One Witch at a Time (18 page)

“Why not?” he said. “Perhaps you're not an actual witch. But I think you
could
be one.” Then he stopped to catch his breath. “That is, if you're willing.”

You has a choice
, the Brixen Witch had said.

Now Rudi looked into Agatha's brown eyes. “It's a big responsibility, though. I think that once you decide, there may be no changing your mind. And you'd never be able to leave Petz, I suppose.”

Suddenly Rudi realized what he was suggesting. To be witch of your province meant more than simply paying attention. It required endless vigilance. It meant presiding over a thousand scattered lives. Listening to the mountain breathe. Knowing the steps of every lamb in your province, and the flutter of every wing. To say that it was a big responsibility was like saying a blizzard contained a few snowflakes. He was suggesting to Agatha a lifetime of care and worry. Several lifetimes, perhaps.

“You'd be a very capable witch, though,” he heard himself saying. And he knew it was true.

“Me?” she said again, and then her face clouded and she stole a glance through the cottage window. “What about Papa?”

Rudi thought for a moment. “He could be your adviser.” Even as he said it, Rudi knew that Ludwig would be equal to that task.

“Is that allowed?” asked Agatha.

“Why not? There are rules, it's true. But I've never heard of a rule about where a witch must live, or who her advisers should be.”

Agatha frowned and bit her lip. She rubbed her arms vigorously against the cold. “You're telling me that Petz can be freed of its tyrant? Once and for all?”

Rudi nodded.

She looked all around her—at the crooked houses with their faded shutters; at the feeble spirals of smoke rising from the crumbling chimneys; at the hard-packed, snowy ground that was as gray as the sky.

And then she smiled, another genuine smile. She opened the door of the cottage and leaned inside. “Papa!” she called. “I'm going for a walk!”

They made their plans as they hiked up through the village.

“What if the key is gone?” said Agatha. “How will we get in?”

“We'll use a bean.
You'll
use a bean,” he said. “And I have a feeling that will be enough.”

And so it was. Though the small door into the fortress was locked again, and bolted for good measure, it opened under Agatha's hand as if it had been waiting for her. They stepped inside the Giant's fortress, and the warm scents of wild roses and new grass washed over them.

Once again they crept between the wall and the hedge until they came to the Giant's back meadow. As quickly and gently as they could, they released Not-Hildy to the familiar confines of her yard. She immediately began to scratch and cluck, as if all her adventures had been a burlap-colored dream.

The storehouse was locked too, but Agatha made quick work of opening the door. They shook the magic
beans from their pouch onto the huge mound of keyhole beans piled in one corner. They set the golden eggs there too.

“Ready?” said Rudi to Agatha.

“No!” she whispered, grasping his arm. “I thought I was, but am I? What do I need to do? How will we know if . . . if it works?”

Rudi did his best to sound reassuring. “I have a feeling that if it happens, we'll know it. Wait here, where he can't see you, until I've had time to get back to the beanstalk. Don't worry,” he added. “I know you are equal to the task.”

With that, Rudi walked out of the storehouse and along the low stone wall that enclosed the Giant's back garden. He stood at the gate and stared at the grand house, gathering his courage. He rubbed the back of his hand. The scraped knuckle had already begun to heal, and at any rate it hadn't been much of a scrape. No worse than the daily scratches and bruises he collected while working on Papa's farm. Milk buckets, fence posts, bad-tempered cats. What was another scrape, more or less?

In one swift motion Rudi swept his knuckles across the rough stone of the wall. He felt a mild sting as the scab tore away and the small wound opened. It oozed the tiniest drop of blood.

He didn't have to wait long.

FUM. . . .

Rudi smiled with satisfaction, and ran for his life.

He had crossed the meadow and reached the hedge before he realized that he hadn't wished Agatha a proper good-bye.

He had wrenched open the small door in the wall of the fortress and propped it open with a rock before he also remembered that he might never see her again.

FUM. . . .

He had charged down the slope, through the village of Petz, past Ludwig's crooked cottage and an assortment of startled villagers, before he decided that, though Agatha would be bound by the rules of magic and never be allowed to venture outside Petz herself, there was really no reason why he couldn't come back to visit her one day. He would have to go the long way, of course. But it could be done. And when the new witch had restored the summer to Petz, and the seasons were once again in their proper order, it would most likely be quite a pleasant place to visit.

FUM. . . . FUMM. . . .

Rudi found the beanstalk behind the clump of windblown trees and began to climb. Would the Giant follow him this time?

In a moment the beanstalk began to shake and sway, and Rudi knew. As he scrambled along the inside of the beanstalk, he could see the Giant's shadow through
the green vines, following him on the outside. They raced along the beanstalk, up, and then horizontally, and finally down. The Giant's shadow was always just behind Rudi.

By the time they reached the other end of the beanstalk, at the border of Brixen and Petz, the Giant's shadow had blended with a twilight that Rudi knew had come too early.

In the dusk at the peak of the Berg, someone was waiting for them.

“Who goes there?” said the Brixen Witch as Rudi hurried to stand by her side. “Who is trespassing in my backyard?” She raised a hand. There was a sudden flare of light, which settled into a steady golden glow of lamplight. At her feet lay her little hatchet.

“You know who I am!” bellowed the Giant. He dropped from the beanstalk into the circle of lamplight, crushing what remained of the signpost that had once pointed toward Brixen in one direction and Petz in the other.

And now, for the first time, Rudi had a clear view of the witch of Petz. Rudi didn't know what he'd expected. But he had not expected this.

He looked for all the world like an ordinary man. He was perhaps as old as Papa, and he was dressed in rough woolens. The only extraordinary thing about him was his size. Standing there, on the edge of the ice
field that marked the border of Petz, he looked as tall as three men, at least.

“You are harboring a thief!” roared the Giant.

“A thief?” said the witch innocently. “Whatever did he steal from you that makes you come all this way after him?”

“Ask him yourself,” answered the Giant, pointing at Rudi. “This time you're caught, thief! Give it back!”

“This?” said Rudi, holding up a small oval object. It glimmered in the lamplight. “It's only one golden egg. A mere fraction of all the wealth and magic you possess.”

“What has you done now?” hissed the Brixen Witch. “Bringing Petz magic to Brixen again?”

“Don't worry,” whispered Rudi, and he showed her. It was the brown egg Susanna had given him, shimmering like gold in the lamplight. “The Giant is so angry, and so busy chasing
me
, that he hasn't noticed that all his magic is back in Petz.”

The little witch squinted at him, and the beginnings of a smile appeared on her wrinkled face. “Clever lad.”

The Giant stepped off the ice and onto the bare rocky ground of Brixen. He did not, Rudi noticed with a vague disappointment, turn to ice. A few more steps, and the witch of Petz would be upon them.

Now Rudi's mouth fell open, and he stared in astonishment. For as the Giant drew nearer, he seemed to shrink in size. When he finally stood in
front of them, he was only a few inches taller than Rudi.

At the same time, the blackness at the edge of the lamplight faded away into daylight.

It's happening,
thought Rudi.
The witch of Petz has abandoned his post. His power is waning.

Rudi imagined the summer flowing out of the Giant's fortress through the small open doorway, and over the high stone wall, covering all of Petz like a soft green blanket. He imagined the new witch emerging from the storehouse and throwing open the dark shutters of the grand manor, letting in the sunshine and fresh air. And he wished he could be there to see it for himself. But for now it was enough to imagine it, and to believe it must be true.

The Brixen Witch nudged Rudi. “Give me the egg and take the hatchet,” she whispered, never taking her gaze from the once-giant man.

Rudi did what she had asked. Then, as the Brixen Witch kept up her conversation with the diminished Giant, Rudi crept past them with the hatchet in his hand.

“ 'Tis not real gold, I'm afraid,” the witch was saying. “But 'tis tasty, I'll wager. Would you like me to fry it up for you?”

The Giant raised a fist. “You know who I am,” he snarled again. “I am a witch as powerful as you!”

“Is that so?” said the witch. “You seems to be losing your steam.”

Now the Giant stopped. He looked himself up and down. He stared at the Brixen Witch in horror. They were nearly eye to eye. “What have you done?” he cried.

“ 'Tis not myself,” she said. “ 'Tis simply the rules. Once, you were a witch. But you has left your province unattended, and it seems someone else was ready to take your place. You are relieved of your duty.”

The man from Petz—for that was all he was now—opened his mouth in fury, but then his brow smoothed. “I'm so tired.” He blinked at the Brixen Witch as if seeing her for the first time. “I do like a nice fried egg.”

“Come along, then,” she said. “I see the spring nettles is sprouted. They'll make a lovely cup of tea. Nice and tender. Hardly any sting to 'em at all this time of year.” And the Brixen Witch led the weary traveler down the slope.

Rudi scratched his ear. “I think she's really going to fry him an egg,” he said to himself.

He turned his attention to the task at hand. It was a small hatchet, and it would take some time to finish the job.

As Rudi prepared to take the first swing, something came fluttering down the beanstalk, deep pink against the green of the leaves.

A flower. A wild hedge rose.

“Clever girl,” said Rudi, tucking it into his pocket.

In Brixen, the
spring blossomed into summer.

The last patches of snow melted. The days grew longer, and the hours were marked by roosters crowing, by cows demanding to be milked, and by the bells of the steeple clock.

The villagers of Brixen ate their fill of beans, and planted more, for a bumper crop that would continue to provide for many seasons to come.

Rosie's calf, Daisy, grew strong and healthy, and now the Bauer dairy had four cows, which was better than three.

Marco the blacksmith took on a new apprentice. He was a quiet fellow, emigrated all the way from Petz. He had no family there, he said, and couldn't even recall why he had stayed so long. He had finally moved on,
and had never been more content. He owned an iron key just like the ones Marco forged. He was quite fond of fried eggs.

No one ever spoke again of the golden eggs. It was bad luck to talk of such things.

But Brixen folk love a good story, and so stories were told that summer, during the long, mild evenings, of once-frozen lands across the mountains, and cracking ice, and thawing ground such as hadn't been seen in many a long year.

Konrad claimed to hear stories of a foreign witch. A giant, a witch-king, a
hexenmeister
, who became too greedy and who finally met a bad end when a worthy challenger fought him to a bloody and gruesome death. Konrad told the story to Roger, who told it to Nicolas, who said it was ridiculous, and so he told Rudi, who told no one at all.

Susanna Louisa had been waiting for Rudi, just as she had promised. And every day she brought him a fresh brown egg laid by Hildy, her very own hen. Sometimes, if the light was right, the egg looked as if it were made of gold.

As for Rudi, he milked the cows and planted beans. He picked ripe elderberries for Mama to bake into tarts. From time to time he visited the old woman who lived on the mountain. They shared stories, and tea, and elderberry tarts. On market days Rudi walked to Klausen, where he saw no furtive red-haired girls, and he told himself he was glad.

He became accustomed to the sidelong glances from his neighbors and the whispers behind his back. He told himself it was a mark of respect. Some things you are born with, he decided. And other things you learn. But it's what you're good at that matters. Rudi was good with cows. He was good with witches.