His disappointment did not last long.
Upon the ferret’s very next journey under the floor, there came a wild screech, and then an urgent high-pitched call, something between a squeal and a squawk, and a noisy shuffling and bumping beneath the floorboards.
Annalesa had found her prey.
With a queasy feeling, Rudi realized he could precisely follow the noisy progress of the chase beneath the floor as the animals worked their way toward Herbert Wenzel, who was waiting with his net.
“Got it!” the rat catcher announced, holding up the wriggling net. He shook its contents into the cage, nodded with satisfaction, and made a soft clucking noise, upon which Annalesa emerged from under the floor.
“Good girl,” he said, and he rubbed her cheek with his finger. “Now our Beatrice will have her turn.”
Thus Rudi, Herbert Wenzel, and the ferrets continued their work, and when they had finished, there were six rats in the cage. Rudi was tempted to brag to his parents about what they had accomplished, but he decided some things were best not bragged about, at least not to his mother.
Next, they prepared a number of traps and laid them in various places under the floor. “For the latecomers,” said the rat catcher with a wink, and then they replaced the two floorboards but did not nail them down. “We’ll check back in the morning,” Herbert Wenzel said. “Shall we visit the neighbors?”
And so they moved from house to house, successfully ferreting rats in nearly every cottage they visited, to the nervous approval of the human inhabitants. They set traps under floors, in the dark corners of barns and sheds, and behind woodpiles. This last task was performed at dusk, so that children would not be in danger of wandering near a snapping trap.
That evening, Rudi gobbled his dinner with zest.
“The boy has worked up quite an appetite,” said Oma to his father. “You’d think such unsavory work would have the opposite effect.”
Rudi’s mother coughed. “Must we have such talk at supper? We have company.” And she gave their guest a weak smile.
“Oh, it never bothers me,” said Herbert Wenzel. “All in a day’s work, I always say. Are there more potatoes, if you please?”
Oma passed him the bowl. “I don’t know when else we can talk about it. The boy has been gone all day chasing rats. And catching them, too, I’d say, the way that cage of theirs is filling up.”
Mama groaned, and Rudi grinned. Oma clearly delighted in vexing his mother, and Mama never failed to be vexed. Rudi decided that now would not be a good time to tell Mama about the traps lurking beneath the floor, set and ready to spring.
“It goes well, then?” asked Papa, who had no use for delicate conversation. “Rudi, will you forsake the farm to take up the rat catcher’s trade?”
Rudi’s smile faded as he considered the question. Rat catching (despite its more repulsive aspects) had so far been exceedingly more exciting than hoeing or milking. Such appeal was bound to wear off sooner or later, but there were other advantages. The villagers already looked at him with newfound respect. He was no longer just Rudi Bauer the farmer’s son; now he was Rudi the rat catcher’s assistant, who was helping to liberate Brixen from its peculiar scourge. And he liked Master Wenzel, so he hesitated to say anything that might sound ungrateful. Still, Rudi knew he could never forsake the farm. It was too much a part of him, and he was too much a part of it.
“No,” Rudi finally said. “I mean to say, I like the ferrets, and the work is very … interesting … but it’s more tiring even than plowing. I could never do it regular.”
“Thank the saints for that,” breathed his mother.
Papa mopped his plate with a bit of bread. “Nothing personal, you understand, Master Wenzel. Our family has tilled this soil, such as it is, for seven generations.”
“Oh, I never takes it personal,” said the rat catcher. “Very few is cut out for the profession, I’m well aware. The young master here is an able helper, I’ll give him that, and my dears have grown right fond of him already. But I can tell he’s not a rat catcher at heart, and there’s no shame in that. Mayhaps I could have another drop of tea?”
FIRST THING next morning, Rudi again accompanied the rat catcher from house to house, and from woodpile to woodpile, collecting the results of the night’s activity.
Herbert Wenzel pulled out a kerchief and wiped his brow. “I’d call that a good night’s trapping, lad. Here it is still morning, and it’s time to empty our cage.”
They hoisted the cage onto a cart and wheeled it to the mayor’s house for a tally. Along the way, they were followed by a lively and opinionated audience.
“Look at the number of creatures they’ve collected,” said Mistress Tanner with a note of awe in her voice. “I daresay Master Wenzel knows what he’s doing.”
Marco the blacksmith grunted. “I notice his cage seems especially full since he’s been to your house.”
A troop of boys jostled and punched each other in order to get a better look at the cage—which, true enough, was stuffed full with rats of all sizes, colors, and dispositions, squirming and squealing and snapping.
“How many have you caught, Rudi?” asked his friend Konrad. “How do you count them when they won’t keep still?”
“What will you do with them now?” asked Roger, who was Konrad’s little brother. “Will you kill them? You best should kill them, so they don’t come back. How will you kill them?”
Nicolas, the boy who chased imaginary lynxes, pushed out his chest. “Do you need any help? I’m not afeared of them rats.”
At which time there came a great racket of squalling and scrabbling from inside the cage, as the knot of rats announced its discomfort and displeasure.
The clutch of boys jumped back with a gasp, and Nicolas turned pale. Herbert Wenzel nudged Rudi and addressed Nicolas. “As a matter of fact, we’ll have a task for you in a few minutes’ time, if you care to stay for the tally.”
Rudi knew very well that Nicolas cared to stay for the tally. It seemed as if all of Brixen had come out for the tally.
Now Herbert Wenzel addressed the mayor, who stood waiting in his doorway. “Your honor, you’ll notice that this here cage is stuffed right full with rats.”
The mayor performed an uneasy inspection, and readily agreed.
The rat catcher continued. “In that case, if you don’t mind, I propose that we count ’em up this one time, and then mayhaps we can agree that anytime the cage is stuffed right full with rats, the tally will be the same. It would make things easier hereafter.”
The mayor regarded the quivering cage. “I think that would be very much appreciated. Wouldn’t you say, Master Smith?”
Marco the blacksmith frowned. “It seems to me the rat catcher is trying to save himself some work.”
Herbert Wenzel laughed. “True enough, Master Smith. But I’ll be saving you some work as well, because the job of tallying these rats will take at least three men. I’ll show you what I mean. Hold this.” And he pushed a large burlap sack at Marco.
Marco scowled. “They’ll chew through this in no time.”
“Ah, but they won’t,” said Herbert Wenzel. “They’ll be a good deal confused by the process, and they’ll cling to each other and won’t nibble a thing, at least not before they’re at the bottom of the river.” Then he turned to Rudi. “Help him hold it open, lad, if you’d be so kind.”
Rudi, assistant rat catcher of Brixen, stepped forward and grasped the sack.
“Now, your honor, you stands right here and counts,” said Herbert Wenzel, positioning the mayor between the cage and the open sack. “I’ll do the conveying.”
Herbert Wenzel pulled on a pair of long cowhide gloves, opened the cage, and commenced with grabbing rats by the squirmy handful and dropping them into the open sack. The mayor counted out loud, assisted by the gaggle of boys, who demonstrated to the whole village their prowess with arithmetic.
“Four! Plus three, that’s seven! Ten! Twelve—wait, there’s a littl
e one between his fingers—thirteen!”
Thus the noisy tally continued until the cage was nearly empty, and three sacks bulged and squirmed as if they were living creatures themselves.
The rat catcher reached in and chased the last rat around the cage, to the boisterous encouragement of all the boys (and their fathers and uncles as well). When Herbert Wenzel finally grabbed the rat in his gloved hand, a cheer rose from the crowd, and as one they yelled the final tally:
“Sixty-three!”
The mayor joined in the applause. “Well done, Master Wenzel. And from now on we’ll assume sixty-three rats in a full cage. Doesn’t that sound fair, Master Smith?”
Marco the blacksmith wiped his sweaty brow with a sleeve. “Anything to save us from wrestling with a sack full of sharp-toothed vermin again.”
The rat catcher nodded with satisfaction. “Let’s say sixty. Makes the accounting easier. And you can keep a running tally of the numbers until I’m finished, if you like. Pay me in a lump sum when the entire job is done.”
The mayor removed a small account book from his waistcoat pocket, licked the tip of his pencil, and jotted a note.
There was much applause as Rudi and Herbert Wenzel settled the three sacks onto the cart and proceeded to the footbridge over the deep and swiftly flowing river.
“Where are my helpers?” called Herbert Wenzel. He looked around and caught sight of the group of boys. “I’ll be needing some good heavy stones to weigh down these here sacks.”
When they were properly weighted and secured, Herbert Wenzel disposed of each quivering sack with a splash. This task was witnessed and verified by the mayor, by Marco the blacksmith, and by the more curious citizens of Brixen, of whom there were quite a few.
The rat catchers kept at their job for four days more, until the entire village had been explored, inspected, and well cleared of rats. They filled and emptied the cage every day, and finally, Herbert Wenzel declared that the task was finished.
During a ragged ceremony in the village square, the mayor thanked Herbert Wenzel and Rudi for their services. He declared that they were owed enough pretty pennies to add up to a goodly number of pretty florins, and he hastened to point out that they had earned every last one. Even Marco the blacksmith remarked on the transformation in the village, and did not begrudge a single penny of his portion.
Rudi felt a tug at his shirt. He looked down to see Susanna Louisa gazing up at him with moony eyes.
“Thank you, Rudi,” she whispered. “Thank you for taking away those horrible mouses.” And she gave him a wilted bluebell on a broken stem, and ran off to hide behind her mother.
Herbert Wenzel shook Rudi’s hand. “Well done, lad. If you’re as able a farmer as you are a rat catcher, I daresay you can be right proud.”
His work now finished, Herbert Wenzel settled Annalesa and Beatrice onto his cart and started home to Klausen.
“So,” said Oma to Rudi as they watched the rat catcher disappear around a bend in the road. “What do you think, after all that?”
With much relief, and with a handful of coins jingling in his pocket, Rudi said, “I think that sometimes a rat is just a rat.”
THE RATS HAD been gone a week, and the village was truly transformed.
Rudi could hear it in the voices of his neighbors, which were full of good humor after weeks of irritable words. He could see it in the way they walked, as if they had become suddenly unburdened.
And Rudi felt it himself. Though it was the height of summer, Rudi felt the energy of springtime in the air. He felt a happy anticipation, as when he heard the river awakening as a trickle beneath the snow, promising to become a torrent. The world was again as it should be, and all was possibility.
Rudi knew there was only one reason for such a feeling of relief and release: The blight of rats had been that awful.
By now, any fear of enchantment or curse had faded from Rudi’s mind. He had seen for himself that the scourge was entirely earthly in nature, when he and Herbert Wenzel had dispatched it by entirely earthly means.
Rudi was in such a good mood that he allowed his friends to pull him away from his milking duties. They were as giddy as he was, escaping their own fathers’ shops and workbenches to kick a ball or to flirt with the girls who giggled on their way to the well.
“What’s the game?” Rudi asked the cluster of boys who were gathered in the village square.
“We’re deciding,” said Roger, who was six years old and clearly enjoying the chance to mingle with the older boys for once.
“Let’s play rat catcher and the rats,” announced Nicolas, who had observed enough of the process that now he considered himself an expert. “I’ll be the rat catcher.”
To which all his friends protested vigorously.
“Why should you be rat catcher?” demanded Konrad. “Just ’cause you’re biggest?”
“We could play marbles,” suggested Rudi, who’d had enough of rats.
“I should be rat catcher ’cause I thought of it,” said Nicolas, ignoring Rudi. “And … ’cause I’m biggest.”
“So what?” said Roger, stepping forward. “Rudi should be the rat catcher. He’s done it for real. He knows how.”
Nicolas, confronted with logic, turned red in the face. “Well, if that’s so, then you should be the ferret, ’cause you’re the smallest. Or maybe you should be the rat in the sack, and we’ll throw you into the river.”
Rudi tried again. “We could play King of the Mountain.”
Roger narrowed his eyes at Nicolas. “Do rats do this?” And he stomped on the bigger boy’s foot.
The entire collection of boys erupted into a blurred tussle, punching (mostly air) and kicking (usually themselves) and rolling in the dust. For a fleeting second they reminded Rudi of the rats in their cage.
“So you’ve decided on your game, then?” he asked, but no one heard. He sighed and wandered off.
Around the corner, Rudi came upon half a dozen girls skipping rope.
“Rudi!” called Susanna Louisa, who was turning one end of the rope. She dropped it and ran toward him. “Come jump with us!”
“Me? I don’t know how,” he said, but he burst into a wide grin as she took his arm and pulled him toward the group.
The other girls surrounded him, a blur of freckled noses and bouncing braids. Rudi had not much reason to pay attention to girls, but in Brixen every child was known to all, and so he knew these girls, at least by name and family. There was the miller’s daughter, Marta, who was very pretty (Rudi had to admit); Clara and Petra, who belonged to Not-So-Old Mistress Gerta; Johanna, the baker’s girl, who Konrad was sweet on; and Gretel, who took after her mother (which was lucky, since her father was Marco the blacksmith). They were silly creatures, Rudi thought, but sweet enough, and he was glad to see them acting as carefree as their brothers.
“It’s easy,” said Susanna Louisa. “Watch.” She picked up the loose end of the rope, Clara held the other end, and together they swept it around in wide circles. It beat out a rhythm as it hit the cobbles with each turn.
Now Marta stepped forward and beamed at Rudi, which caused his face to burn. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. Once she found the rhythm of the turning rope, she hopped into its arc and kept the rhythm going with her feet. The other girls chanted as she skipped:
Little children, don’t you cry.
Harken to my lullaby.
If you cry, you will despair.
For you’ll be sent to the witch’s chair.
And if you still have not a care,
You’ll be sent to the secret lair.
BOO!
Upon shouting “BOO!” Marta hopped out of the turning rope, laughing. She tugged at Rudi’s sleeve. “Your turn!”
Should he? Rudi wasn’t eager to embarrass himself by failing at something a slip of a girl could do without a second thought.
Marta fluttered her eyelids at him. He decided it would be worth a try. Besides, how hard could it be?
With a quick glance around to satisfy himself that none of the boys were watching, Rudi began to nod his head and tap his foot in time with the turning rope.
The girls applauded to encourage him, and soon they were clapping in unison.
They began to chant. “Rudi, Ru-di, Ru-di!”
He jumped.
But his timing was off, and immediately the rope became tangled at his feet. The girls dissolved into fits of giggles, but then they started clapping again, and the rope was turned once more.
“Ru-di, Ru-di, Ru-di!”
He inhaled deeply, and this time he watched the rope carefully, and timed his leap perfectly. He skipped the rope while the girls clapped out the rhythm and chanted his name, and then they sang out once more:
The secret lair is cold and damp.
Has not a blanket nor a lamp.
Sing these words and count to three,
Sing these words and you’ll be free:
‘Home is where I want to be.
At my hearth with a cup of tea.’
One … two … THREE!
Just as the girls yelled “THREE!” Rudi laughed, and he lost his rhythm. The rope slapped his ankles and stopped.
The girls erupted into applause once more, and behind them Rudi made out one or two mothers standing in their doorways, doing the same. His face burned, but then he gave them all a sweeping bow. He was having too much fun, and he decided he didn’t care who saw him.
“Who’s next?” he called. He took Clara’s end of the rope and dutifully turned it until every girl had had her turn. Then they all tumbled around the corner and into the square, where they dipped their cupped hands into the fountain for a cool drink.
“Rudi?” said Susanna Louisa, wiping her chin with her sleeve. “Is the witch’s chair real? You know—the one in the song?”
Rudi considered her question. The song was an old one, and he had known it by heart since he was very small. Just like the legends of the Brixen Witch and her treasure, he had always assumed it was nothing more than a story. But now …
The Brixen Witch Page 5
