The Sorcerer's Appendix

by P. J. Brackston

  The gathering gloom was abruptly punctuated with lights, some bright and steady, others flickering. These lights shone through windows of many shapes and sizes, and were clearly illuminating the rooms of houses, shops, and hostelries. As if it were not sufficiently astonishing to find an entire village hidden at the heart of the forest; as if discovering a whole settlement where only a single dwelling had been anticipated was not adequately dumbfounding; as if coming upon a veritable community living their lives in this remote and secret part of the woods was not astounding enough for anyone on an unremarkable late summer’s evening, there was another feature of these houses that made them indisputably extraordinary. Something other. Something else. Something uncommon in the extreme. They were all at least thirty feet above the ground. Each and every one of them was built into—and out of—the trees. They were, indeed, tree houses. There were small homes with quaint shuttered windows. There were taller buildings, outside which swung painted signs advertising accommodation. There was a general store, and a tailor’s, and a barbershop, and an inn, and a little farther down more signs offered the services of a smithy, an undertaker, and a physician.

  “Great heavens!” Hans exclaimed.

  Cornelius was speechless.

  Gretel’s mind was spinning with new questions and possibilities, not the least of which was that she might at last get a bath and some new clothes. Less urgent, but more important, was the thought that this was a place a person who did not wish to be found could very well live something approaching a life. While what she knew of the sorcerer had led her to resist the idea of him hiding alone in a shack indefinitely, she could imagine him passing his days here tolerably well. And that thought gave her hope that he was indeed still living. It was only then that she realized it did matter to her. She would, after all, be far happier to take her payment from the insurance company for proving him to be alive, rather from Widow Arnold for proving him to be dead.

  “Look!” Hans interrupted her thoughts before she could follow them any further. “An inn! And looks like quite a good one too. I for one could do with a stein or two of ale. What say you, Gretel?”

  “I say we have earned a little rest and recuperation, but I also say that we know no one here, and that if we were to enter the inn in our current state of dress and unkemptness we might not be welcome. I suggest the following. Herr Staunch, you are still sensibly clothed and reasonably tidy; would you be so good as to venture into that guest house up there, secure rooms for us, and ask if the tailor might be sent over with a selection of serviceable garments? I urge discretion, for if our sorcerer is here somewhere we do not wish to spook him. If he were to learn a detective has strolled into town he might well flee, and I for one have had my fill of chasing through the forest.”

  “Who should I say we are?” Cornelius asked.

  “You should be yourself, and say that you have two would-be wilderness adventurers who engaged your services to learn camping and such like, but who are now weary and in need of such comforts as hot water and beds. Be vague but pleasant, and I doubt anyone will quiz you further.”

  Hans, for once, sounded a practical note. “But what shall we do for money? I can’t imagine you brought sufficient with you for hotel tariffs and bar bills.”

  “I did not. And what little I brought went up in smoke with the rest of my things at the witch’s cottage. Herr Staunch, I must ask that you cover our expenses and add them to your bill. You will be reimbursed as soon as we return to Gesternstadt, you have my word.”

  “Happy to help,” Cornelius said, “though of course we could just set up camp a little way off. I saw a perfect spot for a fire and hammocks back up the trail …” The expressions on the faces of his companions gave him his answer. “As you wish,” he said, “but if it’s all the same to you, once I have done as you ask, I shall sleep out again. I will go to that place and wait for you to send word that my services are required for the return journey.” He hurried away to do Gretel’s bidding.

  The ground beneath the aerial village was inhabited by tethered grazing animals—goats and milk cows in the main—which explained the patterns of hoofbeats Cornelius had correctly identified. He moved swiftly through them, passing the broad sign welcoming visitors to Baumhausdorf, and jogged over to the nearest rope ladder, upon which he made a speedy ascent, untroubled by the way it swung and twisted, his strong arms and fleet feet powering him upward with ease.

  “Look at him go!” Hans said in awe. Then, after a pause in which Gretel was sure she could hear the cogs of his mind turning, he asked, “How are we to gain entry to the village and all its delights? I can’t see either of us managing that ladder.”

  When Hans managed to point out an obvious but inconvenient truth, it was Gretel’s habit to offer a cutting repost. On this occasion, however, the memory of his wounded face when she had spoke harshly was too fresh in her mind.

  “You make a good point, brother mine. The ladders are not for us. Let us assume that not everyone in Baumhausdorf is as nimble and able as our young friend. They must have some other means of ingress. We shall look for it.”

  They stepped forward beneath the cloak of darkness, moving as quietly as they were able between the pungent goats and masticating cattle. An overly friendly calf took a liking to Hans’s hat, which slowed them down somewhat, and Gretel more than once felt her boot squish into a warm pat, but otherwise they encountered no difficulties. At length they came to a wooden contraption manned by a large youth who had not words but was able to indicate the service he offered, which was to work the pulley that lifted a cage that would bear them up into the trees. Having no coin with which to pay him, Hans instead performed a card trick, which the fellow found inordinately amusing. Minutes later, they were installed in the wicker and wood cage and were cranked aloft.

  “I say!” breathed Hans as they stepped onto the wooden street.

  The tree house village was indeed something to marvel at. It was in all respects the same as if it had been constructed on terra firma, but its being high in the trees gave it two immediately noticeable characteristics. The first was movement, for as the trees gently sighed and swayed or stretched their boughs, so the wooden planks moved. The sensation was unsettling, but also curiously pleasant, reminding Gretel of being aboard a cruise ship. The second thing that was remarkable even in the dark was the new perspective upon the world that the village gave its inhabitants. Although night had properly fallen by now, a moon bright as a newly minted silver coin bathed the landscape with its gentle light. Gretel stepped forward to lean upon the balustrade that ran all along the street.

  “Well!” she declared. Before her lay many leagues of forest, stretching in all directions. She was able to look down upon the canopy of leaves and branches as if she were a giantess. The forest was no longer an impenetrable, frightening mass of trees, but a soft, shadowy carpet over which she could cast her gaze to the distant horizon of high pastures and mountains. “Well!” she said again.

  “Fraulein Gretel!” Cornelius called softly from a nearby doorway. He gestured for them to join him. “This is both inn and guesthouse, and I have obtained rooms for us.”

  “Was your story believed?”

  “It was. In fact, the proprietor, Herr Uberts, showed little interest in who we are. The tariff is not unreasonable, and there is a door from the lobby that goes into the bar of the inn.”

  “Excellent,” Hans declared, clapping his hands together with glee at the thought.

  They followed Cornelius inside and up the stairs. The interior gave no clue to the fact that they were so high up, but seemed in every respect an ordinary guesthouse with something of a rustic feel. There was plenty of wood left unpainted and a preponderance of bare wooden furniture, perhaps, but still there were enough soft furnishings for comfort, if not style. Gretel’s room was small but clean, with a simple wooden bed, chair, and washstand. The quilt was patchwork and colorful and Gretel had to resist the urge to flop upon it and succumb to fatigue. />
  “No,” she told herself. “First a bath, fresh clothes, and then a bite to eat in the inn.” A course of action that would revive her, but also allow her to begin the questioning of locals that might lead her to the sorcerer, for there was nowhere better to loosen tongues than a bar.

  Before drawing the curtains, Gretel looked out through the window, the better to fix her bearings. The inn was situated roughly at the midpoint of the main street of the village. This main thoroughfare, if such it could be called, looped in a freely drawn circle, the center of which was an empty drop to the ground, railed off with the sturdy balustrade. To the immediate left was the barbershop, to the right the tailor’s. Other stores and dwellings ran either around the main loop or off down side streets. Gretel noticed a sign above one of the smaller establishments offering the services of a “Physician of Great Talent and Expertise,” if not modesty. As she pondered this bit of confident self-promotion, the good doctor himself stepped out to take a breath of the balmy night air.

  “Great heavens!” exclaimed Gretel, for there, resplendent in purple—though minus a pointy hat—stood none other than Herr Arnold Ernst himself. She watched him, her mouth open in disbelief. Despite the lack of his appendix, he seemed to be in good health. She had not expected him to be so easy to find. Indeed he seemed to be making no effort to hide himself, and as he was advertising his services, he must be, locally, quite well known. He must surely be using an alias. Would he admit to his true identity, she wondered? Would he run if he realized that he was being tracked, and was about to be ensnared? And what, precisely, was she going to do with him now that she had found him? Gretel faced the prospect of trussing him up and paying someone strong and capable to help her drag him back to Gesternstadt, and it did not appeal. No, she would have to get to the bottom of the mystery of his disappearance. Of what exactly had taken place in his magicarium. Was there anyone else involved? Had he been coerced? He must be missing his beloved wife, and that, she decided, was key to getting him to cooperate. She would stick to her plan and ask questions before confronting him. As long as he did not get wind of who she was and what purpose had brought her there, there was no reason for the sorcerer to go anywhere.

  As she watched, he turned to go in, but then hesitated, looking to the sky. A small burr of darkness darted toward him. He held up a hand and Jynx alighted upon it. Ernst smiled and cooed and tickled the tiny creature beneath its chin before taking it indoors. If she had been doubt at all about the physician’s true identity, the tiny bat expunged it.

  A knock at the door heralded the arrival of a middle-aged woman who introduced herself as the wife of the tailor. She came with a selection of clothes draped over her arm, which she laid out upon the bed as if they were from the latest collection of the finest Parisian designers.

  “Take your pick, Fraulein,” she said, standing back, hands on hips, confident in the quality of her wares. Or more likely, Gretel thought, the fact that hers was the only establishment selling clothes within three days’ march in any direction.

  Gretel rifled through the garments on offer. They were all second-, or third-, or fourth-hand. Some showed more evidence of wear than others. The one fashioned from a good quality cotton had a disturbing patch over the heart, as if a jagged cut had been repaired. The dark red muslin was not dark enough to hide the stain down its front that Gretel knew in her bones to be blood. The next was a wedding dress, which was wholly unsuited to anything other than the occasion for which it had been designed. There was, or course, the dreaded dirndl, which Gretel quickly passed over. This left two outfits. One was an ensemble of skirts and bodice of passable quality, of a serviceable green hue. Alas, it had been made for a woman of a considerably less substantial frame than Gretel’s, and there was no time for alterations. The last, and therefore only choice, was a dress of royal blue silk. It was the right size and bore no discernible history of violence, which was in its favor. Its cut, however, was less helpful. It had no sleeves, but thin straps instead, and the front was cut so low and so wide as to display acres of flesh to the point, Gretel felt, where it would be hard to persuade any man to maintain eye contact with her, whatever the nature of their conversation. Still, there was nothing else. Gretel paid the tailor’s wife too much to part with her own cream cotton shawl and handed over some of the coins Cornelius had lent her for both garments. There were no shoes, so she would have to continue in her boots. The departure of the tailor’s wife coincided with the arrival of a maid bearing jugs of steaming water for Gretel’s bath.

  Half an hour later, she lay submerged, fragrant soap lathering up nicely as she scrubbed her battered feet, her aching muscles and bruised body beginning to feel restored at last. She closed her eyes.

  “A little longer,” she promised herself, “and then to work!”

  FIFTEEN

  Two hours later she knocked on the door to Hans’s room. The evening was warm, but she had elected to tie the shawl around her shoulders for the sake of decorum. Even so, she was showing rather more cleavage than she was comfortable with. She consoled herself with the fact that it might distract people sufficiently to get them to talk with her. She had washed her hair and piled it high on her head, and the maid had even given her a little powder and rouge, so that the worst of the ravages of her woodland camping were concealed. The soap, while pleasant enough, had a rather powerful scent to it which clung to her still. All in all, the glimpse she had of herself in the long mirror on the landing had revealed her to look worryingly come-hither, but there was nothing to be done about it.

  Hans opened the door.

  Gretel started. “Why on earth are you dressed like that?” she asked.

  “It was this or a butcher’s apron. They had nothing else in my size.”

  “But a clergyman … ?”

  “What would you have me do, Gretel? I can hardly go out in what’s left of those pajamas.”

  Hans’s attire was head to toe that of a country vicar. It did at least look clean, and nothing could have been more respectable, though Gretel was still left with the sense that they were kitted out to attend a costume ball.

  “What a pair we make,” she muttered as they made their way downstairs.

  There was a spring in Hans’s step as he took her arm and steered her toward the inn. Gretel thought he was unlikely to be the first clergyman to be so openly eager to get to a bar, but he might have been one of the few to do so while apparently escorting a woman of easy virtue. As they approached the door that connected the inn to the guest house, music could be heard, of the lively and unchallenging kind, and above it chatter and laughter, loud and boisterous. They opened the door and stepped inside.

  The hostelry consisted of a single, large room. Despite its size, it was so filled with revelers it appeared cramped. From the entrance, Gretel could just make out a fireplace at the far end, a long bar running the length of the room, and stools, small tables, and chairs in every available space, most currently occupied. And what occupants they were! As her eyes adjusted to the smoke that made them smart and the low light of the wall lamps obscured by so many drinkers, she took stock of the clientele. Most were men, which was not in itself unusual. What immediately struck her was that so many of them were faintly familiar to her. As she turned from one face to the next she was certain she recognized several of them, though she knew she had not actually met any of them. And then it dawned on her: she knew them from their likenesses rendered in ink upon notices. Notices declaring them Wanted Men. The more she looked, the more certain she became. There was Scurvy Sam, a pirate who had not set foot on a ship for decades but instead robbed stagecoaches. And there the Coffin Dodger Dandy, a man of flamboyant dress and advanced years, and one of the most successful jewel thieves in Bavaria. And playing cards with him it could be no other than the Lily Twins, known for leaving a lily at the scene of their crimes, which were mostly, if Gretel’s memory served, murders in the course of burglary.

  “Gretel … !” Hans hissed at her from the co
rner of his mouth. “Am I mistaken, or … ?”

  “You are not, brother mine.”

  “You are seeing what I am seeing?”

  “I fear that I am.”

  “What have we come to?” he whispered urgently.

  “A place of safety for outlaws and outcasts, it would seem. Come, there is a vacant table in the corner.”

  They made their way across the room and took their seats. A serving wench, a tray at her hip, swayed through the throng and dragged a wet rag over their table.

  “What can I get you?” she asked.

  “A jug of your best ale,” Gretel replied, “two glasses, and whatever you have by way of food.”

  “We’ve pigs knuckle and potatoes. And some weisswurst.”

  “With mustard?” Hans asked.

  “Of course, Reverend.”

  “Excellent,” said Gretel, letting the confusion over Hans’s identity pass. She took from her pocket the last of the money Cornelius had lent her and pressed coins into the woman’s hand, and as she did so she asked, “I wonder, does Herr Arnold frequent your establishment?”

  “The physician? On occasion, though he’s not a big drinker. Needs to keep a steady hand for his work, I suppose.” She left them with this thought.

  “Look!” Hans leaned close to his sister and nodded toward the far wall. “Isn’t that the fellow who robbed the Gesternstadt bank last summer?”

  “I believe it is, though it might be prudent not to let on that you’ve recognized him.”

  “But, Gretel, I recognize nearly all of them. They are all infamous. Can you imagine if we’d brought Kapitan Strudel with us? Ha! He wouldn’t have room for them all in his little jail.”

  Gretel doubted very much that should the Kingsman ever find his way to this particular inn, he would ever be allowed to leave. All of a sudden, icy fingers seemed to creep around the back of her neck. If everyone here was a nefarious criminal, and all lived openly as such, then the secrecy of the location was of paramount importance. Which meant that only people who could be trusted to keep that secret would be permitted the freedom to come and go. It appeared the sorcerer—or the physician as she must now think of him—enjoyed that freedom. She was more than a little worried that she and Hans might not be granted the same privilege. If anyone recognized her and mentioned the word detective it might well be all up for Gretel (yes, that Gretel) of Gesternstadt. And her brother. And Cornelius Staunch, were his connection to them apparent.