The witch sat back, satisfied. “That’s the Gussie I remember.”
“She’s told me stories about you, but she never told me that she’d actually met you.” Once more, Rudi thought that Oma had kept too much from him.
“Ah, well,” said the witch. “’Tis bad luck to talk of such things.”
Rudi sat up straight. “That’s what Oma always says!”
The witch shook half a tart at him. “She’s right. What would happen once such a thing became common knowledge? You’d be hounded night and day. People would be full of questions, begging you to intervene with the witch for them. Or worse—they’d look at you sidelong, thinking you’ve become a witch yourself, now that you’ve mingled with witchy folk.” She shook her head. “No, one doesn’t talk of visiting the witch. You’ll see for yourself when you gets back.”
If I get back, thought Rudi, but then another question came to him. “Is Oma the only person in Brixen who’s met you?”
The witch picked up her mug and blew on her tea. “Anymore. There were others before her, but now they’re gone. ’Tis a good thing you ventured up, crisis or no. Someone needs to carry on the knowledge in that village.”
“You mean me?” squeaked Rudi.
The witch shrugged. “It seems fitting. You are here. You are Gussie’s grandson. You’re not as feisty as she is, but you’ll do.”
Rudi couldn’t argue with any of that. Still, he did not feel equal to the challenge.
“So,” she continued, “it seems you’re appointed to carry on the knowledge in the village. If you tells me what you already knows about the witch, I can tell you what you doesn’t know.”
Rudi hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be the person to carry on the knowledge in the village. He wasn’t sure he wanted the responsibility.
Then again, why not? Hadn’t he just bragged to the witch about how capable he was? Catching rats, and making bargains with her servant, and now venturing up here alone. Why shouldn’t he be the one to carry on Oma’s task? In fact, now that he thought about it, Rudi decided he’d be proud to do it.
He tried to think. What did he know? He blurted out the first thing that came into his mind.
“You’re not as fearsome as I expected. But sometimes you do fearsome things.”
The witch set her cup on the wooden table and folded her hands on her chest. “What sorts of things?”
Rudi played with his spoon. “Last year one of our cows birthed a stillborn calf. Mama said we’d angered you somehow, and so you cursed the cow and killed the calf.” He sipped his tea and kept his eyes on the witch.
“Hmm,” she said. “What do you suppose I was angry about?”
Rudi shrugged. “Mama said we should have done something more, once the cow was near her time. We did set out a pitcher of cream, and you took it, but Mama said it wasn’t enough.”
The witch sat back, thoughtful. “Ah, the cream. That were right nice. I hasn’t got room up here for a cow. I remembers that birthing too. I heard the cow in the barn, lowing peculiar-like. Her calf was past help, poor thing. But ’twas nature’s doing, not my own. I gave comfort to the mother, lest her milk seize up, but that’s all. ’Twas not even magic. ’Twas only … a small kindness. A thank-you for the cream.”
Such an explanation made sense to Rudi, and so he tried again.
“In Brixen, people say you send the storms. They say you send three ravens to circle the clock tower, and soon afterward, lightning strikes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’m no fool. I knows enough to stay indoors when a storm is brewing. ’Tis more than I can say for some silly folk. To see storm clouds gathering is not sign enough for them. They needs to see the witch’s signs before they come to their senses and run inside.” She shook her head and tsked, the way Mama did whenever Rudi did something particularly childish.
He scratched his head. “Why do you bother, if we’re such silly folk?”
“What kind of witch would I be otherwise? Brixen is under my charge, and Klausen, and all the villages hereabouts. ’Tis my duty. ’Tis the way it’s always been. You may not think so, but you needs your witch.”
“Sounds like you’re just a midwife, really. Or a philosopher. Not really a witch,” said Rudi, before he had a chance to think.
Now the witch leaned forward in her chair, and the fire flared in the grate. “You think the Brixen Witch is nothing but a little old woman who drinks chamomile tea and takes pity on suffering milk cows? Foolish child! I’ll send a storm if it’s called for, the likes of which would make you shake in your little farmer’s boots.” Then she sighed. “Or, at least, once upon a time I could.”
Rudi was beginning to understand. The witch was part of the mountain, and a part of Brixen. She presided over their lives just as certainly as did the snows in winter and the sun in summer. Without the witch, the earth might just as well wobble off its axis onto a new—and disastrous—course.
He decided the time for rumination was done.
“There’s a search party,” he told her. “A dozen strong men, here on the mountain. Perhaps they can help retrieve your magic.”
“Aye, I can hear them stomping about out there.”
Rudi blinked at her. He strained to listen, but he heard only the crackling of the fire.
She sniffed. “You cannot hear them. This is my mountain. I can hear my own mountain breathe if I listens close enough. ’Tis like music to me.”
And then a thought sprang into Rudi’s head, and with it came a flood of hope.
“That’s the answer,” said Rudi. “That is how we can defeat him.”
A GIDDY excitement welled up in Rudi’s chest. The idea seemed so simple. So perfect. And it had taken only one word.
“Music,” he said. “We can defeat him with music.”
The witch squinted at him. “Explain yourself, lad.”
“You enchanted the golden guilder once, to make it sing. So your servant could find it, yes?”
“So I could find it,” she said. “But I gave it a tuneless, maddening song. So’s he would be repelled by it, despite its power. So that even though he chased you down the mountain and watched you all night, he could not abide touching the coin. Do you think a mere windowpane would be enough to keep him out of your house?”
Rudi swallowed a huge lump as he recalled that first night, with the golden guilder buried in his trunk and his dear Papa leaning out into the storm, half-asleep. How near had they come to falling into the clutches of the evil servant that very first night? Rudi shuddered to think of it. But he pushed it out of his mind. “No matter,” he told the witch, shaking himself. “It worked. The music had a powerful effect on him, did it not?”
The witch nodded. “That it did. Go on, then.”
Rudi tried to organize his thoughts. “Later, he played your fiddle—the one with a bit of magic hidden inside. To lead away the rats, and then the children.”
“I thought I heard music of some sort.” She narrowed her eyes. “Did he play it well? Having the magic in one’s possession is one thing. Knowing how to use it is something else.”
Rudi hesitated. But he decided that the witch wanted to know the truth. “Yes, mistress. He played it very well.”
“Bah!” she spat. “’Tis no great trick. Any fool with that much magic at his disposal could do such a thing.” Now she shook her finger, and her eyes gleamed. “If I possessed all my magic, I’d have no need for a fiddle. I could make the plainest object sing so pure and clear, the nightingale would hide in shame.”
“I’ve no doubt, mistress,” said Rudi, though his heart ached. He wished he could pledge to bring back every scrap of her magic, rescue his friends, and make safe the Berg and all the Brixen Valley. But he could not make such a promise. It was one thing to face her servant. It would be another thing to defeat him.
Still, he was ready to try.
“Mistress …” Rudi held his breath for a moment. “Do you have enough magic to make the coin sing again?”
The witch raised an eyebrow. She pulled the golden guilder from her apron pocket and pressed it between her hands, as if warming it. Then she whispered to it, so quietly that Rudi could not make out the words. Setting the coin on the small table, she sat back and folded her hands, waiting.
Then, so faint at first that Rudi could barely hear it, the music came.
The sound grew louder, and louder still, until there could be no mistake. It was the same music he’d heard that first night, when he’d brought the coin down the mountain through the snow and sleet. A tuneless song that sounded something like the wail of a pennywhistle.
Rudi’s eyes grew wide, as did the witch’s grin.
Then she snatched up the coin, muffling its tune. “Shhh!” she hissed, and it fell silent. She tucked it again into her pocket.
But her grin did not fade. “And now, young Rudolf,” she said, “you needn’t try to find my rebellious servant. For he will come to you.”
Rudi shivered at the thought. Then another worry came to him. “But if he does, how will we find the other children?”
“No doubt you’ll think of something,” said the witch, standing and stretching. “You has good instincts. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”
Rudi smiled weakly. He hoped she was right, for suddenly his mind once more felt as blank as slate.
He tried to think. “Can you still hear the search party?” For if he was going to stand outside with the singing coin and wait for her servant to find him, it would be nice to have friends in the vicinity.
She tilted her head and closed her eyes, listening. Finally, she said, “They’re near enough. I expect the coin’s singing will bring them to you as well.”
“What about the other children?” said Rudi. “Can you hear them?”
She listened once more. Then she shook her head, and Rudi’s hopes fell.
“They cannot be far,” she said. “Mayhaps he is using magic to cloak their whereabouts—the nasty fiend. There’s numerous caves roundabout this mountain. None as big and cozy as this one, but he may have found one large enough to hold a gaggle of children. I suspects my stolen magic is hidden in the same place. He hasn’t got much imagination.”
“So then.” Rudi counted the steps on his nervous fingers. “I go out. He comes to find me. I offer the coin in exchange for my friends. But I can’t let him have it.”
The witch snapped her fingers. “A perfect plan.”
Rudi wasn’t so sure. “If he’s as powerful as you say he is, what’s to stop him from smiting me on the spot, taking the coin, and locking us all inside the mountain forever?”
She shrugged. “I suppose you’d best not get smitten.”
He scowled to conceal his fear. “This is not a perfect plan.”
“Have you forgotten already what you’ve learned? He cannot resist the coin, and yet he cannot abide its music. You must take advantage of his torment and indecision.” She drew the golden guilder from her pocket and laid it on Rudi’s palm. “This coin holds the last remnant of my magic. Without it, I am defenseless. I am truly putting my life in your hand.”
Rudi gulped. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Once more, he feared he was not equal to the task.
“You are Gussie’s grandson. I can think of no better person.” She folded Rudi’s fingers over the coin. “Rub it between your hands, and it will sing. Its magic will give you some measure of protection, but not much. Whatever you do, bring it back to me, or all will be lost.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Best get going before the light wanes.”
And so, with the golden guilder in his pocket, his father’s best knife on his belt, and his heart in his throat, Rudi stepped out into the daylight.
He followed the path away from the tall crevice that marked the door to the witch’s cave. It ought to be easy enough to find again, at any rate.
The coin lay quiet in his pocket for the moment. Rudi hoped he would not need it. Not yet. First he wanted to find some clue to the whereabouts of his friends.
He scrambled on the mountain for what seemed like hours, though the sun remained high. There was no sign of the other children. No bits of cloth tied to the branches by the search party. Rudi wondered if he was searching on the wrong side of the mountain. But he dared not venture too far. He could not become lost. He continued on, keeping within sight of the crevice that marked the witch’s door.
Then, as he searched, Rudi became aware of a faint but steady noise: a rhythmic banging, as of rock against rock. It was not a sound an animal would make, or the wind. He followed it, keeping quiet. He slid one hand into his pocket, ready to bring out the coin. With his other hand he grasped the handle of his knife.
Rudi followed the knocking sound to an outcropping of jagged rocks half-hidden by pine saplings. Warily, he stepped closer. Then, though the sun was hot, Rudi felt a breath of cool air coming from between the rocks.
Pushing the branches aside, he found a large crack in the rock as high as he was tall, and only wide enough to push his head inside, if he’d wanted to. But he did not want to. The cool air flowed out from the crack, and so did the banging. He’d heard that sound before, but he couldn’t recall when or where.
Rudi put his face to the crack. He held his breath. Then he called, “Hello?”
His voice echoed. He had found a cave.
The banging stopped. Now Rudi heard a faint rustling noise from deep inside the cave, as a creature shuffling in the dirt. Perhaps it was a badger, ready to attack.
Or the witch’s servant.
The rustling grew louder. Something was coming toward him.
Rudi backed away, ready to run.
Suddenly a face appeared.
“I KNEW you’d come, Rudi!” Susanna Louisa beamed out at him through the crack in the stone. Then she displayed the rock she held. “See? People can always hear me better when I knock with a stone.”
“Is it really you?” Rudi tried to keep his voice low, but he could not contain his joy. “Are you all right? Is everyone in there with you?”
Susanna Louisa nodded. “Everybody,” she whispered. “We’re faring well enough, except it’s cold and damp and I think it’s past lunch. We found some biscuits, but they’re dry as dust. There’s a spring, too, with clear water, thank goodness. Can you take us home, Rudi?”
“I hope so. We need to get you out first.”
“There’s no way out,” she said. “No way at all. We’ve looked. We came in this way, but that nasty fiddler closed up the door, and now it’s nothing but a window. I don’t like that fiddler.”
Rudi gulped. “He’s not in there now, is he?”
“Oh, no,” said Susanna Louisa. “We’ve not seen him since he locked us in here. I hope I never see him again.”
“So do I,” said Rudi, though he knew it could not be avoided. He had no doubt the fiddler was somewhere close at hand.
“Is there anything else in the cave with you?” Rudi asked her. “Any other … provisions?”
Susanna Louisa shrugged. “There’s a whole pile of stuff, but it’s mostly useless. There’s a teapot, but it’s cracked, and anyway there’s no tea. There’s a good, strong rope, but no room for skipping in here. A basket of potatoes, but nothing to cook them with.” She wrinkled her nose. “Nobody likes raw potatoes.”
“The witch was right,” Rudi whispered. “Her magic is here too.” And then, to Susanna, “What else? Is the fiddle in there?”
“Oh, yes, it’s here. But that fiddler said don’t touch it. He said don’t make so much as a peep. And who knows? Perhaps he’s watching us. We haven’t touched the fiddle. We’ve been quiet as can be. I even knocked quietly. We don’t like being stuck in here, but we don’t want him mad at us neither. He’s a mean one.”
“I know.” Rudi glanced around nervously. He turned back to Susanna Louisa with renewed urgency. “Listen to me, Susanna. All those things inside the cave—the teapot, the fiddle, the potatoes, everything—they’re magic.”
&n
bsp; “The potatoes?”
Rudi nodded.
Susanna Louisa’s eyes grew wide. “I’m glad we didn’t eat them.”
Rudi laughed, and for that he was so grateful, he could have kissed her. But he only said, “Silly girl.”
“When can we go home, Rudi?”
“Don’t worry,” he said, trying to sound grown-up. “We’ll have you home and skipping rope in no time. I’m just … not sure how, yet.”
A satisfied grin spread across Susanna’s face. “I know how! If all these things are magic, then I know how to get us out.” She hummed to herself.
Rudi blinked at her. He yearned to know more, but time was short. He would have to trust her.
“Do it, then. And when you do, be sure to take everything with you from inside the cave. As much as you can carry.”
“Even the fiddle?”
“Especially the fiddle. Will you tell the others?”
She nodded solemnly. “Anything for you, Rudi.”
His face burned, and he cleared his throat. “Once you’re all free, wait here until you hear music. And when you hear it, this is what I want you to do.”
He gave quick instructions to Susanna Louisa. “Can you remember that?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, nearly bouncing inside the cave.
“Good. I’m going now to try to distract the fiddler. Once you are out, remember to keep quiet until you hear the music.” And with that, Rudi retraced his steps toward the witch’s cave. If the witch was right, and the fiddler truly was driven by greed and vanity, his plan should work. At least, Rudi hoped it would.
After a few minutes walking, Rudi looked around once more. The witch’s servant had been too quiet. Rudi suspected that Susanna Louisa was right, and they were being watched.
It was time to find out. As he hurried down the path, Rudi pulled the golden guilder from his pocket and rubbed it between his palms.
For a moment there was nothing. Rudi wondered if he was supposed to tell it something, the way the witch had done. He whispered, “Sing!”
The Brixen Witch Page 11
