Spring could be felt in the air. Everyone knows what I’m talking about. When the air has that slightly cool taste of the last dregs of winter slipping away and new life and new growth bursting out into the world.

It was still early spring, the trees showing the faintest signs of new leaves, but it was enough to give the forest the feeling of anticipation that comes before it fills with greenery. Even I was getting into the apparent mood of the forest, though a nagging voice in the back of my head was already dreading the coming summer. Despite this, I still allowed myself to enjoy the mood as, after a winter of drawing up blueprints and throwing money at smiths who weren’t quite sure of what I wanted, I finally had what I wanted: A rifle.

“Rose,” you may ask. “You’re literally a witch, capable of using all sorts of magic, and the master you’re apprenticed to has even praised you as a prodigy, why do you need that?” To which my answer is “I want it, screw you.” Also, I’ve been getting the impression lately that I probably should take anything positive Mary says about me with a grain of salt.

But back to the important topic, after a long winter, I finally have the perfect tool for hunting and defense in unexplored forests! A reasonable facsimile of a Pennsylvania rifle. I’ll be honest, it was a real hassle explaining how to make the barrel and rifle it. I myself was working from half-remembered tools seen on a trip to Williamsburg for that step, but in the end we got it to work. Isn’t it amazing what you can get done if you have money?

Oh, that’s the other thing. That business I closed with Eva before, with marketing coffee, was putting my income far above that typical of forest-dwelling hermits. I feel almost like a D.B. Cooper, fallen from the sky with riches I wouldn’t even be sure how to spend. The captain I initially bought the coffee from, Stevens, brought several sacks last time he returned and, after realizing it was becoming a fad in the town of Porte, promised to return with half his cargo hold full. I’m sure his motivations are purely financial, and have nothing to do with actually trying coffee.

So, business was good, and I finally got the rifle I had wanted, a .45 caliber flintlock in the style of, well, vaguely Lancaster county? I don’t remember all the quirks of different long rifles, but literally dozens of books have been written on the subject discussing different modes of engraving, carving, and stock shaping across dozens of counties in one state, to say nothing of the American Colonies as a whole.

I know the caliber was fairly accurate. For earlier rifles they often were smaller bore, as that meant less lead was needed to cast bullets, and less powder needed to send the bullet further, with a longer barrel allowing for more accuracy. It wasn’t until people expanded westward into the Plains and the Rockies that rifles got shorter with larger bores due to larger and dangerous game such as buffalo and grizzly bears.

So, some parts of it are accurate but overall it’s a mixture of half-remembered facts pieced together into a working rifle. That in itself is something I’m rather proud of. As I was studying textiles history rather than guns before I ended up in this world, I must confess that this probably isn’t a fully accurate reproduction.

Which is fine, people here wear a weird mix of clothing anyways. This world is real, not some larping reenactor’s meet-up. Which just means it’s not “historically inaccurate,” it’s just a brand new products that…. Probably wont take off, unlike the coffee. It was expensive, and for warfare magic works perfectly fine. They could sell them to some nobleman I suppose, now that they know how to make them, but where will they get the gunpowder? I had to take the barrel home to proof it myself before handing it back to the smith.

But now it is finished and I get to take it home, walking through the pleasantly crisp early spring air, keeping an eye out for any game to add to the pot. I almost feel like one of those homesteaders who’s fled the city for a more wholesome life living simply off the land. Returning to your roots and all that. Except, of course, my roots might have taken issue with the whole witchcraft thing, but that’s a “them” problem.

Soon enough, I saw one of those rabbit things. Shouldering my rifle, pulling back the cock, hearing the satisfying click of the sear engaging. After taking careful aim, I slowly squeeze the trigger. The cock falls, striking the frizzen, sending a shower of sparks into the exposed pan below. The extra fine powder lights, setting off the main charge in the barrel, and the patched ball is sent downrange towards the rabbit with a bang and a puff of smoke.

Except it hits a few inches below. The rabbit, startled by the noise and something hitting near it, runs off into the bushes…. I guess I need to tweak the sights somewhat. Disappointed, I reload and continue on down the path.

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As I got to the cottage, I noticed several horses tied to a hitching post outside. Visitors aren’t unusual, but this many at one time was. And, although I know little about horses, these seemed much nicer than the average nag ridden by a farmer. I was getting a bad feeling about this. I could already guess who the riders was, there’s really only one group that would show up here with an entourage like this, but I’d rather not think of it. But I can’t procrastinate forever.

“I’m home!” I shouted, as I leaned my rifle against the wall. Upon shouting, a flash of black flew from the library door, and I felt arms squeeze around me.

“How was the walk back?” Mary acted completely as though there weren’t guests here. And the face of the lord of the local city poking his head out from the library door confirmed my suspicions about who the guests were.

“Not bad.” It’s not my place to greet guests. I’m just a lowly apprentice after all. Don’t speak unless spoken to seems like a good policy. Mary sniffing me seems a bit much in front of the local lord, however.

“You smell like sulfur… you didn’t run into any trouble, did you? With demons or anything?” She mentioned those a while back. Are they that dangerous?

“No. I kind of wanted to try that out.” She noticed my new rifle by the door.

“It looks neat! Just like you described...did it work?” She looked up at me. She’s progressively gotten more and more clingy throughout the winter, and I was starting to get used to it. To be honest I’ve always avoided getting all touchy-feely towards people, like I’ve had a weird aversion to it, but with Mary it was generally fine. Generally. Even now, there was nothing wrong with it in and of itself.

But despite the increasingly annoyed look on his face he hadn’t said anything yet, and I’ve already committed to playing the part of the perfect apprentice, speaking only when spoken to. Even if he’s the local lord, glaring at Mary’s back as she continued to ramble on about how she was waiting for me to get home and the plans she had for dinner. It sounds like it was a good thing I missed that rabbit too, she had some pretty elaborate plans. Almost as if we had unexpected guests drop in, although she mentioned nothing of the sort. Still it sounds delicious….

“Ahem.” Lord Porte loudly cleared his throat. Mary gave a start.

“Oh, sorry, forgot you were there.” She said quickly. “Rose, I just made some coffee, so if you want to join us in the library...”

“Of course she’s joining us, this has to do with her too!” He snapped at Mary. Probably rightfully so, but seeing someone get mad at her like that irked me a bit.

“You really need to relax more, James, it can’t be good for your health to be dealing with so much stress.” Mary chided in a sisterly tone. It seemed she was used to dealing with the annoyed nobleman. Well, he is her brother.

“I swear, there must be something wrong with our family.” He muttered.

After having dealt with his daughter in the past, I felt a pang of sympathy. And, while I suppose she isn’t bad, Mary did manage to become known as the Madness Witch. She often puts in a bit more than 100% into tasks, which can rub people the wrong way, but she usually means well.

Elizabeth was waiting for us in the library, making this a family meeting. I felt out of place, but having been told this is related to me there’s not much that can be done. I joined Mary on the couch, thankful for the cup of coffee freshly filled waiting for me.

So, settled in, with coffee in hand, I finally turned to Lord Porte and spoke.

“What is it I need to hear?” I asked.

“You’ve been summoned to the King’s court.”