By now, Jorick had stood up from where he’d fallen. It was dark, but Evin could clearly see his friend’s clenched jaw. Before Evin could stop him, Jorick stepped right up to the old woman one more time, though now he knew better than to touch her.

“You’re crazy, you old bat!” he shouted. “My dad was kidnapped! My home was burned down by monsters! And all you care about is completing your shopping list?” Jorick shook his head angrily and brandished his sword in front of him. “I bet you’re in on it, aren’t you? You have magic, I saw it. You’re a witch! I bet you helped those dog-men raid the village so you could come ransack it!”

“I did no such thing,” the woman grumbled as she wiped wet ash off an unshattered jar of apricot preserves.

“Liar!” Jorick screamed. He looked about ready to slice the woman in two. Before he could, Evin leaped forward and placed a gentle hand on Jorick’s tensed arm.

“Jorick, no,” he said as calmly as he could. “I don’t think she helped the dog-men. But I bet she could help us. I think you’re right—she’s a witch. I think I’ve seen her before.”

At that, the old woman ceased bustling around the messy shop. Slowly she turned her squat body around to face them, then smiled her gap-toothed smile at Evin.

“Seen me before, have you?” she croaked. “Who exactly do you think I am?”

Evin swallowed and lowered his hand from Jorick’s arm. “The Swamp Witch,” he said. “When Jorick called you a witch I remembered where I smelled you before.”

The woman let out a creaky laugh. “Smelled me? Well aren’t you a charmer.”

Evin smiled uneasily. “No, just, it’s a distinctive smell—like the swampland. I went there once, when I was younger. I followed the wall through the forest south of here.”

The story bubbled into Evin’s mind, the memories of his trek to discover the end of the giant white wall were suddenly so distinctive it was as though it had happened yesterday.

“I didn’t get far because I ran into swampland,” Evin continued, “and that’s a particular smell you don’t forget. I saw a house there and asked my father about it later, and he told me that a woman lived there. The Swamp Witch. Not two days later I smelled the swamp again in town, and saw, well, you.”

The old woman laughed again. “I’m famous! Who would have thought?”

Though still tense and breathing heavily with anger, Jorick lowered his sword. “So I was right. You are a witch.”

The woman nodded. “That I am,” she said. “And you’re lucky I don’t turn you two into boils and add you to the collection on my underarm.”

“Lucky!” Jorick bellowed. “Why I ought to—”