The Swan King

by Nina Clare

  ‘And if you don’t have my compliance, what will you do?’ Elisabeth said with a forced quietness. ‘There are laws against forcing a person into marriage, you know.’

  Her gathering rage must have shown in her eyes, for the baronin stepped away from her, looking uneasy. She regarded Elisabeth for some moments and Elisabeth stared back. The baronin arranged her features into a softer aspect and spoke as though talking to a child.

  ‘Elisabeth, my dear. It grieves me that things have come to this. Let us agree together to end this sad state of affairs. I will call for the maid to draw a bath. You shall dine downstairs on whatever you fancy to eat. You will sit with Alexis; take him for a stroll about the grounds in the morning. What do you consider?’

  Elisabeth continued her steady glare, feeling her anger grow stronger. This woman was going to separate her from her brother one way or another. This woman was going to send her into a future of misery. This woman had come into her family like a foul spirit, tearing it apart, forcing first her father away, and now herself. Her wrath was close to eruption. The baronin took another step back, then spun on her heel and was at the door in a moment. She turned back and spoke from the safety of the distance between them, the softness now gone from her face and voice.

  ‘You have till tomorrow morning. And I will see the back of you, you ungrateful, selfish little—’

  She did not finish her insult for at that moment Elisabeth gave a shout of rage, snatched up whatever came to hand and flung it with all her strength.

  The baronin pulled the door shut just in time. The hairbrush Elisabeth had thrown clattered uselessly to the floor, and though she rushed at the door, the key was turned before she could reach it. She threw herself onto her bed, burying her head into a pillow to muffle her cry of vexation.

  As she gripped the pillow, something crinkled beneath her fingers; she sprang from the bed, carrying the pillow to the window to see by the waning light.

  Her fingers searched the hem of the pillowcase, and sure enough, tucked inside, was a small square of paper. It might be only a note of consolation, though Ziller could not write much herself. She did not recognise the rough writing.

  Meet in the thicket, by the stream.

  Will wait from midnight.

  Chapter 11

  Flight

  Elisabeth stared at the paper. There was no signature. She paced around the room, clutching the little note as her last shred of hope, trying to think of some means of flight. How would she escape from her locked room? Her eyes fell upon the candlestick at her bedside. It was the last thing Ziller had touched.

  There was a dent in the pewter stick that matched the gash in the bedroom door where she had struck it. Underneath the candlestick lay something small and shiny. A key. The spare key to her bedroom door.

  When the house was silent, she drew on her warmest cloak, and took up a small bundle of possessions. She opened her bedroom window; it would cause confusion as to how she had escaped. She would return the spare key on her way out; she didn’t want suspicion to fall on Ziller or the housekeeper.

  Her heart pounded as she turned the key in the lock; it seemed such a loud noise. She locked it again behind her.

  She should hurry from the house as swiftly as possible, but she stood for a moment, filled with a desire to see Alexis before she went. His door was ajar, his night-light glowing in its pottery bowl. Magni lay at the foot of the bed; he lifted his grizzled, old head and regarded her, his tail making a slow thump in pleasure.

  Good boy, Magni, she silently told him. Watch over him.

  Nurse’s soft snoring could be heard from the adjoining room; the door was always left open, in case Alexis needed her in the night.

  Elisabeth tiptoed forwards to the bedside. The carved figurine of the swan knight peeked out from under his pillow. She touched her own carved swan, which she wore as a pendant around her neck. As if knowing, even in his sleep, that she was there Alexi turned his face toward her and opened his eyes.

  ‘Shh,’ she mouthed, putting a finger to her lips.

  He raised his tousled head. ‘Are you going?’

  She nodded. Then she gathered him to her, feeling her heart would break.

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ he murmured into her shoulder. But he felt so small and frail. Her resolve faltered. Was this a scheme of madness?

  ‘You have to go,’ Alexis whispered, lifting his head and reading her thoughts in her face.

  ‘I’ll be back to get you as soon as I’ve found someone to help us,’

  He nodded. From the next room, Nurse’s breathing pattern altered; the snoring paused. She had better leave before she lost all resolve, and before Nurse came in. She kissed him goodbye.

  She knew all the places in the floorboards that creaked, and walked soundlessly through the house, down the servants’ stairs, into the kitchens, faintly lit by the glowing embers of the fire. She replaced her key in the little cupboard on the wall.

  ‘Caught you!’ came a loud voice, causing her to jump and almost cry out. Her stomach lurched, for the voice was that of Brunn.

  ‘I knew it was you, pilfering from the pantry! I’ll have you turned out on your ear in the morning, you thieving good-for-nothing.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t, mistress! I just get so hungry! I wake up in the night an’ my belly hurts it’s so empty!’

  It was Hugo, the houseboy, who was apprehended. Elisabeth pressed against the wall, only a few strides from the pantry. She edged back, moving away and crouching in the dark alcove where the brooms and pails were stored.

  ‘Go on with you, get to bed! If it were up to me, I’d throw you out this minute!’

  There was the sound of bare feet on the stone floor as Hugo fled.

  Brunn did not leave the pantry. Elisabeth strained to hear every sound and was certain she could hear the noise of eating. What a hypocrite! It seemed like an age before she finally left the kitchens, with her heavy tread. She waited until she heard the creak of the wooden stairs from the kitchens to the servants’ quarters, and then ran towards the door that led outside.

  ‘Is she gone?’ whispered a voice behind her, causing her to jump and almost cry out a second time. She whirled round to see Hugo stood in his bare feet and nightshirt.

  ‘Are you running away?’

  ‘Hugo, please don’t tell anyone,’ she begged.

  He shrugged. ‘Why would I? If they shut me up with nothing much to eat, I’d run away too.’

  ‘Will you bolt the door behind me?’

  He nodded.

  The bolt grated as she pulled it back; she winced at the sound.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered in parting. ‘And I’m sorry about you getting caught in the pantry.’

  He shrugged again. ‘Never liked working here, anyhow. I’ll join the army.’

  ‘Good luck, then.’

  ‘You too, m’lady.’

  She slipped out of the door.

  ‘Oh, m’lady?’

  She stuck her head back round.

  ‘Watch out for Griffin. He’s guarding the front gate.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘In case of people who come at dawn, to catch folks out who owe ‘em money. Griffin says the mistress don’t want ‘em coming in the house.’

  ‘Has the clock struck midnight yet?’ she asked.

  ‘Not yet. But chimed eleven a long while ago.’

  She left the porch, hurrying through the courtyard, and out into the grounds.

  Hugo’s tip about the front gate being watched was a mercy, she thought as she ran beside the walls. She would avoid Griffin by going out the back gate that none but the servants used. It was hidden from the road by hedgerows. It would mean she would have to retrace her steps, however, passing round the outer wall of the house to get to the path that led to where her mysterious helper waited.

  It was dark among the trees by the stream; dark and forbidding. Doubts assailed her. What was she doing?

  She hesitated, watching the black tre
es ahead and listening. There was a rustling noise, like that of a sizeable animal. She plucked up her courage and called in a loud whisper, ‘Is anyone there?’ There was no answer. The rustling noise resumed. Something was moving towards her, not a person, but something large that swished against leaves and made a bulky, black shape among the foliage. Foolish thoughts of Hansi’s mountain trolls suddenly gripped her.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she said, a little louder.

  The thing emerged from the thicket—there were two, no three. She stepped back, uncertain of what she was seeing, and then she laughed in relief. ‘Hansi!’

  ‘Hello, m’lady.’ He led two mules, one either side of him. ‘Glad you made it out. Ziller worried you might not find the key in time. These fellows getting a bit restless now we’re out of carrots. Climb up. Sorry it’s not a lady’s horse, couldn’t stretch to that, but too far for you to walk.’

  Sitting astride the small mule differed greatly from sitting side-saddle on Pumpernickel, but she was glad of anything to ride at that moment.

  ‘I need to go north, Hansi.’

  ‘North is where we’re heading, m’lady. To the mountains.’

  They travelled most of the night, stopping to rest for a few uncomfortable hours in the shelter of an old barn. Next morning Hansi went into a small market town to buy food. Elisabeth waited anxiously, hidden from the road in a copse of trees outside the town.

  Hansi looked worried when he returned. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

  He was gathering up their packs and loading the mules.

  ‘Men in town, looking for you.’

  A stab of fear passed through her. ‘So soon.’

  Hansi nodded. ‘Best get on. Keep off the roads. Will mean a longer journey, but best be out of sight.’

  They passed a second night in a makeshift shelter of canvas and sticks in a little wooded glen. Hansi thought they were far enough from the road to risk a fire. It was some comfort to have the warmth and light from it, but it started to rain that evening, and the fire turned to a hissing, smoky pile as they huddled under their covering.

  The following day Hansi had to venture again into the next town for more provisions. He was loath to go, and Elisabeth was equally reluctant to be left alone, but the mules had chewed through the straps of their pack in the night, and eaten every scrap of food stored within.

  Elisabeth scolded herself, for it had been she who had tied the mule’s ropes while Hansi set up the shelter. She also scolded the mules, but they were indifferent and unrepentant. Smell food, eat food, they said, with a swish of their tails.

  It was well into the afternoon when they reached the next small town where Hansi could get food. He left her in a little clearing, set back from the road. She walked about waiting his return, it was too cold to sit idly. She wished the sun would come out and warm her a little; it had been a cold, damp trudge all morning, and she was hungry and anxious. Hansi had taken one mule, and the remaining one ignored her as it grazed, only making the occasional complaint about how short the grass was.

  Is food all you think about? Elisabeth said crossly to him. At least you’ve a full belly, mine is empty, thanks to you.

  Plenty of grass, he replied.

  I don’t eat grass.

  After what seemed like hours, she heard the sound of rustling and twigs snapping beyond the trees.

  Someone coming, said the mule, lifting his head and sniffing the wind.

  Only our friends, she told him. Hoping that this was true. Someone shouted. She froze, listening hard. It sounded like Hansi. But if so, why was he yelling?

  The mule’s nose twitched, and his ears pricked forward.

  Strangers.

  Strangers! Elisabeth ran to the mule to release him so they could hide.

  She fumbled over the rope, cursing herself for the clumsiness of her fingers, as fear scrambled her movements.

  If it’s not Hansi, it will only be a farmer, she told herself. But the fear persisted. She heard Hansi’s shout a second time. And this time she heard what he was shouting:

  ‘Run!’

  Quickly! She urged the mule. Run! She tugged him on, heading out of the little clearing, intending to hide in the trees beyond, away from the direction of the road and the approaching strangers.

  They rushed on, reaching the safety of the trees. Only then did she dare to look back.

  Strangers! said the mule.

  Two men were in the clearing. They were no local farmers. Their black travelling cloaks flapped like crow wings; they had long, thick sticks in their hands, beating the undergrowth, calling to one another in gruff voices, searching for something, or someone… ‘Henchmen,’ she whispered in horror.

  Strangers! said the mule. His voice grew more insistent, escaping as a loud bray.

  Hush! Elisabeth urged. They mustn’t hear us!

  Strangers!

  ‘Found her!’ shouted a deep voice.

  Elisabeth spun round in terror. Ahead, emerging out of the shrubs and trees were two more men, dressed in black cloaks.

  She heard herself scream. She let go of the mule, who fled into the woods. She ran also, but her stride was no match for the longer legs of the men. Someone grabbed her round her middle, she thrashed and yelled, and struck at the man’s hands with her fists—in the distance she heard Hansi shouting for her—a large hand clamped over her mouth, and her feet were lifted off the ground as she was carried away.

  Chapter 12

  Henchmen

  ‘Fräulein Opel, you have just described to us a crime. Kidnapping is a serious offence.’

  ‘Yes, sir. It is a dreadful offence.’

  ‘Have you reported this to the authorities? And what has become of the young baroness?’

  ‘II am reporting it now. I have not had opportunity to do so before. As to what happened to the baroness, I will tell you.’

  She sat on a stool with her hands bound in front, a cloth tied about her mouth, and her back against a wall of wood. A draught swirled round her legs, and she shivered from cold and fear. Four men were in the room, three sat round a newly lit fire. One man paced up and down, casting frequent looks at her from across the room.

  ‘I tell you, we need to get on. He’s waiting for us,’ said the pacing man. ‘We’d have been there by now if it weren’t for that broken wheel.’

  ‘We’ll never make it on these roads at night,’ said one of his comrades. ‘I’m not risking my neck riding into a ditch in the dark. I had a cousin killed in an overturned carriage last year. It was lucky only a wheel got broke today.’

  ‘Zetkin’s right,’ said a third man, the tallest and broadest of the group, a man so large that Elisabeth had felt she was being carried off by a giant when he had grabbed her. He picked up a jug and filled the cup in his hand. ‘Bad enough trying to pick our way through in daylight. If we didn’t have that blasted carriage it would be easier.’

  ‘We could sling her across a horse,’ said the man pacing up and down. ‘Leave the carriage behind and ride on.’

  ‘Have a drink, said Zetkin, taking the jug up and pouring himself a cup. ‘You’re getting irrational. He said not to let her be seen. She’s to stay hidden in the carriage. Those were the orders. Now, sit down, you’re making me edgy with all that pacing.’

  ‘You should be edgy,’ said the man, still pacing. ‘We’ve done a lot of things for him, but this is something else. If we get caught, he’ll disown us and let us swing.’

  ‘We won’t get caught,’ said Zetkin,’ his voice grew rougher. ‘Now sit down before I make you, you’re annoying me, Schrenk!’

  Schrenk clearly took the threat seriously and sat on a bench before the fire, but he remained fidgety.

  ‘I’m so blasted hungry,’ groaned the giant. ‘I can’t believe no one thought to bring food. What’s a man to work on?’

  ‘Work?’ said the man next to him. ‘All you’ve done all day is sit inside a carriage like a little lady. I’ve been out in the cold leading the horses and keeping
look out. It was me who spotted that shifty-looking feller who led us to her, me who tracked them, what have you done except whinge the whole time?’

  His hungry neighbour ignored him. ‘There must be something here besides beer,’ he said, looking about the shadowy room.

  ‘Shall I give the girl a drink?’ the fidgety Schrenk asked. ‘He said not to damage the goods. Can’t let her dry out.’

  Zetkin grunted and passed him a cup.

  The giant was rummaging noisily through the drawers and cupboards of the furniture dotted about the room of the lodge. The walls, floor and ceiling were all of wood, the furniture simple and without decoration. It looked like a hunting lodge that had not been used in a long time.

  Schrenk carried a cup to Elisabeth, sloshing beer into her lap as he leaned forward to pull down her gag and thrust the cup out. She held up her bound hands to show him she could not take it. He put the cup on the floor and undid the knot on the cord. She held her breath as he bent over her, hating the smell of him. She had spent hours crammed between him and the giant in a lurching carriage, with the smell of Schrenk’s nervous sweat and the giant’s stale breath. The cord was dropped and the cup of beer was pushed into her cold hands. She sipped at it, not much liking the taste, but needing something to slake her thirst.

  The giant peered into bins and forced lids from barrels; he threw aside a coil of rope and a pile of horse blankets from a chest to look inside. ‘Bring a light will you, Schrenk,’ he called, ‘can’t see a thing.’

  Schrenk took up the lantern, the only one in the room, and held it over the chest. ‘Nothing,’ said the giant in disgust. He slammed the lid down, making Elisabeth jump, her nerves taut and easily jarred.

  ‘What are we to eat?’ he roared.