He turned tail and hurried down the street with Ramaro on his heels. I caught myself a yard from the door just as it swung open.
A short woman of eighty stepped out. Her back was slightly hunched, and her long gray hair trailed down in a long tail. She wore a simple black dress with lace at the cuffs, the hue a stark contrast to her pale, wrinkled hands. Her face was no less wizened, but her brown eyes were as sharp as the points of her long fingernails.
She blacked them together as she looked me over. “Well? Who are you? What do you want?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I-I was just, um, just wondering-”
The woman narrowed her eyes and scurried up to me with more agility than I expected. I started back, but she grabbed my wrist and yanked me close and down, so we were face to face. I shrank beneath those sharp, wrinkled eyes. Her breath wasn’t that great, either. It smelled like she’d been snacking on onions and sardines.
She leaned back and wrinkled her nose. “Come with me.”
I yelped as she yanked me into the house, but I had enough time to glance over my shoulder. Torvus and Ramaros peeked around the oak tree. The old woman jerked to a stop and glared at the wall ahead of us. “If you two are done hiding behind the tree, then fetch me one each of the herbs before you get your worthless asses in here.”
The woman dragged me inside and slammed the door shut behind us. She released me and moved over to the crackling hearth. I had a chance to look over the room. The right half of the space was made of stone and held the kitchen, along with a huge wooden stove and a thick table. Herbs hung from the open-rafter ceiling, and the open cupboards were filled with clear glass jars. Unknown substances floated in the liquid.
The other half of the room was the quaint living room. A small bed was tucked into the corner closest to the huge hearth, and a small table was surrounded by chairs and a couch, none of which matched any of the others. Rugs covered the unsanded wooden planks, and worn tomes and newspapers were scattered about the room.
The old woman grabbed one of the papers as she passed a chair and tossed it into the dwindling flames. The fire came back to life with a burst of light before dwindling to a controlled crackle below a large cauldron. A delicious smell wafted from the gurgling contents. The woman snatched a ladle that hung from the side of the hearth, along with a bowl, and ladled out a few scoops before half-turning to me.
She held out the bowl. “Well? I can hear your stomach from here.” I hurried forward and accepted the bowl. One of the chairs tempted me, but the old woman’s voice called me back. “You’re not eating anything without this.” She held out a spoon to me, which I sheepishly accepted before sitting down.
I had eaten half the bowl when the front door opened. Nobody stood there, but movement at the bottom caught my attention. Ramaro waddled in, his mouth full of herbs and his face a picture of fury. He marched up to the old woman where she stood at the fire, and dropped the pile on the floor at her feet.
“That fool told me to bring these to you without him.”
She scooped up the herbs and examined the leaves. “Well, you can tell that fool that he can come in. I won’t turn him into a lizard unless he does something else stupid.”
Ramaro wrinkled his snout. “That would be an insult to lizards.”
“But an improvement for him,” she countered as she shook the bouquet of herbs at the ajar door. “Now get in here or I’ll turn you into a frog!”
“You needn’t shout.”
We all jumped at the voice, even our hostess, and our heads whipped to a chair opposite mine. Torvus sat on his overstuffed cushion with one leg crossed over the other and his hands twined together. A mischievous smile lay on his lips.
“You monster!” the woman shrieked as she clutched her hand over her heart. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? I should turn you into a lizard just for that!”
“You’ll outlast us all, Baba,” he assured her before he turned his focus to me. “How are you enjoying her famous mouse stew?”
My eyes bulged out of my head. “The what now?”
He nodded at the bowl. “Mouse stew. It’s her favorite ingredient.”
“And it’s nutritious!” she insisted as she ladled out another bowl. “And you get none of it!”
I gingerly set the bowl on the low table between the furniture. Any sudden movements, and my flip-flopping stomach would regurgitate what I’d already eaten.
Baba plopped herself down in a rocker close to the hearth and glared at her newest guest. “You thought you could get this woman in here as a peace offering, as if I’d forgive you because she has a pretty face.”
“I thought the face would be distracting,” he confirmed as he looked me over. “She’s rather distracting to many of my crewmen.”
Baba wrinkled her nose. “Cretins, the whole lot.”
His eyes twinkled. “Even Fidel?”
She stopped with her spoon midway to her open mouth and cast a dark look at him. “That man is too good to be on that leaky bucket of rusted iron and rotten wood.”
“Fortunately, I have Fidel to manage the maintenance,” he assured her as he swept his eyes over the room. “I see nothing has changed.”
