Mead for Mischief:Jasmine, violet, and pear, for wisdom and creativity.
Opening day specials include two-for-one on bottled mead and a delectable pie menu courtesy of Glazed and Confused.
Book your table now! Space is limited, and a menace of a cat will pull up all your summer bulbs if you don’t show up.
XV
The next morning, when Councillor Douglas bandage-hand-delivered my alcohol manufacturing license, I was indeed in the bathroom, worshipping a porcelain god. When I emerged around lunch time, Rafe handed me one of Celeste’s mince and cheddar pies and a stack of posters he ordered online. (I gave him my card details. I shudder to think what else he ordered, but I decided it’s better not to ask.)
“They look awesome.” I hold up the poster to admire it. He’d done a stack of smaller ones to hand out to people, too.
“I take only partial credit. You did an amazing job.” He points to the doodles of tankards and a Siamese cat sitting on top of a mead barrel in the corners. “I had no idea you were such an artist.”
I didn’t, either. As a kid, I always enjoyed drawing – any kind of crafts, really – but it wasn’t a skill I’d had much use for until the meadery needed things like posters and menus and bottle labels, which Rafe had also had printed and were stacked in piles on the end of the counter, waiting to be applied.
“You don’t think it’s too themey and cutesy?” I finger one of the bottle labels, with its medieval-style writing and border of bees. We’d given all the brews silly names that were puns about magic and honey.
“I think it’s just cutesy enough. People will walk in and immediately know this is a house of whimsy. Now, up, off that seat. A little walk around the village will do you good.” He lowers his voice. “Plus, I thought we might put these posters up conveniently close to where the Widow Hardcastle gave out her orchids.”
“Good idea, but I think you should go in your cat form.” I lower my eyes. “I don’t want people to think…”
“Right, yes.” He brightens. “I get more attention as cat-Rafe, anyway.”
Our first stop is next door, where Celeste has Pax hang one of our posters in her window. Pat in the post office takes a couple of posters, although it’s clear that she’s not entirely certain what we’re talking about.
“It’ll be lovely to see the Widow Hardcastle’s shop occupied again,” Pat says. “We miss her dearly. She was such a fixture in the village. People said she was a grumpy old witch, but she could be kind, too. Look at this flower she gave me!”
Pat drops a flowerpot on the counter. Inside is a rather sad-looking orchid.
Rafe leaps on the counter, sniffs the plant, then hisses at Pat.
This is an abomination. She has one of the rarest orchids in the world. It only grows on one mountain slope in one corner of the Argentinian rainforest. And she has it sitting in a too-small pot under an air conditioning vent, and she’s clearly over-watering it. This is a crime against nature! Imprisonment is too good for her. She should be keelhauled! Stretched on the rack! Sent to the stocks!
“We don’t use stocks anymore,” I remind him.
“Sorry, dear?” Pat leans closer. “Are you asking about stocks? Do you want investment advice? Luckily, I just joined this new scheme, and if I recruit three people I get a free air fryer. Let me find the pamphlet.”
“Ah, that’s okay. I’ll just…er, take this and leave.” I grab a hissing, squabbling Rafe from the counter and drag him away.
We hit the community noticeboard and Nevermore Bookshop next, and I’m feeling lighter despite my pounding headache.We really are going to open!
But when we chat to the other shop owners around the green, it’s clear that they’re not as enthusiastic.
“Is that what you’re doing in Old Widow Hardcastle’s shop?” Gaylene from the gift shop sniffs. “I thought it was another flower shop. But alcohol? After all the trouble we have with rowdy sorts at the pub. I hardly think this village needs another den of iniquity.”
Rafe swipes a whole family of duck figurines off her counter.
“Is this some sort of Game of Thrones thing?” Garret at the gym frowns at my doodles. “It’ll bring all kinds of costumed freaks to the village.”
Right. We wouldn’t want any weird people in the village.Rafe backs up and raises a leg to the squat rack.Tell us about your raw milk and liver diet again?
“What’s mead?” An older gentleman frowns at the poster on the noticeboard. “Is it good for my arthritis?”
“It could be!” I brighten. “I have this mulled mead with ginger and turmeric that can help with inflammation?—”
