He touched the top of his head, then bent his right leg at the knee, raised it, crossing his other leg behind him, and seized the tip of his boot with his left hand. Although he’d only done it twice before, it went extremely smoothly. It was enough to concentrate and murmur the spell.

Scharley swore again. Jagna burped. The eyes of the red-haired witch widened.

And Reynevan, just like that, slowly rose from the ground in the same position. Not very high, just three or four spans. And not for long. But it sufficed.

The red-haired witch picked up a clay demijohn, took a long drink from it, then another. She didn’t offer it to the girl, and put the vessel out of range of Jagna’s claw-like fingers, who held her hand out greedily. She didn’t take her eyes off Reynevan, and her pupils looked like two dark points in her bright eyes.

“Well, well,” she said. “Who’d have thought it? Mages, true mages, Toledo. Here, in the presence of a simple witch. What an honour. Come closer. Have no fear! Surely you didn’t take the jest about grub and cannibalism seriously?”

“No, not at all,” Scharley eagerly assured her, so eagerly it was obvious he was lying. The red-haired witch snorted in laughter.

“What, then, do you seek in my poor nook, my dear sorcerers?” she asked, “What do you wish for? Perhaps—”

She broke off, laughing.

“Or perhaps you’re simply lost, dear sorcerers? Forgetting magic in your male pride? And now that same pride won’t let you admit it, especially before womenfolk?”

Scharley regained his poise.

“Your intelligence goes hand in hand with your beauty, madam,” he said, bowing courteously.

“Just look, Sisters,” said the witch, flashing her teeth, “what a courteous fellow he is, what pleasant compliments he regales us with. He knows how to delight a woman. A veritable troubadour. Or bishop. It’s truly a shame that so rarely… For womenfolk and wenches, indeed, often risk this path through the backwoods and wilderness, since my reputation spreads far and wide. Few know how to remove a foetus so elegantly, safely and painlessly as I. But men… Why, they come here much more seldom… Such a pity…”

Jagna laughed throatily and the wench sniffed. Scharley blushed, but probably more from desire than embarrassment. Reynevan, meanwhile, also recovered his composure. He had discerned certain fragrances in the steam from the bubbling cauldron and had a good look at the bunches of herbs, both fresh and dried.