One Witch at a Time (4 page)

Marco clapped Rudi on the back. “Don't be so modest!” He leaned closer. “Nothing wrong with embellishing the truth a bit, lad. It builds a healthy respect. I've been thinking of taking on an apprentice. Interested?”

“Me?” said Rudi. “Oh, I couldn't. My papa needs me. And I like the dairy. But thank you for asking, all the same.”

“Where are you off to?”

After a moment's hesitation Rudi invented an errand, and surprised himself at his own words. “I'm off to unlock something. I think.” It must have been the thought of the keyhole beans tucked deep inside his pocket.

Marco lifted an eyebrow. “You don't say. Have you got the right key?”

Rudi shrugged. “I don't think it's that sort of lock.”

“Wouldn't be much of a lock if it didn't need a key,” said the blacksmith. “Wait here.”
He disappeared into his shed. A moment later he was back, and he pressed something heavy and cold into Rudi's palm. “A skeleton key. It will open all but the most devious lock.” Marco gave him a nudge. “Or you could always throw it. It's solid enough to raise a welt, I've no doubt.”

Rudi regarded the iron key, which was nearly as long as his hand. He couldn't imagine needing it for either purpose. Still, he nodded his thanks and slipped the key into his pocket.

Now Rudi came upon the tanner's cottage. He hesitated, wishing he could go up the mountain by himself. But Oma was not someone he could easily disobey. He steeled himself and banged on the door.

A moment later, Mistress Tanner stood in the doorway with a squalling bundle in her arms. “Good morning, Master Rudi,” she said, not quite looking him in the eye.

This was the way of things now: a wink and a nod. A wary sort of courtesy. Being called “Master Rudi” or “my favorite thief!” All because he had met the witch. He had almost gotten used to such treatment, but he still didn't like it.

Just now it made him feel itchy all over, which
meant he must be blushing. “Good day, mistress,” he said, with an awkward touch of his cap. “My grandmother has sent me with a message.”

After several minutes of discussing, cajoling, and solemn assurances passed along from Oma, the matter was decided, and Susanna Louisa appeared on the doorstep wearing her traveling coat.

“No one but your grandmother could talk me into such a thing, after what happened up there last summer.” Mistress Tanner shuddered. “But if she says it must be done, then I suppose it must. Off you go, then, before I change my mind.” She pulled her daughter close and kissed her upon the head. Then, holding the squalling bundle tightly to her chest, she disappeared inside the cottage.

Susanna Louisa grabbed Rudi's hand, though he had not offered it. “Isn't this exciting? Going up the mountain to visit that nice old woman again.”

“So you remember her?” observed Rudi.

“Oh, yes. That day last summer when that nasty mean fiddler sealed us up inside the mountain. She chased him away forever. After
you
rescued us.” Susanna squeezed Rudi's hand in gratitude. “I wonder why she lives up there, so near the witch?”

Rudi tugged his hand out of Susanna's. “You know, Susanna,” he said carefully, “there are not
two
old women living up on the Berg.”

Susanna frowned in thought. Finally her eyes widened, and the words spilled out in a hoarse whisper. “You mean to say the old woman
is
the Brixen Witch?”

He nodded and put a finger to his lips.

“No wonder Mama was worried.” Susanna grabbed Rudi's hand once more, and pulled him along the lane. “Let's go!”

“Susanna,” said Rudi
as they made their way through the village, “aren't you afraid of the witch?”

“Oh, no,” Susanna replied. “I know she's fearsome when she sends storms and such, but she's only doing her job. Like when Mama says, ‘Are you jumble-headed, Susanna Louisa? I told you to bring that washing in off the line yesterday!' ” She stopped midstep. “Oops.”

Rudi stopped too. “What?”

“I was supposed to bring the washing in off the line yesterday. Oh well!” She tossed a braid over her shoulder and set off again down the lane. “To think I've already met the witch and didn't even know it! And now I'll have another chance. Isn't that nice, Rudi?”

Now it was Rudi's turn to stop short.

Few people ever made the acquaintance of the Brixen Witch. Oma had, sometime long before Rudi had been born. He himself had stumbled upon the witch's doorstep, quite literally, when he had found her enchanted coin last year. But very few people wanted such familiarity.

Now he regarded Susanna Louisa. “You
want
to meet the witch again? Why?”

“Why not?”

Rudi sighed. He tried again, choosing his words carefully. “It's a tricky thing, getting to know the witch. It brings . . . responsibility.” He thought about the wash line. And then he remembered Mistress Tanner's “Good morning, Master Rudi” and the itchy feeling it had caused. “People will think of you differently. They may even become a tiny bit afraid of you.”

“Oh, I'm not worried,” said Susanna. “After all, I'm not afraid of
you
. Will we see the Witch's Chair today, Rudi? I'd really like to see the Witch's Chair.”

Rudi squinted up at the mountain. “I suppose so. If the weather is favorable.”

High on the Berg stood a rocky outcropping. It had
been formed eons ago by the forces of the earth, and it looked just like a chair. For that reason—and because it was deep in the Brixen Witch's realm—it was called the Witch's Chair. Legend said that those who sat upon it would be met with the witch herself. Some considered this a blessing; most considered it a curse. More than ever, Rudi considered it might be both.

They passed through the village gates. Just beyond lay the near meadow, and the River Brix and its footbridge. “My bean!” exclaimed Susanna, and she hurried toward the bridge. With a queasy curiosity, Rudi quickened his pace and followed her.

Susanna Louisa stood on the footbridge, staring at the riverbank. Rudi stepped up behind her, and his gaze followed hers.

On the riverbank Rudi saw waves of soft spring grass, and the first yellow dots of dandelions, and tender rushes poking up at the edge of the water.

Susanna Louisa sighed. “No bean plant.” She looked up at Rudi. “Now what?”

Rudi shrugged and pulled her away from the bridge. “Now we tell the witch that perhaps the magic is biding its time.”

And so they walked—the lanky, serious boy and the knobby-kneed, chatty girl—across the near meadow, where Papa's meager dairy herd was munching hungrily at the new grass. Through the chilly shade of the forest, where the blanket of pine needles muffled every step. Up toward the high meadow, following the switchback trail across the steep slope. Past the treacherous field of scree, where Rudi had lost a magic gold coin many months before.

Rudi thought about the beans he carried in his pocket. He still doubted they held any magic, but their keyhole markings proved they were no ordinary beans. Susanna Louisa had been the one to notice that.

And in her turn, Oma had noticed something in Susanna Louisa. An inclination? A talent? Rudi didn't quite know the right word. Whatever it was, Oma clearly thought it was something the Brixen Witch should know about.

Rudi watched Susanna now. She jostled along beside him with her coat unbuttoned, kicking at patches of lingering snow, examining puddles for pollywogs, showing not the least hint of fatigue or worry. If she had a talent for conferring with such folk as witches, she did not show it. And if this place stirred up within her the same dreadful memories it did for Rudi, she did not show that, either.

“Remember last summer, Rudi? When that nasty
mean fiddler came? I can't recall a thing about following him up the mountain, but we must have, because we hiked down this way afterward. Remember, Rudi?”

Rudi gulped and rubbed his hands on his trousers. “Yes, Susanna. I remember.”

They were on the high meadow now. Dwindling fields of snow clung to the shady spots—the last remnants of the long and brutal winter. The air was fragrant with the first wildflowers of the Alpine spring. Rudi and Susanna turned up their collars to the biting wind, which was always present here, high on the mountain. But the sun was strong, and it warmed their faces even as the wind bit their cheeks.

Susanna Louisa gasped. “There it is!” she cried, and she broke into a run.

The Witch's Chair.

Rudi decided it was no use trying to stop her. Perhaps she was meant to climb up and sit there, after all. Who was he to get in the way of that?

“Give me a boost,” she said, and in a moment she was up. She settled herself on the slab of rock, stretching her legs. “Are you coming up, Rudi?”

Rudi shook his head. This was not a playground, after all. It was a place that required respect.

Now Susanna Louisa pointed excitedly. “There's Brixen! The whole village! It's so tiny and far away!”
She waved a greeting that no one would see.

“We should keep going,” said Rudi. “It's not far now.”

Susanna Louisa scrambled off the rock and brushed at her skirt, which was already too muddy to be brushed clean. “What will the witch do about the beans, Rudi? Do you think she knows who the foreign girl is? My mama says that while we're there, we should ask her to take pity on Brixen after such a nasty winter. And you should ask her for more cows. What else shall we ask the witch for, Rudi?”

He shook his head. “I don't think it works that way.”

“My mama says it does. Everyone says it does.”

Rudi wanted to say, “Everyone is superstitious and silly,” but he held his tongue. He thought for a bit. “I think the witch is . . . more like a night watchman.”

Susanna tugged at a braid. “You mean she sleeps all day, and snores so loudly that the windows rattle?”

Rudi stifled a laugh. “No. I just think that the witch knows things we don't. The same way the night watchman can see so well in the dark, and can hear faint noises. The way he stays alert while everyone else is sleeping. The night watchman doesn't
cause
a smoldering ember in a haystack to grow into a blazing fire. He's just the first to see it, and he warns everyone else. I think the witch is sort of like that.”

Susanna Louisa skipped ahead of him on the path. “But that's not magic,” she called back to him. “Doesn't the witch do any real magic?”

The path was steeper now, and Rudi stepped more carefully. “Oh, yes. There is real magic about the witch, no doubt. I'm only saying that—perhaps—some of what the witch does only
seems
like magic, because we don't pay attention as well as she does.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” said Susanna, stooping to pluck a handful of tiny pink rock jasmine. “How old is the witch, Rudi? Can I ask her about that, anyway?”

“I don't think you're supposed to ask such things,” said Rudi, following her along the rocky path. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. “I think we're almost there. Better hold on so you don't slip.” And he reached out to take her hand.

But she was gone.

“Susanna?” Rudi turned
in every direction, but she had vanished.

She could not have gone far. The high meadow was behind them, and now the path wound steeply toward the peak of the Berg. On one side, the sheer face of the mountain rose toward the sky. On the other side were scattered boulders, and just beyond them was—nothing. The mountain simply fell away on that side. Anyone who wandered more than a few steps off the path might never be seen again.

But Susanna Louisa was as sure-footed as a mountain goat, Rudi told himself. She had not slipped once on their journey so far.

“Susanna?” He steeled himself and peeked over the edge.