by Kim Wilkins
“Eisengrimm will find him,” Christine said. “Will he send him back?”
“I don’t . . . I’m not sure. He won’t do any harm, will he? I mean, perhaps he’s just curious,” Mayfridh said.
“Probably. I’m nervous about it, though. He practically wrestled me for the twine.” At this Jude’s face darkened with concern. “Will you go back straightaway?”
“Yes. I mean, not immediately. I can’t. It’s . . .” Mayfridh’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s my mother’s birthday. We’re in the middle of dinner.”
“You can’t just let Mandy invite himself to Ewigkreis without going after him.”
“Eisengrimm can handle him in the short term. I’ll get away in about an hour. Mum’s not going to like it, though.”
“Well, let me know as soon as you’re back in the Real World. And let me know if there’s anything Jude or I can do, okay?”
“Yes, sure. It will be fine, Christine, don’t worry. He’s eccentric and he’s nosy, but I don’t think he’s a monster. Eisengrimm will keep him safe somewhere until I can get there, and then I’ll send him back.”
Christine replaced the phone and turned to Jude.
“Did he hurt you?” Jude asked.
“No, but he frightened me. I don’t like him, Jude, and I don’t know if it’s worth being at Hotel Mandy-Z with such an unpredictable person. He’s probably got keys to this apartment. I think we should consider leaving.”
“But the fellowship?”
“You don’t need the fellowship. You’re got an international reputation. You don’t need this gallery.”
“We can’t live off your salary alone.”
“We can go back home. We can leave Berlin.”
“But . . .” Jude trailed off, nodded. “Let me think about it.”
“I’m telling you, Jude, Mandy is more than just eccentric.”
“I believe you. You’re right; we can’t stay.” He didn’t sound convinced.
Christine sat heavily on the sofa. Her back was throbbing, her head was aching, her heart was sick with worry. So different from the uncomplicated peace she had felt sitting by the bonfire with Eisengrimm. What did Mandy have in mind? She knew she wouldn’t relax until Mayfridh returned.
Mandy had expected the passage to make a far greater impact on his body and mind. Instead, he took two steps and simply arrived somewhere else. A rural quiet descended and he looked up to see he was no longer in the Tiergarten. He laughed. “I am in faeryland,” he said.
He turned in a slow circle, his eyes taking everything in: trees, leaves, grass, sunset. A crow sitting on a bough, eyeing him impassively. Pretending to be an ordinary crow, and perhaps it was, but Mandy had seen Christine Starlight speaking with a crow at the end of Vogelwald-Allee and was immediately suspicious. He looked away from the bird, feigning a lack of interest. Tucked into the back of his pants he had a canvas sack, expressly bought for the purpose of collecting faery bones. He eased it out and shook it. Glanced at the crow. It had hopped closer. Mandy lifted his left foot, as though to take a step away, then turned at the last instant and, with lightning speed, reached out to seize the bird. It flapped madly, but Mandy had it by the leg. He yanked it toward him and straight into the sack.
“Good birdie,” he said, tying off the sack. It flapped about as he slung it over his shoulder and headed in the direction where the trees began to thin. What a beautiful day it was. The weather clear and cool, the breeze fresh but not gusty, and oh, the clean air. Mandy took a deep lungful. Fine weather indeed.
In a matter of minutes he spied the castle. Its narrow, crooked turrets rose above him. All that stood in his way was the rusty gate and . . . yes, with the application of a sharp stone and his considerable weight behind it, the lock gave and he had entry to the castle grounds. Faeries, clearly, were not fussy about security. Why would they need to be? They probably reveled in each other’s foulness and saw no reason to hurt one another, not even the queen. No faeryland could possibly be prepared for the arrival of Immanuel Zweigler. He strode with his chest puffed out. He was the hero of a faery tale, come from another world to exterminate a terrible evil by turning it into art. Bones, so many bones, must be clicking and clacking around in this castle, separated from his hands only by a few inches of soft flesh.
The garden was untended and overgrown. He stepped into the shadowy depths of the castle; a dark place with a smell like lime or damp or yeast. The ceilings were high above him, dotted with tiny windows that barely admitted enough light to break the gloom. He stuck close to the wall, wary of attracting attention, but the castle appeared to be empty. He stopped and listened; no sound. Ahead was a long corridor. He slunk along it carefully, peering into rooms on the left and right. The sound of footsteps sent him for cover in a room that was empty except for a faded rug and dust. He eased the door almost closed behind him, waited until the footsteps passed, then cautiously reemerged in the corridor. Alone again. The smell of food floated up from downstairs. Kitchens. His stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten for hours, sitting in the park waiting for Christine. It would be his next stop, as soon as he found Mayfridh.
Mayfridh’s bedroom was likely to be upstairs. He peered up the dark narrow turret, listened for any signs of life. The bird in the sack had become very still. Either it was in shock or it was trying to be clever. Not clever enough, however. Mandy pondered: would a crow’s bones be useful to him at all? Probably too light and bendable. Perhaps for some fine detail work, to make eyebrows or lashes. His feet scuffed lightly on the stone steps as he wound up and up, finally discovering a chamber decorated in white. He slung the sack on the floor and flopped onto the bed.
Ah, yes. He could smell her. The profane scent of her bones had permeated the linen. It was a scent both repulsive and impossibly attractive. It turned his stomach but invited his nostrils to breathe deeper. Mandy had recognized onlookers at car accidents succumbing just as shamefully to the magnetic pull of the awful sight. He rubbed his face in the sheets, his lips, his tongue. Felt himself grow flushed and sat up, guilty and angry all at once.
Beside the bed, flung carelessly on a low table, a belt of keys. He snatched them up.
Keys to the castle! It truly was his lucky day.
Christine didn’t sleep well her first night back in the Real World. Where falling asleep in Mayfridh’s chamber had been pure careless bliss, here in Hotel Mandy-Z the ever-present niggling pulls and stiffness plagued her. She woke again and again during the night. Was the discomfort worse now than it had ever been? Or was her imagination magnifying the difference between the freedom of Ewigkreis and the reality of the bed she shared with Jude?
She slept fitfully until dawn, then a cold emptiness in the bed brought her all the way to wakefulness. She rolled over. Jude wasn’t there. At first she thought he might be downstairs in the studio, but then she could hear his footsteps, hear him running water in the kitchen. Yawning loudly, she eased over onto her back and considered the day. Hopefully Mayfridh would call soon. Christine would never relax in Mandy’s company again. His behavior yesterday was confirmation of all her worst fears about him; he was eccentric enough to be dangerous.
The door cracked open and Jude peeked in. “You’re awake.”
“Only just.” She gingerly stretched her arms over her head. “How long have you been up?”
“Couple of hours,” he said, pushing the door open all the way.
“Couldn’t you sleep?”
He shook his head. “Do you want a cup of coffee? Some breakfast?”
“A bit early to eat, isn’t it?”
“Coffee coming right up.”
She wriggled into a half-sitting position and propped herself up with pillows. Coffee in bed with Jude. It made the return to the Real World worth it. A few minutes later, he brought in a steaming mug.
“Here,” he said, handing it to her.
“Thanks, Jude.” She took a moment to inhale the deep aroma, then sipped it gratefully.
Jude
lowered himself onto the bed and lay on his side. “Christine,” he said, “there’s something really important I need to say to you.”
“Wow, that sounds serious,” she said, putting her cup down.
“It is. It is serious.”
Christine frowned, her heart held its breath. “Okay. You’d better say it then.”
“Christine . . .” He sat up, took her hand in his. “Christine Starlight, will you marry me?”
All of a sudden, her face didn’t seem big enough for her smile. “Really? You’re for real?”
“I wouldn’t kid about something like this.” Jude still looked very serious; his eyes were dark and he wore no trace of a smile.
“Jude, is this what you really want?”
“Yes.”
“Then how come you’re . . . how come you don’t seem very happy?”
“Because you haven’t said yes.”
She ruffled his hair. “Dummy. Of course I’ll marry you. I’d love to marry you. I’d marry you every day until I’m seventy if you kept asking me.”
Now he smiled, a relieved smile. “So that’s a yes.”
“That’s a yes.”
He leaned forward to embrace her, hard, like he was afraid she might slip out of his arms. She felt such a swell of warmth and contentment then, like she used to feel back home, before Berlin, before Mayfridh, when the pain was still bad but she’d accepted it and grown used to it. It had been so long since she felt that way, she’d forgotten it was even possible.
“So when?” she said, sitting back and picking up her coffee again. “And where?”
“Whenever you want, wherever you want.”
“Back home. Soon.”
He sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to leave Berlin. You were right about that.”
Christine felt a twinge of suspicion, only momentary, but enough to take the edge off her happiness. Yesterday she’d urged him to leave Berlin and abandon his fellowship. Without it, he’d have to go to work teaching art classes or worse. But now they were getting married, he knew she’d access the trust fund. Convenient timing. That’s what Gerda would say.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You went all quiet.”
“Just thinking about organizing a wedding. We don’t have to do a big performance, do we?” She was being paranoid. Jude wasn’t after her money, and besides, she didn’t mind sharing it with him.
“No, I’d prefer not to, actually.”
“Jude,” she said, trying not to sound suspicious, “why are you asking me to marry you?”
His eyebrows shot up in puzzlement. “Why? Because I love you.”
“Yes, but why now? Why this morning?”
“I missed you while you were away. I worried about you. I didn’t have a good time without you here. It’s something I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time, but I’ve always put it off, not sure if it’s the right time. But I love you and I know I want to be with you and take care of you. So now; now is the right time.”
“Yeah. Sure is.”
He sank onto the bed next to her, wrapped his arms around her. “We make a great couple, Christine. We’ll be happy.”
“I’m already happy,” she said, snuggling into him.
He kissed her cheek. His breath was warm. “Wife.”
“Husband. To be.”
“I’m all yours.”
Mandy found an iron cage the perfect size to contain the crow. At first he thought the creature was dead, it had been still for so long in the sack. But when he’d reached in to grab it, it wriggled and pecked him, though not in the brainless, instinctive way that an ordinary bird would. Its movements were too precise and calculated. Mandy knew that this was the enchanted crow and he intended to keep it safely in his possession. Now, peering between the sturdy black bars, he tried to coax the bird to talk.
“Come on then, Mr. Crow, say something.”
Silence.
“Mr. Crow, you’re being very naughty. I know you can talk, I heard you speaking with Christine Starlight.”
Still, the bird did not answer. Mandy smiled at it. “Very well, have it your way. I’m hungry now, and I’m going to the kitchen to have something to eat. And you, my new pet, will come with me.” He picked up the cage and headed down the stairs, patting the key belt under his shirt. A wild bravado had gripped him. He knew he should be careful: these faeries outnumbered him vastly, wherever they were. But the castle was deserted and he felt strong and sure of himself with the keys, the enchanted crow in the cage, and his empty sack waiting to be filled. He stepped into the kitchen. It smelled cold and sour like old potatoes. A woman, hard-faced and fair-haired, stared up at him.
“Who are you?” she asked, in a guttural version of Middle High German he recognized from his university days.
“A special guest of Mayfridh,” he replied, mixing some new German with the old and hoping that the message would come across clear enough.
“The queen hasn’t told me of any guest.”
Mandy sat the crow on the large wooden table in the center of the room. “She told me that if I wanted something to eat I just had to come to the kitchen and ask.”
The woman leaned over the table and peered into the cage. “Is that Counselor Eisengrimm?”
“No,” Mandy said, happy to know the crow’s name, “it’s a crow I found in the woods. It doesn’t speak.”
“I shouldn’t have thought the counselor would be happy to be kept in a cage,” she said with an ironic smile. “A bit too fancy for that.”
Mandy was growing exhausted from trying to keep up with the language. “Just make me food, woman,” he said in German. Whether it was his words or his manner that startled her into action, he didn’t know, but at least she had gone to a cupboard and pulled out a loaf of bread. With a large carving knife, she began to hack off a piece.
The knife blade was dark and stained, not the shining steel he was used to in his own world. Something about its rudimentariness appealed to him. He listened carefully near the door. There was nobody else around. He smiled at the crow again, and approached the woman.
“Here, let me help with that,” he said, reaching for the knife.
As he struck the first blow, a voice cried out “No!” behind him. He turned. The crow.
“So you have revealed yourself, bird,” Mandy said, letting the woman’s body fall to the floor.
The crow began to shout. “Help! Help!”
Mandy picked up the woman’s body and folded it into the sack. A lot of blood; it was a messy job. He hated messiness usually, but in this raw and uncivilized place it had a pleasing coherence. He stored the sack behind the door to pick up later, and seized the cage.
“Come along, Counselor Eisengrimm. I’m going to find a place where I can keep you quiet.”
“Help! Somebody!” the crow called, but Mandy had already found another set of stairs, leading underground. The bird’s voice was swallowed up by the stone.
“Where are we going, then?” Mandy said. “Perhaps there’s a dungeon under here.”
He came to a gate. It was unlocked. Another gate. The bird was quiet. Mandy made his way along the dimly lit passage. “How far to the cells, bird? What, not so talkative now?”
“What do you intend?” said the crow, in English.
“I intend to kill everybody I can kill and clean off their bones to use in a sculpture,” Mandy said, opening another gate. “And I intend to capture Mayfridh and cut off her head. I don’t know what I’ll do with you, but if you’re a counselor of some sort, perhaps you can advise the queen not to leave balls of magic twine lying around for anyone to find.”
He had found the cells, eight of them, lined up four and four in the dark. He kicked a door open and deposited the cage on the floor.
“Now,” Mandy said, “tell me where I’ll find Mayfridh.”
“Hexebart!” Eisengrimm cried. “Hexebart, you must help!”
Mandy looked behind him. �
�Is there someone else down here?” he asked. He hurried out of the cell and slammed the door behind him. He peered into other cells, finding in one of them a hunched hag with dirty hair.
“Hello,” he said, “are you Hexebart?”
The hag twitched. A ball of pale light shone in her hands. She licked it and smoothed it over her ears. Then said in his own language, “What is your name, traveler?”
“Immanuel,” Mandy said.
“Immanuel,” she repeated, savoring the word. “What have you done to upset Birdbrain?”
Mandy chuckled. “I’ve put him in an iron cage and threatened to kill his queen.”
“She is not the queen,” Hexebart spat. “She is a nasty little impostor. One day I’ll pull out her teeth and make a necklace of them.”
Mandy was curious. He hadn’t expected to find an ally. “Why do you hate her so much?” he asked.
“Because she had the real queen killed so she could get her hands on the royal magic.”
“Is that so?” Mandy had counted on Mayfridh having royal magic. It would make the Bone Wife much better able to perform all her duties around the apartment. “I don’t know if you could tell me where I’d find Mayfridh? I’d like to kill her.”
“Certainly. If you let me out I’ll show you where she is.” She smiled. “I know all the secret passages of the castle.”
Mandy considered. The hag’s bones would be far too old and brittle to use in the sculpture, and her hatred for Mayfridh might make her a decent assistant. He tried a key and popped the lock, held the door open for her.
Hexebart shuffled to her feet and moved to stand near him. She peered up at him in the gloom, one eye twitching closed. “Immanuel, you have very beautiful hair,” she said.
“Thank you,” he replied.
She reached up and plucked a hair from his head and tucked it away in the bodice of her ragged dress.
Mandy laughed, heard his own nervous note. She was obviously crazy. “Which way?” he said.
“To where?” she asked.
“To Mayfridh,” he replied, impatience touching his voice.
She clapped her hands together in front of her face. A strange pale light shone between them.
