One Witch at a Time

by Stacy DeKeyser

  By the time they reached the other end of the beanstalk, at the border of Brixen and Petz, the Giant’s shadow had blended with a twilight that Rudi knew had come too early.

  In the dusk at the peak of the Berg, someone was waiting for them.

  “Who goes there?” said the Brixen Witch as Rudi hurried to stand by her side. “Who is trespassing in my backyard?” She raised a hand. There was a sudden flare of light, which settled into a steady golden glow of lamplight. At her feet lay her little hatchet.

  “You know who I am!” bellowed the Giant. He dropped from the beanstalk into the circle of lamplight, crushing what remained of the signpost that had once pointed toward Brixen in one direction and Petz in the other.

  And now, for the first time, Rudi had a clear view of the witch of Petz. Rudi didn’t know what he’d expected. But he had not expected this.

  He looked for all the world like an ordinary man. He was perhaps as old as Papa, and he was dressed in rough woolens. The only extraordinary thing about him was his size. Standing there, on the edge of the ice field that marked the border of Petz, he looked as tall as three men, at least.

  “You are harboring a thief!” roared the Giant.

  “A thief?” said the witch innocently. “Whatever did he steal from you that makes you come all this way after him?”

  “Ask him yourself,” answered the Giant, pointing at Rudi. “This time you’re caught, thief! Give it back!”

  “This?” said Rudi, holding up a small oval object. It glimmered in the lamplight. “It’s only one golden egg. A mere fraction of all the wealth and magic you possess.”

  “What has you done now?” hissed the Brixen Witch. “Bringing Petz magic to Brixen again?”

  “Don’t worry,” whispered Rudi, and he showed her. It was the brown egg Susanna had given him, shimmering like gold in the lamplight. “The Giant is so angry, and so busy chasing me, that he hasn’t noticed that all his magic is back in Petz.”

  The little witch squinted at him, and the beginnings of a smile appeared on her wrinkled face. “Clever lad.”

  The Giant stepped off the ice and onto the bare rocky ground of Brixen. He did not, Rudi noticed with a vague disappointment, turn to ice. A few more steps, and the witch of Petz would be upon them.

  Now Rudi’s mouth fell open, and he stared in astonishment. For as the Giant drew nearer, he seemed to shrink in size. When he finally stood in front of them, he was only a few inches taller than Rudi.

  At the same time, the blackness at the edge of the lamplight faded away into daylight.

  It’s happening, thought Rudi. The witch of Petz has abandoned his post. His power is waning.

  Rudi imagined the summer flowing out of the Giant’s fortress through the small open doorway, and over the high stone wall, covering all of Petz like a soft green blanket. He imagined the new witch emerging from the storehouse and throwing open the dark shutters of the grand manor, letting in the sunshine and fresh air. And he wished he could be there to see it for himself. But for now it was enough to imagine it, and to believe it must be true.

  The Brixen Witch nudged Rudi. “Give me the egg and take the hatchet,” she whispered, never taking her gaze from the once-giant man.

  Rudi did what she had asked. Then, as the Brixen Witch kept up her conversation with the diminished Giant, Rudi crept past them with the hatchet in his hand.

  “ ’Tis not real gold, I’m afraid,” the witch was saying. “But ’tis tasty, I’ll wager. Would you like me to fry it up for you?”

  The Giant raised a fist. “You know who I am,” he snarled again. “I am a witch as powerful as you!”

  “Is that so?” said the witch. “You seems to be losing your steam.”

  Now the Giant stopped. He looked himself up and down. He stared at the Brixen Witch in horror. They were nearly eye to eye. “What have you done?” he cried.

  “ ’Tis not myself,” she said. “ ’Tis simply the rules. Once, you were a witch. But you has left your province unattended, and it seems someone else was ready to take your place. You are relieved of your duty.”

  The man from Petz—for that was all he was now—opened his mouth in fury, but then his brow smoothed. “I’m so tired.” He blinked at the Brixen Witch as if seeing her for the first time. “I do like a nice fried egg.”

  “Come along, then,” she said. “I see the spring nettles is sprouted. They’ll make a lovely cup of tea. Nice and tender. Hardly any sting to ’em at all this time of year.” And the Brixen Witch led the weary traveler down the slope.

  Rudi scratched his ear. “I think she’s really going to fry him an egg,” he said to himself.

  He turned his attention to the task at hand. It was a small hatchet, and it would take some time to finish the job.

  As Rudi prepared to take the first swing, something came fluttering down the beanstalk, deep pink against the green of the leaves.

  A flower. A wild hedge rose.

  “Clever girl,” said Rudi, tucking it into his pocket.

  26

  In Brixen, the spring blossomed into summer.

  The last patches of snow melted. The days grew longer, and the hours were marked by roosters crowing, by cows demanding to be milked, and by the bells of the steeple clock.

  The villagers of Brixen ate their fill of beans, and planted more, for a bumper crop that would continue to provide for many seasons to come.

  Rosie’s calf, Daisy, grew strong and healthy, and now the Bauer dairy had four cows, which was better than three.

  Marco the blacksmith took on a new apprentice. He was a quiet fellow, emigrated all the way from Petz. He had no family there, he said, and couldn’t even recall why he had stayed so long. He had finally moved on, and had never been more content. He owned an iron key just like the ones Marco forged. He was quite fond of fried eggs.

  No one ever spoke again of the golden eggs. It was bad luck to talk of such things.

  But Brixen folk love a good story, and so stories were told that summer, during the long, mild evenings, of once-frozen lands across the mountains, and cracking ice, and thawing ground such as hadn’t been seen in many a long year.

  Konrad claimed to hear stories of a foreign witch. A giant, a witch-king, a hexenmeister, who became too greedy and who finally met a bad end when a worthy challenger fought him to a bloody and gruesome death. Konrad told the story to Roger, who told it to Nicolas, who said it was ridiculous, and so he told Rudi, who told no one at all.

  Susanna Louisa had been waiting for Rudi, just as she had promised. And every day she brought him a fresh brown egg laid by Hildy, her very own hen. Sometimes, if the light was right, the egg looked as if it were made of gold.

  As for Rudi, he milked the cows and planted beans. He picked ripe elderberries for Mama to bake into tarts. From time to time he visited the old woman who lived on the mountain. They shared stories, and tea, and elderberry tarts. On market days Rudi walked to Klausen, where he saw no furtive red-haired girls, and he told himself he was glad.

  He became accustomed to the sidelong glances from his neighbors and the whispers behind his back. He told himself it was a mark of respect. Some things you are born with, he decided. And other things you learn. But it’s what you’re good at that matters. Rudi was good with cows. He was good with witches.

  “Do you suppose the new apprentice blacksmith remembers much about his life in Petz?” Rudi asked Oma one day as they stirred their tea.

  “George?” She tapped her foot and rocked in her chair. “I don’t know. I daresay he’s better off not remembering. Marco tells me he’s settling in nicely, though.”

  “I wonder how things are in Petz.” Rudi had so many other questions. Was Agatha happy? Were she and Ludwig adjusting to their new life?

  “Look around you,” said Oma, patting his cheek. “See how ordinary and quiet everything is?”

  Rudi nodded. “I like it that way.”

  “So you should. It means all is right with the world. As long as
we don’t see anything as strange as keyhole beans, or giant beanstalks, or golden-egg-laying chickens, I should think that things in Petz are just fine too.”

  Rudi thought about this for a moment. His gaze wandered out the window and toward the looming peak of the Berg. “You’re probably right,” he said.

  Oma sipped her tea thoughtfully. “Sometimes,” she said, squinting at him through the steam, “the best way to know something is to find out for yourself.”

  “Quite true,” said Rudi. He took a bite of elderberry tart.

  “It’s high summer,” said Oma. “The days are long. The weather is mild. A good time for traveling, I should think.”

  Rudi slipped a hand into his pocket and patted the dried rose blossom that nestled within. “I was thinking the same thing myself. Perhaps you could bake a few extra elderberry tarts?”

  Stacy DeKeyser is the author of The Brixen Witch and its sequel, One Witch at a Time, as well as the young adult novel Jump the Cracks and two nonfiction books for young readers. She lives in Connecticut with her family. To learn more, visit her online at stacydekeyser.com.

  Margaret K. McElderry Books

  Simon & Schuster • New York

  Meet the author, watch videos, and get extras at

  KIDS.SIMONANDSCHUSTER.COM

  authors.simonandschuster.com/Stacy-DeKeyser

  Also by Stacy DeKeyser

  The Brixen Witch

  WE HOPE YOU LOVED READING THIS EBOOK!

  We have SO many more books for kids in the in-beTWEEN age that we’d love to share with you! Sign up for our IN THE MIDDLE books newsletter and you’ll receive news about other great books, exclusive excerpts, games, author interviews, and more!

  CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

  or visit us online to sign up at

  eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com/middle

  MARGARET K. MCELDERRY BOOKS

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2015 by Stacy DeKeyser

  Illustrations copyright © 2015 by Sonia Chaghatzbanian

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  MARGARET K. MCELDERRY BOOKS is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

  Book design by Sonia Chaghatzbanian

  Jacket design and illustrations by Sonia Chaghatzbanian

  The text for this book is set in Bulmer.

  CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

  ISBN 978-1-4814-1351-0 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-1-4814-1353-4 (eBook)