enjoying the moments as they passed.
"We're going to be late," the old man sighed. His tone was an easy one; not pushing Benedictus to move too quickly.
Eventually, the horse finished nibbling on her patch of grass. By then the farmer had given Benedictus dried berries to nibble on.
--
"You. Are. Late," Griselda of Grenade stormed down the stairs. She was tall, made imposing in her high heels and long flowing dress. Her long dark red hair was tied in an elegant bun. As she rushed closer, Benedictus noticed that her dress had elegant red pomegranates sewn into the sky-blue of her dress.
"I have been waiting, nay. I have been stalking these halls like some sort of unholy spirit!" she was nearly nose-to-nose with Benedictus. Griselda was not the type of woman to yell; she kept her voice even, angry or otherwise.
"I apologize ma'am. I collapsed right outside…"
"Did you just call me 'ma'am?'" Griselda stepped back, a frown marring her features. "I am not anyone's 'ma'am.' I am a madame, a witch, a mother and a scientist. You may call me any of those, but I will curse you if you call me 'mother.'"
Benedictus said nothing. Griselda didn't ask for confirmation; he would understand now, or suffer later.
She led him through the manor. It was rather large; two floors with multiple bedrooms, and living rooms. There was also a small library, a breakfast room, a dining room, and outside, a large garden terrace. But no kitchen?
"And we're finished," she said, twirling past him. "Follow me."
Griselda led him through the entrance hall again. The left the manor heading outside. They followed a simple worn garden path, which led to a gazebo covered in green vines and blooming flowers. Within, was a tea set, sitting on a white tablecloth. Griselda took a seat, pulling a wand from her sleeve. She mumbled a word then tapped the tea tray twice. Benedictus watched, impressed at how empty towers quickly filled with cookies and biscuits.
"Take a seat, please," she motioned generously to the cushioned chair across from her.
Griselda's magic poured him a cup, sliding him a brown cookie on a tea plate.
"It's best to talk about annoying things over tea…" she started. "You are here because the King has no use for you in his Great War," she waved her hands into the air, slightly agitated.
"We are at the western edge of the territory. Far away from any sort of fighting or blood or—or anything like that," she took a long drink from her tea. Benedictus took one glance into the cup and saw dark balls floating around.
"I am a scientist. A Mage, a witch, a whatever-you-want-to-call-it. It's my responsibility to discover new spells, improve old spells, yadda-yadda. In short, my time is very limited."
"You're wondering what I can offer you that your magic can't?" Benedictus asked, trying to avoid taking a bit of the odd-smelling brown cookie. "Well," he said, "Do you have a kitchen?"