From a High Tower

by Mercedes Lackey

  But her last thought before sleep was troubling. For she and Mother had found no sign of “Johann Schmidt,” all those years ago after his fall. He was not below the tower where he should have fallen, and Mother had not been able to find any trace of how he had gotten away. Nor had the two experienced Bruderschaft hunters.

  In fact, except for the fact that she and Mother had seen him, fought him, and watched him fall, there was no evidence that he even existed.

  So if he had survived the initial fall, which seemed wildly unlikely, where had he gone? He would have been seriously injured; Mother had thrust him out the window in such a way that he would have tumbled to the ground without any control. Who or what had rescued him? How had they gotten away without a trace and without Mother knowing? Where had they gone after their escape?

  If he had been an Air Magician trying to steal her power, why hadn’t she sensed that? Why hadn’t her sylphs?

  And was there any way that the watcher really could be him?

  There were no answers. But her dreams were troubled.

  The show had been packed up the night before, and the company moved out as soon as the first light of predawn lightened the sky. Kellermann had arranged with a local baker at a coffee house to have steaming rolls and coffee delivered in the darkness, and the cooks had precut slices of cold ham, beef, and cheese, and kept out bowls of butter, and they all ate a solid breakfast standing beside the cook wagons, with nothing for the cooks to pack up but the rinsed cups, and the sugar and cream. The cowboys grumbled that the coffee wasn’t strong enough, but Giselle noticed that they drank the milk cans that the coffee had been brought in dry.

  Hot rolls and butter, ham and cheese and plenty of coffee and cream were her idea of an ideal breakfast, so she began the day in a good frame of mind. Evidently this was too early an hour for the watcher, for as they drove down the road that paralleled the railway, Giselle felt no eyes on her, to her intense relief. Lebkuchen and the show horse Polly had worked out their differences and pulled alongside each other willingly. There was plenty of light thanks to street lamps within the city, and by the time they were actually past the point where the gaslights ended, the sun had crested the horizon.

  Within an hour, they were well outside the city. Had the watcher recognized what was going on last night, or had he concentrated on Giselle, and missed the fact that the show tent was coming down, the midway packed up, and the canvas walls packed away? She had tried to stay away from all that activity, hoping to mislead him if all he was watching was her.

  She’d never felt his gaze this early; it always began around midmorning, as if he was a late riser. With any luck, she thought, as she chirped to the horses, and got them past a pushcart they were eyeing with suspicion, by the time he wakes up, he won’t be able to find us.

  It felt good to be on the road again.

  They were by no means the first to leave the Oktoberfest, but also not the last, merely the largest. The enormous beer tents were all put up by local bierkelleren, and were coming down today; the pretty girls that waited on the tables would go back to their regular lives, as daughters and housewives. This was a yearly bounty of income that many counted on to pay for Christmas.

  Smaller shows had left earlier to get into winter quarters. Most of the single-tent shows had stayed, getting the last pfennig they could eke out before the lean season—or at least, before they could do some business at the Christkindlesmarkt here or in another city.

  But soon, they would all be gone, and there would be nothing festive until it was time for the Christkindlesmarkt. That would not be held in the great field, but in the city square and spill out into the streets beyond it. Stalls would have everything that one could want to prepare for Christmas: gifts, decorations, baked goods, foods from the potatoes to the goose to be roasted. There would be food to eat and hot things to drink, because shopping was a taxing business. And since people needed to be entertained while they shopped, there would be that, too, although it would have to compete with groups singing carols and the local brass bands. Many of the people of Freiburg who had come to meet Giselle had asked if she and the company were staying for Christmas, and had described the Christkindlesmarkt in great detail.

  She wished she could see it. As so many things, since she had spent all of her life alone in the abbey with Mother, she had never seen a Christkindlesmarkt. It sounded delightful, and a great deal less overwhelming than the Oktoberfest had been. It would have been even better, since she would not have been performing, but would have had leisure to see and do things herself.

  Another year, perhaps. This time next year the show would be on its way home to America, hopefully with everyone’s pockets stuffed full of money. And she could come to Freiburg, stay in a nice little hotel, shop, go to a play and concerts, see the university and the cathedral . . . and surely by then, the vexing problem of the unseen watcher would have been solved.

  Meanwhile it was far more important to get this entire cavalcade back to the abbey and under stout shelter before the worst of the winter weather set in. Christmas would be great fun with all of them there. She wasn’t sure how Americans celebrated it, but given the zest with which they met any occasion to celebrate, they surely had some delightful, if slightly mad, traditions themselves. There probably wasn’t enough goose in the district to feed all of them, but there would be plenty of other things, and already Kellermann had sent wagonload after wagonload of supplies ahead. And this would be the first Christmas she had ever spent with so much company!

  And finally, at long last, after four solid weeks, she could look forward to an entire day in which she could be herself, and not “Rio Ellie.” Today would be an entire day in which she would not be performing—for sitting there in her “camp” and answering questions was performing, an even more intense sort of performance than being in front of the audience in the arena had been.

  “I am so glad we are going!” One of the sylphs flitted up out of nowhere, her pale-blue butterfly wings looking altogether out of place amid the falling leaves. “There are too many people in that place. And too many stinks! Ugh!”

  “Are you coming with me all the way to the abbey, Flitter?” Giselle asked her. Flitter had been the only sylph to tag along from Neustadt. Giselle had no idea why she had followed the show across so many miles. Perhaps she was just so amused by the show she had decided it was worth the effort of coming along. Sometimes sylphs took on a notion and were actually able to hold onto it for months at a time.

  “Yes. I want to meet your friends there. I think I might want to stay there. The meadow where I grew up is all under bricks now.” The sylph alighted on the rump of Lebkuchen (who took no notice of her) and sat there. “I want to see a beautiful meadow again. I would like it if there were not many humans about. I am tired of noise and I have not found anywhere else that I want to stay, yet.” Clearly she didn’t feel the cold, since even though Giselle was bundled up in that fine loden wool winter cape she had been given, with mittens and the hood up and a knitted scarf wrapped around her neck, the sylph was still clothed in little more than a few gauzy ribbons and her long blond hair.

  “Well, I shall enjoy having you along. And if you like, you can travel in the wagon. I’ll part the wards for you. I don’t want you to end up somewhere strange, too tired to fly on. Winter is a bad time for that.” Giselle concentrated long enough to make a “door” in the wardings—one that she specified was only for the sylph—and let Flitter dart inside. Even though the sylphs didn’t seem to mind the cold, they all loved heat, and Giselle was fairly sure she would spend the day curled up over the stove, drowsing.

  It would be nice to have her company. Already Giselle missed Rosa.

  Another day on the road brought them to their first show, in the small town of Bludbehren. Despite its name, it was a lovely little place, and the abbreviated show was well received. There was a telegram waiting for them there from Rosa,
a simple “All well.” Bludbehren was home to a rather impressive, modern flour mill, and Kellermann was able to procure enough bags of flour there to last them the whole winter at a very good cost, and grain for the horses. Meat, they were well supplied with; besides what he had sent ahead, he’d had the brilliant idea of going around to every one of the food vendors at the Oktoberfest before they left and buying up their surpluses. The vendors were happy to be rid of things that otherwise might have spoiled, and he was happy to have it. He arranged for what was fresh to be salted down in barrels and then packed up and sent over, and what was smoked or otherwise preserved to go straight into in the wagons.

  As far as Kellermann was concerned, anything could be salted and preserved. Salt beef, salt fish, salt pork, even salted-down fowl; Giselle had the feeling he’d salt down anything that didn’t run away fast enough.

  They would be able to hunt once they got to the abbey, since the forest all around was full of game, most of it unmolested for as long as she and Mother had lived there. That was why “Johann Schmidt’s” story had been so believable. It was entirely likely that a professional hunter would have investigated such a relatively virgin forest for hunting. But virtually everyone with the show could shoot, and fresh game would liven up the table as the winter went on.

  The next town they stopped at, their show coincided with the weekly farmer’s market, and again, Kellermann was able to find things at a good price. This time it was root vegetables. Burlap bags full of them were added to the wagons. Everyone was carrying foodstuffs now. She even had things that would not be harmed by the weather piled on the top of the vardo in order to make room for food inside other wagons, and shared some of her space with casks of spices he entrusted to her. He was completely in his element, and utterly happy, whenever he could make these bargains. It made Giselle smile to see him so happy.

  But then, she had a great deal to smile about. It seemed that the unknown “watcher” had lost them when they left Freiburg, for she had not felt those eyes on her since.

  The show finally arrived at Meiersdorf just as the first flurries of snow appeared in the now-overcast sky.

  There would be no show at Meiersdorf, given that it had begun to snow and not even the inhabitants were eager to brave the cold in a tent, no matter how exotic the promised production was. They had planned to camp in the field normally used by the village for their little festivities, for it was a good long day’s journey to the abbey under the best of circumstances. Giselle was not expecting to see Rosa until then, but to her great joy, her friend was waiting, bundled up in her gorgeous scarlet cloak and hood, mounted on a sturdy hunter, right at the entrance to the village.

  Giselle did not actually see Rosa right away, as she was in the middle of the caravan. Rosa waved at her, but then turned her attention back to Kellermann and Cody. Giselle understood perfectly, and got her vardo maneuvered into the circle it belonged to in the meadow they were using to camp overnight. All of the wagons were circled up at night since they’d left Freiburg, rather than parked in rows. This was to provide a windbreak for people who were still forced to sleep in their tents. The horses were left tied at night to wagons outside each circle, each with his own blanket, bucket, and pile of hay and grain. The cattle were corralled inside a circle of the transport wagons. The buffalo went into the same space as the cattle. They didn’t seem to mind.

  The cooks came around to each circle with a big pot of stew and some sort of hard cracker—unless it was possible to buy bread where they were camping, which case everyone got a piece of a loaf instead. There was bread tonight. For the sake of making things easier on the cooks, each of them was responsible for his own plate, cup and utensils, and coffee was made on the central circle fire. Giselle lined up with the rest when the cooks arrived. That was when Rosa turned up, armed with plate and cup herself.

  They got their food and quickly retreated to the relative warmth of the vardo. “Is your watcher still watching?” was the first thing Rosa asked, once they were settled into seats on casks of peppercorns and salt.

  “No,” she said shortly, and Rosa smiled with relief.

  “Good. I was hoping once you were on the move, he’d lose track of you, or simply would not be able to scry you out at any real distance.” Rosa ate with a good appetite, and so did Giselle. It was lovely to have hot food after a long cold day of driving.

  “I’m glad you came to meet us,” Giselle said. “How are things at the abbey?”

  “Very good.” Rosa grinned with satisfaction and wiped her bowl absolutely clean with her bread. “We’ve a hard day of driving ahead of us, but when we get there, absolutely everything will be ready. There will be hot food waiting, we’ve even got sleeping arrangements in place, and everyone can just put the horses and cattle in their stable, eat, and go straight to bed, then deal with what needs to be unpacked in the morning.”

  Giselle gaped at her. “How on earth did you manage that?” she asked.

  Rosa shrugged, but looked pleased with herself. “Dwarves and brownies, of course. I don’t know what sort of arrangement your Mother had with them, but they didn’t even charge me for any of it, they said they’d already gotten what they needed when the work was done! The chapel has been rebuilt into a stable for the animals with a hayloft over it. I got mowers to come and harvest the meadow twice for hay, there’s enough to last all winter. What isn’t in the hayloft is in haystacks next to the stable. What used to be the east wing has a second floor now, and the dwarves made up beds and wooden partitions on both floors. The west wing has the kitchens on the first floor and storage above. Did you know there was a cellar under it?”

  Giselle shook her head.

  “Well, there is. With all you have with you, it will be stuffed. There’s more storage above the kitchens, which we will need, with all the food we’ll need to produce for all these people until spring. The north wing with your tower, I’ve had redone as quarters for the couples and families, the Pawnee, Kellermann and Cody. I moved a bed into the floor below your bedroom in the tower for me. If you don’t mind?” Rosa’s voice faltered a little as if she was afraid that Giselle would be annoyed at this intrusion on her privacy.

  “Not even a little! It will be grand to have you there!” She reached out and impulsively hugged Rosa’s shoulders. “It all sounds amazing.”

  “I’m not sure you’ll recognize it. The dwarves took a lot of liberties with the design, but it’s as perfect for the purpose as it can be.” Rosa hugged back, and finished her stew before it got cold. “I can’t wait for you to see what it’s all turned into.”

  “Neither can I!” Giselle said, and meant it.

  16

  THE horses seemed to sense that this was the last leg of the journey, and although what they were hauling the wagons over barely qualified as a rough track, they actually got their pace up to a fast walk, rather than the plodding pace they usually took. Even the cattle seemed more willing to move.

  But maybe that was Rosa. As an Earth Master, she could communicate wordlessly with animals and birds, and perhaps she had “told” them that a warm stable, good food, and rest were waiting for them at the end of the day.

  When the abbey appeared in the distance, serene and oddly beautiful in the middle of its meadow valley, the animals truly put their backs into their work. They seemed to recognize that this was where they’d find shelter and food and hauled the wagons over the trackless, shorn meadow at a pace that rattled Giselle’s bones.

  Rosa was right: she barely recognized the place.

  She doubted that the original inhabitants would, either. The rebuilding had been done in a purposeful, blocky manner more suggestive of a fortress than a place of retreat and worship. Windows had been reduced to the barest slits. The original roof had been tiles; it was now slate, and looked as if it would last a thousand years. And the original buildings had not been connected; now they were, so that the abbey was now one sin
gle building with a protected central courtyard. It had been two single-story (with attic) and two double-story buildings, with Giselle’s tower forming the corner of the building in the north. Now it was a uniform two stories tall with an attic, all the way around, except for Giselle’s tower.

  She had to work to keep from gaping with amazement as she realized the extent of the work that had been done.

  As she drove her vardo around to the eastern side of the abbey, following the others, she saw (without any surprise) that an efficient system had already been worked out for dealing with wagons and livestock. That must have been what Rosa was talking to Cody and Kellermann about last night. A cowboy directed her where to move the vardo into place: close to the wall of the abbey, with just enough space for a kind of walkway between the virtual wall of wagons and the stone walls. As soon as she had it positioned to his liking, he unhitched both horses and took them away, in through a kind of tunnel through the east wing, under the second floor. She got the things she had packed this morning before they left, including her new eiderdown rolled tightly and strapped up with belts, and approached that entrance herself.

  The fortress impression was even stronger when she saw that the entrance could be completely shut off by both heavy wooden doors and an iron portcullis.

  At both ends.

  That had never been in the design of the original abbey!

  Then again, she reflected. Dwarves are used to being able to lock up anything securely.

  The central yard of the abbey was still a garden; as it had been with the original, it was an herb and vegetable garden. But now there was a paved walkway all around the periphery, an actual stone wall around the garden itself to keep it from being trampled, and a brand new chicken coop in one corner. Someone had evidently closed the chickens up for safety while people went in and out.

  The former chapel looked nothing like a religious building now, which was a relief, as she’d had a bit of unease, picturing the place as a stable. Cowboys were bringing in horses two at a time and taking them inside through a stable door in the middle of the building. She kept well out of their way, but out of curiosity, decided to go into the door in the east wing for a moment to see just what had been done there.