Father frowned. "Not that I've heard. Plenty of boys here in the village who would jump at the job, for Bachmeier offers married quarters for the men who work for him. Better than sharing a house here in the village with several generations of your family, or so they say." He brightened. "But the king's tithe collectors are on their way. They’ve been to the other provinces and we're bound to be next. If you have your heart set on a man not from the village, one of the king's men might be your best chance. Especially if he takes you back to the capital. Bachmeier might not listen when we tell him what our waterwheels can do, but I'm sure the king will care."
"I'm not seducing one of the king's soldiers," Molina objected.
"How about one of the king's knights? Or a nobleman from court? The tithe is the most valuable thing in the countryside, and he sends his best knights to protect it. Have you ever seen a man in armour?"
Molina considered for a moment. "No, but I can't see how armour is meant to be attractive. I mean, you cannot see his face under the helmet, and what if you cut yourself on the metal trying to undress him? Marrying a knight sounds like a good way to get hurt."
Father shook his head. "Once again with all the thinking. Your mind never stops. Your mother would be so proud, but she'd be telling you even louder that village life will never be enough for you."
"It was for her!"
Father smiled sadly. "She stayed for me, and because she got to build the waterwheels the way she wanted them. Without a new project or someone to love, she would never have stayed. The waterwheels are as good as they will get, yet I know you have ideas almost daily. Tell me what you thought of today."
Father knew her too well. Molina relented. "Today I got sick of spinning, so I designed a machine that holds the spindle and the distaff and turns the spindle with a wheel. You could attach it with gears to a waterwheel so it spins at just the right rate…"
Father laughed. "Show me."
Molina felt in her bodice, where she usually stashed her sketches, but found none. "Damn. I must have left it up by the pools. A man came and distracted me, so I came home earlier than I intended. I'll go up there tomorrow to retrieve it so I can show you. I really think this will work. I would have to build it and try it first, but I think this can easily halve the time I spend spinning. It all depends on the speed."
"If Bachmeier agreed to let you try half the things you think up, no one in the village would have to work at all. He's a fool for not listening to you. His only redeeming feature is his good taste in wine. And women, for he did choose you over the other girls in the village." Father poured himself a cup of wine and leaned back on his bench, until his head touched the wall. "If you were younger, I'd tell you one of those fairytales, where a knight in shining armour comes to woo the lovely young miller's daughter, carrying her away on his horse. For all that I wish there were such a man for you, even I doubt it in this day and age. All the modern knights seek fame and glory in tourneys or crusades, not love. Yet I wish it for you with all my heart."
Molina forced herself to smile, for her father's words reminded her of the loneliness that made her heart ache at night. "I have you and your love, Father. I am lucky to have the love of one wonderful man. To have the love of two…seems to be asking too much of fate. Perhaps we should not tempt her so."
Father leaned forward. "Or perhaps that is exactly what we must do. Tempt fate, so that she might change something to make your life more interesting. Maybe not a knight. Maybe a man with rank equal to Bachmeier, who will treat you as you deserve, and listen to your schemes. You know, the ancient goddess of fate here was a spinner. Your new spinning wheel might be just the thing to get her attention. Tomorrow, you must find that sketch, and tell me everything, for we will build it together."
Molina's heart lifted. It had been a long time since her father helped her with a project. "Thank you, Father. That sounds perfect."
Seven
Dinner with Lord Bachmeier and his daughters didn't fill Lubos with dread as it had yesterday. He barely noticed when the girls brushed against him, though he could not deny his relief when Bachmeier sent his pouting daughters to bed.
When Lubos rose to retire, Bachmeier held up his hand. "Please, let me share some of my best vintage with you, Your Highness. Such fine wine is not fit for women, but for the likes of us, who can appreciate such things…"
Lubos wondered whether the miller's wife liked wine, fine or otherwise. Perhaps he could send her a cask of the stuff on the morrow, to make up for his rudeness today. He suspected it would need to be a very rare vintage indeed to gain her good opinion, if she even liked wine.
"Did you enjoy your day, Your Highness?" Lord Bachmeier asked, pouring the wine into two goblets.
"Yes," Lubos said absently. "I have heard much about the watermills here, and I wanted to see them for myself."
It was a lie, but one that made the other man preen with pride.
"They were built by one of my great uncles, who saw such things on his travels," Lord Bachmeier boasted. "A younger son, so he had no hope of inheriting the castle. He travelled widely and brought home a wife from foreign parts. Eventually, he made a home for himself and his descendants in the old manor house beside what is now the millstream."
Lubos cursed himself. That made the miller's wife the highest woman in Bachmeier's lands, second only to Bachmeier's lady, if she'd still lived. Probably nobly born, judging by her clothes. Trust him to insult her.
He glanced up to find Lord Bachmeier staring at him, as if waiting for a response. "I'm sorry, it has been a long day. Could you repeat that?"
Lord Bachmeier didn't seem to be offended, though perhaps his near-empty wine cup had something to do with that. "I asked if you met the miller. Rademaker is a good man. 'Twas his idea to plant flax when all our autumn sown crops washed away. We have the finest linen anywhere, and now there will be even more of it!"
"No, I did not. I will return on the morrow to see him." And her. Lubos prayed he would not make a fool of himself again. He pulled the bark out of his tunic, and held it out. "Perhaps you can tell me something. Is this contraption the secret of your linen production?"
Lord Bachmeier squinted at the crude drawing, his lip curling in disgust. "Our women will not sit idle while a machine does their work! That girl is delusional to think otherwise. Not a week passes that she does not come up here, nagging me about how her inventions could make this province rich if I only surrendered to one of her insane plans. She'd be better served settling down and birthing children for her husband, like the other women in the village. Rademaker will not live forever, and we cannot be without a miller." He threw the bark down on the table and poured himself another cup of wine. "Drink up, man!"
Lubos took the cup in one hand, reclaiming the bark with the other. As he sipped the wine, his mind whirled. The miller was an old man, with a young wife? As the miller's wife, he had no business thinking of her, but once she was the man's widow…
A less honourable man would help matters along, but Lubos would not stoop to murder, even over a beautiful woman.
A woman who claimed she could create wealth with her wheeled contraptions…
Lubos would return to the mill on the morrow, and ask the girl herself. Perhaps Lord Bachmeier was right and she was not right in the head, but Lubos doubted it. He'd never looked into a more lucid pair of eyes than hers.
"What is the madwoman's name?" Lubos asked casually.
"Molina," Lord Bachmeier muttered. "Bane of my life, Molina. Wouldn't marry me when my wife died, either."
So she'd chosen the miller over being Lady Bachmeier. Lubos really did need to meet the miller. On the morrow, he promised himself.
"To women, though they may drive us mad," Lubos announced, lifting his cup in a toast.
Lord Bachmeier filled and lifted his own. "To good women," he said.
Both men drank, their thoughts on the same woman. But only Lubos wore a smile.
Eight
"I'm going to h
ave a son," Maja said proudly. "I visited Dalia, the witch woman in the woods today. She is a seer, you know, and she is certain the baby will be a boy. You will be a father, Abraham."
Chase clapped Abraham on the back. "Congratulations!"
But Abraham felt no joy in the news. Being born a boy in his family was a death sentence. He knew, for his time had already started to drip away. Without a word, he rose from his seat and left the hall.
The spring air still held winter's chill, as its icy breath swirled around him in the dark. No breeze could ever be as cold or dark as the invisible hand clenched around his heart as he stood on the battlements, and wished he dared throw himself off them into the river below.
But he could not. Death would find him soon enough, and hastening it would not save his son.
"Now you've done it. My sister won't stop sobbing that her husband no longer loves her. First you won't touch her, and now this. What man isn't happy to know he'll have a son and heir?" Chase demanded, emerging out of the dark. "I gave her my word I would call you out if it's true, for it's my duty as your friend and your brother in law to beat some sense into you."
"Do you believe in magic?" Abraham asked.
Chase laughed. "You mean do I believe the witch? Maybe. I do not know. What does it matter? My sister knows she is carrying a baby, and that it is yours, which is good enough for me. You should be celebrating!" He shoved a cup at Abraham, but Abraham didn't take it. "Suit yourself, then. I shall drink to your good fortune!" Chase drank it down in three gulps.
"I don't mean her. Have you heard the stories about where my family got the lion at the gate?" Abraham pointed at the statue on the bridge below. Even from up here, he could see it shine in the torchlight.
Chase shrugged. "It looks ancient, like it was taken as a trophy when one of your ancestors conquered some city or other. I mean, who would make something so big in bronze any more?"
"It's not bronze. It's solid gold," Abraham said. "When Kempenich the Cursed touched it, he called down a curse on every male in our bloodline. Or so my father told me. I didn't believe him – not even on his deathbed, when he made me swear to find some way to break the curse – but now…"
"Some curse. You have a bigger castle than any lord in the land, and more wealth than you know what to do with. A solid gold statue that guards your gate…why, that sounds like the kind of curse I would beg for, not break!" Chase laughed.
"Give me the cup," Abraham commanded.
"Now you want wine. Good thing I brought a whole jug," Chase said. He refilled his cup, and handed it to his brother in law.
Abraham took the cup, then tugged off one glove with his teeth and wrapped his bare hand around the clay cup. He lifted it to his lips and drank, wishing he could drown his dread. But Chase needed to know, for someone would have to take care of Maja and the baby when he was gone.
When the cup was dry, Abraham threw it down on the flagstones at his feet. Instead of the tinkle of broken ceramic, the cup merely clanged and rolled away.
"What in heaven's name…?" Chase began.
Abraham replaced his glove. "Pick it up. It'll be gold, like the statue, now. Like anything I touch without the gloves."
Chase whistled. "Everything you touch turns to gold? No wonder your family is so rich. Here, do my dagger." He unsheathed the knife and held it out.
"A gold dagger is too soft to be any use. Put it away. It's a curse. My family's curse."
"It does not sound like such a curse to me."
Abraham sighed. "If you could not touch the woman you love without gloves on, you would understand."
Realisation dawned in Chase's eyes. "So that's why…Maja…why didn't you just tell her?"
"Because there's more. The curse only comes when the men of House Rumpelstiltskin are close to death. None of the men in my family have lived for more than a year once they have the Touch."
Chase looked stricken. "How long? Will you live to see the babe born?"
Abraham shook his head. "That's just it. I don't know. I just woke up one morning, reached for the door of the garderobe, and the handle turned cold under my hand. If I'd touched Maja instead…" He shivered. "I haven't taken my gloves off since. My father gave them to me on his deathbed, and told me I would know when to use them. As it turns out, they're the only thing I can touch that doesn't turn to gold. They must be magic, too."
Silence reigned on the battlements, but for the burble of the river, far below.
Chase broke it. "You need to tell her."
Abraham laughed bitterly. "Tell her what? That she married a man whose family is cursed? That I'll never be able to touch her again, for the rest of my short life, and, even worse, our son will suffer the same fate? I didn't believe it, not even when my father told me on his death bed. I was a child, and thought he was telling me some fairytale about a man and a witch and a lion. Not until I saw what I'd done to the garderobe door did I think there was any truth in his tale!" He buried his head in his hands. "If I'd known, I would never have courted Maja. Never married her, never lain with her, for to visit this fate on a child…our child! I deserve my fate. And I do not have enough days to make it up to her. I will die unforgiven."
"My sister loves you, and even if she had known, I'm not sure even I could have stopped her from marrying you. And…I've seen the way you look at her. I know you would never seek to hurt her. You're an honourable man, Abraham. When you vow to do something, you do everything within your power to make sure it happens. You will not die in dishonour. Fulfil the vow you made to your father, and break the curse. For your father, for Maja, for your unborn son…for the future of your family."
Abraham didn’t deserve the blind faith in Chase's eyes. And yet…more than anything, he wanted to believe his brother in law's words.
Slowly, Abraham nodded. "Though my time is short, I solemnly vow, with you as my witness, that I shall spend every waking moment I have left, working to break Kempenich's curse, so that my son will be free."
Chase leaned over to retrieve the golden cup Abraham had dropped. "I'll hold you to it, my friend. And I'll keep this as a souvenir. I always did want to drink out of a golden cup."
Abraham reached out to cuff his friend, but drew his hand back. Until he died or broke the curse, he would have to be careful of everyone and everything he touched. Just in case.
For now, more than ever, Abraham believed in magic. He would visit the witch on the morrow, so that the seer might tell him his future. And he would not leave until she told him a tale with light at the end, not merely gold and death.
Nine
Find the wealth the barons are hiding in the countryside, his father had told him. Find it, and bring it home. The words became a litany in Lubos' head as he headed back to the mill. Bachmeier wasn't so much hiding Molina as keeping her to himself, and squandering her talents besides. If she truly could create things that would make the kingdom wealthy…make women's work go faster…
Just as men looked up to their king, a kingdom's women looked to their queen. They would do their best to fashion clothing like hers, name their children after her, attend royal events just to get a glimpse of her, and maybe receive her blessing. Even his mother, who'd done little more than smile wanly as the constant pregnancies and miscarriages took their toll. Yet a wave from her could make a crowd erupt in louder cheers than those for his father.
He'd heard tales of the legendary Queen Margareta of Aros, who ruled beside her husband as his equal. The stories said men willingly laid down their lives for her, for it was an honour to serve such a lady. It was even said that she was responsible for turning her kingdom into a great sea empire, though that could be because her dowry came with Beacon Isle. But even Lubos had heard of Beacon Isle, an independent island that was the greatest trading port in the northern sea, occupied by people who called no man king. But they answered to Queen Margareta.
If Lubos returned to his father with a wife as formidable as Queen Margareta, a woman who could hold her own a
gainst her liege lord and make the kingdom prosper again…
Well, his father would be pleased. He'd finally leave off trying to make Lubos marry some soft, insipid girl, and Lubos would be free to live the life he'd dreamed about. Well, last night he'd dreamed about it, or more specifically, her.
Dreamed of helping Molina out of that thin shift, so he could see her in all her naked glory, before making love to her as a queen deserved.
Please, let the miller be so old and decrepit he was ready to knock on death's door, Lubos prayed as strode up the path to the mill. What had the man's name been? Rademaker. A good man. Lubos prayed the man would soon receive his reward in heaven…
"You must be one of the king's tax collectors, come to inspect the mill. I had begun to think Lord Bachmeier had forgotten to mention it to you."
Lubos looked up to meet the eyes of a man who looked younger than Bachmeier, or even his own father. A man whose fine linen clothes marked him as more than a farmhand.
The man held out his hand. "I'm Rademaker, and I welcome you to our town. We have a particularly fine watermill, thanks to my very talented wife."
Lubos' heart sank right down into his boots. Rademaker was a man in his prime, perhaps forty years old at most, with only a slight greying at his temples to show he was no longer a young man. Yet Lubos summoned a smile, for it was not Rademaker's fault he was the luckiest man in the world. "I would love to see the watermill. I came yesterday, but…"
"I was not at home. The wild bees were swarming, and I wanted to catch some new queens for our hive. They produce better honey up here on the slopes than in the lowlands of the valley, and Lord Bachmeier is particularly partial to it. Before the floods, he was often willing to trade a flagon of his best imported wine for my honey, but now that my hives were the only ones to survive the floods, I must increase production to meet the demand. And maybe even the price, too." Rademaker winked. "I fancy my honey is never part of the tithe Lord Bachmeier sends to the king, but I will happily make a gift of it for His Majesty. If you promise to make sure the king receives it, I shall give you some for yourself, too."
Spin- Rumpelstiltskin Retold Page 3
