Kitty's Keeper/No Clean Blades

III

Carum did not need to knock to enter Paul's chamber, as Paul was already waiting for them at the entrance. He led the human inside with a bounce in his step, humming quietly so as to not accidentally enthrall his guest. Carum enjoyed the trip, taking in the siren's territory once more. One novel sight especially drew them in.

"I didn't know any of you kept brooms."

Paul paused to turn in Carum's direction. "Hm?" Leaning against the bar were two of his brooms. "Oh, yeah. That's only half the collection, to be frank. The other half is behind the bar."

"One broom for each of you, then?" Carum parsed.

Paul shook his head. "No, they're all mine. Each one is a different model."

"Oh." The human then gestured to them. "Could I borrow one, then?"

Paul was prepared to ask when Carum learned to fly until he remembered a broom's traditional purpose. "I'm sorry, dear, but these brooms aren't for cleaning. They're for flying."

Carum's eyebrows knit. "Flying?" Then they stepped back, aghast. "Like...like a witch?"

"Aye."

"And you can ride a broomstick?"

Paul struck a prideful pose. "Had a Class-B flying license for about three years now."

"Really? A license?"

"Yes." Paul resumed walking, determined to start sharpening sometime this week. "Every witch's guild demands that its members have one."

Carum followed, curiosity set alight. "You're a witch?"

The siren nodded. "A proud, part-time member of the Wicked Sisters Guild." A few steps more and he reached his revolving whetstone, currently covered in a sheet of old linen to protect it from dust. It was the star of the day, but Carum was still preoccupied by witches and witchcraft.

The human looked out at the former site of the morning's cooking fires. "I guess that explains the cauldrons... But why?"

Paul pulled off the linen. The whetstone was a fine machine powered by a foot pedal. It was in a sorry state when Paul purchased it, but with Ringo's help it was swiftly restored to its former glory. To prevent rust and mold (very bad for blades and one's overall health), Paul never kept water in it when not in use. "Witches are skilled healers, as well as powerful conjurers," he explained. "My intelligence and magic level have increased tenfold under their tutelage!" He picked up one of the pitchers he kept around the wheel. A trip to Ritchie's chamber was paramount.

Carum had not abandoned their interest. "I thought witches were malefic beings."

Paul did not cease to indulge them, and replied as he started walking out of the chamber. "If you bother them, sure! But by and large they are quite peaceful. So dedicated are they to preserving life that they don't even eat flesh!"

"What?" Carum gasped.

Paul nodded. "Mm-hmm! Not a single beast or being. They will eat what such creatures produce, though. Some pay a pretty, pretty piece for butter churned by witches." He began walking faster.

Carum kept pace. "Have you paid?"

"Well, I get it for free, because I'm mostly a witch."

Carum digested this information a moment, but was not yet sated. "Witchcraft is a far more wholesome belief than I thought, if it is indeed a belief."

The pair reached Ringo's chamber. Paul made for the freshwater spring. Carum followed close behind. "It's a belief, but you can be born a witch, y'know," Paul continued. "You'll be considered Creaturefolk, then. There are a lot of ways to become a witch, actually. You can be born a witch, you can be raised in witchcraft, you can convert wholly to it or simply practice its school of magic. Either way, you're a witch, or so I was told."