The Autumn Castle (30 page)

“Hexebart,” Eisengrimm said in a stern voice, “you must cooperate with us at all times.”

She nodded solemnly.

Eisengrimm turned to the chief guard, a burly fellow with a bright yellow beard. “When the queen unlocks the cage, pull the
witch out carefully. Never let the fingertips on one hand touch the fingertips on the other. That’s how she works her magic.”
Eisengrimm nodded at Mayfridh. “Go on, Little May. Open the cage.”

Mayfridh unhooked her belt of keys. Unlike ordinary keys, they did not correspond to particular locks and doors. Each key
was enchanted, just as each lock in the castle and dungeons was enchanted. No ordinary lock could hold Hexebart. Ironically,
it was the witch’s own spell that held her captive; she had built all the enchanted keys and locks while still in Liesebet’s
service many years before. Mayfridh stilled her hands as she approached. The cage hadn’t been opened in decades and the lock
was flaked with rust.

“Hexebart, spread your arms apart,” Eisengrimm said. The witch complied.

The door to the cage sprang open, and two of the guards roughly bundled Hexebart out, keeping her arms spread wide apart.
Eisengrimm instructed them as they twisted her arms behind her back, turned her hands knuckle to knuckle inward, then tied
a block of wood between them. Then her hands were bound tightly from her fingers to her wrists. Mayfridh watched anxiously.
The knots were secure. Hexebart endured it all in angry silence.

The burly guard gave Hexebart a shove. “Come on, witch,” he said, “time to inspect your new home.”

With Eisengrimm in front, two guards on either side of Hexebart, and Mayfridh following them and never taking her eyes off
Hexebart’s bound hands, they made their way back through the trees and the garden and down the stairs toward the dungeons.
The first gate swung open. Hexebart’s feet shuffled and scuffed obediently, a counter-rhythm to the marching guards. Mayfridh’s
skin itched with tension; the danger, the secret. The party continued through the other three gates, and finally arrived at
the cells.

“Walk her past them all, one by one,” Eisengrimm instructed. He let the guards go ahead of him with Hexebart, hanging back
with Mayfridh.

“You see,” she said, “it’s all working out.”

Eisengrimm’s eyes were following the progress of the witch up the corridor as the guards lit each cell for her to peer inside.
He returned his attention to Mayfridh. “She is suspiciously silent.”

“Perhaps she really is considering giving my magic back. Perhaps it’s the penitence we’ve dreamed of for so long.” Mayfridh
was still hopeful that this would prove true; then Eisengrimm couldn’t look at her sternly and think her foolish.

“Perhaps,” Eisengrimm said, sounding not in the least convinced.

“We’ve looked in all the cells, your Majesty,” the burly guard called from the other end of the corridor.

“Very well, bring her back and we’ll lock her up.” She took a key between her trembling fingers. As soon as the others were
gone, she would know.
She would know.

Guards flanking her tightly, arms bound behind her, the hag shuffled down the corridor with her head hanging down.

“So, witch,” Eisengrimm said. “You have seen all the cells and they are empty. What do you say now?”

Hexebart lifted her head and parted her lips. Mayfridh saw the glimmer of light on her tongue too late. There was a horrid
spitting noise and a flash of blinding light, and then she was on the floor, confusion and darkness and shouting all around
her.

“Where is she?”

“What happened?”

“Run after her!”

“It’s too late. We’ve all been sleeping for an hour.” This was Eisengrimm’s voice.

Mayfridh opened her eyes and rolled over. Eisengrimm stood above her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“I . . . feel a little bruised.”

“She had a spell in her mouth.”

“I saw it. At the last moment.”

“She’s gone, Mayfridh.”

Mayfridh sank back on the cold floor and groaned. No secret of Jude’s; no magic for the winter blessings; Hexebart on the
loose. She didn’t want to be queen anymore. It was all too hard. She wanted to go shopping with Gerda and drink coffee in
Christine’s kitchen.

“My Queen?” Eisengrimm said.

“Send out a search party,” she replied. “We have to find her quickly.”

Hee hee hee, Hexebart is free! Silly little queen. Did she really think Hexebart would be well behaved? Did she not remember
how despised she is? Hexebart laughs and laughs, nearly doubles over. Into the Eternal Woods she plunges. They could search
for weeks and never find her in here. Hexebart checks all around. There! A hollow in a tree. Hexebart squeezes herself in,
leaving her bound hands dangling out behind her. Damn them for the block they tied between her fingers. Just the lightest
touch of fingertip to fingertip and Hexebart could work her magic. But the bossy wolf is too smart, too smart.

And yet not smart enough. Just a stupid dog in the end. Hexebart is free.

It won’t take long to fix. Hexebart is clever and Hexebart is patient. See? If she rubs the ropes on the rough edge of this
hollow, they will eventually wear right through and drop off. Then Hexebart will clap her hands with glee and make magic with
her fingers, and who can stop Hexebart then? Nobody. Certainly not a smelly little changeling princess and her dog.

Ha, ha, la, la, la,

Hexebart is going far.

My, that’s a cold wind. Brr! Hexebart tries to wriggle her fingers. They are icy on the tips, poor things. But never mind,
because Hexebart won’t be here for long, no. Hexebart is going somewhere where the houses are warm and the windows don’t let
in drafts and people don’t have to live in cages. Hexebart is going to the Real World.

Over There, Over There,

Who but Hexebart would dare?

Hexebart isn’t afraid. Hexebart knows people there and will be sure to visit them. Especially that girl with the long brown
hair . . . her name is . . . Christine, that’s right.

Hexebart has a little story to tell Christine.

W
here’s Miranda?”
Christine took a wary step back from Mandy, who stood outside her door, wild-eyed and with his shirt only half-buttoned. His
pale, hairy belly was exposed. “I don’t know,” Christine said, “I haven’t seen her for nearly a week.”

“Gerda told me she left. Did she say she was leaving? Is she coming back?”

A thread of unease curled in her stomach. Mandy sounded desperate. Christine had no idea he had fallen so hard for Mayfridh.
She also had no idea why Mayfridh had gone. She hadn’t left a note and the suddenness of her departure made Christine wonder
whether the seasons had changed early back on Ewigkreis, and whether her friend had disappeared forever with them. Already
she had fielded three frantic calls from Diana Frith, who also suspected the worst.

“Mandy, she could be gone forever,” Christine said, hoping this would end the conversation definitively. “It was always a
possibility.”

“Forever?” His voice was forlorn, a child who’d seen his favorite teddy washed out to sea.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d grown so fond of her.”

He turned away without answering and started up the stairs. Christine gratefully closed the door, leaning back on it with
a sigh. Mandy was becoming weirder and weirder. It made her wonder if there was more to him than simply a few disgusting habits
and a lot of money.

And if so, what more was there? She shuddered. What an unnerving thought.

Gerda was relating the name and physical dimensions of every man she had ever slept with—an astonishingly full and thorough
list—when Christine realized she had lost Jude.

She stopped Gerda mid-sentence and turned to check the dark, slick street behind her. “ Where are the boys?”

Gerda turned with her, keeping the umbrella steady overhead. “They must have stopped to buy cigars. Remember we were all talking
about it at dinner? Come on, let’s keep going. I don’t want to stand out here in the rain.”

They set course for home, and Christine said, “Go on, Gerda, you were saying?”

“I’ve forgotten where I was up to.”

“Lars, seven-and-a-half inches,” Christine reminded her.

“I’m tired of it now.”

“I wish they’d told us they were stopping somewhere. The rain’s getting heavier.”

“We wouldn’t have all fitted under one umbrella,” Gerda said, giving the umbrella a twirl. “This is pretty, Miss Starlight.
Where did you buy it?”

“Can’t remember. I’ve had it for years.” Christine glanced over her shoulder again.

Gerda punched her arm lightly. “Don’t worry about Jude, he’ll be fine. Pete will look after him.”

Christine raised an eyebrow. “Pete? Look after anybody?”

Gerda giggled. “I see your point. Hey, have you heard from Mayfridh?”

“Not a word.”

“I miss her,” Gerda said, “she was a lot of fun.”

“You miss her because you’re not getting free clothes anymore.”

“That too. But I do miss her.”

“So do I.” More than she could put into words.

“It was weird, wasn’t it, how she just disappeared?”

Christine sidestepped a puddle. The rain was heavy now, infringing on the dry space under the umbrella. “I expect she had
to go back. You know, with winter coming.”

“She told me she’d be here for weeks yet. At least a month.”

“Perhaps something happened back in Ewigkreis.”

“You’d think she’d leave a note.”

“It’s strange.”

“You could go and see her.”

“Jude’s worried that winter has already started there. That I’d get stuck.”

Gerda frowned. “Not yet. Hey, give me the twine. I’m not afraid to go.”

Christine couldn’t bear the thought of Gerda being able to share in her precious journeys to Ewigkreis. She’d convince Eisengrimm
to smoke cigars and the locals to build a jazz club before a week was out. “Sorry. Mayfridh made me promise not to give it
to anyone else,” she lied.

Gerda showed no signs of disappointment. “Mandy’s taken her disappearance badly.”

Christine shivered, but it may have been from the sudden cold wind that roared down the street, chilling the rain on her sleeve
to ice. “What has he said to you?”

“He just asks about her a lot. Where did she go? Is she coming back? Did she say anything before she left?” Gerda fished a
cigarette out of her pocket and jammed it in her mouth. “What do you think it’s all about? Was he in love with her?”

“I guess so. He’s been freaky since she left. On edge. Watching me closely.” Christine laughed. “I thought he was creepy before,
but it was only the tip of the iceberg.”

“Oh yeah, he has unknown depths of creepiness,” Gerda said. Her lighter flashed in the dark, then sputtered out. “Damn rain,”
she said.

“Here, let me help.”

Christine stopped and cupped her hand around Gerda’s while she lit her cigarette. She took the opportunity to check behind
her again. Where was Jude? Normally she wouldn’t worry, but he’d been so vague and withdrawn lately. She could easily imagine
him stepping out in front of a car without seeing it.

“Still,” Gerda said as they turned into Friedrichstrasse, “you must be a little relieved that she’s gone.”

“Relieved?”

“She had her eye on Jude. Didn’t you notice?”

“Many women before her have had their eyes on Jude,” Christine said. “Nothing ever comes of it.”

“Any as beautiful as Mayfridh?” Gerda smiled and poked her elbow in Christine’s ribs. “Apart from me, of course?”

Christine took the poke with good humor. “I don’t know if beauty comes into it, Gerda. You’ve seen what he paints.”

“Ouch, Miss Art Critic,” Gerda said, pulling the umbrella away. “You can walk in the rain for that remark. You’re talking
about Jude the genius.”

“Don’t, Gerda, I hate getting wet.”

“Sorry.” The umbrella was restored. “Has Jude said anything about Mayfridh going?”

“No. I told him she’d disappeared and he just went back to his painting.”

“So you really think he doesn’t notice other women?”

Christine thought about that splash of red, so hastily painted out. “Sometimes he doesn’t even notice me, Gerda.”

“Maybe he just pretends not to notice them. Maybe he has a secret other life where he indulges all his sexual fantasies.”

Christine gave Gerda a cautionary frown. “Don’t put ideas like that in my head.” For an instant she imagined finding out that
Jude had slept with Gerda. It would kill her.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to be nasty.”

“You never do.” She checked over her shoulder once more before they turned into Vogelwald-Allee. “Look, there they are.”

Gerda turned and waved madly at Jude and Pete, who were huddling together in the rain about two hundred yards behind them.
“Christine,” she said, “wait here under this awning. I’ll take them the umbrella.”

“But—”

A second later, Gerda was tearing off down the street and Christine had to slip under the awning of a music shop to protect
herself from the downpour. The movement pulled a muscle in her back, and she pressed her hand against it. From here, she could
see diagonally across the road to Hotel Mandy-Z. She supposed she could dash the distance in the rain; it was only about fifty
yards. As she looked at the front of the building, her eye was drawn upward to the gabled window at the top of the building.
The attic. Mandy’s attic. She remembered the door with the three deadlocks. That was where it led.