The Autumn Castle

by Kim Wilkins

  “You’ll forget me.”

  “I don’t want to forget you. I want to look at your face every day for the rest of forever.”

  “I don’t deserve that happiness,” he said, “and you won’t remember me once winter comes, so you won’t suffer.”

  “I will. Somewhere inside I know I’ll suffer. It will be a scar on my soul.” She turned her face up to him. “Tell me that you’ll think about it.”

  “I won’t think about it. Don’t make me think about it. You know it’s wrong. You know I don’t belong in your world. I belong here, and I have to take care of Christine.”

  “Just ten seconds . . . for ten seconds tonight, before you sleep, think about it. Ten tiny seconds of your life. Please, Jude, please. Don’t leave me with no hope at all.”

  He smiled. “Ten seconds, then. That’s an appropriate amount of time to think about my plans for a few hundred years.”

  She leaned into him and encircled his waist with her arms. “Kiss me, my love.”

  He kissed her, his hands moving to the small of her back, pressing her hard against him. “I love you,” he muttered.

  Then the door burst open.

  Mayfridh and Jude dropped their arms and jumped apart, but it was too late. Gerda glared at them with steely blue eyes.

  “Gerda,” Jude gasped. “Gerda, don’t—”

  “Don’t what?” Gerda demanded, and Mayfridh was horrified to see a lizard jump from her lips and land on the floor. “Don’t interrupt your fun? Don’t stop you from cheating on your fiancée? Don’t spit fucking locusts and beetles?” She turned on Mayfridh and pushed a finger into her chest. “When were you going to come and fix me? Before or after you betrayed your best friend?” Such a barrage of insects and small reptiles sprang from her mouth that Mayfridh couldn’t count them.

  “I can’t fix you,” Mayfridh said. “Not yet. I didn’t bring any spells. I have to find Hexebart.”

  “You’re doing a fine job of looking for her, aren’t you?” A tiny frog landed in Mayfridh’s hair and became entangled. With a shriek, she loosened it and it dropped to the ground.

  “Gerda, calm down,” Jude said.

  “You know what?” Gerda said. “I will calm down, but only because I hate the feeling of these things coming out of my mouth. Though I will ask you one question.” She held up her index finger for emphasis. “Will you tell Christine about this, or will I?”

  When Mandy finally slept, it was on the bare floorboards next to the vat, with the fluorescent lights still on overhead, and his arm hooked around the Bone Wife’s ankle. He dreamed about her completed, with strong arms for carrying things, with a mane of bright hair that he could almost see, with Mayfridh’s face painted onto the front of her gleaming head. Waking, seeing his Wife standing there unfinished, filled him with a great sadness. If Mayfridh didn’t return, it could be years before she was ever whole.

  He lay still for a moment, looking up at her, then hunger and discomfort made him lock the boning room carefully behind him, and go downstairs in search of breakfast.

  The soft, early morning light in his lounge room was a welcome relief to his eyes, but the mess that Hexebart had made startled him. She lay asleep on the sofa surrounded by empty food tins, by wrappers and scraps and dirty plates and spoons. The sofa had been pulled close to the television—which was blaring an American news broadcast—and in the process the rug had been bunched up. He bent to straighten it, and noticed it was wearing at least half a bottle of spilled tomato ketchup. A glimpse of the kitchen through the doorway told him that the mess wasn’t confined to just one room.

  “Hexebart!” he bellowed.

  She woke with a start, her eyes bleary and blinking. “What? What is it?”

  “You promised me you’d be tidy.” He swept his arm around him to indicate the mess.

  “Yes, yes.”

  “You’ve made a terrible mess.”

  “I’ll clean it, I’ll clean it. Only don’t throw me out, no, don’t throw Hexebart out. Hexebart can help you.”

  Mandy stalked to the kitchen and began searching for food. All the bread was gone, all the cheese and the cold meats in the fridge had been gnawed on and left unwrapped on the bench, so he threw them out. He switched on the coffee machine. The cupboards were open and all that remained in them were condiments and two tins of beans. He opened the freezer and found a bag of peas. Hexebart, in the space of one night, had almost cleaned him out of food.

  He turned to see her in the doorway, trying to charm him with a smile. He shuddered.

  “Did you eat everything?” he asked.

  “Hexebart only ever eats bread and water in prison.”

  “You could have left some for me.”

  “I left the meat and the cheese.” She indicated the rubbish bin.

  “You’d already chewed on them.”

  Hexebart approached the bin and reached inside. “I’ll fetch them.”

  “No, no. We don’t eat food that’s been in the rubbish. Not in the Real World.”

  She shook her head and clicked her tongue. “What a waste. What a terrible waste.” Then she turned, bright-eyed, and said, “Mayfridh came back.”

  Electricity. “What?”

  “She came back last night, but now she’s gone again.”

  “Where has she gone?” Frustration clawed at him. She had been here, in the hotel, and he’d slept through it.

  “Hexebart was listening the house, yes she was. Hexebart can hear everything that goes on.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She came and she kissed Christine’s lover. Gerda found them and sent her away.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “She went to stay in a hotel.”

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t know,” Hexebart said, pouting at his ungrateful questions. “She didn’t say.”

  Mayfridh, in a hotel, probably nearby. Could he make discreet inquiries? Find her? Kill her while she was alone? What were the risks involved?

  Hexebart was talking again. “But she’ll be back. She’ll be back very soon, I know, because she’s looking for me and she thinks I might come here.”

  Mandy was suspicious. What could this foolish old woman have that Mayfridh wanted? “Why is she looking for you?”

  “Because I’m a poor prisoner and she’s a mean little sow and can’t bear it that I’ve esca-aped.” A song ensued, about escaping and about the dungeon. There was no way of telling if she was lying, or crazy, or perfectly serious.

  Mandy opened a tin of beans and took a spoon from the drawer. “I’m going to my bedroom for a few hours’ sleep. Next time you hear her come, wake me up immediately.”

  “Yes, Immanuel.”

  “If you’re so good at listening to the house, tell me next time they’re all out. I’ll go shopping for food.”

  “Ooh, yes, Immanuel. I’ll listen very hard.”

  “Good.” He moved through the lounge room on his way to his warm, soft bed. “And clean up your mess.”

  “Yes, Immanuel. Yes, I will.”

  He didn’t believe that for a moment.

  Christine leaned out the window of Mayfridh’s bedchamber, trying to imprint upon her memory the view of Ewigkreis laid out before her. Russets and golds and the wind playing on the trees; the river lazy in the east, the Eternal Woods dim and mysterious, stretching into the distance.

  “It’s so beautiful and I can’t take it with me,” she sighed.

  Eisengrimm spoke from the bed behind her. “Perhaps you should have brought a camera,” he said, a smile in his voice.

  She turned her back to the window. His ribs were still wrapped in bandages, but his vigor and movement were returning. “A photograph never captures a place. The smell, or the silence, or the way the light moves.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Part of me really doesn’t want to say good-bye.”

  “You can stay a little longer if you like.”

  Christine shook her head. “I have to get back to my ow
n world. I’ve left them alone together for long enough.”

  “How’s your hand?”

  “Comfortable.” She held up the velvet-lined silver hand that Klarlied had ordered from the silversmith. It was an exact match for her remaining hand, with intricate carvings, and jointed fingers. A shortage of magic in Ewigkreis meant it remained unenchanted.

  “A pity we couldn’t make it work for you.”

  “It wouldn’t have worked back home anyway. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”

  “It matters to me. I regret your injury very deeply.”

  She sighed and turned to the window once again. The giant birch was almost bare. Winter was close. “You’ll forget it.”

  “If I could remember, I would. I’d remember you forever.”

  “How much of autumn is there left, do you think?”

  “A week at most. Mandy’s work upset the balance. We’ll have a long winter, but the seasons will right themselves by spring.”

  “It must be beautiful here in spring.”

  “It’s always beautiful here.”

  Christine took a last look around the room. So many months ago, when this adventure started, she had found the low roof beams and the dank smells uninviting. Now she had grown fond of the Autumn Castle, its dusty corners and its grimy windows and the layers of white linen to sleep in. Perhaps it was simply appealing by association: here she felt no pain. Soon she would be consigned to pain for the rest of her life.

  “What’s the matter, Christine?” Eisengrimm asked.

  “Thinking about how I’ll feel when I go back. Thinking about my back. It’s really going to hurt. Jude had to hit me hard.”

  “I wish you the best with it,” he said, “and I wish you the best with Jude.”

  “Yeah, and I wish you the best with your pain and your love.” She sank down on the bed next to him. “What’s wrong with us, Eisengrimm? Why can’t we find somebody who loves us perfectly, wholly, and completely?”

  “Very few people do find that somebody, Christine. It’s rare.”

  She lay on her back, enjoying each breath that ventured into her lungs, wishing and wishing and not even sure what she was wishing for.

  “It’s time to go,” she said.

  “Good-bye, Christine.”

  She sat up and leaned over to hug him gently. “I will miss you so much.”

  “I hope your life is full of wonders.”

  “I hope your life is full of joy.” She took one last look out the window, one last look at Eisengrimm. Found tears on her lashes. “Good-bye,” she said.

  “Good-bye. Maybe some day . . .”

  “Maybe. You never know.”

  Christine made her way down to the passage—a dreamy mirror of afternoon colors standing in the forest. She stepped through into the painful embodiedness of reality. Behind her, the Autumn Castle had disappeared, and Berlin traffic sounded in the distance. She took a moment to catch her breath, then headed toward Hotel Mandy-Z.

  Hexebart searches the cupboard again, but all the cans are empty and gone. Oh, woe. Real World food is so tasty and exciting on her tongue, and now it’s all gone. All, all gone. She runs her fingers around the edge of an empty can and laps up the tiny dollop of sauce. If only Immanuel would go shopping soon. Hexebart is growing hungry again.

  She leans her head out of the kitchen and listens. Immanuel is still sleeping. Hexebart hears his snores. Why, she could sneak in there right now and have a piece of him for lunch. There’s certainly enough meat on him. But no; Hexebart grinds her teeth. She needs Immanuel for now. Immanuel can kill the queen before she finds Hexebart, and Hexebart can go free with the royal magic and spend her life looking for Liesebet.

  Hmmm . . . but while Immanuel sleeps, Hexebart could get up to other mischief. He often hides himself up in the room behind the door with many locks . . . Hexebart wonders what’s behind that door. A mystery. Maybe he has more food up there. That’s it! He’s hiding food from Hexebart! Or maybe he has jewels and other pretty Real World things that he doesn’t want Hexebart to have. Selfish, selfish. Hexebart begins to creep up the stairs.

  Then stops. And listens.

  Downstairs, far below, somebody has come home. Is it the pig queen? Is it time to wake Immanuel and tell him to kill her?

  No, it’s somebody else. It’s Christine.

  Oh, Christine, oh, Christine,

  Where have you come from, where have you been?

  Hexebart isn’t so interested in Immanuel’s secret room of food and treasures now. She would rather go and speak with Christine. Hexebart opens the door and dances lightly down the stairs to Christine’s apartment. She can’t wait to see Christine’s face. Oh, ha ha! Hexebart has so much to tell her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Mayfridh hadn’t expected to find herself sharing a hotel room with her mother on one of her last nights in the Real World. She woke up disoriented. The colors of the room were unfamiliar, the sheets stiff and tight. It took a moment to remember: Gerda walking in, spitting lizards and insects with rage, insisting that Mayfridh make a quick exit before Gerda took it upon herself to tell Christine everything. Jude had bundled her out the door in less than twenty seconds. “It’s better this way,” he said. “I’ll sort it out with Gerda. You go stay with your mother.”

  Mayfridh sat up, cradling her head in her hands. Why was she so worried about what Christine would think? Hadn’t she been trying to encourage Jude to leave Christine, to tell her that the New York wedding was off and that he was going to become King Jude of Ewigkreis?

  “Are you all right, love?” This was Diana, awake in the next bed.

  Mayfridh dropped her hands and forced a smile. “Yes, Mum. I’m fine.”

  Diana reached out and grabbed her fingers. “Thanks for coming to stay with me. I felt much safer.”

  Mayfridh squeezed Diana’s hand fondly. “I’m glad.”

  “What has the day got in store for you?”

  Mayfridh was climbing out of bed and pulling on her clothes. “Same as yesterday. Find Hexebart.”

  “I’ll just stay here, shall I?”

  “Stay here and rest your feet. It’s safer that way. I’ll come to get you if I find her.”

  “And then you’ll leave?”

  Mayfridh nodded. “I’ll have to leave very soon after.”

  Diana’s head drooped. Mayfridh sat next to her on the bed. “Mum, promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “Promise me that . . . if I can’t take you with me . . .”

  Diana looked away quickly, a petulant expression crossing her face.

  “Mum, I might not be able to take you with me.”

  “You’re the queen.”

  “There are other considerations. It’s very complex.” She patted Diana’s knee. “Mum, if I can’t take you with me, will you promise to get on with your life? Will you go home to England and find old friends?”

  “I have no old friends.”

  “Then make new ones. You can’t organize your life around me.”

  Diana’s lips twitched with irritation. “If I hadn’t organized my life around you, I wouldn’t have been there for you to come home to after twenty-five years. You’re my daughter, May. One day, perhaps, you’ll have a child and you’ll know what true fear is. To lose my daughter, not to know on any day for twenty-five years whether you were alive or dead, sick, in pain, miserable, longing to be home . . .”

  Mayfridh let the silence beat out for a long time, and she thought about all the times she had missed with her mother and all the times she was yet to miss. Shopping trips and morning teas and mother’s days and first grandchildren. A flicker of imagination teased her: Diana in a few years, learning to trust the world again, smiling or laughing, holding a plump-armed child. The knowledge that it wasn’t to be made her heart lurch under her ribs. “I’m so sorry, Mum.”

  A knock at the door.

  “Who would that be?” asked Diana.

  “Jude,” Mayfrid
h said, rising and heading toward the door. “He’s going to help me with Hexebart.”

  “Jude? Christine’s boyfriend?”

  Mayfridh tensed at the appellation. “That’s right.” She opened the door and Jude came in.

  “Hi,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

  Mayfridh pulled back and glanced at Diana. Had she seen?

  “Oh, hello, Diana,” Jude said, trying to sound smooth and not managing. “I didn’t realize you were sharing a room. I thought you might be . . . next door . . . or something.”

  Mayfridh saw the spark of realization in her mother’s eyes.

  “Be careful,” Diana said quietly. “I hope you find your witch.”

  “I hope so too,” Mayfridh muttered, grabbing her coat. “Come on, Jude.”

  They turned off Unter-den-Linden and headed down Friedrichstrasse, past gleaming car showrooms and dusty building sites. The sky was pale and streaked with clouds, and early morning sun reflected off the crooked-pin shapes of building cranes. Streetcars, trains, taxis moved in the rhythm and tune of city mornings; other people’s overcoats brushed against her as they vied for space on the narrow wooden boardwalk under a construction site. Mayfridh was overwhelmed by it, by the addictive cadence of the Real World, by the proximity of Jude who was the Real World’s star citizen and witness. The vast silent spaces of Ewigkreis were empty and bare by comparison. A measureless ache suffused her, and she couldn’t identify if it was in her heart, or her head, or her hands. How could I forget this? It is everything to me, it makes me who I am.

  “So, we need to talk about the Gerda situation,” Jude was saying.

  For a moment she was bewildered. How was she to discuss something so mundane when such an epiphany of self-knowing was upon her? But of course, it was the very mundanity of the Real World that gave it its addictive flavor.

  “Okay,” she said. “Have you spoken to her?”

  “Yeah, I talked to her last night. I promised I’d tell Christine about you and me, but only after you’ve gone. Only after we’re back home in New York.”