One Witch at a Time (16 page)

“So do you. And so does that tanner's girl, from what I've seen, but neither of
you
could make it sprout. How do you explain that?”

Rudi shook his head. He couldn't. And yet something nagged at his mind. What had the Brixen Witch said about the gift for magic? That it was partly a gift of nature and partly something a person could learn, through practice.

But he had more pressing things to think about right now. He buttoned his coat and left the dark house to venture across the dark yard to the dark barn.

He found Agatha already walking toward the house. “Zick-Zack woke me,” she said. “Silly cat was purring so loudly. She does that just before she goes off to catch her breakfast. I wonder why she woke so early today?”

“She was probably thinking about eating
you
for breakfast,” said Rudi, who still didn't trust Zick-Zack.

Agatha gave a half smile. “Perhaps she wanted to say good-bye.”

Rudi was tempted to offer Zick-Zack to Agatha as a gift, but he changed his mind. Zick-Zack was not truly his to offer. She belonged to no one but herself.

And besides, Petz had enough troubles without Zick-Zack.

Inside the house,
Oma paced. “It's springtime. The sun
should be coming up earlier every day. Where is it today?”

Rudi had never seen her so anxious. But he knew how she felt.

“I heard the steeple clock chime five times yesterday just before dawn,” he said, in an effort to ease her mind. Though, on this night he'd been so distraught that he hadn't heard the clock at all.

Oma shook a nervous finger at him. “Quite right. Good lad. If the sun's not up by the time the clock chimes five, you'll go then anyway.”

“Why don't we go now?” said Agatha. “Before anyone else is awake?”

Oma shook her head. “You'd need torches, and that
would attract attention. The night watchman would love a golden egg as much as anybody, and you've seen how no one in this village can keep his mouth shut. No, best to wait until dawn. But not a moment later. The last thing we need is for that infernal hen to see the sunrise and be inspired to lay another golden egg.”

Rudi shuddered to think what might happen if Not-Hildy laid a third egg.

They waited for the clock to chime, and paced along with Oma, until Rudi thought they would worry a hole in the rug.

Finally it happened. The steeple clock began to peal.

They sprang into a flurry of activity as Rudi counted the chimes.

One . . .

They threw on their coats.

Two . . .

Agatha shook out the burlap sack and opened the back door.

Three . . .

Rudi stuffed a sleepy Not-Hildy into the sack and gently tied it shut.

Four . . .

Oma kissed each of them for luck and pushed them out the door into the predawn blackness.

Five . . .

Rudi heaved a sigh of relief. They were on their way.
Before this day was out, their ordeal would be over.

Six . . .

They looked at each other in disbelief. “How did we—”

Seven . . .

Rudi shook himself. The eastern sky was as black as the sky above his head. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Eight.

Rudi and Agatha stood rooted in place, too horrified to move or to think.

The chiming stopped.

Eight o'clock.

“What's going on?” squeaked Agatha. “Someone is in the clock tower playing a trick, yes?”

Rudi wished she were right, but he knew it could not be so. The steeple clock was sacred ground, in more ways than one. It was the only timepiece in Brixen. No one could afford a clock of their own, but no one really needed one. They had other ways to tell the time. Roosters crowed; dogs and chickens asked to be fed; cows demanded to be milked. And, of course, like clockwork, the sun moved across the sky.

Until today.

“It's not a trick,” said Rudi. “I fear it's the trouble our witch told us about. It means the Giant has finally broken the rules.”

“Rules?” said Agatha. “What rules?”

“Rules for witches,”
came another voice in the darkness. “One witch at a time.”

Rudi couldn't see who it was, but he didn't need to. He knew that voice.

“Susanna Louisa! What are you doing here?”

“I heard about the second golden egg. I thought you might be leaving this morning, and here you are! I wanted to say good-bye.” Her shadowy form pushed a shadowy something at Agatha. “Thank you for letting me borrow these.”

“Papa's things.” Agatha pocketed Ludwig's shearling mittens. She wrapped the woolen scarf around her neck, though the air was not cold.

“Is that what's happening, Rudi?” said Susanna. “The Giant has crossed the border into Brixen?”

Rudi gulped. He could not bring himself to answer her.

“You can fix it, Rudi,” said Susanna, as if she could hear his most secret thoughts. “I know you can. You're the smartest person in the whole village. Besides, the Petz witch has no power in Brixen.”

Rudi blinked at her. “What did you say?”

“Remember, Rudi?” said Susanna. “When the Brixen Witch sent us to Petz with the beans? She told us we'd be on our own, because she has no power in Petz.”

Rudi thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “I do remember that.”

“Well,” said Susanna. “The rules are the same for everyone, right?”

Now Agatha chimed in. “If the Giant has no power in Brixen, how has he kept the sun from coming up?”

“I don't think
he's
the one doing it,” said Rudi. “But I think it's happening
because
of what he did. He's upset the balance. Something like that.” Rudi wished he were better at understanding witches.

“Come with us, Susanna,” said Agatha.

Rudi opened his mouth to protest, but something made him change his mind.

On their journey to Petz and back, Susanna Louisa had caused more trouble than any nine-year-old girl ought to cause. She'd been flighty, and a pest, and a burden. She'd made some drastic errors (Rudi adjusted the Not-Hildy sack on his shoulder), and yet . . .

And yet, she'd been brave when Rudi had faltered. She'd cheered him with her innocent chatter and had made him feel . . . capable. He had been responsible for her, and perhaps that was her most important purpose—to remind Rudi of everything about home that he loved. Susanna Louisa
was
Brixen. Without her, Rudi might never have gotten as far as Petz. And he might never have gotten home again.

Was she clever, as the Brixen Witch had said? Did
she have a natural talent for conferring with such folk as witches—a skill he was still struggling mightily to learn? Or was she simply so trusting, and so full of faith, that it only seemed that way?

“Yes,” he said finally. “Come with us. My Oma is watching from our doorway, see? She'll tell your mama that you've gone on another one of our harmless little errands.” He attempted a smile and a wink, but it didn't feel very convincing. For the briefest moment he was glad it was still dark.

“Please come,” said Agatha. “You can give the scarf and mittens to Papa yourself. He would like that too.”

But Susanna Louisa shook her head in the gloom. “I think maybe not this time. I need to feed the hens. Rudi, can you tell the Brixen Witch I'll visit her again sometime?”

Rudi blinked at her, but he nodded. “I will.”

“And give her this.” She put a small smooth object into Rudi's hand.

“An egg?” he said.

“A real egg. From the real Hildy.”

“Aren't you worried it will break?”

“I know you'll keep it safe. Rudi, we never did tell Agatha about the snow finch, did we? I think perhaps you ought to tell her about the snow finch.”

“Clever girl,” said Rudi, and he meant it. “I will, I promise.”

Now the small shadowy figure of Susanna turned to face Agatha. “And give this to your papa too.” She threw her arms around Agatha, who hugged her in return.

For one more moment, Rudi was glad it was too dark for anyone to see his face. He carefully wrapped and pocketed Hildy's egg. “We should be going,” he said quietly.

“I'll be waiting for you, Rudi,” Susanna told him. “I'll see you when you're back from fixing things.” And she turned and ran, and disappeared into the darkness.

They picked and
fumbled their way up the Berg as best they could in the darkness. But Rudi had spent nearly every day of his life on the slopes of this mountain, and so they made quicker progress than he'd expected.

The fallen beanstalk snaked its way across the near meadow, and up to the forest and the high meadow, as if it knew the way. Agatha could have managed on her own after all, Rudi decided. Still, he was glad to be going with her now.

They walked in silence, to avoid the attention of inquisitive villagers or errant witches. Rudi soon became lost in his own thoughts. Would their witch be able to help Agatha win the summer back? Would they even have the chance to ask her? Or would the Brixen
Witch be under siege herself from the marauding witch of Petz?

And then as they climbed, Rudi realized something was different. The change was so gradual, he barely noticed it at first. But after a few minutes, there could be no mistake.

The sun was coming up.

“Has he gone?” said Agatha.

“It seems so,” answered Rudi. “At least for now.”

Soon they reached the crevice in the mountain. The Brixen Witch's front door.

Rudi knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again, harder.

“I'm not at home,” came a familiar voice from behind him.

Rudi turned and squinted into the pink dawn beyond the crevice. “Mistress? Where are you going?”

“Up,” said the Brixen Witch. She turned and began trudging away up the rocky path, dragging a small hatchet along the ground. In her hands it looked as huge as Marco's great axe.

“Wait!” Rudi scrambled to catch up with her. “You can't chop down the beanstalk!”

“True enough,” she said. “I'm too old to be swinging an axe. You can do it. Come along, and step quick-like.” She turned and started upslope once more.

“No!” cried Rudi. “What I mean to say is, we need the beanstalk.”

“We?”
said the witch, and now she noticed Agatha. “Who's this?” She inspected the girl as if she were some exotic butterfly. “From Petz, judging by the manner of dress. You're the one stole the Giant's beans?” It was not really a question.

Agatha squirmed under the little witch's gaze, and nodded.

The witch shifted her attention to Rudi. “I thought you were going to return them. And yet who did I hear stomping about outside my own front door just this morning? It
should
have been morning, at any rate. Grumbling about his stolen magic.” She shook a finger at Rudi. “Did I not tell you that witches crossing borders would be disaster? Why did you not return his magic?”

“We did!” said Rudi. Now it was his turn to feel squirmy. “But then we stole this.” He held up the burlap sack. Inside it, Not-Hildy clucked sleepily.

“You stole a chicken?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Whatever for?”

Rudi hesitated. “No good reason, mistress.”

“You are telling me that the giant witch of Petz has finally dared to cross the border into Brixen, setting off all manner of mayhem, because of a chicken?”

“An enchanted chicken,” explained Rudi. “Double-enchanted,
really. She bears the Giant's keyhole mark. And then she ate a magic bean. And then—”

“And then this happened,” said Agatha, stepping forward. She nudged Rudi, who produced the two golden eggs. They glimmered in the soft morning light.

“Solid gold,” said the witch, weighing them in her hands. “Magic upon magic.” The witch held out her hand. “What else do you have? Time is wasting.”

Rudi and Agatha both stared blankly. “I didn't bring any—” began Rudi.

The witch bristled. “I'm not asking for tarts!” She turned her attention to Agatha. “Where are they? Do not defy a witch, girl. Empty your pocket.”

Agatha dipped into her pocket and drew out a small pouch.

Rudi's mouth fell open at the sight. “The magic beans? You told me you returned them to the Giant's storehouse!”

“I meant to!” said Agatha. “But everything happened so quickly. The hens squawking in the yard, and Susanna shouting, and the Giant coming after us. I—I couldn't do it. I kept the beans, and we ran.”

“So,” declared the witch. “It seems we're piling up quite a collection of Petz magic. 'Tis more than even a second-rate witch can stand for. No wonder he has finally crossed the border.”