The Autumn Castle (32 page)

“My King, my King,” she said, “see the offspring that young Oswald has brought into the royal line.”

With no further warning, she lay upon the ground naked and spread her legs and pushed and pushed until a hideously mutated
child emerged and lay shrieking upon the floor.

And that, my friends, was my long-ago tenth great-grandfather.

I expect you’re wondering what happened to them all. The mutant son was large of head and shriveled of feet and completely
blind. The faery hag disappeared as soon as she had birthed him, and the king called for his retainers to collect the mutant
son and abandon him in the woods. He demanded that Oswald explain what the faery hag had meant, but Oswald denied any knowledge
of the faery hag and had, indeed, found the bound princess by this time and threatened her with violence unless she denied
it too. So the king believed that it was nothing but a mischievous faery tale, and allowed Oswald to stay in the castle.

Within a few months, it became clear that the prophecy had not come true, and that Konstanz was not pregnant with a son and
heir. The king cursed and swore, demanding to know if the young people had lain together on their wedding night. They had,
they said, and every night since, but still no child was forthcoming. The king, who was very sick and in pain and just wanted
to die, knew he would have no relief until an heir was born.

Meanwhile, in the forest, the mutant son lay puking and mewling for a day before Diebolt found him and took pity on him, and
decided to raise him as his own dear son. He carried the child back to the dwarf’s cottage, but the dwarf was nowhere to be
found. Presuming the dwarf wouldn’t mind, he set up a little bed for the child and called him Rudolf.

The dwarf never returned, and Diebolt wondered if perhaps he had died. It seemed very sad to him, as the dwarf had treated
him more kindly than his brother had. Rudolf grew very fast and was remarkably developed, and although he could not see, he
could speak before he was a week old, and walk within a month, and was the size of a full-grown child within a year.

On his first birthday, Rudolf asked Diebolt if he could have a special present.

“What is it, my child?” Diebolt replied.

“I would like to visit the castle and meet the king.”

And because it was the only thing Rudolf had ever asked for, Diebolt agreed that he would take him to the castle and ask to
meet the king.

They walked all day to the castle and when they finally arrived a guard at the gate stopped them and tried to turn them back.

“No, you can’t come in and see the king,” he said. “Nobody sees the king except his daughter.”

“Then let his daughter come down and we shall ask her,” Diebolt said, determined to grant Rudolf’s wish.

Princess Konstanz came down to greet them. Diebolt had never seen anyone so beautiful, but he didn’t know that her beauty
had been marred by the previous terrible twelve months, stuck in a marriage with a man who was cruel and whom she didn’t love,
worried about the awful pain her father was in, and trying over and over to conceive a child who would not come. But when
she saw Diebolt’s face, she felt kindly toward him.

“My lady,” he said, “my son’s dearest wish on his birthday is to meet the king.”

Princess Konstanz took one look at the poor blind, deformed creature and agreed. “Of course. Come in, I will take you to his
chamber myself.”

“I have a story to tell the king,” Rudolf said, excitedly dancing about next to Diebolt as Konstanz led the way to the king’s
chamber.

“I’m sure he will delight to hear it,” Konstanz replied. A few minutes later, they were standing within the king’s chamber.

“Father, a blind boy wants to meet you.”

The king sat up. He was very weak and gray, and in great pain. He didn’t recognize the child, of course, as it had been a
newborn babe just a year ago when he last saw it.

“What is your name, child?” the king asked.

“Rudolf,” the child answered, “and I have a story to tell you.”

“Go ahead, Rudolf,” the king said.

Rudolf opened his mouth and told him the whole story about Oswald and Diebolt and the ugly little dwarf. The king listened
in stunned silence, but Konstanz sobbed all the way through. Then the king turned to Diebolt and said, “Is this true?”

Diebolt replied, “Yes, it is, but you must believe me when I tell you that I did not put the child up to this. I have been
happy with my lot in life.”

The king ordered that Oswald be brought in for questioning, and he denied everything.

“Show me the wishing jewel,” the king demanded.

Oswald handed it over, giving Diebolt a black look. The king examined the jewel closely. “How am I to tell,” he asked, “who
is your rightful owner?”

At that instant, the dwarf appeared out of nowhere. “I am the rightful owner of the jewel, your Majesty,” he said, “but as
to the story you have heard here today, every word of what the blind child said is true.”

So the king immediately ordered Oswald’s marriage to Konstanz invalid and offered her instead to Diebolt. They conceived that
night an heir to the throne and the king now knew he could die a happy man. The king ordered that Rudolf be made a knight
of the realm, and he was also given a huge area of land on which was bestowed many gifts from the faeries who pitied his deformities:
diamond mines and hot springs and magnificent manors, all of which were the basis of my family fortune. Rudolf then lived
happily to an old age and had a son with his beautiful wife. We are an unbroken line of only sons.

As for Oswald, well, the king was angry and vengeful over his deception and planned a fine punishment for him. An iron mask
in the shape of a donkey’s head was cast and bolted over his head. Then his head was forced inside the royal oven that was
used to roast pigs and sheep. The oven was lit, and his head was cooked while he was still alive. Only, I assure you, he did
not remain alive for long.

And so ends the tale. Not a particularly happy ending, for despite the great fortune that I still enjoy, it seems to me that
I have been deprived of something the value of which I can only imagine. Color. I admire form and shape so much, color would
have been among my favorite things in the world. Instead, I have only shades of gray.

It is surely not too much to ask for a little pleasure in its place, even if that pleasure might seem cruel.

Somehow, they’d all ended up in a punk club in Prenzlauer Berg, very, very drunk for this early in the evening. It hadn’t
looked like a punk club when they’d followed the
HALF-PRICE SPIRITS
sign that afternoon, but now a very loud band was playing songs to a crowd of mohawks, chains, and dirty tartan.

“Look at these kids,” Gerda shouted over the music. “I feel old.”

“I feel older,” Fabiyan replied.

“Pete seems to be enjoying himself,” Christine said, indicating in front of the stage where Pete jiggled furiously to the
music.

“Is someone keeping an eye on the time?” Gerda asked.

Christine checked her watch. “We’ve got an hour.” They had organized to meet Mandy for a late dinner nearby. Christine was
apprehensive. Every time she had seen Mandy lately he seemed jangled and desperate, and always wanted to bring the conversation
back to Mayfridh.

Jude returned from the bar and distributed drinks. “Apparently there’s going to be twelve bands on tonight,” he said. “I don’t
like our chances of getting Pete out of here.”

“He’ll wear himself out shortly,” Gerda said. She turned to Fabiyan and asked for a cigarette, and for a few moments the two
of them were lost in a conversation that Christine couldn’t hear.

Christine leaned her head on Jude’s shoulder and sipped her drink. It was vodka number six and, as always with spirits, the
drunkenness was creeping up on her slowly but comprehensively.

Jude touched her hair. “You okay, babe?” he said, close to her ear.

“I’m drunk.”

“Me too.”

“It’s weird without Mayfridh here. I miss her.”

Jude didn’t answer. She sat up straight and looked at him. He was lighting a cigarette. “Do you miss her?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

“Did you like her?”

He shrugged again. “Why do you ask?”

“Sometimes I’m worried about her. You know, she disappeared so suddenly.”

“She probably had her reasons.”

“But what if something bad has happened to her?”

“She strikes me as the sort of woman who can look after herself. It’s not as though she was the smartest or most rational
person we ever met, Christine. She probably broke a fingernail and was so distraught that she had to go home to that wolf
guy.”

“Eisengrimm. He’s not a guy, he’s just a wolf.”

“Whatever,” he said, dragging deeply on his cigarette.

“You make it sound like he’s a werewolf or something.”

“Again, Christine, whatever,” he said, his voice rising almost imperceptibly, his hands moving emphatically. “None of it matters
anymore because she’s gone and it’s all over.”

But it wasn’t all over, because Christine still had the ball of twine and winter wasn’t here yet.

As though reading her mind, Jude held up a cautionary finger. “I really don’t want you going there.”

“I know, I know.” Maybe if she just disappeared to Ewigkreis for an hour or so, just to check if Mayfridh was there and well
and happy. Otherwise, how would Christine ever know if her friend had got back safely, and hadn’t just fallen prey to some
accident here in the Real World?

“I mean it, Christine. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I heard you the first time,” she mumbled, turning her shoulder to him.

His arms enclosed her waist. “Don’t be angry with me,” he said softly in her ear.

“Jude . . .”

He turned her to face him and kissed her deeply. His mouth tasted of rum and warm tobacco. God, she loved him so much.

“Come on,” he said, “cheer up. We’ve got to put on our happy faces for dinner with Mandy.”

She drained her drink. “I’ll need more vodka before then.”

Christine ended up so drunk that she became paranoid about crossing the road. She checked and checked and checked that there
were no cars coming, afraid to trust her eyes, while the others gestured and ridiculed her from the other side of the street.

“Come on!” Gerda called. “We’ll be waiting all night.”

This was the fourth intersection she had held them up on. Jude dashed back across the road, put his hands over her eyes, and
walked her across briskly.

“Don’t, Jude,” she said, trying to struggle free. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m drunk. You’re drunk. We’re all drunk.”

“But what if you misjudge the distance?”

“We’re here now.”

He uncovered her eyes and they were safely on the pavement. Spirits-drunk. It messed with her head every time. The world seemed
to tilt beneath her. “How far?” she asked.

“Just there,” Gerda replied, pointing out a bustling Indian restaurant ahead of them. Some diners were braving the autumn
chill at the outside tables. The inside was cavernous and smelled of rich spices. In the very farthest back corner, Mandy
sat at a table set for six, alone, checking his watch.

“Are we late?” Jude whispered guiltily.

“Twenty minutes,” Gerda replied.

In those few moments before Mandy spotted them, Christine felt a stab of pity for him. Sitting lonely in the restaurant, waiting,
watching the time, while they were all getting drunk and laughing at him. But then he saw them and stood, and smiled with
his tiny teeth, and that ineffable loathsomeness of his pushed pity out of the way.

“Good evening, all,” he said.

“Sorry we’re late,” Gerda replied, taking the seat at the farthest end of the table.

Christine didn’t get to a seat fast enough, and found herself sitting next to Mandy. In her drunken state, the ginger hair
sprouting from his pallid knuckles became nightmarish. She couldn’t stop staring at it.

“Are you well, Christine?” he asked, leaning close.

She jerked her head up. His eyebrows were the same color as the hair on his hands, a terrible mismatch with his dyed and greasy
black hair. “I, ah . . . yeah. Yeah, thanks, I’m well.”