The Sorcerer's Appendix

by P. J. Brackston

  “What?”

  “Not who. I saw not a who, only a what. And what a what it was!”

  Gretel started counting to ten but got only to three and a half before her patience snapped. “For pity’s sake, tell me!”

  Hans straightened up and looked her gravely in the eye. “It was terrible, sister mine. It was the stuff of nightmares. I shall never forget it. The cold, staring eyes! The wild, ferocious way it sniffed the air and glared at me as I twirled there, helpless as a babe …”

  “Hans …”

  “You won’t believe me.”

  “I will!”

  “You will scoff and ridicule and pour scorn upon my head.”

  “I will beat you about the head if you don’t tell me this instant!”

  “It was a werewolf!”

  Gretel gaped at him.

  “There!” Hans went on. “I’ve told you and now you will dismiss my testimony as the ravings of a man who has had his brains addled by being inverted. I knew it. Go on, pooh-pooh and make fun. Tell me there is no such thing as werewolves. Declare that I am making it up. Or seeing things that are not there. Go on. I knew you would not believe me.”

  Gretel shook her head slowly. “Oh, but I do, Hans. Oh, but I do.”

  They walked on until the sun began to sink in the sky, dipping below the treetops to signify the approach of twilight. Hans was keen to get as far away as possible from the creature that had ensnared him, and his traveling companions put up no argument against this. To take his mind off unpleasant things lurking in the undergrowth, Cornelius presented him with a rabbit he had snared earlier. When they eventually set up camp for the night, he showed Hans how to skin the thing, and then left him happily cooking it up with garlic and herbs. Gretel cornered him as he was fixing up the hammocks a little way off.

  “Herr Staunch, did you hear what it was Hans said back there? About what he thought he saw?”

  “I did.” He patted her shoulder briefly. “Don’t let it worry you. Fear and shock can bring about hallucinations. A bit of exercise, something useful to do … he’s recovered well.”

  “I don’t think he was hallucinating.”

  Cornelius paused in his knot tying. “You think he really saw a werewolf?”

  “I think he saw what he thinks was a werewolf.”

  “A real wolf, you mean? Unlikely, in broad daylight, and alone. No. They stay in a pack and hunt at dusk or dawn. Unless it was injured or sick … But I didn’t smell wolf anywhere close.”

  “Even so, I don’t think he was entirely mistaken. I have my own theories, which I must keep to myself for a while longer. Suffice it to say, I believe he saw something real, rather than a creation of his imaginings. I further believe that we will come under attack again, at least once more, before this journey is over.”

  “Can you say what manner of attack that might be? We would be better able to defend ourselves if we knew our likely assailant. Fail to prepare and you prepare to fail …”

  Gretel held up a hand, as much against his homilies as his questioning. “I can say no more. It is only a theory yet, and as such unproven. If we keep our wits about us we will not come to harm. I have studied the map again and I am hopeful we will reach our destination before nightfall tomorrow. Until then, we must be vigilant.”

  Cornelius reluctantly accepted this plan. “I’ll take first watch tonight,” he said. “We must not leave ourselves vulnerable to attack.”

  Hans surpassed himself with the rabbit stew. The hot food spiced with aromatic herbs revived them all and helped him to put notions of wolflike creatures far from his mind. He even succeeded in lighting one of his damp cigars, and was soon slumbering deeply in his hammock. Gretel thought it best not to disturb him, so volunteered to take his watch as well as her own. Later, in the depths of the night, she sat beside the fire, her pixie blanket around her shoulders, and peered out into the darkness of the trees. She was not afraid, for if her theory was correct their attackers did not, in fact, want them dead. She realized that she would almost welcome a third attack, as it would go some way to confirming her suspicions regarding the who of their assailants. The why was still a little unformed, but its hazy shape was something she felt confident would solidify and hold water by the end of the following day. All they had to do was withstand another attempt to turn them back, press on, and within a few hours they would arrive at the point on the map they had been slogging toward.

  “And there we will find answers,” she assured Jynx as he flitted past after a moth. “One way or another, we will find answers.”

  The following morning found Hans a little out of sorts. He might have appeared to have been sleeping peacefully, but he assured Gretel that he had spent the night being chased through imaginary woods by fearsome creatures that snapped at his heels, hour after hour, so that he awoke exhausted. Even Cornelius’s coffee and bouncing cheerfulness failed to lift his spirits.

  “Fear not, Hans,” Gretel assured him. “We are nearing our goal. It might have come to feel as if we are doomed to roam these woods forever, but the end is almost in sight. And the end of a case, satisfactorily solved, brings with it payment and rest. Hold that thought as you march on and know that each footstep is taking you closer to that happy conclusion.”

  Even Cornelius appeared impressed at this little speech, pausing in his whittling to agree wholeheartedly. Gretel was grateful he didn’t feel the need to start blabbing on about morale again.

  She found that morning’s trek particularly testing. She felt filthy and her clothes, such as they were, were in a dreadful state. What remained of her wig was wedged into the bottom of Hans’s rucksack and she feared it might be beyond salvation. Her feet were rubbed to blisters by her wet boots, her hair was frizzed and matted so that it stayed up without pins, which was just as well, as they had all been lost during the events of the previous days. Hans was so jittery he kept seeing things among the trees, insisting that they halt while Cornelius investigated, so that their progress was even slower than usual. At midday they reached another deep, fast-flowing stream. Gretel and Hans stood and stared at it in dismay, but Cornelius became very excited. He rushed around collecting bendy branches and tying rope to trees on the river bank, constructing a system of pulleys and swings, while all the time explaining with breathless enthusiasm how safe and how easy it would be to cross with this contraption. He demonstrated how it worked, sailing across on the end of a swinging rope, yodeling with glee.

  Gretel and Hans remained standing and watching.

  “Enthusiastic sort of fellow, ain’t he?” Hans commented.

  Gretel agreed that he was, and then the two of them walked a little farther along the river bank and availed themselves of the sturdy wooden footbridge that was there.

  It was as they were rejoining their ebullient guide on the other side of the river that a crashing sound from among the trees caught their attention.

  “Did you hear that?” Hans asked urgently.

  “I did.” Gretel lifted her lorgnettes to peer between the trunks, but could see nothing.

  The sound came again. The noise suggested something, or somethings, large and heavy and moving erratically.

  Cornelius stepped to the edge of the path and sniffed the air.

  “What is it?” Hans asked.

  Cornelius opened his mouth to speak but no explanation was necessary, for at that moment not one, not two, but three enormous boars came barreling out of the trees. They were squealing and snorting and roaring in the most terrifying manner. Cornelius leaped to one side, shouting at the others to get behind the nearest tree. Gretel did as she was told, though was distressed to find herself considerably wider than the trunk of her chosen pine. Hans lost his nerve and bolted.

  “Don’t run!” Cornelius cried after him.

  But it was too late. Hans’s panic had granted him the temporary gift of speed, but he was no match for the wild hogs. Soon they had caught up to him, and by then it was hard to tell whether it was they or he wh
o was squealing the loudest. And then he tripped. The fall took some yards, such was his speed and his weight, and he came to rest up against the trunk of a larch, his face having plowed a deep furrow through the wet earth. In an instant the pigs were upon him, drawing back their tusks as if to gouge at this thing that lay helpless at their trotters.

  “Hell’s teeth!” shouted Gretel as she charged from her hiding place, screaming at the animals, desperately trying to distract them so that they would leave Hans alone. “Get away, you brutes!” She yelled, waving her arms and attempting to make herself look as fierce as possible. One of the boars hesitated, looking up at her. The other two appeared to be about to bite Hans, but then decided to quarrel with each other instead.

  At that moment, a loop of rope whipped through the air as Cornelius lassoed one of the angry hogs. He expertly tightened the rope as it landed around the pig’s middle, and in a flash the bewildered animal was upside down and he was trussing its feet. Hans had dug himself out of the mud sufficiently to flap at the nearest boar with his hat. Gretel ran at the third. It was doubtful that such a wild animal had ever in its wild life seen such a wild woman charging at it with murder in her eyes. Certainly the element of surprise won Gretel all the advantage she needed, for as she came within arm’s reach of the thing—and realized she had no idea of what she was going to do to it—the pig jinked sideways and tore away through the trees.

  The third boar was less easily deterred and by now had Hans pinned against the tree trunk as it ran at him repeatedly. Only Hans’s unusually quick reflexes meant that its tusks did not find their target but instead ripped into and splintered the rough bark of the tree. Gretel lost her footing in the slippery, storm-sodden mud and fell flat, so that she could only flounder and watch as Hans whipped his rucksack from his back and used it to beat away the animal. She felt every blow as if it had been struck upon her own body, knowing as she did that her poor wig was most likely being pulverized in the process.

  Cornelius ran at the final boar, hollering boldly. He lunged at the bristly creature and wrestled with it. Once or twice it seemed the animal would win the fight, and its tusks flashed dangerously close to the soft flesh of Cornelius’s cheek, but in the end he subdued it, and tied its feet with short lengths of cord.

  The two boars lay panting, flanks heaving, eyes wide. The three humans did pretty much the same. Cornelius was the first to find his voice.

  “I saw someone back there,” he said. “Some distance behind the boar.”

  “Can you describe them?” Gretel asked.

  He shook his head. “They were too far away, but it was a woman, I’m certain of that.”

  “A woman?” Gretel’s mind started whirring.

  Hans was brushing mud off his pajamas. “I say,” he gasped at last. “That was a close thing.”

  “Why did you have to run, Hans?” Gretel puffed to her feet. “For pity’s sake why must you always do the idiotic thing? Can you not just once do as you are told, or must I always be rescuing you from your own cowardice and stupidity?”

  She regretted her outburst the instant she had uttered it, knowing her words to be harsh and unfair, but she could not unsay them. Hans’s face gave away how wounded he was, which only served to make Gretel feel guiltier and therefore crosser, so that, instead of apologizing while there was time to undo the damage, she blundered on, appealing to Cornelius for support. “You can see how it is, Herr Staunch, surely? Every time I bring my brother with me hoping that for once he will be of some use, and every time I end up having to save his hide, one way or another. Well, I mean to say, it is enough to make anyone cross. It is not unreasonable for me to want things to be other than they are, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Cornelius’s voice was calm and level and not a bit cross. “Hans acted instinctively,” he explained.

  “And are we animals that can only react? Surely we are reasoning beings and should therefore employ our ability to reason?”

  “In the town or city, maybe,” Cornelius went on, “but out here, man in the wilderness, gotta trust your instincts.”

  Gretel wanted to argue further, to point out that those very instincts had almost got him gored and chewed by three very wild boar, but something in Cornelius’s expression stopped her. What was it? Hans’s hurt was easily identified, but it took her a little while longer to put a name to Cornelius’s disappointment. It cut deep. It was like earning the disapproval of a favorite teacher. She had been judged and found wanting, not because of her actions, but because of her cruel words. She might have helped save Hans’s skin, but she had inflicted a wound that would leave a scar just the same.

  Hans slung his pack over his shoulder once more and jammed his battered hat onto his head.

  “Let me know when you consider we have gone far enough to set up camp,” he said levelly, though there was an unmistakable tremor in his voice. With that he turned and set off along the path.

  Gretel looked at the roped boar, wondering briefly if a bit of crackling and pig’s knuckle would go some way to earning her brother’s forgiveness.

  Cornelius dropped to his knees beside the nearest hog and took out an alarmingly large, sharp knife. Gretel gasped, uncertain that she had the stomach for watching butchery at that moment. But Cornelius merely cut the rope, set the animal back on its feet, and gave it a push into the trees.

  “Won’t they come after us again?” Gretel asked.

  “No,” Cornelius freed the remaining boar and sheathed his knife. “They weren’t really attacking. They are calmer now, and running in the other direction. They won’t bother us again.”

  “But they seemed so intent on fighting, on biting, on generally goring and gouging—how is that not an attack?”

  “They were behaving oddly. It’s not normal for them to charge like that, not if they are not cornered and threatened themselves.”

  “Truly?”

  “And they are not given to hunting in packs. The males are very territorial, that’s why they started fighting each other.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen three adult boar running together before. I can’t even imagine they all came from this part of the woods.”

  “You mean, someone brought them here? Brought them and then deliberately set them upon us?”

  “That would be one explanation.” He held her gaze, clearly expecting her to expand on this idea.

  “Our mystery attacker,” she said thoughtfully. “Another attempt to scare us off.” She felt anger forming a hard lump in her stomach. “Right, I think I have had quite enough of being frightened and battered and bruised. Herr Staunch, if you would be so good as to lead on. We will not stop for luncheon today but forge ahead so that we might reach our destination before dark and put an end to this nonsense once and for all!”

  FOURTEEN

  Gretel walked the following miles carrying the prickly burden of a guilty conscience. She had spoken harshly to Hans and she should not have. That was the long and the short of it. She noticed Cornelius conversing with Hans. She could not make out the words of their exchanges, but she could tell by the subtle alterations in Hans’s posture, by his increasingly purposeful gait, by the way he repositioned his hat to its more customary jaunty angle, that Herr Staunch was offering reassurance and encouragement. And that this gentle coaxing was effective in restoring her brother’s mood. She was forced to reevaluate her opinion of their cheerful guide. She had hitherto considered him to be a man of action rather than thought, a man who dined exclusively on handy homilies and snacks of conveniently digestible bon mots. She saw now that this was not a fair appraisal. He was a man sensitive to the needs of others. A person able to comprehend the flaws another person might carry with them, and the damage those flaws could do to others. His current kindness toward Hans suggested that he understood better than most the nature of human frailty, and he was capable of quieting himself to offer kindness rather than bluster when it was needed. Gretel had to admit to herself that this was something she often found difficult to
do. Particularly where Hans was concerned.

  Their route became ever more twisty and tangled, so that soon they were forced to beat back the undergrowth in order to pass. Brambles and vines snatched at them as they pushed on, and they made frequent and increasingly uncertain checks of the map. Their destination might have been clearly marked on the tattered and crumpled chart, but it was evidently not a place easily found, even with instructions.

  Suddenly Cornelius, walking past, held up a hand. Everyone stopped. He crouched low and inspected the forest floor.

  “What is it?” Gretel asked.

  “Are there more animal tracks?” Hans wanted to know. “More boar, perhaps? Or wolflike things? Or bears this time. There might be bears, might there not?”

  Cornelius said nothing for a moment, but stooped to press his ear to the ground. He looked puzzled. He got to his feet and minutely examined the area around the faint path they were following.

  “Strange,” he said at last. “There are signs of many people having passed this way, albeit carefully, treading so as to leave as faint a trace as possible. And I can detect vibrations some way up ahead that feel like the hooves of heavy animals.”

  “Horses?” Gretel suggested. “Hunters riding in this area?”

  “No, they are moving too slowly and not getting nearer or farther. Almost as if they were walking in small circles. And, well, I know it makes no sense but I am certain there are wheels moving over the ground.”

  “Cart wheels? But surely, there is no space in which to move a cart, wagon, or carriage of any kind?”

  “Not here, at least,” he agreed.

  They proceeded with a new manner of caution. Dusk was descending, so that their progress through the tangled woods was of necessity ponderous, but now they were also taking greater care to be quiet, to listen, to squint into the caliginosity for an explanation for Cornelius’s theories. After a further half hour’s walking they found it. Keeping themselves hidden behind a briar bush, the trio stood and stared in amazement at the truth of what lay behind the workaday X on Herr Arnold’s map.