“Agnes,” he growls.
“Sister,” Nan chides, her yellow eyes gleaming. “Don’t poke the dragon.”
Agnes grins, and I see that her teeth are jagged and filed to points. She turns to me and proffers the object she’s retrieved from her bag. I look cautiously down at it.
It’s a long strand of white rope with three knots set at intervals. The knots are intricate and look almost like roses.
“Oh, that’s so pretty,” I breathe. She inhales sharply, and when I look up, she’s watching me with none of the previous malice. Instead, there’s something curiously shy about her, as if she’s unused to praise. “What is it, please?”
“’Tis a wind spell,” she says. “Pull the first knot.”
Sigurd’s hold tightens, but I do Agnes’s bidding and tug the knot. I gasp in delight as the rose separates, its petals falling to the ground and disappearing.
“Mistress Agnes,” Sigurd breathes. “Have a care.”
“Pooh. It's just a breeze,” she says.
The second after she speaks, a breeze starts up. At first, it's playful, tugging at my hair and clothes. Then it gets stronger, and I stagger a little.
“Enough,” Sigurd growls.
The witch sighs and clicks her fingers. I notice the nails are black. The breeze drops.
“Did the rope do that?” I ask.
She nods, her eyes sharp and watchful. “’Tis a wind spell.”
“Agnes, Nan, and Margaret are sea witches,” Sigurd tells me. “They loiter near harbours.”
“Loiter?” Margaret snaps. “Have a care, dragon.”
Sigurd sighs. “My apologies. I do not like such tricks being played on my… On Cary. The ladies are usually here bartering for ingredients for their spells and selling charms to sailors. The wind spell is an example.”
“Ah.”
“It is a three-knotted witch cord,” Agnes says. “It gives the power of the wind to sailors, and each knot provides a different kind of wind. The first—the one you just released—is a breeze to fill the sails, the second is a stronger one at your back as you sail the waves. The third—” She chuckles, and her sisters join her. “Ah, that is a wind powerful enough to drive ships onto the rocks.”
“Why would a sailor want that?” I ask.
“They don’t,” she says simply. “But when you trade in magic, there is always a sting in the tail.”
Silence drops and after a moment, I say, “That’s very clever. Thank you so much for showing me it. I’ve never seen such fantastical things as I have since I met Sigurd.”
He stirs and pulls me closer, and Agnes watches us, her eyes warm, yet also cautious. “Such times we live in when myths come to life,” she says gently.
Sigurd puts a hand to his forehead in a leisurely salute. “We bid you good day, sisters. May your day be full of useful trade and happiness.”
Margaret spits on the ground. “What trade is there these days, dragon? Silly tourists and fishermen who pay no attention to what their elder kin told them. Who do we sell to, then?”
“Maybe you should set up a shop,” I say casually, blinking as they all turn to me.
“A shop?”
I nod. “It’s cold out here. It can’t be nice to stand around all day. Set up a shop and pay to have someone to run it. You can gather your ingredients while they work and then sit in the warmth instead and make your spells. Maybe you could put up a sandwich board here to direct customers to the shop,” I say, warming to my idea. “And selling online would be even better.”
“Sandwich board? Is that not bread that humans eat?” Nan, the other sister, says.
“Yes. Do you eat bread?”
