“I’m not sure,” he said, because he remembered being eight years old, and knew that when an eight-year-old asks a question, she wants to be told the truth. “It could be real, I suppose. I’ve never seen it, though.”
This seemed to satisfy Susanna Louisa, who ran off to join her friends. But Rudi was not satisfied. He decided he would ask Oma, because something told him she would know the answer, and she would tell him the truth. That was one trait old people and children held in common, Rudi observed: Neither was afraid of the truth. He wondered why people changed in the middle years of life, and why they changed back again later. Then he wondered why people bothered changing at all, if they just came back to the way they’d been in the first place.
His musings were interrupted by a shrill noise.
Rudi blinked and looked about. The little girls were scattering and screaming. The noise pierced Rudi’s ears, and he could not make out any real words. He reached for a blur of a pinafore and grabbed hold of an arm. The arm belonged to Marta.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her.
Marta looked at him, her lovely eyes filled with fear. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. So she pointed, and Rudi’s gaze followed her outstretched finger.
And then he saw them. Spilling down the drainpipes of the village hall. Skittering over the stone walls of the churchyard. Swimming through the fountain, fouling its pure water.
“It can’t be,” Rudi exclaimed.
But no one heard him. And finally the screams gathered themselves into one terrible, ruinous word.
“Rats!”
THAT NIGHT, a summer storm raged.
The wind screamed down the mountain and into the village. It blasted its way down chimneys, blowing ashes onto hearths, so that dogs awoke with a yelp and their masters jumped out of their chairs to stomp on the glowing embers before their rugs caught fire.
The thunder shook grandfathers out of their beds and caused babies to wail in their cradles. Slashes of lightning split the night, illuminating every stone and every blade of grass.
Yet those who dared peek through their shutters beheld a black and cloudless sky.
Some villagers thought they saw shadows crossing the moon, and were convinced they saw not passing storm clouds but the witch taking flight. Others swore that the flashes of light seen upon the Berg were not wildfires ignited by the lightning but the witch’s bonfires. Tonight, they whispered, she was celebrating her dominion over all of Brixen.
Even the rats seemed fearful of the witch, or whatever force of nature worked its wicked magic upon the land. They had been unnaturally bold upon their reappearance, hardly bothering to hide or skulk. But now, while the storm prevailed, there was not a rat to be seen.
In the Bauer cottage, Oma rocked so hard that her chair inched its way across the room.
Mama and Papa fretted and paced as the wind carried upon it the clang of cowbells and a chorus of restless lowing. Finally unable to contain their worry, they threw on their cloaks, lit a lantern, and ventured into the darkness and toward the barn.
“They’ll be all right,” said Rudi as he peered out the window. “Won’t they?”
Oma snorted. “They’ll be fine, the poor dumb creatures.”
“I don’t mean the cows,” Rudi said.
“Neither do I,” she snapped. Then she sighed. “They’re only going twenty steps, child. I should think they won’t be hit by lightning in twenty steps.”
Rudi didn’t say it out loud, but he wasn’t only worried about the lightning.
“It’s just as well they’re gone,” said Oma, and she stopped rocking and fixed her gaze upon Rudi. “What do you suppose is happening here? No stories, now, or vague excuses. Tell me.”
Rudi had been afraid to even think about the new plague of rats, or the storm, or what they might mean, much less to say a word out loud to anyone. But now he felt an odd sort of relief at Oma’s request, and the words spilled from his mouth.
“I don’t know what’s happening. I wish I did! The rats are not just rats…. There must be a curse after all. Is it my fault? Because of the coin? But I’ve heard no strange singing. I’ve had no nightmares for months. Doesn’t that mean the witch got her coin back? I thought that meant she got her coin back.”
“You’re babbling,” said Oma. “But it’s a truthful babble, I know. You never could spin a lie. Tell me, then: If the witch has her coin, why is the village being tormented so?”
Lightning crackled and flashed outside, as if to underscore her question.
Rudi bit his lip. “I thought perhaps you would know why.”
“Me?” sniffed Oma. “How would I know? I’ve never seen such a curse as rats. And for what? What have we done now to rile the witch so badly?”
Then an idea came to Rudi, as easily as if it had been there all along. “Do you suppose someone else has found the coin after all this time, and has brought it back to Brixen?” Why hadn’t he thought of that before? It made perfect sense. And it gave him a glimmer of hope. Perhaps this was not his fault after all.
But Oma shook her head. “I would have heard about it. No one in Brixen could keep such a secret for long. Besides, why would the witch torment the entire village for the foolish mistake of one person? Why not simple, straightforward nightmares, such as you had? Perhaps the witch has not recovered her coin after all. Since the nightmares didn’t have the desired result, perhaps she is trying something new.”
Rudi gulped. “This is all my fault, then?”
“It seems so,” said Oma, but her voice was kind.
The glimmer of hope sputtered and died in the pit of Rudi’s stomach.
“And yet … it doesn’t fit,” continued Oma, rocking harder, as if it helped her to think. “Rats. That doesn’t sound like our witch.” She drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair, muttering to herself, but her words were lost in a rumble of thunder.
Finally, she looked up at Rudi, and her eyes shone. “Do you remember what Herbert Wenzel said?” She pointed a finger at Rudi. “He said that rats were not the witch’s sort of hex.”
Rudi thought for a moment, and then he nodded. “Yes. I remember.”
Oma nodded too, which started her chair to rocking again. “The rat catcher is right. Our witch is not so crude as that.” She scowled again in thought. “And yet … only the witch has enough power to bring on such a curse.”
Rudi frowned in puzzlement. “Only the witch has enough power for such a curse … and yet it’s not her curse? What does it mean? Who else could be at work?” And then the answer came to him. “Her servant?”
Oma shuddered and shook her head. “Impossible. The only power he possesses is that which she grants him, and believe me: the Brixen Witch would never grant so much power to her servant.”
Rudi was beginning to understand why so many people learned to avoid the truth. The truth could be maddening and unpleasant. Still, he would not turn away from it. “What do we do now?” he asked.
Oma sighed. “There’s nothing to do but wait. Whatever is at work here, it likes giving signs. Rats. Thunder and lightning. Something tells me there will be another sign before too long.”
They sat in silence for a moment as the wind howled over their heads.
Then Oma stood, hobbled across the room, and opened the door to the fury of the storm. “There’s something more than the witch at work here.” She slammed the door against the night and turned to face Rudi. “You think the witch is trouble? She’s nothing compared with a menace we don’t know.”
“WE’VE BEEN robbed!” growled Marco the blacksmith. “I’ll go to Klausen myself if I must, and I’ll drag that swindler back to Brixen and shake every last penny from his pockets.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” said Otto the baker. “Herbert Wenzel performed the task we paid him to perform. You watched him with your own eyes.”
An emergency meeting had been assembled. Rudi guessed that half the populace of Brixen had packed itself into the village hall,
while the other half (Mama and Papa among them) remained home to swat at rats. Now that the storm had passed, the vile creatures had returned to their nasty work, chewing whatever cheese, ham hock, or mattress they could find. And they seemed to be finding them all.
“Then where have these rats come from?” said Marco. “Can’t get rid of every last rat, he said. I say he left some behind on purpose, so we would call him back and pay him twice. I warned you this would happen.”
Arguments and discussions rippled through the crowd like wind through the trees.
“Nonsense,” said Otto. “Even if he left a few pairs of rats behind, how could they have overrun the town again in a matter of days? Not even rats are that busy.”
“So you’re an expert on rats now, are you?” said Marco, growing red in the face.
Mistress Tanner shook her finger at the blacksmith. “Have you forgotten last night already? That storm was the witch’s doing, and if you ask me, so are the rats. But all you can think of is money. I’d like to see you try and venture to Klausen while the witch is abroad.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” answered Marco. “I’ve done nothing to vex the witch. Has anyone here done so?”
There was a wave of muttering and emphatic head shaking. Only Rudi knew the answer to Marco’s question, but he could not find the courage to speak up.
The blacksmith continued. “Of course we haven’t. And yet she torments us. Rats. Storms. Why?”
Marco stopped in midbreath. His eyebrows bunched together. Rudi thought he could almost hear the rusty gears creaking inside the man’s head.
And then the gears clanked into place, and Marco’s face became a picture of triumph. “Of course! There can be only one reason for this new plague of rats. Herbert Wenzel is in league with the witch!”
The muttering erupted into gasps and exclamations. The mayor banged his gavel, but no one paid attention.
“Now see here!” said Otto the baker. “I’ve known Herbert Wenzel nearly my entire life. He’s no more in league with the witch than your own children are, you scruffy oaf of a blacksmith!”
Rudi felt a wave of unease rising in his chest.
“Oma!” He shook her shoulder. “Say something.”
“Me? These fools aren’t listening to each other. Why would they listen to me?”
Rudi winced in frustration. What about Herbert Wenzel? It was not right that an innocent man should have his name dishonored simply because a collection of panicked villagers had been tormented to their wits’ end. Someone had to speak up.
Before he could lose his nerve, Rudi pushed his way to the platform at the front of the hall, snatched the gavel from the mayor’s hand, and smacked it on the table with such force that its handle broke with a CRACK.
The room fell silent. Mouths hung open, and all eyes were upon Rudi.
He cleared his throat, and then he forced himself to speak.
“Master Wenzel is not in league with the witch. I worked alongside him for six days, in the worst conditions. Yet he was nothing but patient and good humored. He is an honest and decent man, and I cannot let you talk of him this way.”
Rudi looked down at the room full of stunned faces and decided that, while he had their attention, he should make good use of it.
“Nor are these rats the witch’s doing,” he continued, with a glance toward Oma, who nodded her encouragement. “Master Wenzel told me so, and of all people, he knows about rats. I believe him, and so should you.”
Otto the baker applauded. “The boy speaks sense.”
“The boy is only a boy,” declared Marco. “What does he know of the witch and her cohorts? And you, Master Otto—perhaps you’ve known the rat catcher all your life, but he lives afar, and you can only vouch for his behavior a few days out of every year. How can you know what he does in Klausen when you’re not there?”
There was a new assortment of murmurs and head scratching. Rudi caught sight of Not-So-Old-Mistress Gerta whispering into Oma’s ear. Then the two women pushed through the crowd and out the nearest door.
“I sorely hate to say it, but I think the blacksmith here is right.” It was Mistress Tanner again. “All my respect to young Rudi here, who’s an able lad and is kind to my Susanna Louisa, as silly a child as children come. But bless me! How can Herbert Wenzel claim the rats are not the witch’s doing? They can be nothing else!”
“He seemed like such an honest fellow,” said the mayor, scratching his bald head.
Mistress Tanner snorted. “How else would you expect a servant of the witch to act? Such folk are cunning and sly. Of course they’ll act honest and decent, so’s to lull you into complacency. Then they lay a hex on you that sticks forever.”
The crowd gasped as one. Now that Oma was gone, Rudi was beginning to feel quite lonely and small.
“Well spoken, my dear Mistress Tanner!” declared Marco. “Besides, young Master Rudi here is not exactly an innocent bystander. Did he not also profit from the rat catcher’s escapade? Here he is, with quite a full purse to show for his activities. I’ll wager he stands to earn even more if the rat catcher comes back a second time.”
This was too much for Rudi. He dug in his pocket for the few pennies he carried and tossed them onto the table.
“Here! I earned three florins working for Master Wenzel. The rest is at home, but you can have that too.” Rudi forced back the angry tears that welled up behind his eyes. He drew himself up and spoke in a voice that was as loud and as steady as he could manage.
“Master Wenzel is not in league with the witch. He had nothing to do with the blight of rats, either before or now. I swear this as true fact.” Rudi could hardly believe such bold words were coming from his own mouth, but he dared not stop himself. He must admit to everyone, in a clear voice and in a public place, that the blight of rats was no one’s fault but his own.
“See what I mean?” said Marco. “The lad is twelve years old. How can he swear such a thing? He’s only making noise.”
“No!” Rudi protested. “I’ll tell you how I know.”
“Leave the boy alone,” declared Otto the baker. He scraped the coins off the table and handed them back to Rudi. “He earned his wage honestly. Besides, it’s no use to argue over the cause of this blight. The question is, how do we get rid of it?”
From somewhere in the room came a persistent thumping. Rudi looked around, as did everyone in the hall. Then Rudi saw that the thumping was caused by a walking stick, as a hand methodically tapped it on the floorboards.
Little by little, the crowd fell silent.
“If I may,” said the stranger who held the stick, “I can get rid of your rats once and for all.”
THE CROWD stared openmouthed at the man who had spoken.
From his position on the mayor’s platform, Rudi had a clear view of the stranger, who wore a drab oilskin cloak and a tattered hat that partly hid his face. Something about him was unsettlingly familiar, but Rudi could not recall how or why.
Finally, the mayor cleared his throat and performed his official duty. “Welcome, sir, to Brixen. What brings you to our village, and how is it you know our particular … situation and how to solve it?”
The stranger gave a nod. “You honor me with your kind greeting, Master Mayor. I am but a traveler, on my way to Petz. Have you been to Petz? As I walked through your lovely village, I could not help but notice two things. Firstly, there was no one about, which I thought quite odd on such a fine day as this.”
Rudi glanced up. Rain was beginning to batter the windows.
The unsettled feeling churned in Rudi’s stomach. Where had he seen this man before? The memory he wanted remained stubbornly beyond his grasp.
“Secondly,” said the stranger, “there seemed to be quite a few, er, vermin about, and of a very bold nature, if I may say. In fact, in all my travels I’ve never seen such a display. Do you know I just watched a rat scamper along a clothesline as if it were solid ground?” He pointed vaguely toward the outdoors as if to prove hi
s claim.
Was that a bit of color Rudi glimpsed beneath the man’s cloak?
The stranger continued. “Then I heard a hubbub coming from this hall, so I thought I’d step inside to see what sort of festivity might be under way, and—well, I walked into the midst of your conversation, and I hope you’ll excuse me for that. But if I may say, what a lucky day for you as well as for me! As it happens, I have quite a way with pests of all kinds.”
“We’ve heard that before,” grumbled Marco. “You don’t know a scoundrel from Klausen named Wenzel, do you?”
“I’m afraid not,” said the stranger. “At any rate, here I am. At your service.” He took off his threadbare hat and bowed as best he could in the crush of villagers.
Rudi gasped.
It was the face in the window. The man in Rudi’s nightmares, with hair like a thistle burr and a shirt of motley patches hiding beneath his cloak.
This was the witch’s servant.
“Oma?” Rudi croaked, but she had gone off with Not-So-Old-Mistress Gerta and had not returned.
Why had he come? What did he want? Would he finally bring his wrath down upon Rudi for taking the witch’s coin? And yet, though Rudi stood in full view on the platform, the stranger showed no sign of knowing him.
But Rudi had earned the stranger’s wrath, while his neighbors had not. He opened his mouth to expose the malevolence in their midst, but he could not force out a sound.
What would be the use anyway? Marco the smith had already bullied nearly the entire hall into believing that Rudi was nothing but a silly child who craved attention. They wouldn’t believe a word Rudi said, least of all a claim that the witch’s true servant was standing among them now.
“And how do you propose to rid us of this pestilence?” said the mayor, and Rudi feared that the villagers were so desperate for relief from the rats that they were likely to agree to almost anything.
“I have devised a practice all my own,” said the stranger. “I can explain it if you wish, but does it matter how? The proof will be in the result. Let me add: I can give you an absolute guarantee.”
The Brixen Witch Page 6
