Amanda Moonstone: The Missing Prince
Sample Chapter
By Dan Wright
Not to be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system—except by a reviewer to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web—without permission from the author.
By Dan Wright
Not to be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system—except by a reviewer to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web—without permission from the author.
Chapter 1
The Struggling Sorceress
Amanda crushed up ingredients in her bowl, grinding and then mixing them into a thick paste. The mixture was one part each of roseflower and cromiweed, two parts bone dust, and a dash of salt. When she was done, she double-checked the recipe.
“Okay,” Amanda mumbled to herself, “now we have to mix it with fresh water and then stir it with some red draught potion—boiled.”
She checked the red draught—it had already begun to bubble. She pointed a finger at the glass bottle and the flames increased ever so slightly in response. When she was sure the flame didn’t require her attention, she mixed the paste with a vial of water and stirred it until it was thick and syrupy, creating a honey colour. She then pointed towards the red mixture. The glass container hovered in the air, lifted by Amanda’s will alone.
She checked the scroll again. “Add two litres worth of boiling red draught to the mix. Measurements must be exact to get the desired effect.
“Well, here goes nothing.”
The red draught hovered over the vial of syrup. She could barely contain her excitement. If she got the mixture right, this would be a bestseller. She had been desperate to get a hold of the ingredients, and they had not come cheap. It would all be worth it when the potion was complete.
This is the one, she thought. This is the one that’s going to solve all my problems.
The end of the bottle tipped towards the awaiting syrup, a line of red liquid gradually trickling its way to the end of the bottle.
What would happen? Would there be an explosion—a burst of light? Mixing different potions often had different effects. She held her breath.
A thump at her front door broke her concentration. The red mixture dropped from the air and crashed to the floor, spilling its contents everywhere. Amanda could only stare as her months of preparation had come to naught.
“Rats!”
The thumping on her door continued. Grumbling, Amanda stormed over to see who dared disturbed her work. She put on her best pout and flung the door open.
“Yes?”
When she saw who it was, she instantly regretted her tone.
“Oh . . . er . . . hello, Miss Berger.”
Miss Berger was a rotund woman with hair the colour of mouldy parchment. Her face seemed to be permanently etched with disagreement, as if it were impossible for her to smile. She glared at Amanda with fists on her wide hips.
“Er, lovely day we’re having,” Amanda said, trying to make polite conversation.
“You know what day it is, Moonstone?” Berger crowed.
“Er . . . the last day of the month?”
“It’s the first of the month.” Berger held out a hand. “Pay up.”
Rent. Oh, bother.
“Ah,” Amanda stuttered. “Yes . . . you see, there has been a little bit of a drought in sales recently and . . . well, you know, making potions is expensive.” She laughed nervously, but Berger’s frowning eyebrows and curled lip gave Amanda the impression that she didn’t see the humour in that statement. “I need ingredients and . . . well, they aren’t cheap.”
“You don’t have it, do you?”
“Give me just one more month and I swear I’ll have it.”
“That’s what you said last month, and the month before that—and the month before that! In fact, you’ve said little else for the last five months! My patience is wearing thin with you, Moonstone.”
“I know—I know . . . I’m sorry, but I promise you, I’m working on a new potion and it’s going to be a bestseller!”
Berger gazed into her house towards the potion table. She spotted the broken glass on the floor, and then glanced back to Amanda.
“Er . . . production problems.”
“What have I told you?” Berger snapped. “You’ll ruin the woodwork! That,” she stabbed a pudgy finger towards the mess, “is going on your bill!”
“Really? Oh, come on . . .”
“I’ve been very kind to you—kinder than I should have been after what you did. I know you had problems, but my patience is wearing thin. One month without paying rent is bad enough, two is unacceptable—but five? Accommodation here isn’t free. You either pay rent or you’re out.”
Amanda was trapped. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “You know . . . you shouldn’t mess with a sorceress. Not when she could use her magic to . . . burn you alive.”
Berger glared back, folding her arms, which was a bit of an effort given the layers of fat padding her midsection.
“That was a bad joke,” Amanda apologised sheepishly. “But please . . . can’t you just give me a little extension? I have some really good stock to sell this time, I promise! Just a little extension is all I ask for.”
Berger’s glare did not disappear. Amanda had used the same plea before. This time, Berger didn’t seem convinced. “You have until the end of the week,” she allowed.
“Well, you see, I was kind of hoping for another couple of months or so . . .”
“End of the week—production problems or not,” Berger stated sternly. “No rent, no home. Take it or leave it.”
Berger walked away, a slight waddle in her step.
“Right,” Amanda said after her. “End of the week. No problem.” She closed the door lightly, sighing.