One Witch at a Time

by Stacy DeKeyser

  Marco tipped his cap. “If you say so.”

  Rudi hurried to change the subject. “You were saying something about trouble. What sort of trouble?”

  “First off, there’s not a baby in the village won’t stop wailing.” Marco waved an arm. “The hens won’t lay. Your papa’s cows won’t give milk. It’s as if all the simple and innocent creatures is spooked by this monstrous thing. Except them.” He cocked his head, and now Rudi noticed half a dozen cats sitting around the roped-off circle, intently watching the proceedings.

  Rudi’s mouth had gone dry. “When did all this start?”

  Marco screwed up his face, thinking. “The vine sprouted just after you left on your errand, come to think of it. Some folk say all the strange happenings commenced with the sprouting of the bean plant. Others say it was before.” He eyed Rudi and Agatha. “And now here you are, sneaking under the rope to scramble onto the vine, which—I’ve already told you—is strictly forbidden.”

  Before Rudi could answer, Agatha tugged at his elbow. “Your grandmother wants a word with you, Rudi. Pleased to meet you, Master Smith.” And she pulled Rudi toward Oma, who waited just beyond the rope with her arms folded.

  Marco called after them. “If he’s your cousin, isn’t she your grandmother too?” He adjusted the axe on his shoulder and commenced marching around the beanstalk.

  Oma bent stiffly to pass beneath the rope, and pulled Rudi a safe distance away from listening ears. “What is that Petz girl doing here again?” She cast a mistrustful eye at Agatha, who was stroking one of the cats.

  Rudi’s eyebrows shot up, but he kept his voice low. “You know she’s from Petz?”

  “It’s the only place I know where folk dress like that. I knew she was trouble the moment you came home from the Klausen market, babbling about a foreign girl dressed all in shearling.”

  Rudi recalled that moment. Had it been only yesterday?

  Oma tapped him on the head with a knobby finger. “I suppose them keyhole beans came from Petz too. I suppose the Brixen Witch sent you to return them. And,” she said, gesturing toward the beanstalk, “I suppose this infernal vegetation has something to do with that too.”

  Rudi stared at Oma.

  She patted his cheek. “Close your mouth, child. I know a thing or two about this and that.” Now she tugged him another step farther from the jostling crowd. “Speaking of which, there’s more to that shearling girl than meets the eye.”

  “I know,” said Rudi, surprised by his own words.

  Oma raised an eyebrow. “She came to the dairy, just as you said she would. She asked for you, but you had already left to visit the old woman. I led her in the direction you’d gone. No sooner had we reached this very spot than the bean sprouted.” Oma leaned closer. “Erupted, more like. It was as if the girl had cast a spell on it. It made a monstrous rumbling. Everyone came running. Up she went, and it was all I could do to keep anyone else from doing the same. Can you imagine one of these poor fools climbing that thing and finding himself who-knows-where?”

  “In Petz,” said Rudi weakly.

  Oma gestured toward Marco, who was still marching in a circle. “It’s been guarded ’round the clock, but even so, folk keep coming to gape at it. To pluck the beans. Can’t say as I blame them, hungry as they are. So the mayor is rationing the beans. Folk are taking turns to harvest what’s grown fresh.”

  “Is Marco right about the trouble?” Rudi asked. “Babies crying and hens not laying?”

  Oma nodded. “It’s the remaining bit of Petz magic. One magic bean was thrown onto the riverbank. One magic bean is still here somewhere.”

  Rudi’s mouth dropped open again, but then he remembered. “Because there’s only so much magic in the world,” he said, almost to himself. “That’s what the Brixen Witch told us.”

  “Quite right,” said Oma, who knew a thing or two about this and that. She looked up, shading her eyes. “One pod, somewhere on this beanstalk, holds a single keyhole bean. Find it, so your shearling girl can take it back to Petz, and Brixen can be rid of this foreign magic once and for all.” Behind them, a cat mewed.

  Rudi felt his face burning. “She’s not my shearling girl.” He craned his neck in an effort to see where the vine led, but it was lost in a cloud. “How will we ever find one keyhole bean? What if it’s up there?” Then he gasped. “What if somebody eats it?”

  “You’d best hope that doesn’t happen.” Oma brushed her hands together. “Besides, the mayor has it all in hand. He’s offered a reward to anyone who finds a bean with a special mark. A silver florin from the town coffers. And a pint of cream every day for a year, from your papa’s cows.”

  “A pint of cream?” Rudi squinted at her. “That was the mayor’s idea?”

  She shrugged. “He’s a brilliant fellow. For a prize such as that, folk have been quite happy to inspect their beans as they’re shelling them. But no keyhole mark as yet.”

  “Rudi!” A small boy stood at the rope with a basket in hand, hopping and waving.

  Rudi waved back. “Hullo, Roger. What are you doing?”

  “It’s our turn to harvest beans. Isn’t that right, mistress? May I start now?”

  Oma nodded her permission, and Roger darted under the rope. With a huge gap-toothed grin, he strode past Rudi and began picking.

  “Mind the rules,” warned Marco. “No eating any beans until they’re inspected.”

  Roger nodded without looking up from his task.

  “Oma,” said Rudi in a harsh whisper, “the Giant—the witch of Petz—he chased us out of his fortress. I don’t think he followed us down the vine, but might he still?”

  Oma frowned. “Did you return the pouch of beans?”

  “Yes!” Rudi hissed. “Agatha put them back in the Giant’s storehouse, where she’d found them.”

  Oma cast one more glance at Agatha, who stood at a polite distance while several cats wound themselves around her ankles. “I don’t know why he would chase you, then.”

  From behind him, Rudi heard a muffled cluck. The blood drained from his head. He retrieved the burlap sack and held it out to her.

  “Maybe it’s because we took this.”

  18

  Oma pulled open the sack. With a flurry of feathers, Hildy popped out and fluttered to the ground. Then, as if nothing at all unusual had happened, she began to scratch and peck at the grass.

  Oma stared at Rudi in disbelief. “Why in the name of all that’s magic did you steal a chicken from the witch of Petz?”

  Rudi shrugged weakly. “Susanna wouldn’t leave without her. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Where is that tanner’s girl?” said Oma through gritted teeth. “I need to have a word with her.”

  Rudi scanned the crowd for Susanna Louisa, and finally spied her playing in the near meadow. He called to her, and she came bouncing over.

  “Did you see, mistress? Rudi saved Hildy from that nasty mean hexenmeister!” She scooped up the hen and stroked her feathers.

  “Shhh!” hissed Oma. “There will be no talk of such things. That hen needs to go back where she came from.” She lifted Hildy out of Susanna’s arms and turned around. “You, child! Shearling girl, come here.”

  Agatha extracted herself from the mewling cats and came to stand before Oma. Their eyes locked in mutual respect and wariness. “Good day, mistress,” said Agatha with a curtsy.

  “Here you are again, child,” said Oma. “I thought we were well rid of you—nothing personal. But since you’re here, you can do us a favor. As soon as the missing keyhole bean is found, you may deliver it, along with this here chicken, to its rightful owner.” She dropped the hen into Agatha’s arms. “I presume you know who that is.”

  “But, mistress!” wailed Susanna. “Agatha can’t take Hildy back to Petz. I’m her rightful owner! I can prove it.” She turned to Agatha, who, as instructed, tilted Hildy into a legs-up position. The little hen kicked in protest. Rudi gently grasped her scaly feet and held them as still
as he could. Oma tapped her foot in exasperation.

  Susanna Louisa peered at Hildy’s fat legs. “She has a scar here . . . on her leg . . . somewhere . . .” She brushed the fluffy feathers with a finger, separating them gently. “Here!” she declared triumphantly. Then her brow furrowed. “What’s this?” Her face paled. “Oops.” She looked to Rudi, who forced himself to peer more closely at the hen’s underside.

  He gulped. “Not a scar,” he said, showing Oma. “A keyhole mark.”

  They all looked at Susanna Louisa. Susanna looked at the hen in Agatha’s arms, who was now turned upright.

  “Hildy?” Susanna reached to stroke her plump breast. The hen pecked at her.

  Susanna jumped back, startled and dismayed. “This is not my hen! Hildy would never peck me!” Her face grew red, and tears welled in her eyes. Despite all the trouble she had caused, Rudi’s heart melted for her. “My mama needs me,” Susanna said in a small voice, and she darted away.

  For a moment they all stared after her. The hen who was not Hildy clucked indignantly in Agatha’s arms.

  Before anyone could say another word, Roger came running over and elbowed his way into their midst.

  “I found something! See what I found?” In his hand lay a bean pod, split open to reveal a row of smooth, white beans. One of the beans bore a black mark in the unmistakable shape of a keyhole.

  “Is this a special bean?” said Roger. “It has a mark on it. See?”

  Fast as a whip, Oma swiped at Roger’s open palm. But Not-Hildy was faster, because Not-Hildy was hungry. Her head shot forward in a speckled blur, and she cleanly pecked a single bean from the pod in Roger’s hand. Then she settled herself again in Agatha’s arms, shook out her tail feathers, and swallowed.

  They stared at the hen in surprise. Now Roger held an open pod with a row of unblemished white beans, and an empty space where one bean used to be.

  “She ate the special bean!” cried Roger, his face turning red. He scowled at Agatha. “Give it back!”

  “I didn’t take it,” said Agatha. “The chicken did!”

  “Tell her to spit it out! That’s my bean! I found it!”

  Oma stepped between them. “Quite right, lad, yes, we all saw it, good lad, you’ve won the prize! Master Mayor, give this fine young lad his reward and send him along home, that’s a good lad.” She patted Roger on the head and waved the mayor over.

  The mayor ducked under the rope and addressed the milling crowd. “The special bean has been found. The reward is claimed!” He made a show of shaking Roger’s hand and presenting him with a shiny silver florin. Roger’s fury gave way to a broad smile. The villagers half-cheered and half-grumbled. There was scattered applause.

  “That makes things easier to carry,” said Oma cheerfully. She spun Agatha by the shoulders and prodded her toward the beanstalk. “Best of luck to you then, Godspeed and all that, my thanks for bringing my grandson back in one piece, now up you go.”

  “No!” said Agatha, clutching the hen tightly to her chest. “Begging your pardon, mistress, but we made a bargain, Rudi and I.”

  Oma glared at her, but Agatha held Oma’s gaze and lifted her chin.

  “She’s right.” Rudi stepped alongside Agatha. “She helped us return the beans. We couldn’t have done it without her. And so I promised to take her—” He struggled to find the right words. It was bad luck to talk of such things. But what if you needed to talk of such things? “We need to climb the Berg so she can ask for advice.”

  “There’s no time for that!” Oma said, jabbing Rudi’s shoulder with a finger. “What if the Petz witch comes down this vine after all? Enchanted beans are one thing. Even enchanted chickens. But now an enchanted chicken has eaten an enchanted bean. That’s magic upon magic, and that sounds like trouble to me. If you want to go home, girl, you need to go now, because this beanstalk must come down, and the sooner the better. Before that witch from Petz gets tired of waiting for his treasure.”

  Rudi’s mind scrambled for a response. He did not want to disobey Oma. Besides, she was probably right, as usual. They could not put the entire village in danger because of a hungry chicken.

  But Agatha needed Rudi’s help too. And he had promised her.

  “Oma,” he tried again. “There is another way back to Petz. Another beanstalk, up on the Berg. We can visit the . . . old woman . . . and then Agatha can go home that way. We can cut this beanstalk down, and Brixen will be safe.” He drew in a breath and said once more, “We made a bargain.”

  “You shouldn’t make a bargain you can’t keep,” Oma snapped. Then she sighed and shook her head. “But I suppose it’s too late for that.” She waggled a finger at Agatha. “I hope never to lay eyes on you or that chicken again. Nothing personal.”

  From the safety of Agatha’s arms, Not-Hildy gave an apologetic squawk. She kept a beady eye on the collection of cats that had once again come to wind themselves around Agatha’s ankles.

  Oma called once more for the mayor, who hurried over and conferred with her in whispers and animated gestures. She pointed toward the beanstalk. He shook his head in vigorous disagreement. She plopped her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. He wiped his bald head with a handkerchief. He sighed. He bowed his head. He turned to face the crowd, which was still murmuring and gossiping and milling as if it were a holiday.

  “Attention, everyone!” announced the mayor. He waited for the crowd to settle into a restless silence. “It has come to my attention that this beanstalk is, er, unsafe.” He glanced toward Oma, who gave an encouraging nod. “It must be cut down before it falls down.”

  “But what about the beans?” someone called from the crowd. “After the awful winter we had?”

  “That’s right,” said another voice. “You wouldn’t take the supper from my children’s mouths, would you?” A ripple of agreement rolled through the crowd.

  The mayor pulled at his collar and cleared his throat. “Certainly not,” he said. “But we can’t have this vine come crashing down on anyone unawares. It’s your children’s safety I’m thinking of.”

  The crowd gave a collective grumble.

  The mayor glanced once more at Oma, who eyed the crowd with a scowl. She chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she stepped forward and whispered something into the mayor’s ear.

  He raised his hands to quiet the villagers. “Once the beanstalk is down, you will have your fill of beans.” He waved toward the gigantic vine. “There are beans uncountable on this plant! I suggest you all go home and gather your baskets and buckets. But stay safe inside your cottages until the task is done. I don’t want anyone in harm’s way when this monstrous thing comes down.”

  With that, the mayor turned his back on the crowd, and the announcement was finished. The villagers stood for a moment, letting his words settle into their brains. Then they burst into action. They scrambled and scurried in every direction, flowing away from the riverbank and toward their cottages to do what the mayor had advised.

  “Well done, Your Honor,” Oma told the mayor. She turned to Marco, who stood at attention with his axe on his shoulder. “Ready, Master Smith?”

  Marco thrust out his chest. “Yes, mistress. With pleasure.”

  Just then came a loud squawk from the hen in Agatha’s arms. Not-Hildy fluttered furiously and flapped to the ground. She ran in tight circles and then settled onto the grass, clucking quietly to herself. The cats at Agatha’s feet watched her, as if they’d never seen such a bold chicken.

  “What’s wrong?” said Agatha. “I didn’t hurt her, did I?”

  “There’s nothing wrong,” said Oma. “She’s getting ready to lay.”

  Marco pushed his cap back on his head and laughed. “Well, how do you like that? Just the mention of cutting down this here vine is enough to set things straight. Why didn’t we think of that before?”

  In rapt silence they all watched Not-Hildy. Rudi understood what Marco was saying. If the hen could lay an egg, it meant the enchantment must be over, or near
ly so. In any case, it would be a hopeful sign.

  Not-Hildy sat as still as a stone, as if she were thinking about something very important. The cats twitched their tails, but kept a wary distance. A single gray cloud drifted across the face of the sun.

  Suddenly Not-Hildy fluttered her wings and stood up. With a satisfied squawk, she shook herself out and commenced pecking in the grass for seeds and bugs.

  Rudi stepped to the spot where Not-Hildy had been sitting. He carefully brushed at the long grass until he found what he was looking for. His eyes grew wide, and he sat back on his heels, staring. In the distance, thunder rumbled.

  “Oma?” he said. “What color should a hen’s egg be?”

  “What kind of silly question is that? White or brown, most always. Why? What color egg does a speckled hen from Petz lay?”

  Rudi lifted the egg to show her. “Golden.”

  19

  “Let me see that egg,” said Oma, holding out her hand.

  In the sky above, rainclouds gathered, blotting the sun. Thunder rolled. The collection of cats hissed at the impending rain, and scampered away to their secret corners.

  Rudi handed over the egg carefully, though somehow he was sure it would not break. It was very heavy, for an egg.

  “What’s that?” came a small voice from behind Rudi.

  “Roger! What are you doing here?” A fat raindrop hit Rudi’s head.

  “I forgot my bean basket,” Roger said, staring at the egg in Oma’s hand. She quickly dropped it into her apron pocket. But it was too heavy, and it tore through the threadbare fabric and fell onto the grass.

  “You should be at home!” she said, covering the egg with her foot. “Indoors, safe-like. Didn’t you hear the mayor? This beanstalk is coming down.”

  Roger didn’t move. His stunned gaze shifted from Oma’s foot to the axe on Marco’s shoulder. Its handle was as long as Roger was tall.

  The sky grew darker. Thunder rumbled again, closer now. Rain began to fall.

  Rudi scanned the ground near the beanstalk. Spying Roger’s basket, he plucked it from the grass and handed it to him. “Best be going now,” he said.