A captured cauldron, p.1
A Captured Cauldron, page 1
A CAPTURED CAULDRON
RULES FOR COMPULSORY BREWS
SIDE QUEST ROW SERIES
BOOK 2
R.K. ASHWICK
A Captured Cauldron: Rules for Compulsory Brews
Copyright © 2024 R.K. Ashwick
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
To request permissions, contact ash@rkashwick.com.
Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9855819-8-0
Ebook ISBN: 979-8-9911992-0-9
LCCN: 2024915310
First edition October 2024, Los Angeles, CA.
Edited by Kim Halstead
Cover art by CoverKitchen
RK Ashwick Books
https://rkashwick.com/
CONTENTS
Rule 1:
Safety First
Rule 2:
(Re)set Expectations
Rule 3:
Arrive Early
Rule 4:
Mix and Mingle
Rule 5:
Simmer
Rule 6:
Watch Carefully
Rule 7:
Teamwork Required
Rule 8:
Don’t Panic
Rule 9:
Gather the Ingredients
Rule 10:
Find a Lab Partner
Rule 11:
Communication is Key
Rule 12:
Keep Calm and Bubble On
Rule 13:
Concoct a Plan
Rule 14:
Get Some Fresh Air
Rule 15:
Collaborate
Rule 16:
Note Your Observations
Rule 17:
Test the Supports
Rule 18:
Take Control
Rule 19:
Peer Review
Rule 20:
Extract
Rule 21:
Recalibrate
Rule 22:
Dream Big
Rule 23:
Take a Field Trip
Rule 24:
Deepen Your Research
Rule 25:
Sift Well
Rule 26:
Make a Back-Up Plan
Rule 27:
Uncork
Rule 28:
Test the Hypothesis
Rule 29:
Find the Secret Ingredient
Rule 30:
Isolate the Components
Rule 31:
Debate
Rule 32:
Run More Tests
Rule 33:
Apply Binding Agent
Rule 34:
Add Finishing Touches
Rule 35:
Infiltrate
Rule 36:
Evaporate
Rule 37:
Regroup
Rule 38:
Hire a Helping Hand
Rule 39:
Dream Bigger
Want More?
Acknowledgments
About the Author
RULE 1:
SAFETY FIRST
Dawn
Contrary to her namesake, Dawn loved sunset more than sunrise on Rosemond Street.
She couldn’t help it—her wand shop was tucked into the corner of Rosemond and High Vine, giving her the perfect view of the little street at dusk. Much like her wands, the place was beauty and chaos wrapped into a narrow bundle. Crowds rushed toward home or taverns after a long workday, their faces burnished in the last golds and pinks the sun had to offer them. Some popped their heads in to chat with her or the other shopkeepers; others hurried along, an evening quest on their minds.
No matter the city’s pace, its bustle in the warm, waning light promised Dawn the same things every time: the peace of a day ended, and the excitement of a night begun.
After dusting her cabinets one more time—a wandmaker with dirty cabinets wasn’t worth her wood—she flipped the store sign to Closed and hurried into the street. Despite her best efforts, she was running late today. The last sliver of sunlight had already risen to the upper edge of the chasm above, leaving her in the sleepy shadows on the ground level of the tiered city.
But she couldn’t rest now—not when she had a promise to fulfill to one Ambrose Beake.
“Sherry?” she called, peering into another shop carved into the chasm wall: an open-air forge, dusty and warm. “Is Ames already in there?”
A soot-streaked woman looked up from her workbench, her hair matching the gray of the ashes all around her. Despite the mess, the work she held in her gloved hands was nothing short of immaculate: a polished steel helmet, every rivet steeped in protective enchantments and self-healing spells. A daunting masterpiece for any other armorer—but a simple day’s work for her.
“Afraid so.” Sherry jerked her head toward the shop next door. “He rushed in right when Viola closed. Speaking of which…”
She flipped her own store sign from Kettle’s On to Off Fighting Dragons.
“Will you be going in to help him?” Sherry continued, dusting off her gloves and releasing gray puffs into the air. Dawn kept a careful distance—the road dust had already half-ruined her new pink skirt, and she wasn’t about to fully ruin it with the equivalent of forge burps.
“I told him I would,” she said. “He’s really panicking this late?”
“Oh, you know Ambrose this time of year. Boy’s like a pygmy dragon with its head chopped off.”
“I’ll reattach his head, then. Got it.” Dawn picked up her skirts and hurried on.
“Buy him a cookie for me, would you?” Sherry called after her. “Viola can put it on my tab!”
Dawn gave her a final wave, then ducked into Ambrose’s refuge for the evening—the new bakery on Rosemond Street.
The Midnight Snack had taken the place of Eli’s old potion shop almost a year ago, and Dawn could hardly see a hint of what it used to be. While Eli’s shop had been bright and flashy, filled with crystal and light woods, Viola the baker had embraced the comfort of darkness. She had draped deep velvets in jewel tones across the walls, emphasizing the perpetual glow of enchanted glass stars on the ceiling. As if the atmosphere wasn’t already conducive to post-dessert naps, she had also moved in the plushest of furniture, rivaling even Grim’s well-worn couch. Rich pillows, squashy cushions, throw blankets over soft couches… Every merchant on Rosemond Street had their favorite spot, and every merchant had fallen asleep in it at least once.
(Currently, Grim held the record for fifteen accidental naps in the corner armchair.)
But Viola’s final addition to the shop had been a staggeringly plain choice: a vast corkboard, studded with sparkly pins in moon and star shapes.
“Don’t worry, it’ll fill up,” the gnomish baker had said to Dawn on opening day, her smile accentuating her wide cheeks. “It’s a great place for local stuff. Announcements, notices, missing pet fliers. That sort of thing.”
True to her word, customers had taken to it immediately, filling it with art show posters, theater schedules, Help Wanted signs, little doodles…
And, in the after hours when Viola was cleaning up, Ambrose’s plans for Potion Con.
“Thank the gods you’re here,” his voice shot from across the room. “Day one is ruined.”
Ambrose paced in front of the corkboard, where Viola’s glittery moon pins now presided over a flurry of schedules, lists, and notes. The papers fluttered like birds each time the half-elf passed, his pale, ink-stained hands darting to various points on the board.
“It’s always the panels,” the potioneer hissed. “They moved my panel on antidotes to tomorrow morning, which means I can’t attend the wand demonstration with you until the afternoon. But if I try to catch the later demonstration, I risk being late for the debates.” He took a harried breath, his blue hair falling in front of his face, and turned to Dawn with pleading eyes. “Thoughts?”
Dawn did her best not to laugh. This sort of Ambrose-specific nuttery happened every year Potion Con came to the Scar. He wanted absolutely everything the three-day potioneering convention had to offer—every panel, every talk, every demonstration. He would pore over the schedules for weeks and think, and think, and think…
But over the years, she had become an expert in reining in all those thinks.
She floated over to the side table near Ambrose, laden with mini sugar cookies gone ignored. “First”—she held up a cookie, rainbow sprinkles shining in the light of the glass stars—“eat this.”
Ambrose nodded reluctantly and took a bite. While he brushed crumbs off his navy waistcoat, Dawn took a cookie for herself and perused the ink-marked schedules. Despite all his scribbles, she could read them perfectly—a natural consequence of him showing her the papers every day for the last week.
“Second”—she tapped the schedule in the center—“you gotta be on time for the debates. That’s non-negotiable. What if Xavion picks the first debate slot?”
Ambrose hummed through a mouthful of cookie. “Precisely.”
“You can’t let them debate someone else.”
“Absolutely not.” Ambrose began scribbling on the papers again. The frenzied glint in his eyes faded, and he slowly returned to his perfect, steady posture. “I’ll nix the wand demonstration from my list, then. Thank you.”
Dawn grinned. Pygmy dragon head successfully reattached. “So, you’re done planning for the con, then?”
& nbsp; Ambrose blinked at her. “No. This was just day one.”
All right, fine. Pygmy dragon head…sort of reattached.
She reached for a second cookie to bolster herself, but a voice from the front counter stopped her.
“Hey, before you eat all my day-old cookies…” Viola popped up from behind the glass counter, a tray of colorful pastries in hand. “Wanna help me get rid of these cupcakes?”
Dawn dropped the cookie instantly. Ambrose hesitated, eyeing the corkboard. “I really should—”
“Get some fuel for those day two thoughts!” Dawn finished for him, dragging him over to the counter. The cupcakes on the tray were her absolute favorite. Passionfruit and coconut, daintily topped with sugared edible flowers, and—oh, the passionfruit curd inside—
She threw a handful of coins into the day-old jar—specifically set up for after-hours visits like this—then grabbed a cupcake. Viola hopped up onto a stool behind the counter, her grin as bright as the sugared petals. “Thought you might want some,” she said proudly, smoothing out her skirt.
When it came to fashion, she couldn’t have been more different from Dawn. She eschewed lively Scarrish patterns and colors in favor of black dresses, not caring if flour formed white runes on the fabric. Her monotone didn’t stop at her clothing, either. Black eyeliner ringed her eyes, glittering black nail polish punctuated the tips of her fingers…and just under her folded gnomish ears, tiny black bat earrings fluttered in constant circles.
But when it came to her mood, Viola was an echo of Dawn’s cheery pink top.
“You gotta tell me what the magic feels like this time,” she said with a wiggle. “It’s a day-old, so it won’t be as strong, but I think you’ll still like the new spell. Go on, take a bite!”
While Ambrose carefully unwrapped his cupcake, Dawn dove in and took a large bite from the pile of frosting.
The magic struck her instantly. The distinct scent of a sea breeze, salty and cool, wafted under her nose, while the warmth of a beachy sun tingled across her brown skin. She eagerly took another bite, and the soft vanilla cake added more notes to the breeze: hibiscus, citrus, coconut…
“Fascinating,” Ambrose said, chewing slowly as he examined the frosting. “You were able to fit both scent and feeling into one illusion cake?”
“Just finished tweaking the recipe yesterday.” Viola spun around on the stool, her black braid swinging behind her. “I’m hoping it’ll be a bestseller this winter.”
With a delighted hum, Dawn closed her eyes and stretched out her arms, pretending to bask on the invisible beach. As she leaned back, something clattered from her skirt pocket to the floor.
“Dawn, you dropped your…” Ambrose knelt down to pick it up. “Wait, what is this?”
She opened her eyes and brightened. “Oh! I wanted to show you this.” She snatched it from his hand and set it on the table—a small wand, carefully carved and modestly appointed with a single raw crystal at the tip. Clapping her hands together, she nudged Ambrose’s shoulder in excitement. “Guess where it’s from.”
“Hm.” Ambrose set aside his cupcake wrapper and pointed to the wand, playing into her little game. “May I?”
“Sure, sure.”
He picked up the device with long, delicate fingers, analyzing it from every angle with his signature little frown. Though he wasn’t wearing his typical potion robes, he looked every inch the studious potioneer, his gaze not missing a single detail.
“It isn’t yours,” he finally said. “The maker didn’t polish it enough, and there are far too many irregularities in the carving. And you”—he tapped the crystal at the end—“have access to crystals of far higher quality than this.”
Dawn nodded eagerly. “So…?”
Ambrose’s pensive frown went deeper—then he lit up, mouth agape.
“An apprentice?” He gasped. “Did you actually pick one?”
“You’re half-right!” She plucked the wand from his grasp and flicked it twice; red sparkles spiraled out of the tip, then vanished in a multitude of tiny starbursts. Good velocity and consistent performance from an amateur’s wand, all things considered. “Got this as a part of someone’s application today.”
It was a historic time for Dawn’s Whirling Wand Emporium—she was now on the hunt for an apprentice, and applications had already poured in from every corner of Laskell. The resumes practically glowed: top marks at school, previous wand experience, prior apprenticeships…
Viola pointed to the wand. “So, this applicant’s the front-runner, right?”
Dawn slumped, thinking of all the other stunning candidates. “Right now, she is.” She sighed. “But how am I gonna pick just one?”
“I hear that,” Viola grumbled. “I’ve been debating on these new recipes for a week.”
She propped her ankle up against the velvet stool beside her, the chestnut wood of her prosthetic lower leg sinking into the fabric. From socket to pylon, all up and down the wooden leg, paintings of cupcakes sparkled. Chocolate cupcakes with pink frosting, pink cupcakes with chocolate frosting; then all pink, all chocolate…
“Banneker said that if I let the paintings sit for a while,” Viola mused, “I’d feel their aura and know which one to pick.”
Ambrose snorted. Dawn ignored him.
“How about that one?” She pointed to the all-pink confection. She could already picture it in Viola’s glass displays: a mouth-watering combination of strawberry and raspberry, topped with bright, chunky sprinkles. Maybe with a magically fizzy finish, or a cute little spell that changed the buyer’s nail color—
Viola grinned. “You would pick that one.”
Dawn pretended to primp her curly mohawk. “Am I wrong?”
A familiar voice chimed in. “You? Never.”
Beside her, Ambrose relaxed instantly, as if the cupcake’s beach illusion had only just struck him.
Eli Valenz stood at the bakery’s entrance, fully dressed for his adventurer training that evening: leather jerkin, bracers, a belt made to hold weapons and potions… It was a far cry from his shop owner’s vest and dangling earrings, but Dawn adored the new look. He looked comfortable. Strapping, even. Someone bards would soon sing about, once he started going on big quests.
Ambrose could see it, too—his gaze roved slowly over Eli, and Eli returned the silent gesture. Dawn bit into her cupcake again, a strong hint of jealousy warring with the sweet icing on her tongue. Insufferable, the both of them.
“What’s this?” Ambrose finally strode over to Eli, pointing to the little automaton in the man’s arms. At first glance, Tom the Automaton looked like an oversized beer mug, until one noticed the broom head, fork arms, and legs made of daggers and wheels. With a soft smile, Ambrose bent down to look Tom in her eyeless face.
“Is this the little scamp who spilled my coffee this morning?” He tugged her out of Eli’s arms and planted a kiss on the top of her head. Eli raised his eyebrows.
“Anything for the taller scamp who cleaned up the spilled coffee?”
“Hm.” Ambrose looked him over once more and feigned thoughtfulness. “No.”
He leaned in and gave him a quick kiss anyway. With a tilted grin, Eli pulled him back in for a second, deeper one. Dawn chewed faster, jealousy now overpowering any last hint of the coconut and sea breeze. Gods, when had she last been kissed? Months? She couldn’t even recall how her last date had gone, and she wasn’t likely to have another one soon. Questing season was upon them, and when the adventurers emptied the city, it was time for merchants to tidy: tidy their shops, tidy records, tidy all those apprentice applications coming in…
She stared at the wand on the counter. That was it—she’d have an apprentice soon. A helpful apprentice who would be eager—no, ecstatic—to tidy things for her.
