As they sat on Serenica's desk, mixing that awful booze with blackcurrant juice, something resembling a plan began to form.
"That wench, I need to find out what she's up to," Serenica said, rolling the liquid on her tongue and trying to decide whether it tasted more like cough medicine or death. "An awful lot of trouble, and for what, a few silly crystals and tattler's curses. She could have bought them all for much less than it takes to feed the city watch."
"Those men eat a lot," Helen agreed. "But isn't it obvious? She wants to be the only witch in Neul."
The idea was so stupid, so fruitless, that Serenica snorted.
"Come on! You heard what you said. She's one of those witch-hating witches."
"Yes, but why? I believe you, mother of worms, I do, but why?"
"It's better for the business?"
"She has no need to make business anymore."
"Oh, Serenica, you underestimate the insane hoarding tendencies of the rich."
