I remember how good it tasted hot and fresh yesterday. How Ava hummed as she ate it. The first bread from fresh grain.
First bread.
Fresh grain.
That’s what was different about Ava and me yesterday. The rest of the family had drunk beer from the fresh grain, but Ava and I had not eaten anything made from this harvest. Not till yesterday.
The children of poor families weren’t afflicted till yesterday, either. They hadn’t had beer and they hadn’t had new bread. They hadn’t eaten anything from the new grain—not till yesterday.
Then we ate the bread. And look how we acted.
Look how my family acted after it started drinking the new beer.
And the rich townsfolk got sick first—them and their servants, adults and children alike. And they ate bread from the new grain long before the peasants did.
I throw the bread away and get to my feet.
The grain is cursed!
The grain brought pain. It rhymes like a charm.
Such a big harvest, and all of it poison. An abundant harvest, brought by the rain rain rain rain.
The rain brought the grain brought the pain.
All we have to do is stop eating the grain and Hameln town will be saved.
But what will we feed the animals?
And, oh, the animals. The got sick before the harvest. The grazers were sick way back in summertime. They hadn’t had the fresh grain. How could I forget that?
I remember the morning I lay in the meadow, curled on my side, watching cows swallow bees with each mouthful of wild grasses.
It doesn’t make sense, after all. It’s not the fresh grain. I thought I had it, but nothing’s logical. I will never understand. That’s what evil is—the lack of rationality.
And the presence of despair.
They are partners. They disable. They undo me. Nothing is sacred anymore.
But what am I thinking? I must yield to neither. I must dwell on Ava. Wherever she is, she’s counting on me. Her trust is sacred.
I go into the Rathaus. I take a fine cloth from the table the mayor sat at and wrap up as much smoked meat as I can. Then I go back down the road, out the gates.
There’s no point in trying to find a horse. For one, I’m not a horse thief. Horse thieves are the lowest of the low. For another, most horses around Hameln are lame.
I go home. I know Kuh will be there—and he is, loyal cat. I come up on him from behind, surprised he doesn’t notice. Then I realize he’s still deaf from the wool I stuffed in his ears. It takes pinning his head between my knees and fishing around with Großmutter’s darning needle to get all the wool out. The angry kit scratches my wrists till we’re both blood spattered and goes screeching off the instant I let him loose.
The water bucket is totally empty and lined with black mold. But there’s an open jug of cider on the floor. No one’s drunk from it since Ava and I left. The sharp smell tells me it’s gone hard. Good. Alcohol cleans better. I wash my face and hands and wrists. Then I put on my only other smock and take my cloak.
When I go out the door, Kuh runs at me and climbs to my shoulder. He’s forgiven me already. Or maybe he was never mad—just frightened.
Kuh’s white splotch saved me from the gallows.
Kuh is not my familiar after all. I have no familiar. And I want none.
I want nothing to do with hypocrisy and corruption.
It’s just Kuh and me, off to Köppen Hill to find Ava. It may take days, but we have the provisions. And the determination.
Then we’ll walk the bank of the Weser. A boat will come eventually, and I’ll flag it down. It will not pass us by in fear, as the boats passed by Hameln’s dock after the disease got bad. No, it will stop, for anyone will be able to see that we are not lame.
I laugh sadly. Me. SaIz. The one who can never go anywhere—I’m the one who turns out not to be lame.
I’ll earn our passage through helping to row. My arms are stronger than most men’s. We’ll take a boat north down the Weser to the Aller, then east and south, all the way to Magdeburg, to a school, to my other sisters, if they still breathe. They deserve to be loved like sisters by a brother. Ava taught me how to do it right.
So it will be Kuh and me and Ava and Eike and Hilde. Five of us. Five strong, starting out fresh.
I have perfect aim. I can earn our keep by hunting and killing pests. I can buy my sisters’ freedom. There is order somewhere in this world. I’ll find it.
Order. God’s order. And that’s one more to add to the list, one more in this fresh start.
I walk slowly. I mustn’t tire myself out. The air off the meadow at the base of Köppen Hill is sweet. I listen and watch for signs of Ava. With any luck, I’ll be in Magdeburg by my birthday.
I rest when I need to. I discover I’m still crying. But that’s all right. I can drink river water if my tears dry me out.
I get up and walk again.
I concentrate on breathing.
Breath (9781439132227) Page 15