Willow Witch

by Patty Jansen

  Sigvald spat at Sylvan’s feet. “You need me. You pay me. You don’t pay enough, I take what belongs to me.” He glanced at Nellie. Johanna didn’t know how much she understood of this conversation, but her face was pale and drawn.

  “Ha, none of them would fetch a good price. Every town on the river is flooded with people wanting work, even the kind of work no one wants to do. None of this lot are strong enough, or pretty enough, to interest people who can take their pick of hundreds of workers. You may want to sell them, but you can’t.”

  Sigvald stared and didn’t reply.

  Sylvan stared back. Without breaking eye contact, he produced a pouch from his belt, which he tossed to Sigvald, who caught it in mid-air.

  Sylvan said, “That’s the last time I’ll ever ask you to do a job.”

  “Fuck off, rich boy.”

  Sylvan balled his fist, but Sigvald had already turned his horse around. He whistled to his men.

  “Bye, beauty.” Ludo squeezed Johanna’s backside and jumped from the back of the horse. The bandits riding with the other prisoners did the same.

  They mounted the spare horses and with whistles and the flick of reins, the group left in gallop, leaving Sylvan and the soldier with the two bears and the four prisoners all on the biggest of the bandit’s horses. Of course these animals did not belong to Sigvald and his group.

  “Untie them,” Sylvan said.

  The soldier went to Roald first.

  “Can you tell us what’s going on?” Johanna asked.

  “It will be my pleasure, lady, and I do apologise for your earlier treatment.”

  Having untied Roald, the soldier came to Johanna and used a dagger to slice through the rope. She flexed her wrists when the rope was off. The soldier helped her dismount and then went to help Nellie. Loesie had woken up. She didn’t want to be helped, but was a competent enough rider to let herself down without accidents.

  The horses stood passive, their heads lowered. One was trying to nibble on a bush, oblivious that a bear nosed around in the garden bed facing it.

  Sylvan whistled. Furry heads went up, tails wagged and ears went forward.

  “Get Karl to look after the animals,” Sylvan said to the soldier.

  “Certainly, sir.”

  The man took the horses’ reins and led them up a path to the stables on the right of the garden. Hooves crunched on gravel. The dogs and bears followed meekly.

  “I get in trouble when they destroy my father’s roses,” Sylvan said, while leading the group to the house.

  His father? The duke?

  Had he come to the river especially to capture the last of the Carmine House to take the group back to his father?

  They arrived at a large gravel area in front of the castle’s forbidding entrance. A broad set of steps led to the main doors, tall and painted green. Although there was no gate, the steps were the only connection to the castle across the land bridge, and Johanna imagined that those doors were very heavy and reinforced with iron bars.

  A couple of swans swam peacefully across the water, followed by three fluffy grey cygnets.

  “Look,” Roald said, pointing. "Cygnets. Like Cygna."

  His mother, the pale swan-like princess from the north.

  The door to the castle opened with a mournful squeak and a thin man shuffled onto the forecourt. He was dressed in dark colours and wore his hair in a dark ponytail.

  “There you are, master. Your father was expecting you back yesterday.”

  “We got delayed.” Sylvan climbed up the steps and spoke to the man briefly. After a few words, the man went to the door, and Sylvan gestured for the others to come.

  “Meet my father and enjoy the hospitality of the Swandale estate.”

  Johanna’s mind still reeled from the turn of events. What was she supposed to think of this development? What kind of “hospitality” included guests that were brought in as prisoners?

  The main entrance hall was a grandiose affair, with marble flooring, a grand staircase and an enormous chandelier. Giant oil paintings depicting severe-looking men with ruffled collars hung on the walls. They were quality paintings, too, looking so life-like that Johanna had to check several times to make sure that the men’s gazes weren’t following her.

  It was quite dark here. The windows were small, and the walls were covered in dark green wallpaper. The few candles that burned in the chandelier didn’t dispel a stuffy atmosphere.

  The man led the group through the hall into a large room full of clutter: chairs, tables, few of them matching, shelves, book cases full of old works.

  In a big armchair by the window sat a man. He was thin, in a well-worn house coat and matching slippers. A walking stick rested against the arm of his chair. He had a grey beard, clipped short, and a ring of hair surrounding his head. The top was bald and shone like a polished stone.

  Apart from the fact that he was of the right age, he didn’t look one bit like Baron Uti. In fact, he looked stern, but in a friendly way.

  “Meet my father, Duke Lothar.”

  Johanna felt compelled to bow. Nellie did the same, but Roald stared at the duke, his brow furrowed. Did he recognise this man?

  Loesie’s gaze wandered off to the corner of the room, towards a cabinet with doors that held tiny panes of glass. Her irises had gone cloudy again. Please, Loesie, behave yourself and stay out of trouble.

  “Father, these are the refugees I told you about.”

  Nothing about names. The bandits had never asked any of them for their names either.

  “Hmph.” The duke grabbed his walking stick. With a groan he heaved himself to his feet. Johanna was surprised how tall he was. Like father, like son. He shuffled to the group, looking Johanna in the eye.

  “Some are magic-touched,” Sylvan said.

  “Is that true, hmmm?” The duke walked around the four of them.

  From close up, his face was red and pore-riddled. His dark hair hung in greasy strings over the collar of his shirt.

  His grey eyes met Johanna’s in a flat look. She feared he would sense her magic, but he said nothing and his face remained blank. Then he went to Roald, who looked back at him as if he was a startled rabbit.

  “This one’s funny.”

  Sylvan said, “Don’t worry about that one. He has as much magic as a farm dog.”

  The duke stopped at Loesie. “Ah, I see.”

  “Ghghghghgh!” Loesie retreated, but backed into a couch and fell backwards over the armrest onto the seat.

  While Johanna called, “Loesie!” the duke grabbed Loesie’s shoulder. The chill of magic spread through the room. Loesie stiffened, her head thrown back.

  “Loesie!” Johanna called.

  “Be quiet, child,” the duke snapped.

  He bent over Loesie’s prone form and pulled at her eyelid. She spat at him. Her eyes had clouded over to a luminous white.

  “Hmmm, possession. That’s interesting. I haven’t seen any of those for a while.” He chuckled, rubbing his hands. “Well, we might be able to fix that.”

  Johanna shivered. She wasn’t sure if she wanted the man who kept dead bodies on his land to do anything to her friend.

  He turned to Johanna. “Do any of you know who did this?”

  How about: You? “We don’t. She can’t tell anyone. She can’t talk.”

  “I presume she cannot write?”

  “No.”

  Sylvan came to stand next to his father. “The person who has done this is someone strong enough to break open substream layers and infuse his own. He would have needed to win her trust to let him come close enough to do that. It’s probably someone from her local area, someone she kno
ws.”

  Substream layers?

  His father turned to him. “Can’t. There aren’t any powerful magicians in Saarland. I know a few who could do that, but none who would bother with a Saarlander farm girl.”

  “Unless she was witness to something the magician did not want her to talk about.”

  Johanna saw Loesie hold the basket out to her. She remembered the images she’d seen when taking the basket—of men crossing the river and a woman’s screams.

  He was right: Loesie had seen something, and not wanting her to talk was why the magician had shut her up. But what was it that she had seen? None of those nightly images were clear enough for Johanna to see much, or identify the attackers.

  “This case is interesting, though.” The duke stood back, rubbing his chin. “It seems that she has a certain level of innate magic that has clashed with the spell.”

  “I was wondering about that.” Sylvan glanced at Johanna. She feared he was about to say, That one has magic, too, but he didn’t.

  The duke clapped his hands together. “Well, let’s not treat them as criminals. They are tired and dirty. You are welcome to share dinner with us. We will try to solve this interesting situation in the morning. Hans!”

  ‎

  Chapter 9

  * * *

  THE SAME thin man who had opened the door for them now led the group back into the hall. In his prim-faced silence he preceded the group up the sweeping broad staircase into an upstairs corridor.

  The walls were dark red here, and the doors a very dark brown. The ceilings had been painted white, but the paint had yellowed with age. The only light came from a tiny window at the very end of the passage and the light that fell in was dusky and didn’t do much to dispel the closed-up, stifling atmosphere.

  “Phooey, this place could do with an airing,” Nellie said under her breath. Johanna agreed. Apart from the musty smell, the runner looked dusty, as if no one had walked through this corridor for ages.

  How many people lived in this giant house?

  They passed an open door to a room that was empty, except for a carpet and floor-length heavy drapes that half-covered the window. The small panes of glass were dirty on the outside and spiders had built webs in the corners of the window frame.

  “Does only the duke’s family live in this house?” Johanna asked, but the stiff servant didn’t reply.

  He opened a door to the left. Inside, dark curtains hung before the window, almost blocking daylight. There were three beds with dark frames and velvet bedspreads. A chair that had seen better times sat in front of an empty fireplace. A cupboard against the side wall held a variety of handmade dolls. It looked like this had been a children’s room.

  “Two can sleep here,” the servant named Hans said in a clipped, heavily accented voice.

  The next room was larger and had a double bed, a hearth and a couple of chairs. The walls were dark red.

  “Sleep in this room or this room,” the servant said. “I bring water for washing.”

  The man took them to third room where every bit of wall space that had no window or door was taken up by wardrobes, all of them filled with clothes. Men’s, women’s, in a variety of styles, but most a bit old-fashioned.

  Hans said in his clipped voice, “Wash. Find clothes. Come to dinner. Downstairs.” He bowed, turned around and left the group to stand awkwardly in the hallway.

  Well, what to do?

  Loesie had turned around and was studying a portrait that hung on the wall, depicting a man in a ruffled shirt wearing a hunter’s hat. His face vaguely resembled the duke’s.

  “You and Roald must sleep in this room,” Nellie said, indicating the room with the double bed. “We will sleep in the other room.” Coming from Nellie, who was petrified of Loesie, that meant a lot.

  Johanna wasn’t sure if she wanted to sleep in any room. Much as she appreciated a real bed or being free of Ludo’s leery stares, she didn’t want to be fooled into thinking that they were visitors here.

  “I’d rather have all of us in the same room. I’m afraid I don’t trust anyone here.” And I don’t trust Loesie. If she was the reason Sylvan had brought them here, he must know more about her than he let on.

  “No, Mistress Johanna, you must be with your husband.”

  Get on with producing an heir.

  Johanna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. How quickly Nellie had recovered from the ride through the forest. Dependable, unflappable Nellie.

  Instead of arguing about who was going to sleep where, Johanna went into the third room, with all those wardrobes against all the walls. Nellie opened the door to one of them. It was full of dresses, mostly heavy dark velvet ones of the type that Johanna had tried on with Mistress Daphne but had found unsuitable for the ball. This type of dress, buttoned up to the neck with few frills, must be eastern fashion. She pulled one out and ran a hand over the fabric. It was very heavy and thick.

  “Quite old-fashioned,” Nellie said, hanging the dress back. She opened another door. Inside was a variety of men’s clothing, some of the jackets visibly dusty at the shoulders.

  “They are very pretty clothes,” Roald said.

  Nellie wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like this one bit. Who else lives here? Why does he have all these clothes here?”

  “For guests?” Roald said.

  “Who would be travelling in this area? We’ve come through the sand. It’s horrible. No one goes that way. There is no trade, no farming, nothing of importance out there, only trees.”

  Johanna couldn’t help think of the bodies in the ice cellar. She didn’t know whether to bring it up or whether this duke would have some sort of magic that allowed him to listen in on the conversations. Or whether the cellar was even on his land.

  She pushed the uneasy thoughts away.

  “I think these clothes have been here for a long time.” Nellie said. “They’re quite old-fashioned and could use an airing. But we better choose something. If we’re to go to a formal dinner, we need to clean up. You two are the future of Saardam. You need to look the part.”

  “Nellie, they might have untied us, but we’re still prisoners.”

  “That doesn’t mean we lose our dignity.”

  “Dignity would mean not using this man’s clothes.”

  “Go to a formal dinner in these?” Nellie spread her hands. Her dress had a tear down the front and was smudged with dirt. Roald had been wearing a farmer’s vest, which was extremely dirty. Loesie had refused to change into anything new even after they collected clothes from the farm. She still wore her grandmother’s black dress, now smudged with mud and other substances.

  Johanna sighed. Yes. They could not attend a formal dinner in their own clothes, and there really was no other option but to use the duke’s.

  They found a blue dress for Johanna and a ruffled shirt and green velvet jacket for Roald. The two of them went into the room with the double bed, where Hans had brought the promised water and cloths. Johanna draped the clothes on the bed and proceeded to take off Roald’s filthy garments.

  “I should shave. Do you know how to do that?”

  Johanna dipped cloth into the basin and wrung it out. “I think a beard looks fine on you, if you can keep the food out of it.” She scrubbed his chin, where flecks of white stuff had dried in the stubble

  “I know how to eat properly, if we get tableware.”

  She had no doubt that he did.

  “Do you think that I can look at you tonight?” He stood with his arms wide while she dipped the cloth in the water again.

  “Is that the only thing you ever think about?”

  “No, but I like looking at you. Take that dress off.” He reached for her bodice.

&n
bsp; She batted his hand away. “Not now. We’re supposed to be at dinner with the duke. Do you know the duke?”

  “I told you about him. He tried to kill his half-brother several times.”

  “Yes, I remember you telling us, but have you met him before?”

  “He would have recognised me if we met.”

  True. She washed his neck and chest, his arms—

  “Take off that dress. I want to see you.”

  “I think you need a little cooling down.” She thrust the cloth into his crotch, where his member stood up like a crooked stick.

  “That’s cold!” He tried to push her away.

  She tickled his side and he burst out giggling. “Heeee, don’t do that. Don’t do that!”

  They fell in a heap onto the bed and rolled over the cover, scattering pillows.

  Someone knocked on the door. “Are you all right, Mistress Johanna?”

  “Yes, Nellie, don’t worry.” She met Roald’s eyes. He managed to look surprised.

  “You’re silly,” she said. Silly, inappropriate, but funny. He trusted her. He needed someone to tell him what to do, and he listened to her.

  She pushed herself up from the bed. “Come, let’s put on these horrible clothes.”

  She helped him into shirt and trousers, quickly washed herself and wormed herself into the dress. She asked Roald to do up her laces at the back, but he didn’t seem to know how to, so she had to ask Nellie.

  Roald stopped her when she went out the door. “I love you. I haven’t said it yet today.” His face was humourless and sincere. She knew he was only repeating what his mother had said to him, and he didn’t understand love. But he understood being safe and comfortable.

  She stroked his stubbly cheek. His grey eyes met hers in their usual sincere look. “You love me, too?”

  “Yes. Yes, I think so.”

  He smiled, really smiled, while his eyes met hers. A cheeky smile that spoke of silly, naughty and slightly inappropriate things. She had never seen him smile like this and had thought he was incapable. It was beautiful and filled her with hope. They would find safety, they would return to Saardam, they would defeat the occupiers, they would rebuild the city, they would have a big family with lots of little chubby babies.