Fire Wizard

by Patty Jansen

  “It’s a very interesting book. Rinius claims that . . .”

  At least it sounded like Roald had found someone to talk to.

  Koby led her up the stairs.

  Johanna turned left, but Koby pulled her to the right. “This way, mistress. Your father said that you should have his room.”

  “But . . .” That was embarrassing. Her room was big enough for two.

  “There is a big bed in the room, and it’s safer, at the back of the house.”

  That was true.

  So they entered the room that had been her parents’ sanctuary. It felt somehow wrong, but Johanna didn’t have the energy to protest.

  Koby took off the disgusting dress, and brought a bowl of water for Johanna to wash with. She wet the cloth and wrung it out. When the wet cloth touched her skin, Johanna shivered deep into her bones. Yes, she was definitely not well. Sleep in a warm bed would hopefully sort that out.

  Koby also brought her nightgown and then left her with the words, “I will let the men know that you’re up here and sleeping.” She was at the door, about to leave the room when she hesitated and turned around. “Do you think that your being unwell means that we will have a little pair of feet running around this house soon?”

  “No, I . . .” Johanna was going to say that she didn’t think so, but by the Triune, it could be.

  Right now that she had decided that it was probably better if the children stayed away until Alexandre was gone, the city was safe and the palace rebuilt, Roald officially crowned and the two of them officially married.

  But children didn’t wait for that sort of thing just because you wanted them to.

  Koby smiled and shut the door.

  Johanna lay in the big bed in the somewhat unfamiliar room staring at the ceiling. She put her hands over her lower stomach that felt, if anything, bloated and painful. Just like if she’d eaten something disagreeable.

  No, she was probably sick. She had managed to go all the way to Florisheim and stay at the river camp without once being sick. Plenty of people had gotten sick there. She was just a bit late catching up.

  But . . .

  It worried her.

  She worried about what Loesie had said. It had been Kylian who had struck Loesie mute, Kylian who had killed her family; Kylian, who had danced with Johanna at the ball. Who had kissed her. Whom she had witnessed performing an incomplete necromancy. Who had shared dinner with her in the Guentherite Brotherhood’s monastery. Forced her to stay. Forced her to . . .

  She was still unsure just exactly what had happened at that time in between finishing dinner and waking up on the floor when the others came to rescue her. She feared what had happened.

  So many questions.

  So many fears and uncertainties.

  So much magic.

  Roald came into the room later. Maybe Johanna had dozed a bit, or maybe she hadn’t. Father was in the hallway with him, holding the candle.

  “In there,” he was saying. “I hear that she wasn’t feeling well.”

  The door shut and footsteps came across the floor.

  “You’re feeling sick. I won’t look at you today. I’m being very quiet so that you can sleep.”

  “Thank you, Roald,” she said.

  The bed moved when he lay down, and soon after, he started snoring.

  Johanna still couldn’t sleep. She worried and tossed and turned.

  * * *

  Johanna must have dozed briefly, because all of a sudden, she woke up. Morning light came in between the curtains and the sound of voices drifted up from the hall. It was Nellie, who must have returned from her family, and someone she didn’t recognise.

  Johanna thought she could hear her name being mentioned. She tiptoed from the bed. Whoa, it was cold. Koby had laid out a clean dress on the bench before the dressing table. She pulled it on. The coldness of the fabric made her shiver, so she didn’t think that she was quite recovered yet. Better spend some time resting by the fire today.

  In the hall she found Nellie talking to a woman she remembered vaguely as having been active in the church. As soon as the woman saw Johanna, she said, “Oh!” and she dropped into a curtsy.

  Well, that was embarrassing. Johanna still felt a bit uncertain on her feet. Her hair was uncombed and her dress was warm and comfortable but not the best. She wasn’t fitted out to play Queen.

  “There were rumours that you had made it back with the prince. Is . . . he here as well?”

  “Still asleep,” Johanna said.

  “We’ve been waiting for this opportunity. Waiting for someone to tell us that not all is lost, and that we don’t need to live under this tyrant and his evil church.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t remember your name.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Greetje, Your Majesty. Greetje Porter.”

  Oh yes, from the family that owned the grocery store. They were a customer of Father’s but Johanna had always dealt with their warehouse manager.

  “Please come into the kitchen where it’s warm,” Koby said. “It’s a most nasty cold day.”

  They went down the stairs into the low-ceilinged basement. The servants’ rooms were on both sides, many of them empty. Nellie had quickly made her room a little home again, complete with a little vase of rose hips from the garden.

  The kitchen was warm. A hearty fire burned in the hearth and a pan of soup bubbled on the stove. The air smelled of baking bread.

  The smell still made Johanna feel a bit queasy although she couldn’t work out if that was because she felt sick or was hungry.

  They sat down around the table—sturdy and made of rough wood—and Koby poured tea.

  “It’s like this, Your Majesty,” Greetje began. She self-consciously tucked a strand of hair in her bonnet. “When those monsters took over our city, they cowardly went for the weakest and easiest targets: people from the church. They burnt the buildings, sometimes with the Shepherds still inside. Old Shepherd Darius from the church in East End they tied to the altar and then they set fire to the building.” She shuddered and stared at her tea. “As if that wasn’t enough, they came after the rest of us, everyone who had involvement with the church. I don’t know how they knew who these people were, other than that people like Octavio Nieland or the other nobles told them. They’d always spoken up against the church. So a lot of us hid in the cellars and the warehouses. We took things from houses where we knew that all the inhabitants were dead and they would no longer need their possessions. We didn’t like doing it, but we begged the Holy Spirit for forgiveness. We had to be careful because the guards and their bears were also looting people’s possessions. They were putting gold and other precious things on barges that were taken up the river. Taking all the wealth from the citizens—”

  “What about the palace? I noticed they were rebuilding it.”

  “The tyrant wants to restore the palace, so he’s left it as is, except for the main hall which he has already started repairing. But I’ve heard that he’s finding it hard to get people to do the work.”

  “That’s because most workers were commoners and are supporters of the Church of the Triune.”

  “They were supporters of the Church of the Triune.” Her expression was grave.

  An unspoken horror went between them: these people were dead.

  “How many died?”

  “We don’t know. Hundreds, at least. It was a good thing that, when the fires broke out, not many people had gone to bed yet. When it became clear that they were after church people, we hid in cellars and warehouses. But still many were found and killed by Alexandre’s men in the days after the fires.”

  “Are any church people still left?”

  “There are. We have services in different places every couple of days. Not on a regular day, because that would make them suspicious, and we meet somewhere else every time. We have a new Shepherd. Shepherd Victor. You might know him.” She smiled. “We would be most honoured if you could visit us and take prayer with us.�
�

  “Yes, I would.”

  “What about the most important patron of the church?”

  It took Johanna a few seconds to figure out that she was talking about Roald, because he didn’t strike her as being very supportive of the church. In fact, she didn’t think she had ever heard him talk about the church. Strange that he should be “the most important patron”. “Maybe he can come. If it’s safe.”

  “Both of you would be most welcome. We’ve been looking for a sign of hope. I do believe this is it.” She took Johanna’s hands. Her hands were still cold from outside. “There is a service on tomorrow night. I will send one of the boys along to pick you up.”

  When Greetje was gone, Koby started making breakfast and Roald came blundering down the stairs.

  “Where is breakfast in this house?”

  “You’re in the right place. Just wait until I make some new tea. And I do believe that the bread is done.” Koby gave him a thick slice of bread just out of the oven that still steamed and absorbed the butter like a sponge.

  He started eating, dripping butter and jam down his chin.

  He hadn’t shaved for a number of days, but Johanna decided that the reddish beard made him look more serious. He looked tired, they all were.

  Koby put a slice of bread in front of her. Johanna didn’t feel like eating, but she picked at it a bit, because Koby was shooting her you-must-eat daggers. The jam made it better, though. Much better.

  Meanwhile, Roald asked Koby questions about making bread, and as it turned out, he had some experience. “If we did something the abbot didn’t like, he would make us work in the laundry or the kitchens. I didn’t like the laundry, but the kitchens were all right.”

  “Your Majesty, that’s scandalous. Did you do that many naughty things?”

  “Once I said that I thought their statue of the Triune in the chapel was wrong. Once I told a brother to stop hitting a horse. Once I told the brother that his wine was off and he made it wrong, once . . .” He counted on his fingers.

  Koby laughed. “You were quite the rascal, then.”

  “They were unfair. The work I did was fair. The horse didn’t ask to be hit, and a horse doesn’t know why you hit it. The bad wine was his own fault.”

  Johanna reminded herself to never do anything stupid in Roald’s presence, because he would remember and recount it until the end of his days.

  Koby completely relaxed in his presence, and showed him her baking tray and other utensils with flour-covered hands.

  Nellie announced that she had work to do, and Johanna remained at the table, clutching her cup and gradually finishing her bread.

  It worried her that Greetje had so easily found out that she and Roald were back. It meant that Alexandre would find out soon enough, too. It meant that they would have to move quickly. Visit that church service and the people who gathered there. Have some sort of ceremony to make Roald’s assumption of the throne official.

  That gesture would be infinitely improved if she could get the crown and staff from their hiding places. Unless Alexandre had combed the palace, she was the only person who knew where they were.

  But she was tired, so incredibly cold and tired.

  Chapter 11

  * * *

  TRUE TO GREETJE’S word, a boy came to the house the next morning with the message that tonight’s service would be held in a boatshed in East Harbour.

  Johanna didn’t see him. She was resting upstairs, as she had done for much of the previous day, and only came downstairs when he returned to accompany them to the secret location of the church service.

  She had eaten a bit, but still felt really tired and not quite steady on her feet.

  Roald and Father were in the hall. They had spent most of the day in the library. Father looked bright, if thin and a lot greyer than he had been when she left, and he was talking in a lively manner.

  He had given Roald the heavy cloak that he used when going out on the boats.

  When Johanna frowned at it, he said, “I have no more boats to use it on, and I’m getting too old for that sort of thing anyway. I’m getting out of the way. It’s time for the young generation to take over.”

  He looked lonely and sad. He had always been such a proud man, at the top of his business when all this happened, and now he was reduced to having to give away his business to a rival family in order to be able to continue it. Once Johanna had dreamt of running the Brouwer Company, but even if Father could get a new ship soon and the Lady Sara could resume the river trade—and to be honest, what towns were left that were in a position to resume buying luxury items?—she would be too busy helping Roald.

  She hugged him.

  Johanna and Roald followed Nellie and the boy out into the night. His name was Pieter, he said proudly, and he was thirteen years old. He delivered messages for the church because, “I’m so small, and the guards think that I’m a kid so they never stop me.” His voice sounded very young.

  Clouds hung low over the city, and an occasional squall would whip cold drops of rain into Johanna’s face.

  Pieter carried a storm lamp and led them through alleys and back streets so that they avoided most of the spots where the guards often patrolled. He knew exactly where they went and what routes they took. Once they saw two men with a storm light, but otherwise, the night belonged to the wind and rain.

  East Harbour was an area where large warehouses lined the waterfront. Most of those were fairly new and purpose-built, so that they could handle the larger vessels. This was where the large ocean ships docked and where much of the imported wares were stored before they were either sold in town or carried upriver by riverboats such as the Lady Sara.

  It was not a place for river ships or sea cows, because that trade was much older and took place in the main harbour.

  It was extremely dark and deserted in this part of town since few people lived here, even before the fires. The seafaring ships bobbed on their moorings. The water was rough, even in this sheltered area, and waves slapped against hulls and seawalls.

  The boatshed was at the end of the quay where the pier jutted into the murky waters. A faint glow in the dark indicated the presence of the lighthouse, although the structure itself blended into the darkness.

  They walked along the back of the shed in single file, hair and clothing flapping in the wind. Then Pieter stopped and knocked four times at a wooden warehouse door. He said in a clear voice, “The Triune is our Saviour.”

  The door opened a crack, revealing the faint glow of a storm light against the rough bricks of the warehouse wall.

  “I’ve brought them,” Pieter said.

  A man said, “Quick, come in. It’s awful out there.”

  The door of the shed opened further and Nellie led Johanna and Roald inside.

  To Johanna’s great surprise, the ground floor of the warehouse was packed. In the low light of a few storm lamps hanging on wall hooks or hoists that were normally used to haul goods to the upper floors of the warehouse, it was hard to see who all these people were. The cranes and wooden beams cast odd shadows over the crowd, but there had to be at least a hundred people gathered here. They shuffled aside to make a path for the newcomers to the back wall of the warehouse.

  Here, a storm lantern stood on a table. Someone had found a smudged, formerly white tablecloth on which stood a candle in a half-burnt candle holder that Johanna recognised as having stood on the altar in the big church.

  The candle was tallow wax and smoked more than it burned. Its rancid smell spread through the shed despite the draughty air. Behind the candle against the wall leaned a framed painting that depicted the Triune: a man with a twisted body that had three heads: an old man with a beard, a salivating dog and a wraith-like figure.

  Johanna folded her hands and bowed her head in a moment of reflection. Next to her, Roald stood as frozen, staring at all those people who were whispering about him. He had stuffed his hands deep in his pockets. He looked awkward and nervous.

/>   Johanna touched him on the shoulder, but he didn’t react.

  People started pointing and murmuring. She could almost hear the voices. Is that him? He doesn’t look as crazy as they said he was.

  The light from the storm lamps lit the crowd from behind, gilding hats, bonnets and scarves and the puffs of mist from their breathing. Some people had no winter clothing, and they came dressed in improvised capes made from horse blankets. Some people hid their faces in hoods and shawls. Some were injured. She spotted a couple of people with bandaged hands and one man at the front had weeping injuries on one side of his face. It looked red and swollen and painful. But his face was set in a determined expression.

  Nellie’s mother was there, and she recognised some people from shops and the markets.

  Greetje came out from between the people. “Oh, I’m so happy that you’re here.”

  She hugged Johanna and curtsied to Roald.

  Then she faced the crowd and said, “I present to you, His Excellency Crown Prince Roald of Saarland and his Consort, Johanna Brouwer.”

  A few people cheered. Others clapped, but most watched in silence. Whether that was because they had to stay hidden or because they didn’t know what to think of Roald, Johanna didn’t know.

  Greetje went on to tell the people about Johanna and Roald’s escape to Florisheim. Again, most remained silent. Johanna had forgotten the sort of rumours that circulated amongst the townsfolk about Roald. Probably the “idiot” view was quite strong, and they would see by the way he fidgeted that Roald wasn’t, and would never be, a “normal” king who gave speeches and held balls. Seeing him potter about the rose garden was about as normal as he would ever get.

  This was the part where Johanna would have to stand up and take control, but the very thought made her feel sick. Seeing all these tired faces of people who had lived through hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if they refused to listen to her.

  But when Greetje asked, she told their story, leaving out everything about Loesie.

  “ ’Tis an evil world indeed,” a man declared when she finished.