Benedictus found this new world strange. Everything was slightly wrong. Not by much, but just enough to make the little things scream out at him. Like bathing. In this strange world, the tub fills immediately with whatever soapy liquid he desired. This time it was rose water, something he didn't even realize he wanted. From what Benedictus could see, there were no faucets, drains, or pipes. Nothing that implied plumbing of any kind. It made him uncomfortable.
He took his time scrubbing the debris off his body, but again, something strange happened. His hair had lost all color. It drained into the water like a poor dye job. Was he going insane? Was this all a dream? How does someone wake up from something like this? Benedictus couldn't help but worry. Or, was there something in the water? Was he allergic to magic? Had the Witch cursed him?
There was no way to be sure, but his patience was running thin. He needed to be back home. Back in his kitchen. Moving, working, making. Benedictus needed his creature comforts. He hadn't been outside his house for over a year. He needed to be there in case his beloved came home…
He took a deep breath, grabbing an orange towel off the rack. His head was in a hurry, jumping from thought to thought. Benedictus needed to get through this. Whatever this was, somehow. He had already challenged Griselda to a contest, but a week was far too long. He needed to speed things up. He needed to start cooking again.
Benedictus tossed the towel aside. He remembered Hensel's words. 'Don't worry about cleaning up after yourself. Mother's magic makes sure the house stays clean.'
Comfortably dry now, he wandered over to the wardrobe to get dressed. It was, conveniently enough, next to the wall-sized mirror. It was crafted from a soft wood, and was as tall as the wall and as wide as a window. As he stepped inside, it made his skin crawl. The inside was an ominous pitch black, but like everything else around the home, it gave off a pleasant scent. This time it was oranges and cinnamon. The doors silently closed behind him. After a moment of groping for handles that didn't exist, he had no choice but to move forward.
--
Benedictus found himself at the top of the stairs. The wardrobe had teleported him there. As he descended the stairwell, he could hear chatter coming from the Breakfast Room below.
The conversation seemed lively, but as Benedictus approached, he felt his stomach knotting. To him, this situation was feeling more like a job interview than a simple introduction. He was a stranger in this world, and Griselda seemed strict. Once she decided on something, that was it. She must've also been confident that Benedictus's cooking skills weren't as good as hers. Why else would she make a bet with someone from a different world?
Benedictus shook his head. He needed to focus. Worrying about the unknown would do nothing but make his confidence waver, and he needed to be confident. He needed to match Griselda. Bluff or not.
Benedictus had stopped outside the Breakfast Room. He was hiding, even though he wouldn't admit it.
"You're 'it' Hensel!" someone shouted. Around the corner they came, barreling into the Hero. It was a boy, and he bounced off of Benedictus like shrapnel.
"Hey! Ouch! Who put a wall here?" the boy, who very clearly wasn't Hensel, said, rubbing his nose. He opened his teary eyes, annoyed at first, before noticing Benedictus standing there. And then he screamed.
"You're him!" he shouted, leaping to his feet. "You're him. Him! The sum-hero!" The boy was spinning like a top.
"Great gizzards Forest!" another stranger said, appearing from around the same corner. He was the man from earlier, Benedictus noted. The man glanced at Benedictus, acknowledging him, before turning his eyes to the hyperventilating boy. "I apologize for him," he said, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Please, we've been waiting all evening for you."
Benedictus couldn't hide anymore. He nodded, thanking him, and entered the Breakfast Room.
--
It was rather late into the evening, Benedictus realized. The natural sunlight that the large windows had let in was replaced by a floating chandelier's candlelight from above. In the distance he could see the town. The small lights shimmered and moved, reminding him of rippling water.
"Once again, Ser Hero, You. Are. Late."
Griselda's sharp tone slapped Benedictus out of his nervous dreaming. He was here to negotiate. Not sit around.
"Madame Griselda about our agreement earlier—" he started.
She hushed him.
"Take a seat," her tone was polite, but it was not a request.
Benedictus complied, sitting at the other end of the table, directly across from her, Hensel, and the two strangers.
He watched her muster herself. The Witch straightened her back, and squared her shoulders, before she spoke again.
"My name is Griselda of Grenade. I am a Witch, and I work under the orders of our King," she motioned to her right, at Hensel. "This is my son. Hensel of Roi. He is 11, and will be turning 12 later this year."
"Good evening Ser," Hensel squeaked.
She motioned to her left, where the mysterious man and boy sat.
"This is Cyne of Black. A local Warlock and close friend."
"A most heartfelt welcome Outsider," he said, nodding.
Cyne, at first glance looked rather dramatic. His skin was an almost sickly pale, and he wore a coal-colored overcoat that Benedictus was sure came from the hide some sort of large black lizard. His hair was the same shade of light-eating black, while his undershirt was a sanguine red. His eyes were a stormy grey, accentuated by the dark bags under his eyes. Cyne made an unmistakable impression, even from across the room. Even so, the Warlock seemed quite friendly. But that was an easy accomplishment for anyone, if you compared them to Griselda.
"And this," she continued on, "is Cyne's assistant, Forest."
"Hello Ser!" the boy from earlier shouted. "My name is Forest, Son of Igor! I am Master Cyne's assistant! I just turned 13! It is nice to meet you! Ser!"
Cyne stifled a chuckle, while Griselda rolled her eyes. The boy, Forest, was clearly nervous, and shouting to keep himself going. They were an odd pairing, Benedictus thought. It was as if the Warlock had chosen his mortal opposite. Unlike his master, the boy had a deep tan, with walnut-colored hair and eyes. His clothes weren't as coordinated as Griselda's, or Cyne's, or even Hensel's. He wore a simple attire of faded blue, with a white sash wrapped around his waist. He was tall, and by the looks of it, still growing. In a few years he would be taller than Cyne.
All four of them were looking at Benedictus expectantly. He had mistakenly assumed that Griselda would speak for him.
"It's nice to meet all of you," he said. "My name is Benedictus Agnes, and I am a Baker from another world."