The Autumn Castle (31 page)

The streetlight over the storm drain, obscured by the swinging branches of the big elms, reflected in the window but illuminated
nothing within. Everything was black behind it. What was in there?

The gurgling of the storm drain and the thundering of the rain on the awning meant she didn’t hear the others approach. When
Jude grabbed her in a wet embrace she nearly shrieked.

“Sorry, babe. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay. I was thinking about something unpleasant.” She touched his wet curls. “You’re soaked.”

“Let’s go inside and dry off,” Pete said.

“Good idea.”

The four of them squashed together under the umbrella and made it across the street to Hotel Mandy-Z, then inside where it
was warm and dry.

Early the next morning, before Jude was awake, Christine dressed and let herself out of the building. She stood under the
elms in the drenched dawn and looked up at the gabled window again. No wonder it had been black the night before. The window
was painted over. She returned to her apartment and lay down on the bed next to Jude, wondering why someone would need to
lock an attic up with three deadlocks, and paint the window black.

I am so filled with frustration and anger. Where is Miranda? Why can’t anyone give me an answer? I go to sleep thinking about
her, I dream about her, I wake up with her name on my lips like the bad aftertaste of an ill-digested meal the evening before.

So much of this frustration and anger is misdirected too. I also feel enraged with myself, because I know that whatever is
in Miranda, whatever it is that makes her a creature apart from the human race, it is in me in small measure. I am, remember,
the product of a union between human and faery. Thirteen generations ago, yes, but not necessarily thirteen generations diluted.
Have you never seen a painting of a distant ancestor, and marveled at how his teeth are prominent like your teeth, or how
her eyes are heavy-lidded like your eyes? Each of my twelve male ancestors in a direct line from the faery has been blind
or color-blind as I am. I know, whether I’m comfortable with it or not, that it is in me.

Now humans don’t normally breed with faeries. The story of my family’s original union with them goes like this. In the far
north on the borders with Denmark, there lived a wealthy man with two sons named Oswald and Diebolt. The man thought it would
be good for his sons to go out into the wide world and try their fortune. He gave them each a knapsack with food and gold
coins in it, and waved them off on their adventure.

The younger son, Diebolt, walked for a day through forest and found a little cottage in bad repair. The dense shade allowed
only a few stains of sunlight to shine on the rotted panels and abandoned birds’ nests. Beyond, in the distance, he could
see the turrets of a castle. The sun was low in the sky and he wondered if he should stop for the night at the cottage, or
make for the castle even if it meant spending a night in the forest. The choice was taken from his hands when a strange-looking
little man—a dwarfish fellow with thin wrinkled arms and a tuft of white hair—popped out of the cottage doorway and said,
“I am old and poor, but you may stay here the night as long as you give me half of what’s in your knapsack.”

Diebolt looked at the dwarf, who was indeed very old, and at his rundown cottage, and thought, “Why should I have so much
more than this little man? Half the gold and food in my knapsack is a high price for a night’s rest, but he needs it more
than I do. I’m young and strong.”

So Diebolt agreed. He came inside and laid out all the food and coins from his knapsack on the table, divided them carefully
in half, and gave the dwarf his share. Then he set about helping the dwarf prepare a meal, swept the hearth, and fixed a leak
in the roof. He became exhausted soon after and the dwarf led him to a warm, soft bed, where he slept soundly.

The next morning, as he bade the dwarf farewell, the dwarf pulled a shining object out of his pocket and handed it to Diebolt.

“What’s this?” Diebolt said, examining the object. It was a gleaming red jewel strung on a silver chain.

“It’s a token of my gratitude. Wear it always and it will bring you good fortune.”

Diebolt thanked the dwarf warmly and hung the jewel about his neck. Then he hoisted his knapsack on his back and went on his
way.

Now Diebolt’s brother Oswald had been lazy and slow in leaving his father’s home, and was many hours behind him. As Diebolt
was leaving the dwarf’s house, Oswald arrived. He saw the jewel about Diebolt’s neck and said, “Where did you get that beautiful
jewel?”

Diebolt explained how he had spent the night with the dwarf (Oswald had spent it at an expensive inn not far from his father’s
house) and how the dwarf had rewarded him with the jewel.

“Now, if you’ll come with me,” Diebolt said, “we can share in my good fortune and take on the wide world together.”

“No, thank you,” Oswald said, for he had another plan, “I’d prefer to travel at my own pace.” Then they waved each other good-bye
and went their separate ways.

Oswald eyed the dwarf’s house. How could someone in such a tumbledown house have such a fine jewel, and if he had one, might
he have another? Oswald knocked on the door and the dwarf appeared.

“I would like a jewel like the one you gave my brother,” Oswald said.

“I am old and poor, but you may stay here the night as long as you give me half of what’s in your knapsack,” the dwarf said.

Oswald could barely contain his laughter. Half of what was in his knapsack for a bed in this hovel! Then he thought of a way
to trick the dwarf so he agreed.

They went inside and Oswald took from his knapsack one loaf of bread. “This is all I have,” he said, “but you may take half
of it.”

The dwarf took the bread gratefully and asked Oswald to sweep the hearth. Oswald thought that sweeping the hearth was beneath
him, so he did it halfheartedly and accidentally spread ashes onto the floorboards. Then the dwarf asked him to fix a loose
window, but he was growing tired from all the work, so he pretended to fix it by stuffing the gap with a rag. Then, although
it was only midday, Oswald said he was tired and where was the bed he had been promised? The dwarf led him to a soft, warm
bed and he spent all day in it, dreaming about the jewel that the dwarf would give him and feeling very pleased with himself.

The next morning, Oswald awoke early and was so impatient for his jewel that he rose and made a lot of noise to wake the dwarf
up.

“I’m going now, little man,” Oswald said. “I know you paid my brother handsomely, and expect the same courtesy.”

“Ah, I see,” said the dwarf. “Very well, hold out your hand.” And the dwarf handed Oswald a shining jewel strung on a silver
chain. “There you are, it’s what you deserve.”

Oswald hung it about his neck and set off in the early morning light.

About a mile from the cottage, he noticed a strange buzzing noise. He looked around but couldn’t see where it came from. He
took a few steps farther, but the buzzing was growing louder. In fact, it seemed to be coming from under his shirt. He pulled
open the front of his shirt and the jewel on the silver chain was gone. In its place was a piece of string with a fly tied
to it.

“Argh!” he cried, tearing the string from around his neck and flinging it to the ground.

The fly slipped the knot and took flight, but not before it darted toward Oswald’s face and, in the very voice of the dwarf,
said, “You lied and were lazy and greedy. You have received precisely what you deserved.”

Oswald was so angry that he stomped through the forest, cursing and breaking branches with rage. He walked so fast that he
managed to catch up with Diebolt, who had spent the night in the forest, and was incensed to see that Diebolt’s jewel still
hung around his neck

“How is it possible that your jewel hasn’t turned into a fly?” Oswald demanded.

“What do you mean?”

“The dwarf gave me a jewel too, but because I only shared a loaf of bread with him, and spread the ashes rather than sweeping
them, and fixed the window with an old rag, it turned into a fly and flew away.”

“If you lied and were lazy, why would you deserve a jewel?” Diebolt said. “Come, brother, don’t be sad. I’ll share my jewel
with you. You see, it’s magic. Last night when I realized I’d have to spend the night here in the forest, I just held the
jewel and wished for a warm bed, and one appeared in front of me. In the morning, when I woke, the bed disappeared again.”

Now Oswald was even more angry. A magic jewel! He didn’t want to share it, he wanted it all to himself. So he raised his staff
and hit Diebolt over the head. When Diebolt fell to the ground, he stole the jewel and hung it about his own neck, then proceeded
on his way to the castle.

When Oswald arrived at the castle, he was greeted by a beautiful young woman whom he took to be the king’s daughter.

“Good day, my lady,” he said, bowing deeply, “I wish to see the king to show him something wondrous.” He thought the magic
jewel was his opportunity to impress the king and win some favor.

The king’s daughter, whose name was Konstanz, wrung her hands together and said, “Alas, the king is terribly ill and cannot
leave his chamber.”

“Then take me to his chamber and I will demonstrate there.”

Princess Konstanz agreed, and led him to the king’s chamber. The king was indeed very ill and pale, propped up in his bed
with many servants around him attending to his every need.

“Father,” Princess Konstanz said, “this young man says he has something wondrous to show you.”

“What is it?” said the king irritably.

“A magic jewel, sire. Watch.” He held out the jewel and said, “I wish for a table of food.” A moment later, a table appeared
in front of him, laid out with hot bread and jam and pickled fish.

The king sat up with a start. “Then you have finally come! It is said that when a young man with a wishing jewel arrives at
the castle, he is to marry my daughter and conceive this very night a son and heir, who shall be born before I die.”

Oswald thought himself very lucky to have won the hand of the princess and to have been proclaimed father to the throne’s
heir. He imagined he would have a very nice life indeed under these circumstances and agreed immediately to a hasty wedding,
very eager to partake of the wedding night pleasures. He didn’t think of his brother Diebolt once.

In the meantime, the dwarf, walking through the forest to find firewood, stumbled across Diebolt lying unconscious on the
ground. He helped him to his feet and asked, “What happened to you?”

“My brother hit me and stole the jewel you gave me, and I believe he has gone to the castle.”

The dwarf twisted his little face into a grimace and said, “Then I know what has happened, because of the ancient prophecy
associated with the wishing jewel. He must be punished.” Because, of course, the dwarf was of the faery race, and they are
unforgiving and irrational people, among their many other faults. He didn’t suggest that Diebolt go to the castle and explain
the situation, but plotted instead his own revenge.

Knowing that Oswald would, that very night, lie with the king’s daughter and produce an heir, the dwarf summoned up a friend
of his, a faery hag, to help him. As evening approached, the faery hag bound and hid the princess and then took her place
in the bed.

When Oswald neared the bedroom with a lit taper in his hands, the faery hag called out, “No, my husband, put out the light.
Let us share our pleasures in the dark.”

Oswald did what he was told and climbed into bed next to the hag. He touched her bosom and belly, and thought that her skin
was very saggy and thin for a beautiful young princess.

“Princess Konstanz,” he said, “your skin is not as silky and plump as I imagined it.”

“That is because I waste away with desire in every second you do not kiss me,” she said.

He was surprised by her being so forward, but complied and kissed her. Her lips felt very hard and whiskery for a beautiful
young princess.

“Princess Konstanz,” he said, “your lips are not as smooth and full as I imagined them.”

“That is because I waste away with desire in every second you do not poke me.”

Again he was surprised by her forwardness, but complied and eased himself on top of her and slid inside her. She felt very
dry and loose for a beautiful young princess.

“Princess Konstanz,” he said, not quite sure how to phrase his next statement, and trailed off into an awkward silence.

“What’s the matter, my lord? Is my hole not as wet and tight as you’d imagined it?”

He instantly realized this was not his sweet young princess and he tried to pull away, but the hag locked her bony legs and
arms around him, and using some disgusting magic she milked him of his seed over and over again, for many, many hours, until
he finally had none left in him. She cast him aside, and then jumped out of bed and ran to the king’s chamber. By this time,
her stomach was already swelling with the child of her union with Oswald.