And there were days I didn’t believe anything could move Father, to begin with. What could have made him sacrifice a single thought to his — boring, I supposed — daughter back at the castle, when all the glorious and rewarding things happened at the fronts under the brilliant sun of foreign lands?
No, I could hardly make him listen to a word I said as things were now, so there was no way I could have turned his head as a mere child. Father needed to be the Magnificent King, the Great Conqueror, and that’s what he was going to focus all his efforts on until his end, I imagined. And he wasn’t alone in that, either. He had this woman, this witch here, Rachel — Wretched Rachel? Who calls themselves that? I could understand her no more than I could understand Father.
Father sent the troops to battle on foreign frontiers and never joined them; he rarely sent to fetch the fallen men; he was no hero in so many ways. He was the talk of the village, and the public word had started turning against him. I knew there were those who sympathized with Mother and me, and on the other hand, those who thought we were of the same lot with Father and thus nothing but despicable, boasting leeches living off the good people.
“Okay, but my pretty, we should be going,” Father said, jerking me out of my thoughts. “Burglars and conmen, like our friend, don’t wait for tardy customers. They know better than to wait for deals that might not come. See, betrayal is what they’re selling, so they think everyone’s the same. But we are coming, because we’re moving our bones, now, love.”
“Oh, my! Let’s go! Seventeen years and never a dull day! Aren’t you glad you chose the exciting life, love?”
Father beamed at Rachel. “Not a regret in this heart.” He stood up and offered his arm down to Rachel, who took it and, standing up as well, stepped forward, like in a dance. They started prancing off towards the entrance of the inn.
My feet felt cool and stiff around the spruce branch, and the needles were starting to dig in uncomfortably. I wasn’t high on courage and energy right now and wished to go back home to the rose-covered castle, or at least to one of my resting trees, but some strange hunch nagged at the back of my mind and would not let me. This seemed more important than anything, so, energized with anger, I bowed, leaped up, and took after them.
A peasant was entering at the same time, just after Father and Rachel, and I used his swaggering walk and swaying arms as camouflage, as I dove to the doorway. I doubted that anyone noticed, as I flew in along with the reek of old ale and sleeping-tick straw.
Inside, at first, I saw nothing. I was a day-time bird, I wanted to protest. Or maybe not? I was Aurora, wasn’t I…but flying? So, perhaps I was, perhaps I wasn’t, but I saw precious little, and I had to find somewhere to sit and gather my senses. A bit of blinking and grooming my plumage on a plank in the roof structures helped me gain my confidence and my eye-sight. It was dim, but lanterns like little hearths lit all the tables and the companies sitting at them, and I let my gaze go over everyone.
All the people sitting bowed over the flickering lights were foreign to me at first sight. Then I spotted Father and Rachel pushing their chairs to better spots, as they were getting ready to sit down at one of the small tables in the back. There was a third person already sitting down across the table from them: a man, tall and broadly build but hunched, as if from a lifetime of wariness and hard labor. His face was marked with scars on both sides, with one even across his throat. His heavy brow crests shadowed his eyes in an intimidating way, and his snappy, quick way to glance around made me nervous even before I knew one thing about him.
I set my beak in a determined aim, leaped up, and zapped from one ceiling plank to another until I sat down on the one above their table. It was astonishing how nobody paid attention to me; not that I had complaints. Apparently, they didn’t care about little birds. I had spotted a few sparrows inside, too, in the kitchen, once my eyes got accustomed, and they’d been let be as well.
Below me, Rachel lifted the cover of the lantern of their table and set it to the side. Father gave her a questioning look, but she brushed it off with a smirk-like smile.
Grinning similarly, but callously, the intimidating man turned back to Father. “So you’d heard about my reputation, eh?”
“Which reputation would that be?” Father asked. “I’ve heard many things about you, some of them not entirely flattering.”
“You bet your fancy crown you have! You bet!” The man spiced his words up with a harsh laugh, but then, as if realizing something, he bowed his head and raised his hands. “As have I of you, my King, my Sire. I’ve heard my ears full of great things about you. And for good reason. But what I meant, with my reputation, was the one thing I’m known for all around the land, namely that I seem unable to father nothing but magical witches! Imagine that? That’s what they say of me, and I won’t deny it! Eh, what can I say, the truth is in the pudding!” The crude laugh that followed made Rachel sit up and pull back with a withdrawn face. She didn’t seem to be so immersed in the conversation as the men. I noted how she cradled that uncovered lantern and toyed with the oil bowl.
But what witches? There were more?
Could this be the man that people talked about in court, when they mentioned the father of the witch ladies? ‘That deadbeat dad of the witches’? That was, the deadbeat father of the good witches in court — Elsa Woodward, and whatever were the others’ names. There were six of them, and I couldn’t recall their names right off the bat.
“I see we’ve found the right man, then,” my father — the King — said with little expression.
“You have found Victor Morgenstern, happy to be of service. And good job searching me up, ‘cause I’m not easily found,” Victor stated and set down his empty beer jug with an emphasized slam. “We need more of this.”
Father raised his hand and snapped his fingers, looking over to the staff. A waitress waved to him and hurried there to pick up some dishes off another table.
“So, that’s what this is all about,” Victor said, “you need to find a daughter of mine, do you? Are you getting greedy? All the rest of them, you already have in your court. Now you need to find the last one? Why I wonder? And what makes you think she’s still alive, anyway?”
“We have our reasons,” Father dismissed it. “We searched the lands far and wide, you don’t need to tell me, and we couldn’t find her, but now we have reason to believe she’s still alive and kicking. Mocking us across the ether.”
“I see, she’s sent a curse your way, has she? She was always a feisty one, Amalia. I couldn’t stand her back then, I’ll tell you, and she hated my guts just as much right back at me. Hah, we were like a cat and dog, fighting. But can’t blame one or the other, when it takes two to tango, right? I’d have left her alone if she hadn’t been so irritating and gotten on my nerves so much! But in hindsight, at least she had some balls, that girl. I did wonder whatever became of her when all her sisters did so unbelievably well. Of course, I heard she got involved in that curse incident…with your baby daughter, my Sire, of course…at the christening…Imagine cursing your royal heir, my Sire? But feistiness does often come along with certain other traits, eh? So now she’s cursing you from afar? I can see how she might, I’d expect nothing less. It must be, unfortunately, in her nature.”
“No, not so much curses coming our way, and let me say, there’s been enough of that, anyway. But we know she’s alive. That’s all you need to know. Can you tell us where she might be hiding? Any secret hideouts that you know of?”
“Ooh, cunning, my Sire, cunning. But if they’re secret, and they’re good hiding spots, why should I tell you? Maybe I’d need them myself, from time to time?”
Father pulled a long breath. “All right. I’ve heard you’re a hard bargainer, and good for you, I do admire that in a man. But we’re prepared to pay for your troubles more than lavishly. With your pay, you could build yourself a galore of fancy new hideouts. Or you could travel to lands where people wouldn’t know your name. There are many be
nefits to having funds, if I may say so. Or you can do whatever your heart desires! But look, your daughter committed a mortal sin and a crime, and she never faced justice for it. It’s your duty, even, as her father, to bring her to justice and let her pay for her sins. Don’t you agree? A solemn duty. One needs remorse for old deeds to release their grip. What you would get would be riches to live on for the rest of your life. And for what, for a good deed, bringing a lowly criminal to justice. Does that not sound marvellous?”
I felt confused up on my plank, with these people talking about mortal sins, deathly curses, and lowly criminals. Weren’t they criminals and murderers themselves, bad to the bone and then some? On some level, I had a feeling I knew something about this witch daughter, too, though I couldn’t put my finger on it — or my wing feather, I corrected myself. I agreed that perhaps she was evil, as far as witches always were, but it was still odd hearing these two talk as if they were the world’s biggest heroes and saviours or nothing but philanthropes and saints…What business did they have judging this witch lady or anyone else for that matter? Nothing, if you asked me.
“Name your price, then. Money will not be an obstacle.” Father’s voice was dry.
“Well, now I’m liking this! Go on, keep talking! Money’s not something I spit on,” Victor grunted. “Let’s bring it on the table. How much can you pay?”
A wide grin spread on my father’s face. “Perk up your ears, my good man. I’ll give you all of one hundred gold coins.”
I imagined it had to be nice to have that kind of money to throw away, and at the same time, I felt pangs of anger, thinking that Father likely spent the people’s money on all the wrong things. Why would I think that? What would I know about it? I just felt like I did, and angry, I shivered on my plank.
“I want double that.”
I was shocked, and Father seemed taken aback, too. Frowning, he leaned forward on his elbows.
“I’m not happy, I’ll say that much. But all right, then, you have a deal. You’re a hard bargainer, all right.”
“No, wait,” Victor said, sitting back in his chair. “If you’d pay double, couldn’t you pay triple? I want triple what you just said. Pay me that and what I know, you know.”
“What…?” Father shared a look with Rachel.
Rachel had been restless in her seat for a while already. I had noted it, though the men probably had not, by the looks of it.
“Shall I convince him, love?” Rachel asked in a tense voice.
“Do as you please,” Father said, but so nonchalantly, or casually, that I didn’t imagine they could have been planning anything deathly serious.
Rachel gave the lantern bowl a vigorous rub and muttered a word, and the flame jumped out and like some strange seedling made of fire, and reached out in every direction with curling tentacles. One of those crawled toward Victor and Victor pulled his hands off the table.
“Stop that! Call that away.”
Rachel laughed. “Look how it found you in no time. Flames do love the taste of witches and their kin.”
“I’m no witch, and no kin to none either! I have no idea how my daughters have fae blood in them, except that it’s their mother’s fault. And I swear I don’t know how. When she passed away, she took her secrets with her. But trust me, I’m no witch…”
“No,” Rachel said smiling, tensely calm. “But I am. I very much am. Self-taught, from scratch…but you would never guess, watching me. No fae heritage for me, either, but the powers of a full-blood, if I say so myself…Shall we try them out?”
Victor raised his hands in front, squirming in his seat. “I ain’t arguing with people who do witchcraft. I don’t need a show. I’ve seen my share of magic, I know what even you hedge witches can do with your tricks. You’ve got no argument from me.”
“Victor, we could also do this some other way,” the King said. “Just a reminder, so you don’t think it’s a great idea to try scamming us. I have troops in Fauntington as we speak, two hundred fully armed men. And I have my loyal knights to call upon, who do still come, whenever I should need them. Not to mention, I also have a well-known dungeon…Ever heard of that? It’s widely believed to be the best-equipped dungeon among all the lands. It is quite wonderful. Our prisoners do not keep secrets. Would you care to see for yourself and try it out? We can arrange a visit anytime. Might be a learning experience?”
“No, no! No need for that. A hundred count of gold coins is good for me. Wonderful! We have a deal, my Sire, a fantastic deal.”
Father smiled, as he picked up his wine flute — as wine was what he had been drinking, three glasses by now. It wasn’t affecting him at all so far. “I’m glad we could come to a mutual understanding. Now you’re a rich as well as a cunning man. Isn’t it nice to do business with the King?”
“Absolutely, my Sire, absolutely. Always good to do business with the magnificent King.”
“The magnificent Getaway King and his Wretched Rachel.”
Visitor muttered the first part of that, as if talking to himself, but apparently couldn’t hold his thoughts together. From fear, I imagined. He didn’t manage to say anything out loud.
“We shall sleep off the drinks and leave in the morning,” King John said. “Mind you, if you try to run, Victor Morgenstern, father of witches, you will not get far. So, simply meet us at the door at sunrise.”
“Absolutely, my Sire. Will do, my Sire.” Victor shook his head. “Me, hard bargaining, eh? You two are the toughest bargainers I’ve met in my lifetime.”
“Well,” King John said, twirling the foot of his glass absently. “Speaking of reputations, who exactly do you think you have sitting across you? You’re looking at none else but the infamous Getaway King and his Wretched Rachel. Where can you find comparison? You can’t…Have one encounter with my Queen, my Wretched Rachel, and you’ll be speaking of her for the rest of your lowly life.” He lifted his eyes to Victor’s. “Cross her once, and you’ll know you’ve met your fate.”
There was no smile with that.
I flinched on my plank, as he gave a sharp snortle and chugged the wine.
Just as I left, I watched that crude man, Victor, pull out a chair at another table and boast to some gathered men: “Take a look at this! Money enough to bathe in! Money enough to burn! I’m rich! I’m richer than a lord!”
The beer had made his speech blurred by now. Attempting to sit down, he almost missed the chair, holding up a pouch in his other fist — the downpayment from King John, I imagined — but the other men helped him back up, all smiles, patting him on the back.
I couldn’t hear all they said, but I heard a few of the louder men.
“Don’t they do magic tricks at that age, already? When their mother died?”
“If they was kids, they’d know naught,” said another.
“But are they real witches, though?” one said, scratching his nose.
“Yes, yes, I think they are,” agreed another.
“But won’t they curse old Victor, here, since he left them to die, is all I’m saying? If they’re such witches, won’t they turn him into a toad?”
“A toad!”
They chuckled and hollered, and Victor countered it with something along the lines of, they may try.
“But I didn’t want bad things to happen,” Victor grunted. “What, I’m no good with little primadonnas and their rag dolls. What am I supposed to do with them little girls, eh? I don’t know how to arrange tea parties or bake no cookies, I don’t know how to sow. They were getting arrogant, anyway, jumping on my toes, getting on my nerves…Look, I didn’t leave them alone, not like you seem to be imagining. There was Amalia there, nineteen years old. You’d think she’d know how to build a fire and put some soup together? Ah, they were fine, what’re you whining for? I didn’t leave them to no trouble.”
Victor brought the beer pitcher to his lips and, turning absent, downed it to the last drop. Then he wiped the foam off his face with a jacket sleeve and turned to holler ove
r to the barmaid.
Chapter 10
Rachel lead this charade, crimson hair swaying, while Victor and the King and I followed, though I, of course, fifteen feet above them, practicing my flying. They made their way in the difficult undergrowth of the forest, while I dashed from tree to tree, trying to avoid them noting I was following.
They kept talking about how this shag was supposed to look and how it would be hidden in a grove of willows, possibly somewhat broken down. I was surprised when we actually soon came across one that perfectly fit the description…except it oozed magic sparkles as if bathed in sunlight.
I spotted it a few dozen yards from us, this little shag, hugged by weeping willows on both sides, tall grass partly covering up the entrance, too. It seemed overgrown with vegetation, as if nobody had been there in a long time. I fully expected this to be the hut we were all looking for, but for some reason, Father and Rachel were not the least bit interested. They merely brushed some of the willow branches out of the way, as they walked down the path right past the house.
I looked back over my shoulder, as I followed them. I clearly felt there was something unique about this building. It seemed to emanate something good, something deeply caring and kind. It looked cozy and comfy, too, despite the undeniable fact that the walls were crooked and half broken down, and that it was so small that it had to be cramped inside. A sorry sight…Not that any walls were breached, per se, or missing, but the whole structure was malformed, almost slumped, as if under a heavy load of weight. Perhaps masses of snow had piled upon it during winters and made it sag that way? I couldn’t explain it, but I almost couldn’t take my eyes off the little, worn-down shack.
Then I hurried to catch up with Father and Rachel, as I saw they’d gained distance from me. But I couldn’t understand why they didn’t want to at least check on the hut if they were looking for hiding places. Wasn’t that a good option? Couldn’t a witch be living in just this kind of a thing?
Kingdom of Crowns and Glory Page 48