Outside, the autumn leaves were red, and the harvest birds were fed.

Inside, Papa was in bed, while Sasha read, and Puck was nearly dead.

Dead with boredom.

Chewing his own arms just for something to do.

"Stop that," said Sasha.

The sound of his smacking was wet and made her anxious.

"Oh, oddity, what is wrong with you?" said Sasha, putting down her book. It was about the wild horses of the hill country, who sang to each other as they galloped across the hills.

Puck continued to chomp on his own arm as if it were a kebab.

The worst part, to Sasha, was that he was such a dirty little creature that biting any part of him would only taste like dirt.

"I will gag if you keep doing that," she said.

He kept doing it.

Sasha sat behind the giant oaken counter of the Juicy Gizzard, makers of medicines, teas, and alchemies. That was more true when her mama was around. Papa made the medicines and teas. Mama made the alchemies. And they would joke that the best tea was any water Sasha dipped her toes in. This was back when she was very little, obviously. Because then, they would pretend to chomp on her toes. It would be gross now if they did that. She was old enough to carry water from the well and gather flowers from the Willow Wood (but not too far into the Willow Wood). She could even dry the tea leaves — rose hips, chamomile, and hibiscus — by herself.

Puck lay on the floor with his arm in his mouth. He was so much like an animal that Sasha wondered if he'd been raised by wolves. And not particularly smart wolves either.

They had spent the morning tending the shop and listening to the crows cawing at each other about the best fields to pillage. There were no customers. They had fewer and fewer these days. It made Sasha worry. But Papa didn't seem to mind. "More time for reading," he'd say.

But already, he was counting coins and cutting thinner slices of cheese for his flatbread. She knew he had stopped taking sugar with his tea in the mornings. And she knew he stayed up late into the nights, outside with the cauldron, boiling turpentine, oil scum, fish scales, bark from rotted trees, and fox fat to make a liniment for making horses go to sleep. It was a foul- smelling job that turned his fingers yellow. But it was good medicine that he could sell to the caravans traveling down the mountains. Their horses and donkeys would be scared or footsore, and the liniment helped them through the long journeys.

And so Papa slept later in the mornings. And Sasha minded the store and felt a bit more at ease, since he wasn't selling magic potions. And Puck ... well, that left him with very little to do but fight with Otto, their pig, chase chickens, or bite his own toenails.

"I mean it. I'm gagging now," said Sasha. "Stop it. I can hear the clipping of the nails. And — wait. Are you swallowing them?"

Sasha truly gagged this time. She grabbed a salt rock on the counter and threw it at him. It smacked him on the forehead. Puck yowled like a cat with its tail underfoot.

"Shh," said Sasha.

Puck grabbed up the rock, ready to throw it back.

"Don't," said Sasha, drawing herself up. "You'll wake Papa."

Puck made a bitter grunt.

"If you could read," she said, "you wouldn't be so bored all the time."

"Guh," said Puck with a shrug.

"You should take a lesson from me, Puck. I was reading about horses and entertained myself all morning."

Puck rolled his eyes but scrambled up to the counter and pawed at the book.

"Okay, I'll tell you. There are wild horses in a faraway hill country, where they say some of them are so fast that they burn the grass when they gallop. Those are the Cinderhooves. And some are so graceful that they say flowers grow wherever they roam. Those are the Bloomhooves."

Puck made a whistling sound, though he was mostly toothless.

"I know," said Sasha. "Amazing."

Puck said, "Guh."

"Well, not exactly," said Sasha. "It isn't magic."

"Guh!" insisted Puck.

"No, silly. There's no such thing. It's obvious the Cinderhooves are flat-footed, and the friction between their hoof and the grass makes it like a rug burn. And the Bloomhooves must get seeds caught in between their hooves that spread wherever they go."

Puck shook his head vigorously. He did not accept her explanation.

"Trust me, Puck," said Sasha, "if you could read, you'd know." She wiped the mud from the counter where his arms had been. "Besides," she said, "if there are such magical horses, why haven't we seen any?"

At that very moment, they heard the sound of four horses clopping into the yard in front of the shop.

Sasha held her breath.

Puck smiled a wily smile and made a satisfied noise.

"Oh hush," said Sasha. "That's just a coincidence."

When the hooves came to a stop right outside the shop door, she said, "I mean, it has to be, right?"

The horses were neither Cinderhooves nor Bloomhooves. They were just horses with regular hooves, pulling a fancy carriage.

Sasha and Puck had run to the window to make sure.

"Told you," said Sasha. "What are the odds that magic horses would arrive today of all days?"

"Meh," said Puck. He was already finished with that topic and had become interested in the carriage, which seemed to have a compartment in the back stocked with bags of cheese sticks, cinnamon bread, and boxes of Mrs. Kozlow's famous bonbons.

On the door of the carriage was a lacy, gold seal. Sasha knew it very well.

"Don't get any ideas about them sharing those groceries," she said. "That's the Gentry carriage."

Puck huffed out his disappointment. They watched as the door of the carriage opened. Out stepped Basil Gentry, a tall and thin young man with kind and contented eyes. He never seemed to be in a hurry and always seemed to be smiling.

He was the Gentry that Sasha liked most. But he was still a Gentry. "Quick," she said. "Act busy."

She could never let a Gentry see that business was slow, not with Vadim looking to buy the shop. Sasha ran behind the counter and made a show of weighing each salt rock on a brass scale and handing it to Puck for packing.

The door opened to the chime of Mama's glass bell, and Basil entered.

Sasha looked up from her task. "Be right with you," she said. "We're just finishing up."

"Uh, okay," said Basil. "Are you —"

"Very busy," said Sasha. "One moment." She handed Puck the last salt rock. Then she looked over and saw him take it, lick it, and stick it to his forehead — beside all the others. His whole face was pocked with salt rocks. His eyes were wide with innocence. He looked back and forth from Sasha to Basil, as if the trick was working.

"What in the name of fiffle faffle are you doing?" said Sasha. "Gimme those."

Puck still didn't seem to understand. He took a salt rock from his cheek and tried to stick it to Sasha's face instead.

"No. Okay, go sit in the corner."

Puck's dirty, salt-rock-covered forehead made an angry frown. He stomped over to the corner of the shop, slapped the rocks from his face, and kicked them all around before slumping to the ground.

Sasha tried to regain her composure. "We were just checking those rocks for ... um ..."

She couldn't think of anything. "Poison," she said finally.

"You had your gremlin licking rocks to see if they were poisonous?" said Basil.

"Yes. He's not mine, and he's not a gremlin. I think he's just a dirty woodland child. But yes."

"And what if one was poison?" said Basil.

"Oh. Right. Well, we'd give him the magic antidote. We're an alchemy shop, after all. These bottles have dozens of cures." She waved her arms at the shelves of bottles in all shapes and colors.

"That's why I've come, actually," said Basil. "I'd like to buy a potion ... a magic potion."

Crumbsy bumsy, thought Sasha.

"Have you thought about tea instead?" said Sasha. "There are very few things that a cup of tea can't fix."

"I'm afraid this is one of them."

"We don't make curses, you know."

"It's not a curse."

"And you should know your face is already very handsome."

Basil turned red. His sister, Sisal, had given him the name Bashful Basil for a reason.

"I only mean that there's no need for magic arts. Your nose, the eyes, hair, all of it — it's working."

"That's good to hear," said Basil.

"So you'll have some tea, then? Maybe some horse liniment? It's boiling up fresh in the back."

"No."

"No?"

"No, thank you."

"What do you mean, no?"

"I mean I've come for a magic potion. Not a curse. Not for my face."

"Oh," said Sasha. She had run out of strategies.

"I'd like some magic, please, that makes a person more polite. Nothing too much. No sucking up. Just courtesy. I'd like it to make someone courteous."

"Wow. Hmm. Okay. That's very complicated."

"Neh neh neh!" shouted Puck from the corner, arms crossed, still pouting.

"No. I do not need that potion myself," said Sasha. "And I don't think we have any anyway." She pretended to look around the overstuffed shelves, pushing aside the ones in front to read the labels of the ones behind.

"Of course we have it," said Papa. His voice entered the room before he did. He was still in his pajamas and nightcap.

"Of all the odds and oddity!" said Sasha under her breath.

"Young master Gentry is looking for a cordial cordial," said Papa. "I made a batch just last week with lily ash and spit from an insulted llama."

"Are those good ingredients for a cordial cordial?" asked Basil.

"The very best," said Papa, reaching up to a corner shelf to grab the bottle. "I added sassafras, which actually reduces sass, and blackberries."

"Do the blackberries do something special?"

"Yes, they make it taste like blackberries. That'll be seven pieces."

Basil reached into his coin pouch and handed Papa seven coins.

"Thank you," said Basil. "This is a great help. You have no idea how much this will help." Basil tucked the bottle into his coat pocket and turned to leave.

Sasha wondered why Basil, of all people, needed a cordial cordial. He was already so polite. He had even said "please" and "thank you" as he bought it.

It was shaping up to be a mystery. And she would have to solve it fast. It was up to her to make the potion come true. As Basil said goodbye, Sasha grabbed her satchel and ran out with him. "Gotta go, Papa. Love you!"

Puck grunted and followed right on her heels.

"Wait," said Papa. "Where are you going? Did you eat breakfast? And what happened to my salt rocks?"

When Basil opened the door of the carriage, he stepped back and knocked into Sasha. She was standing right behind him.

"Hi, Basil."

Basil looked confused. "I'm sorry. I thought we did this part already."

"I thought maybe I could join you."

"Do you need a lift? Where are you going?"

"I'm going your way?"

"I'm going home."

"Right, that direction, I mean."

"Toward the village?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

So they both jumped into the carriage. As soon as they closed the door, the dirty head of Puck appeared in the window. Then it dropped out of sight. Then it appeared again. Then out again. Then in again.

Sasha and Basil sat across from each other in the carriage, trying not to notice Puck jumping up and down outside, shouting, "Guh! Guh!"

Finally, Sasha said, "Excuse me one second."

She opened the window and whispered as forcefully as she could, "You can't come in."

"Guh!"

"Because the seats are made of silk, and you're made of mud and boogers."

Puck stuck his tongue out and blew a furious raspberry.

Sasha closed the window and plopped back into her seat.

Basil knocked on the roof to let the driver know they were ready. The team of horses trotted out. Behind them, Puck scrambled on all fours and jumped onto the back of the carriage with the groceries.

"I've never been in a carriage before," said Sasha.

"I would have walked, but we had to get a lot of stuff."

Basil seemed almost embarrassed by the fancy carriage.

"Are you throwing a party?" asked Sasha. Maybe that was why he needed the cordial cordial.

Sasha had already decided that it couldn't possibly be for himself. Basil was such a kind soul, like his mother. He might need a potion to stand up for himself or to find some ambition, but he didn't need it to be polite.

"Just a tea party," he said. "I would invite you, of course, but it isn't my party. You understand."

"That's very kind," said Sasha.

The carriage drove past the Willow Woods, toward the part of the village that people called Upside, for being the upriver side of the two rivers that ran into each other in the village center. At the bridge over the Sweltering River, they passed the Wander Inn and the water mill.

"Should we let you out someplace?" said Basil.

"I'm good," said Sasha. "About that party — is it a fancy party?"

"Yes," said Basil.

"Are you worried about it?"

"A little."

"Do you think lots of people will come?"

"A few dozen."

Sasha peppered Basil with questions. She knew it was impolite, but she needed as much information as possible.

They passed over the bridge and went beyond the caravansary stables and the nutter's groves. If they turned left, they would have entered the village center, but they turned right, toward the Shivering River.

"Will your dad be there?" said Sasha.

"We're passing the village," said Basil.

"He seems like he doesn't like parties."

"He doesn't."

"Or people," said Sasha.

"Or animals," said Basil.

"Do you think he'll be rude to the guests?"

"Almost certainly," said Basil. "But that won't surprise anyone."

Everyone knew that Vadim Gentry was a severe man who had once fought a bear for smiling at him too much.

The carriage drove under a stone gate and arrived at the Gentry Mansion. The house was so big that it straddled the Shivering River. The black stone walls rose up into thin towers that looked like thorns.

For the first time on the trip, Sasha was struck silent.

They rode up the driveway. On either side stood columns of trees lined up like soldiers. When they pulled up to the entry, Sasha noticed maids and servants rushing around holding trays, linens, and flowers. A simple tea party at the Gentry Mansion seemed pretty complicated.

"We're here," said Basil. "I'm sorry we didn't drop you off someplace."

"That's okay," said Sasha.

As soon as they stopped, an old man in a purple tuxedo rushed out of the house and opened the carriage door. He stood straight up, as if an invisible hand was holding him by the scruff of the neck. He had white hair, a white mustache, and eyes a deep greenish brown — eyes like the Thistlewood Swamp. "You are needed inside, Master Basil," said the man. Only then did he notice Sasha sitting in the carriage.

He looked at her as if she were a weevil in his rice. He kept looking at her but spoke to Basil. "Would you like me to set another place for your ... guest?"

"Thank you, Butta," said Basil. "My friend Sasha just needed a ride into town."

Butta didn't have to say anything. His white eyebrows simply lifted, as if to say, "She missed her stop."

Sasha felt her cheeks grow hot. She had never felt so unwelcome. Maybe he was the one who needed the cordial cordial.

They stepped out of the carriage.

"You are needed urgently," said Butta.

"What is it?" said Basil.

But his answer came immediately when a window on the second floor of the house suddenly shattered and a pair of boots came flying out. Glass rained down. The boots hit the driveway not far from Sasha.

"No!" came a shout from the window. "I said I won't wear those ratty old boots, and I mean it!"

"I see," said Basil.

A face appeared in the hole where the window used to be. "Basil!"

It was Sisal Gentry, Basil's little sister. She was Sasha's age but never spoke to Sasha. "Did you see what they're trying to do to me?" She slammed the window open and climbed onto the sill. "You there," she said at a maid walking by with a tablecloth. "Yeah, you. Catch me."

Sisal jumped from the window, into the arms of the bewildered maid. They both hit the ground, but Sisal was cushioned by the woman.

She got up and dusted herself off as she stomped toward the back garden. "Not a good catch, Martha. Come on, Basil, you have to see this."

Sisal completely ignored Sasha. And Sasha was more than happy to let her.

Everything seemed so obvious to Sasha all of a sudden. The cordial was for Sisal, the most spoiled girl in the village.

"Is the party for her?" said Sasha.

"Sort of," said Basil. "We have a tea party every harvest season. The headmistress of the Sunderdown Academy is coming. My mom wants Sisal to attend. It's a great school."

"If I were Sisal's mom, I'd send her to boarding school too."

"She's already run off a dozen tutors," said Basil. "Two of them joined the Make Mad Order — they said they'd come back to burn our house down."

Sasha made a whistling sound. "So you're hoping Sisal makes a good impression on the headmistress."

"At this point, I'm just hoping she doesn't stab the woman."