One Witch at a Time (15 page)

“I'm busy,” Rudi said to Nicolas without looking up.

“But—”

“I don't know where it is.” He knew what Nicolas wanted to ask. “My Oma
put it away. Someplace safe.”

Nicolas's shoulders slumped. “I wouldn't have told anyone.” He turned and left the barn.

As he tended to Rosie, Rudi breathed deeply. The cows could always tell if he was upset or worried, and it worried them, too. And poor Rosie was already spooked. Just as Marco had reported, she'd given barely a drop of milk all day. Even now her udder was soft, not full and swollen with milk as it ought to be. Nearby, her newborn calf watched patiently. If the calf didn't have a meal soon, she would starve, and that would be more than Rudi or his family could bear.

All because of the foreign magic.

Rudi knew it was up to him and Agatha to take the Giant's treasure back where it belonged. And it would be even more treacherous this time, because this time the Giant would be waiting for them.

He wished he could set out before daybreak. But it would be folly to venture up the Berg in the dark.

And what if Rudi failed in his task? He could hardly bear to think of what might happen then. Why was such a huge task left to him, anyway? He was only thirteen years old. Why couldn't someone else do it? Marco was strong and brave. He was a true hero. The mayor had said so. Marco was the perfect person for the job.

Rosie gave a long, low
Mooooo
.

“Sorry, Rosie,” said Rudi. He gently rubbed her bristly coat. “It
seems neither one of us is in the mood.” On his way out of the barn, Rudi caught a glimpse of Zick-Zack. She arched her back and hissed at him, then darted away into the shadows.

Inside the house, the mood was no better. Oma rocked in her chair as if to keep the rug from flying away. Mama fluttered around the kitchen, trying to prepare a meal of mostly beans. Out the back window Rudi saw Agatha tending Not-Hildy, who was quarantined in a little pen of her own, away from the view of inquisitive neighbors.

Papa shook his head at the collection of baskets piled high with beans. “Plenty of food at last, but what good will it do if the cows won't milk?” he said. “Oma, are you sure we can't sell that egg at market? Think of what it could buy. We're on the brink of disaster here.”

“Sit down to dinner, and don't ask me such a thing.” Oma scowled and rocked. “Unless you want a true disaster on our hands.” She motioned Rudi closer. “Tomorrow morning, at first light,” she whispered.

And there it was. Rudi wished he could refuse to go. But there was no refusing Oma.

What would the Brixen Witch think, seeing him in trouble yet again? She'd probably think that he was the wrong person to be dealing with such things.

More and more, Rudi thought she might be right.

There came a knock at the door.

It was the mayor, red in the face and twitchy in the fingers. He nodded a greeting to Mama and Papa. But when he noticed Rudi, he removed his hat and bowed hastily. “Good day, Master Rudi,” he said.

Rudi felt the color rise in his face.

“Now what?” said Oma, not bothering with niceties.

The mayor rotated his hat in his hands. “Well, mistress, there seems to be a bit of scuttlebutt regarding that remarkable hen of yours.” His gaze darted around the room.

“What are you looking for?” Oma snapped. “Do you think we're the type of folk who keep chickens in the house?”

“Certainly not!” the mayor said. His hat rotated more quickly. “At any rate, I've had a number of inquiries about that chicken. It seems the good folk of Brixen want to know what's to become of the remarkable egg that your remarkable chicken laid on the riverbank this afternoon.”

Oma stared at him. Her rocking chair creaked. The mayor squirmed. Oma looked pleased.

The mayor tried again. “You see, mistress, it was a difficult winter, if you'll recall.”

Oma continued staring and rocking.

“And the townsfolk, you see, are wondering about this newfound bounty, which quite clearly came about because of the mysterious gigantic beanstalk . . . which, seeing as it
was so large, was more or less everyone's business. . . .”

“Yes, yes,” said Oma, running short on patience. “Everyone has had their share of beans, have they not?”

“Oh, yes, mistress,” the mayor hurried to say. “Everyone is enjoying them so much that they're already getting sick of them!” He cleared his throat. “So you see, it's not the beans, really. It's the other thing. From the hen?” He scanned the room once more.

“What about it?”

The mayor took a deep breath. “Some folk are saying the egg should be sold, and the proceeds divided up amongst the whole village.”

Oma rocked in her chair so hard, it inched across the room. The mayor took a stuttering step backward.

“Now you listen to me, Master Mayor. That hen is not mine, and neither is her egg. And no one else in Brixen can make any claim to them neither. They're going back where they belong. You think that beanstalk was trouble? Believe me, you don't want to see what kind of trouble that egg can cause.”

The mayor nodded nervously. The hat turned. “What shall I tell folk, then?”

“Tell them whatever you like. Tell them I fried the egg and ate it for dinner.”

The mayor raised his eyebrows. “Yes. Well. I'll think of something to tell them. All my best to you, Master Rudi.”
He bowed once more, plopped his hat onto his head, and left the house.

Oma rocked forward, grabbed the door, and slammed it shut after him. She muttered to herself, thinking. Then she looked up, surprised. “What are you looking at?”

Rudi cleared his throat. “Where is it, anyway?”

With a sly grin, Oma reached into her mended apron pocket, drew out the golden egg, and held it up for everyone to see. “They can say all they like about it, but it won't matter a bit. At first light tomorrow it's going back where it belongs. Isn't that so, Rudi?”

Rudi nodded miserably. Mama gave a worried
tsk
. Papa blew his nose.

There came another knock at the door.

“Now what?”

Rudi opened it. “Oh, hullo, Roger.”

Roger held out an empty cream pitcher. “I'm here for my reward.”

Rudi scratched the back of his head. “Sorry. But it seems our cows aren't milking at the moment. We'll have to owe you.”

“Oh,” said Roger, but his disappointment didn't last long. “Can you come out and play?”

Before Rudi could answer, they heard a loud squawk through the back window. Then a voice: “Oh dear!”

“Agatha?” said Mama. “What's wrong, child?”

“Nothing's wrong, exactly,” said Agatha, appearing in
the window. “It's just . . . this.” She held up another golden egg.

“Put that away!” cried Oma, but it was too late.

Roger's eyes grew wide. The empty cream pitcher dropped to the floor with a crash, and he dashed out the door.

“Konrad! Wait'll I tell you what I just saw!”

Rudi could not sleep. For the second time in as many days, he lay awake in his bed, waiting for morning and thinking about the errand he did not want to run. His knapsack lay just inside the front door, the two precious eggs wrapped and hidden deep within.

The villagers had heard about the second golden egg. They had visited the Bauer farm in a steady stream all evening, trying in turns to cajole Oma, or argue, or threaten her, into handing over the eggs. But Oma would have none of it. She cajoled and argued and threatened right back.

Still, they tried. The mayor argued that things had changed in the short time since his first visit. It was no small feat for a hen to lay two eggs in one day, not to mention two such remarkable eggs. With a little luck, every family in Brixen might have their own egg before long. What could it hurt to wait, and return Not-Hildy to her owner in a week or so? “We needn't tell him what his hen's been doing,” the mayor added with a knowing wink. “He'll never be the wiser.”

Mistress Tanner nearly pushed her squalling baby through the open window, demanding to know how Oma could be so selfish as to keep those eggs for herself, without regard for a helpless babe who could not speak for itself.

Even Marco the blacksmith, who had witnessed for himself the enchanted nature of the chicken and her eggs (and who, in any case, should have known better than to argue with Oma), declared that if seven-year-old Roger could earn a silver florin just for finding a bean, he himself should have at least one golden egg for relieving the village of the mysterious beanstalk. Especially now that Oma had two.

And so it went into the night. Finally, Papa had barred the door and latched the shutters tight, and ordered Rudi to keep his slingshot close at hand against the possibility of a more serious confrontation.

Perhaps, Rudi had thought, Marco was not the perfect person to deal with witchy business after all.

But now, as he lay in the dark, Rudi was convinced that
he
was not the right person either. He thought of the awkward respect his neighbors showed him, just
because he'd had dealings with the Brixen Witch. At first it had made him feel important. But did he really want to live his whole life that way? Standing apart from everyone else. Being pointed at. Whispered about. And for what? So people could pester him with selfish requests, and go away muttering, or worse, if he gave them an answer they didn't like? To think he'd been jealous of Marco, even for a moment. Marco could have the attention. He was welcome to it.

Rudi punched his pillow and flopped onto his stomach. Why did anyone need to go with Agatha at all? She'd managed to travel to Klausen by herself in the first place, even crossing the border unharmed. She could certainly carry the magic back to Petz by herself. She even had the other beanstalk to make the going easier. She'd be perfectly all right on her own.

The more Rudi thought about it, the more certain he became that there was nothing he could do. In fact, he would only be in the way.

He rolled onto his back.

It was decided, then. He would tell them in the morning. He would give Agatha the golden eggs, and the chicken, and the warm clothing he'd borrowed from her father, and send her on her way. He might even give her a good-bye kiss. It would be fitting on such an occasion.

But he could not quiet his mind. He tried not to think about the Giant, who must be growing more
furious with each golden egg laid by the stolen hen. He tried not to think about Ludwig, and all the decent people of Petz, condemned by their witch to live always on the brink of starvation, in a never-ending winter. He tried not to think that once Agatha walked out his front door, he would most likely never see her again.

From the barn across the yard came the lowing of a cow, and then the bleating of a calf. “Don't worry, little one,” Rudi whispered. “Soon the Petz magic will be gone and everything in Brixen will be back to normal. Your mama will give milk again.”

The calf bleated once more. She sounded hungry.

Rudi lay in the dark and stared at the rafters, and tried not to tell himself that there could be only one way to know for sure that the foreign magic was safely and completely out of Brixen.

He kicked at his covers.

Why should it be his responsibility, anyway?

He couldn't think of any reason why. He only knew that it
was
.

He would be going to Petz.

Why was the morning so slow in coming?

Finally Rudi gave up trying to sleep. He would double-check the contents of his knapsack, and he would get dressed, so that when first light came, he'd be ready.

He crept down the stairs to find Oma sitting and rocking in the dim light of the fireplace embers.

“Why are you up?” he asked her. He stirred the embers, waking the fire.

Oma's chair creaked. “Couldn't sleep.”

Rudi began gathering his things. He dropped a few beans into a burlap sack so that Not-Hildy would have something to eat along the way. He made sure Ludwig's mittens and fur-lined hat were packed safely in his knapsack, and he added warm clothing of his own for the journey home.

“You're a good lad,” came Oma's voice from the shadows.

Rudi looked up from his task. Somehow those few words were almost enough to make him feel better. It was as if she knew and understood all his doubts.

He tiptoed to the window and swung the shutters open, so that he would see the first hint of light when it touched the eastern sky. But all was black and quiet. Even the moon had gone to bed.

Rudi pulled on his boots and coat. “I'll go out to wake Agatha.”

She had insisted upon sleeping in the barn. She'd said she preferred it to sleeping indoors, which would remind her too much of home and of her father, who must be worried sick about her by now.

Poor Ludwig. Rudi had made a promise to him, too. Going all the way to Petz was the right thing to do, after all. He could see Ludwig once more, and thank
him properly for his kindness. He could personally return his hat and his mittens, and his daughter. He could witness Ludwig's joy and relief at seeing Agatha safely home again.

“Keep an eye on that one,” said Oma. “She's agreeable enough, and I know she's your friend. Goodness knows it's no picnic living in Petz. But there's something about her I don't trust. There's things she isn't telling us.”

Rudi knew what she meant. “Oma? How does an enchanted beanstalk grow from a magic bean, anyway?”

“What makes you think I know such things?” Oma rocked, and creaked.

Rudi shrugged. “Agatha says . . . she says you did something at the riverbank to make it sprout.” He looked at his grandmother sidelong. “She thinks you're a witch.”

“Does she, now? That's funny. Because I say
she
did something to make it sprout.”

“How could she? Doesn't it take a witch, or at least someone who knows about magic? You know some things about magic, don't you?”