A/N: Thank you, Lisa, for your help and your quick beta!
Also, this jumps back in time a bit from the previous chapters. That will happen from time to time with this story.
Caper
It all started because Joss was trying to cheer Joseph up. Their eleventh birthday was approaching and individual birthdays weren't celebrated in the Tower. The reason, Greagoir had once explained, was because most of the mages in the Tower didn't actually know when their birthdays were. That sounded reasonable to Joss, who hadn't known when her birthday was until Joseph had told her shortly after his arrival. Instead, every year, on First Day, there was a celebration and every mage turned a year older.
For those who actually knew the date of their birth it probably wasn't all that great; at least Joseph didn't think so. As the day neared, he became more and more gloomy, which made Joss feel bad. She loved when Joseph was happy, especially when he laughed: his whole face lit up as if he'd swallowed a lamp, and his laughter reverberated in his chest like thunder rumbling against the Tower during a storm.
Sometimes, when he laughed, Joss could almost hear her father's laugh inside her. Once, she'd even remembered what he looked like: big and jovial, with brown eyes and dark hair and a mustache that tickled when he kissed her. But then, the memory was gone, and she was never quite sure if it was a real memory or just wishful thinking.
"You'll never finish if you can do naught but stare at the pans, Josslyn."
Joss blinked and looked up at Cook Killdare, who was smiling down at her. Joss grinned and picked up another pan, swiping her drying towel across its shiny surface. "Cook Killdare, you like Joseph, don't you?"
"There's no reason not to," the cook responded.
Well, that was true. Joseph got in half the trouble Joss did, and he was always helpful, which she wasn't. Not that she was against helping people; she just didn't notice them most of the time. She watched out for Joseph and he seemed to watch out for everyone else.
"You know his birthday is in three days and I thought maybe I could bake him a special treat?" Joss asked in a rush. Cook Killdare was a nice person. Usually. But if her bunions were acting up, or her lumbago, she was as cross as a cat in a hat.
"Well, aren't you a goodly sister. And a fair coincidence that your birthday is also in three days," the cook said with a great shout of laughter. Joss was pretty sure she heard the glasses clinking and wobbling in the cupboard, but she laughed too, even though she wasn't sure why she was laughing.
"I won't be cooking that day, young mage. I'll be off to visit with my sister. Undercook Bobbitt will be on duty that day. Best speak with her."
Joss sighed. Undercook Bobbitt was rumored to have whacked off her husband's plonker on account of his making hay with a farmer's daughter. Joss wasn't sure what a plonker was, although she thought it must have something to do with growing because he was a farmer, and it sounded sensible for him to make hay with a farmer's daughter. She was pretty sure that's what farmers actually did: grew hay. Still, Undercook Bobbitt was just a bit on the wrong side of kind. She wasn't mean, necessarily, just not kind.
When Joss approached her the morning of Joseph's birthday, the undercook surprised Joss with her willingness to make something special for Joseph. Of course, she wanted something in return. Joss, determined to make Joey's birthday special, asked what it was the undercook wanted.
"I'm out of essence of cinnamon oil. Lucian Caravel should have some; he just won't be willing to part with it. Leastways not for me. Bring me the essence and I'll make some nice apple tarts for Joseph."
Apple tarts? Joss thought that was a splendid idea; they were his favorite dessert. She finished drying her pile of pots and pans and went off to find Lucian Caravel, avoiding Joseph lest she give away the secret treat Bobbitt was going to prepare just for him. She hurried up the stairs and down the long, curved hallway to the Potions classroom. Lucian Caravel was sitting at his desk and looked up at her suspiciously when she entered.
"Why have you come?"
Joss gulped, her reason flying out of her head. He looked as angry as a sack of honeybees. She shivered, remembering the time Ser Hendricks had decided to bring some of Beekeeper Muncie's honeybees into the Tower to scare Ser Fauntleroy. The bees had been very, very angry. Just like Lucian Caravel was now. Still, Joseph was going to, by the Maker's pointy arse, get his treat. Joss straightened her shoulders.
"The cook needs essence of cinnamon oil. Ser," she added hastily, hiding her hands behind her back because they wanted to twist and turn nervously, and Lucian Caravel didn't like nervous people. Especially not nervous apprentices.
He set aside his quill and stood up, towering over Joss, dark eyes boring into her. "And just why did the cook not come herself?"
Another gulp was forced from Joss. "She's very busy with…with…uh…cookly things," she finally blurted out.
"Cookly things? I suppose it isn't unreasonable for a cook to be involved with cookly things. However," he continued, just as Josslyn's hopes were on the rise. She felt them dashed to the floor at the way he drew out his word and then skewered her with his eyes.
"I'm in need of chickweed for a new decoction," he said, tapping his cheek. The way he said 'decoction' made Joss shiver because it sounded evil, and mysterious, and she didn't want to know what the decoction was because he was likely to make her taste it if she asked about it. So, of course, she did.
"What kind of decoction?"
Traitor! Her tongue was a traitor! She probably looked all bug-eyed because Lucian Caravel threw his head back and laughed. Which didn't make him sound like a crazy person at all. Oh wait. Yes it did. She shivered and took two large steps backwards, which amused him even more.
"A decoction of chickweed, according to Alchemist Dimentiaria's treatise, helps prevent obesity. I've noticed several of the Senior Enchanters are becoming quite overweight as they age and this might be the answer to the problem."
"Wouldn't cutting back on dessert do the same thing?" Joss asked before she could stop herself. Really, she just needed to have her lips stitched together.
Eyes narrowed, Lucian Caravel looked down his long, pointed nose at her. "Go and get some chickweed from Senior Enchanter Ines. Do this for me and I'll fulfill the cook's request."
Joss spun on her heel and walked out of the room. Very, very quickly. So quickly that it was nearly a run. Nearly. She heard Lucian Caravel's laughter following her so she sped up the steps until she was running.
Ines, the Tower's botanist, was standing in the herbalarium, humming to herself. Or maybe to her plants. Joss didn't want to know which, and, for once, her tongue actually obeyed her.
"Yes, Josslyn, what is it?" Ines asked impatiently. Everyone in the Tower knew Ines cared about one thing - and one thing only - botany.
Joss liked Ines, mostly because Ines disliked Wynne. The rumor was that Ines and Wynne had once had a storm-clash over a male mage and Wynne had won. Joss wasn't sure that was true, because Ines didn't like preaching people who thought they knew everything there was to know about everything in the world. Or at least Senior Enchanter Ines had said as much one day, having forgotten that Joss was busy staking elfroot stalks at the time.
People were always remarking on Senior Enchanter Ines's dry wit. Joss didn't understand what that meant, unless it was the opposite of wet wit, but that didn't make much sense because she wasn't sure what wet wit was. Still, she enjoyed when Ines made snide comments about Wynne in such a way that made it difficult to tell if it was a compliment or an insult.
"Lucian Caravel sent me for some chickweed, Senior Enchanter Ines."
"Chickweed, is it? Well, he's a day late and a sovereign short. Not that he isn't short in other departments, as well. Unfortunately for him, I've just given the last of my chickweed to Torres."
Disappointment made Josslyn's stomach sink. Senior Enchanter Torres was often confused with Torrin by new apprentices, and Joss never understood why. They were as different as lard and butter. Torrin was always immaculate, articulate and punctual. His dark hair was always arranged in very neatly-braided rows. She'd heard Sweeney once say that they reminded him of Farmer Dell's tidy rows of corn, but as Joss had never seen rows of corn, she had no idea if that was accurate.
Torres usually looked like he'd been in a fight with a bramble bush and lost. He was never on time to class, was easily confused by questions about the entropic arts, which he taught, and laughed uproariously when a student's Disorient spell made the whole class wander around in a daze, bumping into each other. Joss reckoned he'd cast that spell on himself one time too many.
"Here, take these dried rashvine plants to him and tell him they'll do for his purposes."
Andraste's hairy armpits! Couldn't anyone in the Tower manage anything on their own? Sighing, Joss took the rashvine plants and left, going in search of Torres. She found him sitting in his classroom, his bright red hair sticking out in all directions, his robes grimy and… Maker's moldy beard! His robes were inside out. Joss tried very hard not to giggle but it was impossible.
"Ah, Josslyn, what brings you to my classroom?"
Joss waved the rashvine plants at him. "Ines says she gave you the wrong plants and you're to use these, instead."
Torres nodded absently and returned to reading his book. Joss looked around the room and saw no chickweed anywhere. "So, if I can just get the chickweed, I'll be on my way."
Torres nodded absently again, not bothering to look at her. "Have at it," he mumbled.
"Erm…where exactly is the chickweed?"
"I'm sorry, why are you here again?"
"Rashvine exchange?" Joss reminded, waving the rashvine at him again.
"Right. Take as much of the rashvine as you need, young lady."
Frustrated, Joss shook the rashvine harder, showering herself with the small seeds of the plant. "I need to exchange these for the chickweed," she explained very slowly, in a very quiet voice, even though she wanted to shout it from the top of the Tower.
"Well, of course you do. Help yourself."
Joss rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. "Where is it?" she asked again.
"In Rudolpho's Entropic Rapture."
Joss didn't even want to know why he had put chickweed in an old book. Master Enchanter Rudolpho's discourse on the entropic school of spells was about as dry as the dust on the cover of the book. She really, really didn't want to know why the chickweed was inside a book, so, of course her mouth decided otherwise.
"Well, what's it doing in there?" she asked crossly, standing on her tip-toes to reach the tome.
"Hmm? Why is what where?"
Joss wondered if she could get away with a very loud scream of frustration followed by a bolt of lightning in Torres's direction but decided it would only lead to more confusion, of which she'd already had plenty. She opened the book and was immediately attacked by the dust, which made her sneeze. And her skin was beginning to itch. She scratched her forehead and sneezed again.
Seizing the chickweed, which was looking a bit mangled and sorry, she snapped the book shut, sneezed two more times, and left Torres scratching his head in confusion. Well, she was scratching her head too. In fact, she itched all over, and her sneezes were loud enough to rattle the empty suits of armor as she passed them.
Lucian Caravel was surprised to see her back, and he must have been happy to see her because he took one look at her and smiled. She scratched her neck and smiled back, wondering why her skin felt like hundreds of ants were crawling on it, tickling it and making it itch. She shivered. There weren't actually any ants on her, were there? She was afraid to look.
"The essence of cinnamon oil is in the storeroom, Josslyn. I recommend you also take a bottle of sheep tallow."
Scratching her chin, Joss frowned. Surely they didn't put sheep tallow in apple tarts? What a horrible thought. She scratched her arm and went into the storeroom for the essence of cinnamon oil, which wasn't labeled as such.
There was a small vial marked: Rubicondium essenitia dulcis. If she was translating her Arcanum correctly that meant sweet red essence, which sounded right to her. She slipped it into a pocket and then found the sheep tallow, which she took as well.
"Why do I need this?" she finally asked Lucian Caravel, holding up the large vial of smelly grey tallow. It looked like rancid lard, and smelled like overripe cheese.
He gave her a kind smile, which scared her more than his crazy smile did.
"Sheep tallow will help with the itching from the rash. Consider this a gift from your Potions Master. Should you ever be in need of a treatment for such a rash and find yourself out of sheep tallow, use the gravy from Cook Killdare's lamb stew. There are healing properties untold contained within."
Well sure, because she would be more than willing to slop some grey goop on her face. As if. What a load of hooey. She refrained from saying so, busy scratching her arm.
"What rash?" she asked him, rubbing at her left cheek. She let out a mighty sneeze that nearly knocked her off her feet.
Lucian took her arm and guided her to his sleeping chamber just off his laboratory, where he pointed at his mirror. Joss stared at herself and let out a string of colorful curses as she saw the red welts covering her face and neck. She looked like she'd been attacked by a red paintbrush.
"I would surmise that your body does not appreciate the natural calming effect of rashvine. I recommend you give the cook her essence and then do something about that rash," he said, not unkindly. Which made Joss nervous enough to all but run from his room.
The rash was everywhere by the time she handed the vial to Bobbitt, but she was determined not to go to the infirmary, where Wynne would no doubt badger her into telling her everything, not that she would willingly do so, but her tongue had betrayed her enough for one day.
Instead, she snuck into the bathhouse with a clean robe and small clothes, stripped, and then painted her entire body with the foul smelling tallow. She waited for what seemed like hours, the need to scratch driving her to distraction. Or crazy. Maybe that's what made people go stark, raving mad. Itching, but not being able to scratch.
By the time her welts were under control and no longer driving her wild with their infernal need to be scratched, the supper bells were clanging loudly. She slipped into her clean robe and opened the door of the bathhouse, peeking around it to see if anyone was about before stepping into the hall.
"Where have you been?" Joseph asked as she entered the dining hall. He looked very unhappy and she suddenly realized she'd spent the entire day, his birthday, running errands for lazy enchanters and hiding in the bathhouse instead of trying to make his day special. Well, their day, but really it was more important in his mind than in hers.
"Sorry, Joseph," she mumbled, feeling small and mean for having neglected him all day.
"And happy birthday," she added, reminding herself that it was worth it for the surprise treat awaiting him for dessert that night.
"Ugh, Joss, you stink. What have you been doing? You smell like rotting sheep dung."
Joss sniffed, realizing she should probably have taken a bath while in the bathhouse. She did smell a bit ripe. Which would explain why everyone was giving her a wide berth as she and Joseph made their way to their usual table. Of course, nobody wanted to sit near her, not even Owain, who gave her an apologetic smile before he moved further down the table. She sighed.
After dinner, trays of tarts were brought out. Joss's spirits lifted at Joseph's exclamation of delight. He punched her lightly on her arm. "Your idea?" he asked under cover of the low hum of approval sweeping through the dining hall.
"Happy birthday," she whispered in reply, punching his arm in return.
The first table to be served, always, was the head table where the First Enchanter, the Knight-Commander and all the Senior Enchanters sat. Greagoir rubbed his hands together as his tart was set before him. Joss watched as he dug into his dessert with relish. And then sputtered. And coughed. And turned every shade of red she'd ever seen. And reached for the water jug and drank directly from it. The others at the table were mimicking him as everyone else watched, fascinated.
Lucian Caravel sniffed his tart and began to laugh in great amusement, before winking at her. What was that for, she wondered, suddenly feeling more than a little nervous.
The servers stopped serving the tarts, intent on staring at the frenzied reactions at the head table. Bobbitt came scurrying out of the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about and took one taste of a tart before her face turned fiery red. She turned and said something to Irving and Greagoir that was lost in the hubbub.
"Pepper!" Greagoir roared indignantly before downing another jug of water.
Disappointment slammed into Josslyn's stomach. Why had Bobbitt put pepper in the tarts? What kind of an idiot would do such a lame-brained thing? She glared at Bobbitt, who was too busy glaring at her to notice Josslyn's glare.
She glanced at Joseph, who was convulsed with laughter, the sound chasing her anger and disappointment away. She hadn't heard him laugh so heartily in ages and it reverberated through her chest, making her laugh in response.
"Josslyn Winifred Amell!" First Enchanter Irving bellowed above the raucous laughter that filled the room.
It turned out, and she wasn't sure why she was surprised, given the day she'd had, that Rubicondium essenitia dulcis was not, in fact, essence of cinnamon oil. It was essence of red pepper. Hot red pepper, apparently. Her shoulders slumped as she made her way up to the head table to be chewed out by Irving, Bobbitt and Greagoir.
Later, it became known as the Great Pepper Caper and Torres called her Pepper whenever he saw her, even in class. Lucian wore a secret smile for days that made Joss want to smack him. If she didn't know better, she'd say he'd known all along that she'd grabbed the wrong vial in the first place. Not that she had any proof.
But, that night, after a lecture and a list of chores to make up for her prank, and having finally rid herself of the horrible smell of tallow, she sank into bed, exhausted. She wondered how she could make it up to Joseph because she'd ruined his birthday, and spoiled the surprise, not to mention she'd ignored him most of the day. She was on the verge of tears when he crept over and sat on the edge of her bed.
"How did you manage it?" he asked.
After she explained how her simple request for apple tarts had turned into such a fiasco, Joseph laughed and gave her hand a squeeze.
"Thanks, Jo. This is the best birthday ever."