Having quickly devoured my unexpected breakfast, I found out from one of the waitresses where the head of the village lived. Luckily for me, his huge estate is across a field sown with sunchoke, and there is also a large red barn in which uninvited imps settled.

Doubtlessly, they don’t let me into the house. I am greeted by the head maid, an old woman in her seventies with gray hair pulled back into a tight bun. Giving me a quick appraising look, she leads me to the barn without further questions.

 “When you're done, call the earthy farmerette. She is working in the garden now,” she points with a crooked finger at the lone figure of a girl in a long gray dress who is picking gooseberries, putting each berry from a thick bush into a large wicker basket. “The girl will pay you, do not return to the house.” Without saying goodbye, the old woman quickly left the barn.

 “Goodbye, good woman! Kiss all the domestics for me,” I loudly shout after her.

 The old woman quickens her pace as if fleeing from me. She thinks that I can’t hear her, that’s why she’s muttering under her breath, “Goddess forbid little Fillania sees this bestia in pants, a young girl of marriageable age should not look at terrible witches and their vile deeds.”

 I grunt, “Well, Crow, bestia in pants, it's time to perform vile witch rituals.”

 An hour was enough for me to ‘talk’ - enchant - the water in a wooden tub and sprinkle it into every corner of the barn. The imps, disheveled and grumpy, began to reluctantly crawl out of their holes. Ideally, I would have to ‘speak’ the barn door so that the imps would not come back, but the old woman's disgusting attitude towards me discouraged any desire to work more than necessary. A week later they will come back, but this time there will be twice as many (several female imps are pregnant).  Good luck, you morons!

 “Have you finished, lady witch? So fast! Were you scared?” chatters the earthy farmerette. Luckily, she is not afraid of me. The girl is very friendly and curious. She hands me a cloth in which two heavy silver coins are neatly tied.

 “The critters were scary, but I took care of them,” I tell the girl with a laugh.

 “Miss witch, have you ever been to the capital?” she asks hopefully.

 “Yeah, I used to live there... Do you want to travel to the capital?”

 "Sure thing, I do want! But who will let me go... Did you know that a clothing merchant came to us two days ago? Are you familiar with him? He is also from the capital. Is it true that green is very fis-fishionable now?”

 “I…” I look at her cute innocent face. The girl doesn’t understand how big the capital is, and most likely this fabric seller is just trying to resell the cheap, low-quality rags that he bought from some foreign rag-and-bone-men. I don’t want to disappoint her, “I think the green color is often worn by the ladies of the capital... listen, beauty, why are there so many people in your village? It seemed to me that the village of Birches is quite far from the Trade Route, and all the resorts for the rich are located much further, closer to the sea and hot gnome springs.”

 “Oh, yes, you probably don’t know that today is a big event in our village: the head of the village, the main farmer, has an anniversary! They invited two bards from a capital, and his daughter Fillania bought such a beautiful green dress from a merchant, I saw it myself,” the girl boasts as if she was given a dress. “Will you go to the party too?”

 “Definitely! Listen, beaty, would you be a lamb, tell the old hag that I say hello and send my fiery kiss to your Fillania,” I ask her in a liliaceous voice. Too bad I won't see the maid's expression. Let her think that I want to enchant her little Fillania, hehehehe!

 "Certainly! I'm sure she'll be very pleased,” the girl says naively.

 “I don't even doubt it.”

 

 Having two silver coins, I decided to exchange them for twenty coppers and spend a few of them on a lunchtime snack. Having received enough information from the earthy farmerette, I considered it my duty to pay attention to the head of the village, or rather, drink free beer or take some food from the festive table on the sly.

 Even though it is only lunchtime, the celebrations are in full swing. The tables in the tavern bursting with all sorts of rustic dishes from the region and even a few traditional elven sweets with baked and fresh apples, pears, and peaches.

 I again notice a thin man resembling a teenager. He no longer plays cards with the trolls; he is quietly sitting in the most dimly lit corner. Generally, I don't pay attention to people like him: inns and taverns are always full of vagabonds and travelers, but he clearly stands out from the crowd, or rather, he tries not to stand out. All the inhabitants of the tavern both locals and travelers take the opportunity to have fun: drink, dance, and, of course, listen to the cheerful songs of two invited bards who are often out of tune, but for the villagers it is a real elven opera.

The clothing merchant in a suede jacket wants to sit down with me; with an air of importance, he keeps on twisting his thin mustache, telling me which fashion houses of the capital he has been in order to impress the village fool who doesn’t go further than the chicken coop. Having realized that I am a witch, the man is getting frightened (he sees under the table top that I wear trousers - it’s very nice of him to look at my legs under the table). Apologizing, the suede jacket runs away to more humble females who will not set his mustache antennae on fire with a pulsar. The merchant, and a mug of beer accompanied by the boiled crayfish on the blue plate, and also the contemplation of the decolletage of a blond girl with plump cheeks, distract me from thoughts about the suspicions man.

 Several times my eye is on Svartalf, but she is nowhere to be found, which is rather odd, since the tavern is full of chores and guests. And where is the guest of honour? It seems that the whole village and distant relatives from neighboring settlements came to congratulate the birthday boy, even the moth-eaten great-grandmother was dragged to see him, but he is still not there. I am not the only one who asks this question: the owner of the tavern has already yelled at his wife five times: she had to find out from the farmer’s wife when the farmer deigned to come; the fat woman, in turn, is angry at the serf girls and waitresses: she head slaps them for sluggishness or painfully pulls their long plates for not pouring enough cherry tincture to some important relative. In a word, the birthday is a success.

 Finally, the farmer comes, accompanied by his capricious looking daughter, Fillania, and wife. If not for the loudly singing bards (who began to sing even louder when they saw the richest man in the village), everyone would have heard my stifled laughter. Even the royal jester doesn’t dress up so brightly. I have no doubts that the important family bought clothes from my new merchant friend who obviously knows a lot about ‘fishion’ (he even met the queen's cook herself).

 “Thank Goddess you have come, dear brother! We have been waiting for you!” The tavern-innkeeper brakes into a wide smile as if someone is stretching his mouth in different directions.

 I’d have another foamy beer for the farmer's health and safety (wealthy birthday people are usually generous with good beverages or food when drunk), but something catches my attention. The owner of the tavern looks askance at something. I look in the same direction with my usual curiosity. Not only the head of the village is moving, but also a dark silhouette along the wall is doing the same. No doubt, this is the same suspicious man! Wait a minute, wait a minute... he is not just a suspicious man, but a very weak sorcerer. Most likely, he was thrown out of academy in the first year for his weak abilities, or he was self-taught. Typically, people like him become card cheaters, thieves or ahh... assassin!

 He stands up to the window so everyone could see only his dark silhouette, and with a rather deft movement of his hands the man creates a weak energy ball: such a ball will not kill or harm a magical creature or another sorcerer, but for a simple human the ball could be fatal. His victim is obvious: the farmer is like a multicolored target.  

 A Throw!

 Oh no, the suspicious man, not on my shift!

 I throw a light counter spell that is taught in the first year of the academy. The spell is so simple any seven-year-old freshmen could perform it. It’s actually the easiest basic magic, even a herbalist-healer is capable of doing it.

 BAM!!! 

 Oops, my counter spell is more powerful than his energy ball...