The Autumn Castle (9 page)

“So, I knocked gently on her bedroom door and called out to her, then went into her room. She had a fabulous room. She was
really spoiled and her mother had spent so much time painting her bedroom all these wild colors and with scenes from faery
tales on the ceiling and . . . anyway, I went in and approached May’s bed. But May wasn’t in the bed. There was something
else underneath the covers.”

“What was it?”

“I called out for May, and I stepped closer to the bed, peering at it. A lump under the blankets moved, too small to be May.
I must have held my breath a full minute, staring at it, wondering if I’d imagined it moving. Then it stirred again. I reached
out and flicked back the covers, and a huge, black crow was sitting there looking at me. I shrieked and stumbled back. The
crow spread its wings and cawed, that awful noise they make . . . I swear it pierced my eardrums. Then it darted up, into
my face, like it wanted to steal my eyes. I screamed again, covering my face. When I looked, the crow had taken off out the
window. That’s when I noticed it was open. May never slept with the window open. Her mother had a weird phobia about it.

“Her parents burst in then, all panicked and angry with me for screaming. Then her mother said, ‘Where’s May?’ and I said
I didn’t know, but there had been a crow in her bed.”

“That was the day she disappeared?” Jude asked.

Christine nodded. “Yep. The police arrived, like, nine minutes later. I’d been sent home, but the police came to speak to
me. Dad had to translate everything for me, I was too upset to remember any German except ‘krähe’—crow.”

“Did they figure out what the crow was doing there?”

Christine gazed up at the window. It was firmly shut against the October drizzle. “No,” she said, “because they didn’t believe
me. I was too little, I wasn’t a reliable witness. Everybody thought I’d made it up. At least, everybody except Mrs. Frith.”
She pointed at the Friths’ house. “She turned up one day, about two weeks after May had gone missing. My parents were reluctant
to let me talk to her. The poor woman was nearly insane with grief and anxiety. She smelled terrible, like she hadn’t bathed
since it happened. She kept demanding to know . . .” She trailed off into a long silence.

“What?”

“It’s crazy, Jude.”

“Go on.”

“She kept demanding to know what the crow had said to me. It was terrifying and it sowed a seed in some dark corner of my
mind.”

“What it
said
to you?”

“Yeah. Oh, Jude. If you knew what a relief it is to me to remember all this. It’s all been barricaded back there in my head,
making me feel weird feelings and dream strange dreams. You know, I got spooked when I saw a crow the other day. I thought
it had followed me home.” Finally she could laugh at herself. “God, I even told Mandy that it had followed me home.”

Jude slipped an arm around her and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Ah, don’t worry, nobody’s crazier than Mandy.”

Christine sighed, gazing at her childhood home. “You know, I’d hardly even thought about Little May all this time.”

“You’ve been on the other side of the world, you’ve been living your life. Being here in Berlin has made you remember things,
that’s all.”

“I guess you’re right. There are lots of memories for me here.” She imagined knocking on the door of her old home, and finding
her parents inside, safe and happy and enjoying their retirement. The impossible thought brought fresh tears to her eyes.
It was so damn unfair. She sank into Jude’s side and he pressed her against him.

“What’s wrong, Christine?”

“I miss them.”

“I know.”

“Sorry for being all emotional.”

“It’s okay.” He stroked her hair. “It’s okay, you’re allowed to be emotional.”

“You’re all I’ve got, Jude. Without you, I’d have nothing.”

She felt his chest stiffen momentarily, as though he were clutching his breath against some burden, and then relax. “What’s
wrong?” she asked, standing back.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, looking puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought . . .” Maybe she’d imagined that moment of caught breath, and everything it might have signified.

“Look, we’re getting wet,” Jude said gently. “Do you mind if we go find a cafe somewhere?”

“Sure. Okay, sure.” They headed back the way they had come through the misting drizzle. And even though her fingers were growing
cold in the autumn chill, Christine tried not to clutch Jude’s hand too tightly.

Mayfridh couldn’t remember being more frightened in her life. “You there, pack my warm cloak. And you, find that gold pin
I wore on my birthday.” She heard her own voice shake as she ordered three servants about—she had forgotten their names, she
always forgot their names—while they packed a trunk for her to take with her.

“Could I advise, Queen Mayfridh, that you don’t take such a big trunk with you?” This was Eisengrimm, as Wolf, lying amongst
the rumpled white bedcovers with his face resting on his front paws.

“What do you mean?” she demanded. Eisengrimm could be infuriatingly calm in the most hectic of circumstances.

“You can come back for clothes. You can make the passage back at any time. And besides, you know that your clothes don’t look
like Real World clothes. You’ll want to go shopping as soon as you get there.”

Ah yes, that word. “Shopping.” It was one of the Real World concepts that appealed to her the most. Vast buildings full of
beautiful dresses in ingenious colors and textures, and all to be had by showing a colored square—a credit card.

“Come, leave all these things behind. You need only take yourself and a bag full of spells.”

“If Hexebart will comply,” she muttered darkly.

“Hexebart
must
comply, and she knows that. She may not believe you are the true queen, but she knows you are Queen Liesebet and King Jasper’s
daughter, and she must give you whatever magic you ask for.”

“After threats and curses.”

“She likes to see you angry. You shouldn’t give her the satisfaction.”

Mayfridh marched over to one of the servants and snatched a yellow dress out of her hands. “That will do,” she said. “All
of you, you are dismissed. I need nothing further.”

With bows and nervous murmurs they backed out of the room. She slammed the door shut and flung herself onto the bed next to
Eisengrimm, flat on her back with her hair spread out around her, gazing up at the white canopy.

“I’m frightened, Eisengrimm. I’m so frightened.” The fear was like a big, inescapable bubble welling up inside her, making
her tap her fingers, and twitch her legs, and hold back a fragment of every breath.

“I know you are, Little May. But look at me, I came back. I was gone but a few hours, and then I came back.”

She turned on her stomach and met his gaze. “Eisengrimm, what do you think happened to my mother and father?”

“I know not.”

“Make a guess then.”

“I have no way of guessing.”

“Perhaps they were murdered,” Mayfridh said. The dark fear spun down on her. “Oh, I don’t want to be murdered.”

“The risk is very low in the Real World. Murder accounts for very few deaths. They may have met with an accident.”

“But Eisengrimm, we sent a dozen men through to find them. Nobody had heard of them or seen them, nobody found them or their
bodies. They simply disappeared. A murderer would hide them, would he not? To avoid capture.”

“It would be best not to think of it, Mayfridh.” He stood and stretched, and jumped from the bed. “Come, we shall pay Hexebart
a visit.”

Mayfridh sat up, her legs hanging over the side of the bed. “Eisengrimm,” she said mournfully, “what if they didn’t
want
to be found? What if they liked the Real World so much, they wanted to stay? What if they didn’t really love me?”

Eisengrimm gripped the sleeve of her dress between his teeth and pulled her to her feet.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” she said, following him with heavy footsteps.

The early morning was very cool, and a golden autumn glow hung misty over the wild hedges in the garden and the trees in the
wood. The aspen had already turned bright yellow, and the beech was stained with golden-red. A chance breeze shook leaves
loose and they spun and dived toward the ground. Mayfridh pulled her pale bronze cloak around her against the morning chill
as they approached the well.

“Hexebart!” Eisengrimm called.

“What do you want, dog-chops?” was the response.

“Witch, come here!” Mayfridh shouted. The anger jumped in her chest. How she hated Hexebart, the thief of the royal magic.

“And why should I, you nasty little changeling?”

“Because I am the queen and I command it!”

The rope squeaked and began to hoist itself upward. In the end, the witch always complied. Hexebart had once been the most
trusted and skilled sorceress of Mayfridh’s faery parents, Queen Liesebet and King Jasper. She had pride of place in the spell
chamber where she spun and wove the royal magic. It was customary, if the queen and king left the realm together, to store
their magic with a guardian. The night that Mayfridh’s parents had disappeared, Hexebart was chosen as that guardian. But
they had failed to return and Hexebart had never accepted Queen Liesebet was dead, or that Mayfridh was the rightful heir,
because she was a human child. Mayfridh had cast her down the well as punishment twenty years ago, but still the witch refused
to hand the magic over. Yes, she performed any spells that were demanded of her—she had to, she was bound by a magical oath.
But she swore that until she saw the dead bodies of the king and queen, she would believe they simply hadn’t returned yet,
and would protect their magic as she had been asked.

Hexebart appeared over the rim of the well, her bony gray fingers gripping the rusty bars of her cage. At her feet was a pile
of glowing spells.

“What?” she demanded.

“I need spells,” Mayfridh said.

“What for?”

“I don’t have to tell you what for, just give them to me.” Mayfridh held out the woven bag she carried spells in.

“Tell me what for.”

“Just give me the spells.”

“What will you do if I don’t?”

Mayfridh’s hands shook with anger. “I’ll sew you in a sack and throw you in the lake; I’ll put you in a barrel of nails and
roll you down the hill; I’ll tie you to four oxen and send them off in different directions.”

“Ha,” Hexebart cried, “you wouldn’t dare.”

“Give me the spells.” Mayfridh was close to tears. “It’s my magic, give it to me.”

“It’s not
yours,
” Hexebart said, snatching up a handful of spells, “it’s Queen Liesebet’s.”

“She’s dead.”

“How do I know you’re not lying? You’ve probably locked her up in a dungeon somewhere.”

“How can you suggest such a thing?”

Hexebart began pitching the spells out of the cage, aiming for Mayfridh’s head. “Here, piglet; here, dog breath.”

“Ow, stop that!” Mayfridh cried.

“Here, princess toadling; here, mongrel.” The spells bounced off Mayfridh and to the ground. “Here are your spells, may you
accidentally poison yourself with them.” When the cage was empty, Hexebart released the rope and descended into the well with
a crash.

Mayfridh leaned over the edge of the well and screamed, “I hate you!”

There was a sharp cackle in response and then silence. Mayfridh turned to see Eisengrimm collecting the spells, nudging them
with his nose until they gathered at her feet.

“Come, Little May, forget about her.”

“How can you be so reasonable?”

“You must be calm for the passage.”

She kneeled and began to pick up the spells and slip them into her woven bag. “You are cruel to me, Eisengrimm. I am a poor
orphan who is lonely and afraid.”

He stifled a chuckle. “You shall be lonely no longer, Mayfridh. An old friend awaits you.” He sat on his hind legs, and watched
as she collected the last of the spells, a patient statue in the midst of her agitation.

“So,” she said, climbing to her feet, her knees shaking beneath her, “I suppose it is time.”