One Witch at a Time (14 page)

He raised his hands to quiet the villagers. “Once the beanstalk is down, you will have your fill of beans.” He waved toward the gigantic vine. “There are beans uncountable on this plant! I suggest you all go home and gather your baskets and buckets. But stay safe inside your cottages until the task is done. I don't want anyone in harm's way when
this monstrous thing comes down.”

With that, the mayor turned his back on the crowd, and the announcement was finished. The villagers stood for a moment, letting his words settle into their brains. Then they burst into action. They scrambled and scurried in every direction, flowing away from the riverbank and toward their cottages to do what the mayor had advised.

“Well done, Your Honor,” Oma told the mayor. She turned to Marco, who stood at attention with his axe on his shoulder. “Ready, Master Smith?”

Marco thrust out his chest. “Yes, mistress. With pleasure.”

Just then came a loud squawk from the hen in Agatha's arms. Not-Hildy fluttered furiously and flapped to the ground. She ran in tight circles and then settled onto the grass, clucking quietly to herself. The cats at Agatha's feet watched her, as if they'd never seen such a bold chicken.

“What's wrong?” said Agatha. “I didn't hurt her, did I?”

“There's nothing wrong,” said Oma. “She's getting ready to lay.”

Marco pushed his cap back on his head and laughed. “Well, how do you like that? Just the mention of cutting down this here vine is enough to set things straight. Why didn't we think of that before?”

In rapt silence they all watched Not-Hildy. Rudi understood what Marco was saying. If the hen could lay an egg, it meant the enchantment must be over, or nearly so. In any case, it would be a hopeful sign.

Not-Hildy sat as still as a stone, as if she were thinking about something very important. The cats twitched their tails, but kept a wary distance. A single gray cloud drifted across the face of the sun.

Suddenly Not-Hildy fluttered her wings and stood up. With a satisfied squawk, she shook herself out and commenced pecking in the grass for seeds and bugs.

Rudi stepped to the spot where Not-Hildy had been sitting. He carefully brushed at the long grass until he found what he was looking for. His eyes grew wide, and he sat back on his heels, staring. In the distance, thunder rumbled.

“Oma?” he said. “What color should a hen's egg be?”

“What kind of silly question is that? White or brown, most always. Why? What color egg does a speckled hen from Petz lay?”

Rudi lifted the egg to show her. “Golden.”

“Let me see
that egg,” said Oma, holding out her hand.

In the sky above, rainclouds gathered, blotting the sun. Thunder rolled. The collection of cats hissed at the impending rain, and scampered away to their secret corners.

Rudi handed over the egg carefully, though somehow he was sure it would not break. It was very heavy, for an egg.

“What's
that
?” came a small voice from behind Rudi.

“Roger! What are you doing here?” A fat raindrop hit Rudi's head.

“I forgot my bean basket,” Roger said, staring at the egg in Oma's hand.
She quickly dropped it into her apron pocket. But it was too heavy, and it tore through the threadbare fabric and fell onto the grass.

“You should be at home!” she said, covering the egg with her foot. “Indoors, safe-like. Didn't you hear the mayor? This beanstalk is coming down.”

Roger didn't move. His stunned gaze shifted from Oma's foot to the axe on Marco's shoulder. Its handle was as long as Roger was tall.

The sky grew darker. Thunder rumbled again, closer now. Rain began to fall.

Rudi scanned the ground near the beanstalk. Spying Roger's basket, he plucked it from the grass and handed it to him. “Best be going now,” he said.

Still staring, Roger nodded slowly and backed away. Then he ducked under the barrier rope and dashed toward home, scattering bean pods in his wake. Rudi heard his voice over the rising wind. “Konrad! Wait'll I tell you what I just saw!”

Oma motioned for Rudi to retrieve the egg from the grass and hand it to her. “Master Smith? Time's wasting, and I'm getting wet.” She wiggled her fingers through the hole in her pocket. “My best apron,” she muttered.

Marco weighed his axe and circled the beanstalk, taking its measure.

Blinking the raindrops from his eyes, Rudi hurried to
pull Oma outside the rope barrier and up the slope of the riverbank. Agatha scooped up Not-Hildy and followed them as thunder rolled across the sky.

Finally Marco was ready. He spat on his palms, rubbed them together, and hefted the axe, adjusting his grip on the thick wooden handle.

Rudi held his breath.

In one powerful motion Marco lifted the great axe from his shoulder and swung it through the air.

At that same moment there came a blast of thunder that shook the ground.

FUM!

Rudi and Agatha exchanged a horrified look.

WHACK.
The axe head struck the beanstalk and sliced through a vine as thick as Rudi's arm.

FUM!

“Oma,” croaked Rudi, “that is not ordinary thunder.”

“I didn't think so,” said Oma, her gaze fixed on Marco. “Master Smith,” she said calmly. “Keep going.”

Marco swung the axe again, and again, working his way around the huge tangle of vines.
WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

FUMM!

“He's coming!” Agatha hissed in a desperate whisper.

Marco's
brow furrowed upon hearing these words, but he did not look up from his task. With a sleeve he wiped sweat and rain from his face, and he swung the axe again.

WHACK.

The beanstalk began to buckle.

FUMM!

WHACK.

Then, from high overhead, Rudi heard a crackling and a rustling. It grew louder and closer, gathering itself into a rush, and then a roar, as the beanstalk came crashing toward the ground.

Rudi shut his eyes and covered his head. Beside him, Oma gasped. Agatha stifled a scream. Not-Hildy squawked. A blast of wind hit Rudi as the beanstalk fell, knocking him off his feet. The ground shook as if the sky itself were falling.

Then all was still. The rain stopped. The wind died away. Not a single bird dared to sing. Even the river itself seemed hushed.

Away in the distance, thunder rumbled and faded away.

Rudi opened one eye, and then the other.

Before him lay the beanstalk. It had fallen across the river, narrowly missing the footbridge, and created another bridge, of sorts. It snaked away across the near meadow and toward the Berg, its upper end disappearing in
the pine forest that carpeted the lower slopes of the mountain. On the riverbank a ragged green stump remained, hacked and torn. Bean pods and leaves littered the ground. The stakes supporting the rope barrier had been ripped from the ground by the force of the fall.

Rudi scrambled to his feet and helped Oma up. “Are you all right?”

“Fine, fine,” she answered, brushing leaves from her skirts, the golden egg still in her hand. “Right as rain. Well done, Master Smith.” Then she frowned. “Master Smith?”

Rudi's stomach knotted. “Marco?” He took a step toward the fallen beanstalk. “Where is he?”

“Under here!” came a voice from somewhere near the footbridge.

Rudi and Agatha scrambled down the riverbank in the direction of the voice. After a few frantic moments Marco popped out of the water, clinging to the fallen beanstalk.

“Lucky thing I fell into the river,” he said, water running in rivulets down his face. “That beanstalk would've crushed me if I'd been on solid ground.” He pulled himself along the vine toward the riverbank, where Rudi offered a hand to hoist him up. “Is everyone all right up here?”

They all nodded. Not-Hildy squawked in Agatha's arms.

“He's gone,”
declared Agatha, scanning the horizon in all directions. “Brixen is saved!”

Rudi heaved a sigh of relief.

Oma tilted her head, listening. “Let's hope so. I don't trust that foreign witch.”

“How's that, mistress?” said Marco, wiggling a finger in his ear. “Did I hear you mention a—”

Oma waved a hand. “Your ears is waterlogged, Master Smith. I can't tell you how grateful we are. You've saved the village from that hazard.”

“Two hazards, or so it seems,” muttered Marco, winking at Rudi. “Glad to do it, mistress.” And he tipped his dripping cap to Oma, who nodded in reply.

Rudi offered his hand stiffly. “Thank you,” he told Marco, and he meant it, yet somehow it bothered him to say it.

“Ah,” said Marco, looking past Rudi. “Here they come.”

And so they were. The villagers of Brixen had emerged from their cottages and workshops, and now they streamed toward the riverbank and the fallen beanstalk with their baskets, sacks, and pails.

The mayor was one of the first to arrive. He took a position on the footbridge, raised his arms, and cleared his throat.

“It seems fitting to say a few words on this noteworthy occasion,” he said, to scattered groans and coughs. “Master Smith here single-handedly disposed of the gigantic
mysterious beanstalk, which had become a danger and a hazard, despite also being very delicious.”

There was a smattering of applause.

The mayor beckoned to Marco to join him on the bridge. “On behalf of the entire village, I thank you. We are forever in your debt, for you are a true hero of Brixen.” As the crowd applauded, the mayor shook Marco's hand, then grabbed his soggy shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks. Marco blushed. The crowd cheered.

“And now,” announced the mayor, “it's harvest time!”

The crowd cheered again. They scampered across the footbridge, settled along the fallen vine, and began harvesting the beans from the fallen beanstalk that had once extended all the way to Petz.

Rudi felt a nudge at his elbow.

“So,” said Oma. “What do you think of our new hero?”

“Happy for him,” said Rudi immediately. “Very happy, good for him. I've always liked Marco, good for him.”

“You're babbling,” Oma said.

Rudi's face burned.

“Don't worry.” She patted his shoulder. “Your time will come. Though, when it does, you may wish you were still a bystander.”

By nightfall the
news had spread through the entire village. Not even the biggest crop of beans after the leanest winter in memory was enough to distract the townsfolk of Brixen when an interesting rumor surfaced.

It had started with Roger. He'd told his brother Konrad, and had been overheard by their friend Nicolas, who'd found Rudi, who had escaped to the milking barn in search of solitude.

“The foreign girl has a hen that lays golden eggs!” said Nicolas, breathless. “Konrad said that Roger said you saw her lay one. Did you?”

Rudi had known this was coming, but it vexed him anyway. And it had happened more quickly than he'd expected. “Did I see the foreign girl lay a golden egg? No.”

He carried the milking stool to Rosie's stall.

“Very funny, Rudi.”

Rudi settled on the stool and rubbed Rosie's flank. “Who else did Roger tell?”

“Nobody,” said Nicolas. “Only Konrad, but he's Roger's big brother, so Roger had to tell him. That's all.”

Rudi squinted at him and waited.

“Well . . . ,” said Nicolas. “Of course they told their mama, but what can you do when your mother asks you a question? And mothers and fathers aren't allowed to keep secrets from each other, so I expect their papa knows too. And I think Mistress Tanner and Mistress Gerta might have heard Roger telling his mother. But that's all.” Nicolas took a deep breath. “Nobody, really.”

There was no point in getting upset. It didn't change anything. Rudi still had one more errand to run. It would be tricky, though, now that news of the golden egg was spreading. People would object to having this newfound wealth taken from them. Rudi guessed that Oma would tell him to climb the Berg at first light, so that he and Agatha might escape the attention of curious neighbors asking where they thought they were going with that there chicken.