***
I WALKED GERDA to the edge of my valley, and stood and watched her as she headed west. The station was to the north, but she didn’t head towards it. Kai would not be there, and no matter how hard she knocked, they would not let her in.
When the curve of the hill took her out of my sight, I headed back to my garden. Though my valley stays warm, the trees know when it’s winter, and it was time to clean up the leaves. I raked them into a bin to rot until spring, when I’d use them to enrich the soil and keep the new plants moist. Even the roses had dropped their leaves, and I carefully gathered up the last of the rose blossoms to dry in my house.
As the setting sun plunged my valley into shadow, I went inside and put my kettle on the stove. My house seemed very cold without Gerda; her empty bed seemed to take up far too much space. I poured hot water over dried rose petals and orange peel to make tea, and then poured more hot water into a blue clay bowl. I set the bowl on my table, wrapping myself in my shawl and sitting down to stare into it.
As the steam dissipated, I saw Gerda.
She sat on the side of a hill—I could make out no landmarks that would tell me where. She had not built a fire, but simply wrapped herself up in my cloak. The hood was thrown back, as if she was a little warmer than she might like.
I watched her as she unfolded the kerchief of food and had something to eat, choosing the foods that would go stale the fastest. Just before it grew too dark to see her, she broke off a tiny piece of the candied orange peel and put it in her mouth, tears rolling down her face as she ate it. I hastily got up to get myself more tea, and when I returned to the scrying bowl, it was too dark to see anything.
***
MY SCRYING SHOWED me nothing but Gerda walking across treeless fields for three days. At dawn on the fourth day, however, I sat down with my morning tea and my scrying bowl just in time to see a huge black crow dive down and wake her. “Good morning,” the crow said.
I nearly spilled my tea. I’d heard stories about the tribe of talking crows, but they’d never come anywhere near my valley—so far. Gerda rolled over and blinked up at him with equanimity. “Good morning to you, too,” she said. Her voice was a little hoarse from disuse, and she cleared her throat.
The crow ruffled its feathers. “You say that like someone who expects to be greeted by a crow,” he said.
“Natalia doesn’t let crows into her garden. I’ve never met a crow before.”
“Never met . . . ! You must be from the station,” the crow said.
“Yes!” Gerda sat up so sharply that the crow took an alarmed hop backwards. “Yes, and I’m looking for a boy who also came from the station. My friend, Kai.”
The crow put his head to the side. “A boy. A stranger?”
“Have you seen someone?”
“Maybe. Maybe. There’s the boy who married the Princess. He might be your Kai.”
Gerda’s eyes grew large and she pushed herself to her feet, gathering up the cloak in her arms. “Can you take me to him?”
The crow launched himself into the air with a raucous caw, then settled onto Gerda’s shoulder. “Towards the sun,” he said. “Oh, and just so you know? Crows don’t normally talk. My sweetheart and I, we were improved by the scientists in the town. Us and our children, we’re the only talking crows in the world. You were supposed to be startled when I talked to you . . . ”
***
THE CROW DIRECTED Gerda to a path through the grasslands; then the path opened up, and led to a wide road of hard-packed dirt, and the road led to a town. I recognized the town when I saw it. I had traveled there once, during the summer when I could leave my garden for a week without harm to it. The scientists in the town made seeds that grew unnaturally well and potions to heal grievous wounds. I had gone to their auction and concluded that they had nothing my magic could not do for me, but others paid a small fortune for the scientist’s tricks. I didn’t trust the scientists, but they had some congress with the station. It was possible they might be able to help Gerda.
The crow directed Gerda through the streets to the laboratory—a large cottage with walls made out of sheets of black metal. It looked like the station, but much smaller. There were steps leading up to the front door.
“This is where the princess lives,” the crow said. “And the young man she married. Just knock on the door and ask for him.”
Gerda climbed the steps and knocked, and the crow launched himself from her shoulder into the sky, with a caw that sounded like a cackle. A moment later a young woman opened the door. “Yes? Who are you?” she said.
Gerda opened her mouth, then hesitated. The woman prompted her with an impatient noise. “Is Kai here?” Gerda asked.
“Kai? I don’t know a Kai. I’m sorry, but I’m quite busy. Are you with a caravan? You look a bit young to be on your own. Tell your caravan we hold open hours at noon daily. It’s not noon yet. Good day.”
The door closed.
Gerda looked around, but the crow was nowhere in sight. Her chin trembled, and she clenched her teeth. She trudged back down the steps and sat under a maple tree, wrapped up in my cloak. Open hours at noon; it looked as if she intended to simply wait until then.
Noon. That was hours away. I could safely leave Gerda, I thought, and dashed outside to work in my garden. I had noticed while raking that my herb bed was looking dry. I drew water from the well and sprinkled it over the rosemary and thyme, the basil and oregano, the lemongrass and St. John’s Wort. There was a little water left in my pitcher when I had watered everything that looked thirsty, and I brought it inside to heat for the scrying bowl as the sun neared its zenith. Gerda was still sitting patiently where I’d left her. Other people had also gathered outside the laboratory: a dozen men in coats sewn from rabbit pelts; a man and a woman in black wool cloaks; an ancient man in rags, with a gnarled walking stick and a polished wood bowl. They waited a few paces away from the door, the men in fur talking quietly among themselves in a language I didn’t understand. A man in ordinary clothes strode into the laboratory, and a handful of scientists came out, dressed from head to foot in white—white linen dresses, white wool scarves, white fur boots.
At noon, the door opened. The woman who had spoken to Gerda earlier came down the steps to the road. Before, the woman had been wearing a stained white linen coat; now, she had garbed herself head to toe in white fur. “I am Lovise,” the woman said. “Personal representative of the Principal Research Scientist. We have a variety of fine items for purchase today.” She gestured, and a boy with the glazed stare of a frag pushed a wheelbarrow out from the side of the laboratory.
“Our first item for sale is a box of seed corn,” Lovise said. “Specially bred to germinate, grow, and produce corn in just two months. Like all our seed, this corn carries the laboratory’s guarantee. Are there any questions?”
One of the men in fur asked, “Will it regerminate?”
“No, of course not,” Lovise said. “But you can come buy more from us next year.” I snorted in disgust; typical of the scientists and their tricks. The men were grumbling, as well, and Lovise fell back a step. “If you want corn that will regerminate, you can trade for seed with one of the communes. But their corn will take five months.” The grumbling quieted. “The price today is just ten gold dollars for a box with 100 seeds.”
From the wheelbarrow, the boy held up two carved wooden boxes, one in each hand.
The men in fur conferred for a moment. Then one said, “We’ll take ten boxes.” He had a leather drawstring bag at his waist, which he unlooped and loosened; he began to count out a hundred gold coins for the boy. The man and woman in black had no interest in seed corn.
“Our next item today is antibiotic ointment.” At Lovise’s gesture, the boy held up a glass vial with a cork stopper. “To keep infection from an injury, wash the wound, then rub this in and cover with a clean bandage. You can also buy soap from us, but we are the only source for this particular ointment. Fifty gold dollars for a vial.”
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This was what the couple in black had come for. They stepped over to the boy and counted out fifty gold coins. I snorted again, but a little less derisively. I’d heard some stories about this ointment that would make me consider buying it, had I anything close to fifty gold dollars.
“Finally, we have a brand-new item today,” Lovise said. The boy took the wheelbarrow back inside, and returned with a dog on a leash. It was a Siberian husky, and the boy had a bit of trouble controlling it; the dog wanted to run away from him. I felt sorry for the dog, though the boy was not being cruel to him; he was simply keeping the dog on the leash, when the dog really wanted to run.
“The enhanced sled dog,” Lovise said.
“Does he run faster?” one of the men in fur asked.
“No,” Lovise said. “He talks.” She turned to the dog. “Show them, Flagstaff.”
The dog, giving up on getting away, threw himself down onto the snow in disgust. “What do you want me to say?” he said.
“Tell them you’re a good dog.”
The dog rolled its eyes. “I’m a good dog,” he said. He glanced over at Gerda and winked at her. Gerda grinned a little in spite of herself. I thought that I’d steal the dog if I could; he deserved better than the scientists.
The men in fur coats laughed. “Thanks but no thanks, Scientist Lovise,” one of them said. “We’ve seen the talking crows. Is he going to be like the talking crows?”
“No,” Lovise snapped. “Like the corn, he can’t reproduce. Not without help, anyway.”
The men in fur laughed harder. “Poor fella,” one of them called to the dog. “If you can get away from the scientists, come and live with us. We’ll treat you right.”
The dog looked like he was going to say something, but then thought the better of it.
“That’s all for today,” Lovise said, and the men in fur and the couple in black cloaks started back down the road, away from the laboratory. The man in rags approached the doorstep; at Lovise’s signal, the boy brought out a pot of steaming soup and ladled soup into the man’s bowl. The man bowed his thanks, and turned away as well. Lovise started back up the steps.
“Wait!” Gerda called.
Lovise turned. “You again?” she said. “What do you want?”
“The crow sent me here,” Gerda said. “He said—”
“The crow sent you?” Lovise said. “Well, that explains a great deal. You’d better come inside.” She held the door open for Gerda; Gerda ducked under the woman’s arm and went inside. “Those crows were a mistake,” Lovise muttered in disgust.
The inside walls of the laboratory were smooth and bare, painted as white as winter snow, and the lights were too bright. Lovise led Gerda to a parlor, sat her in a chair by the wood stove, and gave her a bowl of soup. Gerda ate it quickly, and I thought with a pang that I should have insisted that she take more food with her.
“Now,” Lovise said. “What was it that the crow told you?”
“I’m looking for a friend of mine,” Gerda said. “A boy named Kai.” She stumbled over what she was trying to say, paused for a breath, and started again. “We both came from the station. The crow that woke me up this morning said that I might be able to find Kai here—that the Princess took a husband last week, and it might have been Kai.”
Lovise took Gerda’s empty bowl and set it aside. “There isn’t anyone here called ‘Princess’—he meant the Principal Research Scientist, Lise. She did take a husband last week, but he came from our rival laboratory; we are hoping to cement an alliance. It’s highly unlikely that her groom is the boy you’re seeking, but let me take you into the lab for just a moment and you can tell me for sure.”
Before Gerda could go into the lab, Lovise dressed her carefully in a long white linen coat; Gerda took off her shoes and put on booties made of white fur, and Lovise put a knit mask over her nose and mouth. Then Lovise led her in. The lab had no windows, but the light was even brighter there than in the hall. All the furniture inside was shiny polished metal, and there were a lot of complicated arrangements of glass beakers and glass tubes. Glassy-eyed servants attended to much of the apparatus. In one corner, under the counter, Flagstaff was caged, his chin resting on his shaggy forelegs. His tail thumped once when he spotted Gerda.
“There,” Lovise said, and pointed.
Gerda looked at the young man, just beyond the servants. Her face fell, and I knew it could not be Kai even before she shook her head.
The young man turned and saw her. “Who’s she?” he asked Lovise.
Lovise looked down. “Excuse me for disturbing you, Lead Scientist Kjeld. This girl came from the station, and she’s looking for another child. Someone told her that you might be him.”
“You’ve made her cry,” Kjeld said. He pulled his mask off and took Gerda’s hand. “From the station, she said? Come on, little girl. Let’s go sit down.”
Gerda sat down beside him on a chair made out of a sheet of shiny metal, bent into a chair shape. At his encouragement, she told him all about Kai, and how the Snow Queen had taken him. Kjeld seemed very interested, though he was most interested in ordinary life in the Station; she described the children’s quarters, the commissaries, the Keeper who took care of the children, the Director who told them that Kai was gone forever. “But don’t you have parents?” he asked. Gerda shook her head, no. She was a made-child. Kjeld asked if the Station had any labs like this one, but Gerda had never seen one. He seemed very disappointed about that, and I swore under my breath, taking care not to disturb the water. He didn’t really care about Gerda; he just hoped she’d know some of their research secrets to tell him.
Gerda’s gaze kept straying to one of the glassy-eyed servants. “Magda?” she said under her breath at one point.
“What?” Kjeld said.
“That girl over there, I know her.”
“No, you don’t,” Kjeld said. “She’s a frag. An automaton. She doesn’t know anyone. She probably just looks like your friend.”
“No, I’m sure I know her,” Gerda said. She stood up and approached the girl, Kjeld following her warily. “Magda?” she said loudly, but the girl didn’t look up.
“She’s a frag,” Kjeld said. “Didn’t they have frags on the station?”
“Of course,” Gerda said, and her worried eyes went back to Kjeld. “They cleaned and cooked and some of them even helped take care of the made-children. But Magda wasn’t a frag, she was a made-child, like me.”
Kjeld looked at the frag, and Gerda, and then averted his eyes. “Well, that must not be your friend, then,” he said, and hustled Gerda out of the lab.
“I guess I’ll be going,” Gerda mumbled once they were back out in the hallway.
Kjeld shook his head. “Oh, you can’t leave now,” he said. “There’s a storm coming—didn’t you see the clouds? It’s going to snow quite a lot.”
“But if Kai isn’t here—”
“Aren’t you listening? If you leave now, you’ll freeze to death. Come on, we’ll let you sleep in the parlor tonight.”
“But—”
“You can go on once the storm is past.” Kjeld’s hand had closed tightly on Gerda’s wrist, and she reluctantly followed him back to the parlor with the wood stove.
Gerda wouldn’t freeze to death—not in my cloak—but it would be just as well for her not to be caught out in a storm. Was it really about to snow? I left the scrying bowl and stepped out of my cottage to look at the sky. Sure enough, though the sky had been blue earlier, I could see clouds gathering beyond the hill to the northwest. “Stay where you are,” I whispered, staring to the west where she’d headed. “Let them give you their hospitality. I trust winter weather even less than I trust the scientists.”
***
MY MAGIC KEEPS my valley warm through the winter, but of course I can’t entirely keep out the weather—my plants need rain to survive. I typically experience a bad winter storm as a hard, cold rain, and this rain was particularly hard. I pulled my shutters closed
before going to bed, and lay awake in the darkness, listening to the rain pounding on my roof and thinking about Gerda. Only a week or two before my illness, we’d climbed up onto the roof and repaired all the leaks, preparing for winter. I should have been glad that we’d done it, but now all I could think about was how maybe overexerting myself that day was what had made me ill . . . and how much I wished Gerda were here now. I turned my face towards her empty bed; even with the racket the storm was making, the house seemed too quiet. Finally I lit a candle and filled the scrying bowl again, but I saw nothing but darkness, and heard Gerda’s peaceful long breaths. After that, I was finally able to sleep.
In the morning, the storm had blown over. Beyond my valley, I could see the glint of deep snow on the hills. Within my valley, the stone I used as a doorstep glistened with moisture, and the rose trellis had been knocked down by the storm. I spent some time putting it back up and trimming back the broken parts of the rose bushes; they were clearly affronted by the harsh weather, but they’d survived worse.
When I’d done what I could for the roses, I went back in and poured fresh water into the scrying bowl. The sound came through first—a piercing scream. My blood ran cold, and I gripped the scrying bowl in my hands, willing Gerda to be all right.
“Kjeld!” Gerda wailed, and I heard a door slam. The steam cleared, and I saw Kjeld and Lovise facing each other, Lovise’s hand gripping Gerda by the base of the neck.
“Spying,” Lovise spat, shoving Gerda to the floor.
Gerda shook her head, widening her eyes in mute appeal towards Kjeld. Kjeld licked his lips and looked back at Lovise. “Why do you say that?”
“I caught her in the lab—the research lab.”
“Why were you in there, Gerda?” Kjeld asked.
Gerda sniffled. I hoped that neither Kjeld nor Lovise could sense how deliberate that sniffle was. “I was looking for the lavatory,” she said. “Kjeld showed me where yesterday, but I got confused in the hallways.”
Gift of the Winter King and Other Stories Page 15
