The Fairytale Keeper: Avenging the Queen (19 page)

My eyes flutter at the cerulean glow of the sky before dawn brightens the room. Dawn? Had I slept through the evening and the night? My stomach burns, begging for food, but the heaviness of sleep wins as I sink back into the mat. I sleep until the radiance of the afternoon sun sneaks into the house and burns the back of my eyelids. I roll onto my stomach and cover my face with my arm. Sleep again. Familiar voices sneak into my slumber and weave themselves into my countless, forgotten dreams. It isn’t the rusty orange blush of sunset that wakes me, but an argument I pretend to sleep through.

“Ivo, we hardly have food for us,” Greta says.

“They have no food now. God would want us to be charitable,” Ivo reasons. Greta is devout and she sighs, knowing he is right, but he continues anyway. “She can have my food.”

“You are not giving up your food. You’ll eat what the Lord has provided for you,” Greta huffs. “She doesn’t eat much and she’ll probably sleep through another night anyway,” she sighs.

I pretend to sleep a while longer so they don’t suspect I’ve heard their discussion, not that Greta would feel bad about it. She would tell me plainly she didn’t want to feed me without any guilt for hurting my feelings, but she would never let on that it was because they didn’t have enough food. She is too proud for that and I don’t want her to know I’ve overheard her admit it to her son.

I fake a yawn to warn them I am waking. I stretch, and a warm, heavenly burn flows from my arms into my shoulder blades. My back arches instead of hunching forward like it had been for two days in the stocks. I lay still for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being straight.

“So, you’re finally awake?” Greta says as I sit up and brush the tangles of hair from my face.

“Just in time for supper!” Levi yells gleefully.

“Just in time for supper,” Greta’s repeats with less enthusiasm.

“Oh!” I cry out as I realize I was supposed to be at the White Stag last night. I leap up. “Father’s going to have my hide for this.”

“I’m sure he’s too drunk for that,” Greta huffs. “Erik went and fetched him last night. I haven’t seen either of them since.”

I twist my back and it cracks all the way down. Levi’s eyes widen in amazement at the sound. I sigh with relief, stretch once more, and sit next to him at the table, across from Ivo.

“You don’t have to worry, Addie,” Levi says and pats my arm. “You’re not in any trouble. My father told your father that you fainted and that we had to watch you, but I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up.”

“I doubt your father’s missed you. Him and Father’d been at the Gopher and the Stag all night,” Ivo says. His foot nudges mine softly and I give him a knowing smile as I slide my toe up his ankle.

“And they had lots of drinks, and Father had himself a good time with those damn wanting harlox, and—”

“Levi!” Greta yells and the little boy jumps having no idea what he’s done wrong.

“They’re called wanton harlots, Levi, not wanting harlox,” Ivo huffs.

“Ivo!” Greta barks.

“What are wanton harlots?” Levi asks, careful to say the words correctly.

“They’re—” Ivo starts.

“They are wicked beings! It is a sin to even say those words,” Greta interrupts quickly.

“But you said them to Maryanna this morning. Remember when Maryanna asked you why father wasn’t in the fields and you told her to promise not to tell and you said he was with—”

“Don’t say it, Levi. God hears everything,” she says, pointing up.

“But you said it and Ivo said it and Father plays with the… them.” Levi whines in his confusion.

“Then we shall have to pray very hard tonight so God forgives us all,” Greta says.

Levi pouts and nods his head.

How can Erik allow his wife and children to worry that they might not have enough food while he spends his coins on ale and harlots? I pity Greta for having such a selfish husband. I pity Ivo and Levi too.

Greta slops a small ladle of bean porridge into each bowl and gives the blessing. It could have been Galadriel’s cooking for all I care for I am so hungry. My bowl is empty before anyone else’s. Greta looks at me with pity and serves me another ladle of the porridge.

“Thank you,” I say, for it is a lot for her to give. Tears sting the backs of my eyes and it feels silly to be sentimental over porridge. But it’s Greta’s generosity that makes me so happy and yet so sad at the same time. This may be the last time I eat at this table, I think, swallowing hard on a mouthful of porridge. I shake the thought from my head.

This is probably my last night in Cologne for a few weeks, I convince myself. But if my plans don’t go the way I hope, it could be so much longer. I remove any plans and plots from my mind. If this is my last night in Cologne for a while, then I shall enjoy each and every moment of it.

I taste each bite of porridge now, even though my stomach howls for me to devour it. I watch Levi chew with his mouth open, mashing porridge between his gums and teeth. He smiles so widely with all of his boyish innocence and I try not to think that this might be the last time I see him looking so childlike.

But more than anyone, I watch Ivo. I study his face carefully and try to force each and every feature into my memory. I notice things I’ve never noticed before. He looks down into his bowl as he eats, scooping large spoonfuls of porridge into his mouth. The left side of his jaw tenses as he chews slowly. His hair falls into his face and I fight the urge to reach out and brush it from his eyes. I rest my leg against his beneath the table to satisfy the urge to touch him and he smiles though his eyes are still on his porridge. He tosses the hair across his forehead and looks up so our eyes can meet. Greta coughs and we break our gaze. I stare into my porridge for a moment and look up beneath my eyelashes to see the look on her face. I’m surprised to see her smiling. I wonder if she thinks back to when she was fifteen winters. Perhaps she had a suitor before marrying Erik. Perhaps he was the kind of man who would have never lain with harlots, never hit his children, and provided for her.

I had never really liked Greta much until she sent the friar to give my mother a good funeral. She has always been harsh like Erik, but now as I see her smiling lightly, I think that she probably wasn’t always this way. I can see life has hardened her. I think her life would harden any woman. She catches me staring and looks angry that I have caught her in a moment of sentiment so I avert my eyes quickly.

“You should be heading to the White Stag after dinner,” Greta says coolly. “Ivo, you walk her and bring your father back with you.”

“Can I go?” Levi says.

“No,” Ivo and Greta say at the same time.

***

My stomach settles not long after I finish the second bowl of porridge. Everyone except for Levi is finished with supper. Ivo stands and I rise to follow him out. Greta isn’t the kind of person I would expect a hug from, but she embraces me tightly and puts on a brave face. “You be a good girl for your father,” she says and I nod.

I kiss Levi on the top of his head. He hugs me tightly and sniffles. It breaks my heart to see him cry and it makes me wish even more that I didn’t have to leave, even for a day. “I won’t be gone that long,” I say, and brush my fingers roughly through his hair. I hope it’s true.

The sun is setting as Ivo and I walk closely together up the Witschen Alley. Our hands brush only once before he gently wraps his fingers around my palm. Tonight is a night of no regrets for tomorrow I won’t be here. And really, what is the worst that can happen tonight? Ivo winds his fingers in between mine and smiles the way I love with tiny lines reaching out in little arcs around his eyes. It feels like forever since I have seen him smile like this. I stare at his face and try to memorize it. The thought of not seeing it brings a sting to my eyes so I take a deep breath and push the tears back. I can’t cry now. That’s not how I want to spend my last night in Cologne.

We pause before the door of the White Stag. “I doubt Father shall drink tonight. I shall see him to bed and sneak out. Will the armorer let you out early?”

“I doubt it. We’ll have to meet after midnight,” he says. “Besides, I have something to take care of.”

“Yeah, me too. Meet me here then. Half past midnight?”

“I can’t wait,” he smiles.

I knock softly on the door to Father’s room. I hope he sleeps, but the doorknob twists and I curse my terrible luck. Of course he’s awake. The door opens a crack and it isn’t Father peering at me, but Galadriel. So they share a room and bed again. My lip curls into a grimace at the thought. I am a dog about to bite the mistress of my master, but then I notice the look in her eyes.

At first, her irritated gaze and pursed lips ask:
What do
you
want?
She is displeased, perhaps still angry with me for calling her a whore two days ago.I glance past her to Father who lies sprawled out and face down on the bed. His mouth gapes open and his head rests in a puddle of his own drool.

“It looks as though my presence wasn’t too sorely missed,” I say past Galadriel to Father.

Galadriel follows my gaze and then looks down. The harshness of her face gives way to a soft, childlike pout. She’s having second thoughts about us, I assume with satisfaction. Father’s indulgences displease her already.

She isn’t half the woman my mother was. Mother would have never shared a bed with Father after he’d worried her all night. She would have never sat by and sulked, hoping that her pout might somehow make Father change. But still, I am happy to see her disappointment. Perhaps she shall change her mind and leave for Bitsch without us tomorrow.

“If Father wakes, let him know I’m here,” I tell her. “But I’m unwell and plan to sleep for the rest of the night to regain my strength for our travels.” I hope this deters anyone from checking on me until morning, though I doubt Father shall wake for a long time.

Galadriel nods her head and closes the door. I stick the key to my room in the lock and twist until the door pops open. It is a small dreary room with one candle on a small table, a little fireplace, and a small, dingy bed. I sit and look upon the vacant market. The sunset has darkened to dusk, but I need the cover of night, an empty market, and a bolt cutter to do what I must. For now, at least I can fetch the bolt cutter.

I climb out the window, down the ivy vines, and drop to the ground. I pull the hood of my cloak over my head and walk to Severin’s gate. Just as I am about to turn the corner onto Severin’s Strasse, I stop myself. I don’t know if I can do this, I think, swallowing hard. What if I get caught? What if Gregor gets caught? I feel flushed and my palms grow sweaty. I can’t see Gregor sent to the stocks for me and I can’t go back to them myself. I peer around the corner and see Gregor and Ivan talking in the distance. I press myself against the row house on the corner. I must do this, I think. I will never be able to live with myself if I don’t fix this and there is no other way for me to get a bolt cutter. I’ll just have to be very careful. I take a few deep breaths for courage, compose an innocent look upon my face, and push myself from the wall of the row house.

Ivan and Gregor stop their discussion before I get to them, looking at me strangely. They must think I am going to ask them to open the gate so I can leave the city. They must think I’m crazy to want to do such a thing for it is almost dark and no woman would want to be on the outside of the city walls at night.

“Do you have a pair of bolt cutters, Herr?” I ask Gregor, smiling sweetly.

“Whatcha be needin’ those fer?” he grumbles and raises the eyebrow above his one good eye.

“I don’t know. They aren’t for me. They’re for my father.”

“He sent ya out alone, at night? Don’t seem like Ansel.”

I shrug my shoulders. “He’s not well enough to make the trip himself.”

Gregor nods knowingly. “They’re in the shed over there,” he says and points. “Make sure ya bring ’em back...in the morning. A young girl like ya shouldn’t be roamin’ the city alone at night.”

“Yes, Herr.” I grab them quickly before I can change my mind or they ask any more questions.

I carry the cutters beneath my cloak as I walk quickly back to Hay Market. I hate being on the streets alone at night. I’ve heard enough tales of ravaged girls and slit throats in the back alleys to be fearful and there are fewer night watchmen than ever because of the fever, but that may be a good thing for me tonight. I am back at the White Stag before the bells strike eight and I know I shall have to wait a long time before the market is empty for the night.

I almost head to the stocks a dozen or so times, but am so frightened that I shall be caught. Two and a half very long hours pass before I feel sure enough that the market shall stay empty. I step lightly and remember to continually scan the area as I approach but luckily no one comes. Before I know it, I am standing before him with bolt cutters in hand.

“What do you want?” Elias says hoarsely, not lifting his head.

“To set you free,” I say and he looks up.

“Adelaide?” he says and I nod. “But why?”

Perhaps I should tell him it’s my fault he’s here, sentenced to die of thirst in the stocks, but I don’t. I have to get him out and quickly at that. I have one chance to set him free. I look both ways to make sure no one is around and lift the bolt cutters to the lock. I squeeze, but the iron is thick. I use the muscles in my shoulder and then in my chest, but I’m too weak. Frustrated tears sting my eyes as I realize it won’t work. I’m too weak. Elias shall die here and it shall be my fault.

I wonder if I can somehow use my weight to break the lock. I step back and look at the stock, thinking for a moment. I try leaning one bar of the cutter against the stock and push all my weight onto the other. The iron starts to give. I pry the cutter open and try again, bouncing on the bar until finally the lock snaps. I almost cry out in triumph, but this is only the first of many steps it shall take to make sure Elias is safe and I am not sent to the stocks for freeing him.

I carefully place the cutter and lock on the ground so as not to make a noise. I push the heavy wood of the stock up as high as I can and Elias falls back. I wince as he hits the ground hard, knowing full well how much it must hurt. I grab the cutter and run around the stock to where he lies in the dirt. I grab his arms and drag him toward the alley by the White Stag. He clenches his teeth in agony, and I look away from his face for it is a stark reminder of the pain I felt yesterday morning. I pity him, but if I slow down now someone could see us and then we’ll both be placed in the stocks.

Elias is very heavy and I rest for a moment to catch my breath and look around to check we aren’t being watched. Night watchmen cross an alley in the distance. I gasp and pull again for all I am worth until we are hidden in the shadows of the alley next to the White Stag.

“Why did you do this?” Elias asks with a groan, but I still don’t have the courage to tell him the truth.

I prop him up against the building. “Do you think you can stand yet? We have to get you inside before someone sees you are gone.” I pull him up by the arms and he groans as he tries to stand. He leans over me and the stench makes me gag. I look down and see that urine and feces stain his tunic. The foul odor of putrid fruit wafts around his face and I see pieces of rotten apple in his hair. He leans against the wall, but needs me to hold him for support.

A few drunken men stumble from the White Stag and so I pull Elias farther into the shadows of the alley.

“They let that heretic go?” a heavyset man asks his friend with a slur. The three of them meander toward the stocks and one relieves himself on the wood.

“I don’t know,” his short, stocky friend says with a stumble. He looks down and pauses for a moment before bending over to lift the broken lock from the ground.

I curse at my own stupidity. Why did I leave the lock on the ground? “We have to go now Elias!” I whisper. I wrap my cloak around his shoulders and dishevel my hair to hide my face. Elias shifts his weight to my shoulders and I hold my breath as much as I can. I can’t bear his weight and we fall. The three men stand up straight and I know they’ve heard us. The heavyset man turns his head and, for a moment, I fear he looks me straight in the eyes. My heart pounds against the bones in my chest until his gaze shifts and I know he hasn’t found us out. We are hidden well enough by the shadows.

Elias tries to rise again and groans.

“Wait,” I hiss, afraid that if the men hear us again they may check to see what caused the noise.

The man finishes his piss and turns to his friends. “You think there’ll be a reward for the man who finds the heretic?”

The heavyset man rubs his chin in contemplation and my heart pounds anxiously again. “He’s probably long gone by now,” he says, belches, and rubs his stomach with a groan.

“Eh, you’re probably right,” his friend replies. The moment the sigh of relief seeps through my lips, I hear footsteps behind us, less than a block away. It’s a night watchman heading straight for us.

“Hide your face, Elias,” I command and pull the hood over him. “And don’t say a word.” I smear some dirt on my face and surcote and dishevel my hair a little more.

I cross my arms and pretend to shiver as I walk slowly toward the guard.

“What do you want?” the watchman asks gruffly. I grab his arm.

“Please, Herr, you must help us,” I say with a cough. “Father has the fever. I fear he’ll die in the streets.” I point to Elias who is slouched on the ground, hiding beneath his cloak.

The watchman’s eyes widen as he snaps his arm from my grasp. “Go on with you,” he says, shooing me away. I shiver again.

“Please, Herr. I am so very cold.” He turns and quickly walks away without another word and I return to Elias.

“What did you say to him?” he whispers.

“I told him you had the fever and that we needed help.” Elias shakes his head at the irony. I look to the stock and see the drunkards have moved on, but it shall not be long until someone else heads toward the market. It shall not be long until people are looking for Elias. “We must to go now.”

I pull him up by the arms and he leans against the wall once more, but this time when he leans over me he carries more of his own weight. Between the stench and his girth, I can still hardly bear him, but we make it into the White Stag. I take him up the stairs and unlock the door to my room. We limp to the bed and he falls upon it. I drop to the ground, gasping for clean air, but Elias’s stench lingers in my nostrils. I head to the window, sticking my head out in the hope the cool night air shall free me of the putrid smell. It takes a few moments, but it works. I sigh with relief. I’ve freed Elias and he is hidden in my room.  I run to the bar to fetch him bread and water. The air comes easily to my chest now as the guilt of betraying Elias leaves me. I couldn’t have left Cologne without righting this wrong. The burden would have been too heavy to bear forever.

I twist the door knob quietly just in case Father sleeps lightly next door. Elias looks upon me with tears in his eyes. 

 “Why did you save me?” he groans, hoarsely.

 “Drink.” I put the mug of water to his lips, careful to breathe through my mouth so I do not gag at the smell of him.

I lift his head and he sips the wine. “Why?”

“Because I want you to live,” I say, and it is as much of the truth as he’ll ever get out of me.

The church bells strike twelve and I curse. “I have to go, but you can stay here for the night.”

I’m supposed to be outside the tavern waiting for Ivo in half an hour, but I must return the bolt cutters before the guards go about looking for them. If Gregor is asked where his cutters are and he says he has given them to my father, then we could be sent back to the stocks or worse, and Elias shall surely be killed too.

I look out the window once more to see a night watchman and two guards standing by Elias’s stock. I sneak out the back door of the tavern and head down the alley behind the White Stag. It’ll take me longer to get to Severin’s gate, but at least the guards won’t notice me.

The narrow alleys are darker than the main streets and my heart pounds with fear. At least I have the bolt cutter, I think. I could use that as a weapon if someone was to try to attack me.

I peer around the corner of Filzengraben and squint my eyes as I look down Severin Strasse. The gate is vacant except for Gregor and Ivan so I rush toward them.

“What I tell ya about walking the streets at night?” Gregor scolds.

“I’m sorry, Gregor. I had to do this. No one must know I had this,” I say as I put the cutter back.

“Ah, I knew I shouldn’ a let ya use it,” Gregor gripes. “What’d you go an do now, girl?”

“If I tell you, you’ll be in as much danger as I am now.” His eye widens. “If anyone asks you about the bolt cutter act as though you’re confused. Or else I’ll be killed.”

“All righ’, all righ’,” he says, looking at me strangely, and I turn to make my way back to the White Stag.

I know I shall be at least a quarter hour late, but I don’t run for I know the watchmen and the guards are on alert for any strange behavior. I hope Ivo’s waiting for me. I know I am late, but once he hears what I’ve done, I know he’ll understand. On second thought, he’ll probably be angry with me for doing something so dangerous.

I turn the corner and Ivo isn’t there. I hope he is running late too. I fear he’d been waiting for me, grew frustrated, and then headed home for the night. If he isn’t here soon, I decide to go there to look for him though I’d like to be done roaming the city alone at night.

I toss my arms about as I wait to ease the strain in my shoulders and chest from trying to break the lock. Smoke fumes fester densely in the air, heavier than usual, but before I can ponder why, Ivo runs up behind me in a panic.

“We have to go,” he says breathlessly.

“What happened? You’re all black. Are you all right?” I grab him and feel for injury.”

“We have to go.” He pulls me, but I stand firm.

“Was there an accident at the armorer’s?” I ask.

“No. We have to go now,” he orders with a cough.

“But—” He grabs me by the arm and starts pulling me through back alleys toward Severin’s gate. “What’s happened? Are you in trouble?”

“Give me your cloak,” he orders. “I’ll give it back once we’re out of the gate.”