Sasha and Puck and the Potion of Luck

by Daniel Nayeri; Anneliese Mak

  Sasha breathed a sigh of relief.

  “That was close,” she said.

  Ms. K stared at Otto as he wandered back to his mud pit, happy now that his belly was full.

  “It was your skirt,” said Sasha. “Otto sees red when he sees orange.”

  “What a terrible coincidence,” said Ms. K, “that I wore my orange skirt today, of all days.”

  “Yes,” said Sasha, “but it was very lucky that I looked out the window when I did, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Hmm?” said Ms. K. She was still a little in shock.

  “Wouldn’t you say you’ve had good luck overall?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Ms. K.

  “The potion must be working already,” said Sasha.

  “That can’t be,” said Ms. K. “I haven’t had a sip yet.”

  She pulled the bottle from her skirt pocket and held it up.

  Crumbsy bumsy! Sasha thought, as she picked herself up and patted the dirt from her legs.

  “Maybe the top was loose,” said Sasha, “and a little of the potion rubbed off on your fingers.”

  It wasn’t a very believable story.

  Ms. K said, “Perhaps.”

  Sasha hurried to think of some excuse to follow Ms. Kozlow back to her shop, but she was interrupted.

  “Sasha, would you come with me to my shop?”

  What luck! thought Sasha. Of course, she didn’t believe in luck, only in the mathematical potential for various outcomes. She believed any good scientist would look at a situation and weigh the likeliness, or odds, of each outcome. Then she would pick the one with the best chance of coming true. So she amended her thought: What probability!

  “Sasha?” said Ms. Kozlow.

  “Oh. Yes, sorry. I was just thinking something.”

  “I was saying if you come to my shop, I could thank you again and replace the bonbons.”

  “You’re very kind,” said Sasha.

  And so, the two began to walk along the lane, down the hill, toward the Village.

  As long as Sasha had been alive, and a lot longer before that, people just called the village, “the Village.”

  It didn’t have a name, because it wasn’t a famous place, like the Knight Garden, or the Citadel of the Make Mad Order, or even Rozny, the town on the other side of the mountains.

  Everyone who knew about the Village lived there. And anyone who didn’t live there didn’t know about it. So it had never needed a name.

  The Village sat in a meadow in a little valley beyond the Willow Woods, between two rivers that flowed into each other and out into the King of Seas. In the mornings, the fog from the sea would roll over the Village, into the woods, and make it a dreamlike place where people would see magical creatures of all kinds. Sasha only saw people and trees and everyday stuff.

  The valley with the Village was just a little place compared to the rest of the world. It was tucked away in an out-of-the-way corner, where no kings or wizards ever took notice. And the war was just a far-off rumor. News from the wider world reached them when travelers passed through or when the musicians guild in Rozny graduated a new class of bards and they all set out on their first adventures over the Sparkstone Mountains.

  Sasha knew all the stories about hill trolls and castles where the flowers could talk. She knew the war effort had called all the dragon riders and alchemists. That’s where her mother had gone—to heal the wounded and the sick. And maybe some of it was magic. To be honest, Sasha couldn’t remember that part.

  Sasha had never been to Rozny or to anywhere else. The Village was the only home she’d ever had. Which was why it was so important to make sure they never lost the shop. Which was why she had to make sure Ms. K got her luck.

  As they walked, Sasha noticed that Ms. K had a nervous habit of humming to herself. Sasha didn’t recognize the tune.

  “Do you like being a chocolate maker?” asked Sasha. Maybe Ms. K needed luck to find a new job.

  “Oh, I adore it,” she said. “All five of my aunts were chocolatiers.”

  Nope.

  “Is it hard?” said Sasha. Maybe she needed luck to make some particular bonbon.

  “It’s hard to get cacao here in the valley,” said Ms. Kozlow, “but when the caravans pass through, I stock up as much as I can.”

  Sasha wasn’t getting anywhere. They passed the wooden signpost that said:

  THISTLEWOOD SWAMP, THIS WAY.

  WILLOW WOODS, THAT WAY.

  THE KING OF SEAS, THAT OTHER WAY

  VILLAGE, AHEAD.

  The dirt lane turned into a cobblestone path. The first building was the miller’s house, sitting beside the stone bridge, where the water wheel turned in the lazy river.

  They passed a half dozen houses, the Wander Inn, and Moxley’s Tavern.

  Sasha peppered Ms. K with questions.

  Was she happy in the Village?

  Yes.

  Was she going to be in a bonbon competition anytime soon?

  No.

  Did she want to be rich?

  Not really.

  Was she in love?

  Nervous laugh. No answer.

  Did she have a mom and dad?

  Yes, both.

  That was already very lucky, said Sasha.

  “Yes,” said Ms. K, “but mine aren’t very much like yours.”

  Sasha didn’t want to ask any questions about mothers. They walked through the Village square where the greengrocer, the cheesemonger, the baker, and the spicer all had a little market together. The bigger market with the goldsmith and the jeweler was in the part of the Village people called “Upside,” where the wealthy families lived. Two rivers cut across the Village: the warm Sweltering River that flowed from deep within the Willow Woods, and the cold Shivering River that rushed from high up in the mountains. The fancy Upside neighborhood was upriver on both rivers. The Gentrys lived there.

  The rest of the Village, the square and its markets, were in Downside, where most of the working people lived. It was downriver, of course.

  The docks by the sea, where the butcher and tanner worked, were called “Dockside,” and Sasha wasn’t allowed to go there alone.

  “I’m sorry,” said Ms. K. “I see I’ve upset you.”

  Sasha wiped her eyes. “No,” she said.

  “I only meant that your father seems to love you very much. He smiles often.”

  “That’s true,” said Sasha.

  “And does he support your desire to be a detective?”

  “Detective?” said Sasha. “What makes you think I want to be a detective?”

  “Oh,” said Ms. K. “I just thought that since you had your notepad and were asking questions…”

  “I’m not sure what I want to be. I’m only twelve.”

  “Okay,” said Ms. K.

  “But Papa is very supportive of me.”

  “That’s all I meant,” said Ms. K.

  That was close, thought Sasha. Obviously, she wanted to be a detective, but a good detective wouldn’t want the people she’s detecting to know they were being detected. So she put Ms. K off the scent. And besides, Sasha wanted to detect the world and all its secrets—all the hidden laws of science.

  She didn’t have time to explain science detection. They had already come to the street where Ms. K lived. It was just over the bridge, on the Upside of the Village.

  “Your dad doesn’t smile often?” asked Sasha. That part had sounded important.

  “Oh, never,” said Ms. Kozlow. She stood up a bit straighter, as if her father had told her to fix her posture.

  Ms. Kozlow’s house was a thatched cottage at the end of a narrow street. A sign above the door read “Le Bon Bonbon” in swirly iron letters.

  In the windows, Sasha could see a display of chocolate truffles—some lined up inside velvet jewelry boxes, others stacked in pyramids on glass trays. Ms. K had arranged orchids in between the various flavors and shapes.

  “Wow,” said Sasha.

  “Thank you,” said Ms. K.
“We moved here last fall from Rozny.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “You should visit me, then. I feel like I’ve been talking to a sister.”

  “Thank you,” said Sasha, but she couldn’t take her eyes from the incredible assortment of chocolates in perfect, little squares. It all seemed very orderly. Ms. K would make a good apothecary, thought Sasha. She seemed very strict—like she would be unforgiving of potions that didn’t work.

  It did make Sasha think of one question. “You must be hoping to leave this back alley, no?”

  “Why?”

  “So more people can see your work. It’s beautiful.”

  “Oh, thank you, but this little cottage is perfect. We don’t get any sunlight, since we’re tucked back behind these other buildings. It helps the bonbons stay nice and cool. And we can attract customers from both Upside and Downside.”

  Sasha couldn’t help but sigh. Ms. Kozlow seemed like the luckiest woman in the world. What more could she want?

  Inside, the shop was even more amazing. Everywhere Sasha turned, there was a tray of chocolate bonbons in rare and exotic flavors. Each shelf had color-coded flowers to indicate the fillings inside the chocolates. Red poppies lay beside chocolates filled with dragon pepper jelly. Yellow irises sat beside truffles dusted with sun fairy powder. Purple hibiscus blossoms stood beside bonbons drizzled with gooseberry cream.

  “Pick any one you like,” said Ms. Kozlow.

  But all Sasha could think of was Ms. K reporting the potion to the constable.

  “Ms. Kozlow,” she said, “can I ask you something?”

  “Of course,” said Ms. K.

  “Why would someone so beautiful and talented, who lives in a flowery chocolate shop, need any luck at all?”

  Ms. K blushed so red that all her freckles seemed to glow.

  “Is it because your dad is very strict?”

  Ms. Kozlow didn’t say anything. She took a truffle from four different trays and wrapped them in a light tissue paper. She gave the bundle to Sasha with a half smile.

  “Thank you again, Sasha,” said Ms. K. She seemed to have gone cold. Sasha knew this was a polite way of saying the conversation was over.

  “Okay,” she said, “I hope you enjoy your potion and it brings you luck.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Because it will. I mean. They do. The potions. They work. They work very well. My father is a good man.” Sasha ran out of the shop before she could make even more of a fool of herself. She walked around the side of the shop as fast as she could, so Ms. Kozlow couldn’t see her. She leaned against the stone wall in the dark alley.

  That was a complete mess, she thought. But what could she do? Ms. K wanted luck, and Sasha had to find out why.

  Ms. Kozlow was very buttoned-up. Sasha would have to do her best spying. Could she wait here in the dark until Ms. K went out again? Could she follow and find out her secret reason for wanting luck?

  Sasha’s eyes weren’t used to the shadows.

  As she planned her next move, she started to notice a strange grunting noise behind her.

  Suddenly, Sasha realized that she wasn’t alone.

  And whatever was there with her was right in front of her.

  Sasha froze.

  Her eyes slowly made out the shapes before her. A stack of crates stood on one side of the alley. At her feet was a pile of ash where a chimney sweep must have dumped the soot from all the nearby buildings.

  Sasha wanted to turn and run. But she had heard that any sudden move might startle a creature and make it attack.

  Sasha kept stone-still.

  The grunting noise was coming from the soot pile. She reached out her foot. As soon as her toe touched it, a big pair of eyes opened.

  Sasha jumped back and screamed.

  The creature did the same.

  Chapter 4

  “Wait a minute,” said Sasha. “Hold on.”

  She stared directly at the grimy, filthy, little creature and still couldn’t figure out where it ended and the dirt pile began.

  “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  The creature nodded. A cloud of soot bellowed outward.

  It made a grunty noise like, “Ruh! Ruh!”

  “Does ‘ruh!’ mean yes?” said Sasha.

  “Ruh!”

  “So why not just say yes then, if you understand me?”

  It shrugged.

  “Well, are you a boy or a girl?” said Sasha.

  Grunt.

  “That wasn’t a one-grunt or two-grunt question,” said Sasha.

  “Gooby gooby!” said the creature. Sasha didn’t know what gooby meant, but there was no point in arguing with it. Sasha liked things to be clear and orderly. And she preferred people who bathed. Already, the palms of her hands felt like they needed a good washing, even though she hadn’t touched the creature.

  But even so, she had to admit, it was awfully cute. If she looked closely, it resembled a boy—about four years old—dressed in rags like the orphans of a castle town in her books. He had tangled hair, and one grimy fist that seemed to be always in or near his mouth. His eyes were like giant puppy-dog eyes that expressed endless curiosity and kindness and just a little mischief.

  Sasha watched him put a finger two knuckles deep into his nose.

  “Well, you’re very much like a pox,” she said, “which is what my papa calls little unwanted things.”

  He nodded again. It was probably true.

  “But if you weren’t so dirty, you would remind me of the fairy folk, like Puck. Papa says Puck was luckier than a child in a storybook.”

  The little creature seemed to like that. He made a noise like a tiny walrus.

  “Okay, we’ll call you Puck.”

  “Ruh! Ruh!” said Puck, as though she had gotten the answer right.

  He reached out two dirt-covered arms for a hug.

  Sasha recoiled. “Look, Puck. You seem too silly and too messy for me to be friends with,” she said, “but it is nice to meet you.”

  Puck let out a sound—a sad sound. A sound like his feelings had been hurt. He slumped back onto his dirt pile. His big black eyes started to water.

  Sasha felt terrible and started to explain herself, but he simply tilted his head back, opened his mouth, and began to howl.

  “Shh! What are you doing?!” said Sasha. “You’ll get us caught.”

  But Puck didn’t seem to care that they were in an alley behind Ms. Kozlow’s shop. Sasha didn’t have any good excuse for hiding behind the chocolate shop. All she could do was admit that her papa had sold Ms. Kozlow a bunch of fake magic. Puck’s howls grew even louder.

  “Okay, okay, stop wailing. We’ll be friends.”

  Puck wiped his tears with his arm, which made mud out of all the soot on his cheeks.

  “You are a very difficult child…or dirt fairy…or whatever you are.”

  Puck snuffled up his tears and smiled.

  “Now will you tell me whatever you were trying to tell me?” said Sasha. She was losing patience and daylight.

  Ms. Kozlow had already had the potion for half an hour, and Sasha didn’t have a clue why she needed it. Sasha could feel disaster in the air. And Puck seemed like nothing but a giant distraction.

  “So?” said Sasha. “Will you tell me or not?”

  Puck nodded at Sasha’s hand.

  Sasha looked down. She was still holding the chocolate bonbons Ms. Kozlow had given her. “You have to be kidding me. You want this? That’s what you were trying to say?” She held out the bonbons reluctantly.

  In one quick motion, Puck opened his mouth and chomped on her whole hand.

  “Ew!” said Sasha. She pulled her soggy hand away.

  That was the second time Sasha had lost her bonbons. “Maybe you’re not so lucky,” she muttered—or maybe his luck was only for his own good.

  Just then, Puck turned and scrambled up the gutter of Ms. Kozlow’s shop.

  “Hey!” said Sasha.<
br />
  Puck climbed as fast as a squirrel and disappeared onto the roof and into the chimney.

  Sasha sighed. “Of all the odds and oddity. What a disappointing creature,” she said. All he’d wanted was the treat.

  Sasha didn’t have any friends, besides the possibility of Ms. Kozlow, which was a very exciting possibility. Sometimes she told herself it was because she was too busy. Her mother was gone, after all, and that left a lot of work for her to do. Besides, the kids all lived in the Village and went to school together. They all thought Sasha was the weird alchemist’s daughter, who lived in the woods.

  Still. It would have been nice, she thought, to have a partner.

  Sasha was about to walk out of the alley, toward home, when she heard a scuffling sound at the window of the shop. The purple curtain flew away suddenly, and Puck’s dirty face popped up behind the glass, smiling wide.

  “Oh!” said Sasha, surprised and more than a little delighted.

  Puck fumbled with the latch for a second, then pushed open the window. He waved for her to climb in.

  “I thought you ran off,” said Sasha.

  “Pfft,” said Puck, shaking his head at such a silly idea. “Gooby.”

  Chapter 5

  Sasha was a detective and a scientist and the daughter of alchemists. She was a friend to dirt fairies (or whatever Puck was), and sometimes, she was a spy. But she was no thief and no sneakabout.

  She didn’t steal into people’s homes, even if it would help the detecting and sciencing and spying.

  “I won’t do it,” she said.

  “Gooby!” said Puck, waving for her to hurry inside.

  “No. Ms. K is an honorable woman. We won’t betray her trust.”

  Puck let out a frustrated grunt.

  He looked around the small back room of the shop where Ms. K had her pots, molds, and most importantly, the cooling racks for her macarons.

  Sasha continued her speech. “Stealing of any kind is wrong, after all.”

  She looked up to see Puck already shoving three stolen macarons into his mouth.

  “What are you doing? Stop that!”

  He ate two more. She had no idea how he did it so fast.