| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
.
| Written by Barbara Davies / Artwork by Holly Eddy |
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| THE WITCH'S REVENGE |
The larger animals were busy with their own concerns, so in the end it was beetles and earthworms who took it in turns
to shove the witch's head inch by painful inch over musty leaf litter, roots, dirt and grass. By the time it was reunited with
its body, and she could heal her sundered neck with a spell, she was scratched and filthy, and weeks had passed. More
spells expelled the last traces of dirt and sweat, mended the tears in her dress and darned the holes. She savoured the
feeling of being whole and clean again, and took stock.
She had no money, no apron... and no tinder-box. The entrance to her late grandmother's domain lay on the other side of
the high road, but the wealth hidden there might as well have been on the moon. Even if she managed to reach the sunken
hall -- and it was trying to avoid lowering herself into the great oak's hollow interior that had got her into this mess in the
first place -- the guardians would tear her to pieces.
And I've had quite enough of reassembling my body, thank you!
Trudel set off along the high road. As she plodded she pondered, not for the first time, why someone should cut off the
head of the person who had stuffed his pockets with gold coins. "Refusal to satisfy his curiosity about the tinder-box
seems a poor reason! Perhaps he just doesn't like hideous old women." But then, if he'd seen me as I really am, he'd
probably have tried to rape me. Also not for the first time, she cursed herself for having let need override her instinct to
give the soldier a wide berth.
At last, the town came into view and she paused to catch her breath and gaze at the smoke curling up from its chimneys.
Would the inhabitants respond more favourably to a pretty woman or an ugly one? She pursed her lips and considered.
But this time, perhaps not quite so hideous.
#
Trudel accepted a hunk of bread and a steaming bowl of cabbage soup from a kind-eyed woman behind the counter and
went to sit at a trestle table. As she ate, she eyed her dingy surroundings and pumped her fellow diners for information.
This soup kitchen was part of King Karl's latest initiative to help the poor, she learned. It was one of the reasons the
townsfolk loved their new king. Which only went to show how fickle people were, since, apparently, only a month earlier,
he had been but a common soldier, imprisoned and sentenced to hang for harassing the Princess.
Trudel blinked and digested this interesting titbit. "Sentenced to hang, eh? Then how on earth did he become King?"
"Those fierce dogs of his, the ones with the unnatural eyes," said an old man with a warty nose. "Turned up just as he was
about to be executed and tore nearly everyone to pieces, they did, including the King and Queen." He shuddered.
Even as she exulted that she had found her quarry, the witch's heart sank. The soldier must have learned how to use the
tinder-box to summon the three guardians. "And after that, they still made him King?" she asked.
The old man shrugged. "Can't beat 'em, join 'em, I suppose." He slurped more soup. "Princess Almeta must've thought so
too, for a week later she married him." He wiped his moustache on the back of his hand. "It hasn't worked out badly." He
gestured at the bustling soup kitchen. "King Karl's done more for poor folk in a month than the previous lot did in decades."
Trudel nodded. Easy enough to set up a few soup kitchens when you're spending someone else's money.
She finished her soup, then set about solving the problem of her own lack of funds. She could enchant a lump of coal to
look like gold for a day, but she had no wish to cheat anyone. Instead, she found a job cleaning house for a harassed
housewife with five screaming children and another one on the way, and begged a small advance on her pay, enough to
rent a tiny room with a hard bed and single chair.
Getting the tinder-box back was out of the question for the moment -- the soldier would keep it close at all times -- but her
grandmother's apron was a different matter. Over the next few days, she scrubbed and cleaned (using spells whenever she
was unobserved, which wasn't often enough for her liking) and spent her spare time researching the layout of the Palace,
known to the locals as 'the copper castle' because of the colour of its walls and towers.
One evening, the unusual hubbub and size of the crowd outside her lodgings alerted Trudel to the fact the royal couple,
surrounded by an armed escort, were passing, on their way to a banquet close by. As she peered down from her window,
she spied the soldier who had cut off her head and bit back a hiss of rage. Gorgeous robes befitting a monarch had
replaced his shabby uniform, as for his sabre and knapsack, he had no need of those -- a king has subjects to carry and
fight on his behalf. His eyes met hers, but no spark of recognition dawned, and he moved on.
Trudel turned her attention to the regal young woman on the King's arm. Queen Almeta was smiling and nodding to the
cheering crowds as she walked, but there was a paleness to her skin and a haunted look about her green eyes that made
Trudel pity her.
If it wasn't for me, she thought, the princess wouldn't be married to that brute, and her parents would still be alive. If I
can help her, I must.
The royal couple disappeared round the corner and the crowds began to disperse. Trudel decided to make the most of
their absence from the Palace. She hurried up the hill towards the copper castle, pausing only to mutter a spell that made
her look like one of the chambermaids who cleaned the royal apartments.
Once past the guards, a tracking spell led her along a maze of corridors and rooms to the laundry. There in an airing
cupboard, neatly pressed and folded, she found the blue-checked apron, which the soldier had apparently no further use
for. It looked none the worse for its experiences, and with a sigh of relief she stuffed it inside her blouse.
That night, the cleaning woman didn't return to her tiny room. She set off back to the great hollow oak instead.
#
It was pitch black inside the tree trunk, and smelled of damp and rotting wood. Trudel let herself down hand by hand and
tried not to think what would happen if the rope broke or came undone.
Why did grandmother have to make the entrance so inaccessible? ...And why did Knud have to play that trick on me?
Years ago her cousin, having tired of the six-year-old Trudel following him everywhere, had trapped her inside a hollow
tree and gone off to play with his friends. By the time her mother had realized she was missing and come looking for her,
she was hysterical, face smudged with dirt and tears, fingernails torn and bloody. Knud had been spanked and sent to bed
without any supper, but he emerged none the worse for his experience. The same could not be said of Trudel.
But she certainly wasn't going to ask another passerby to get the money for her. Not after what happened last time. So she
jutted her jaw, and continued her slow descent, until at long last she was standing in a huge hall, brushing cobwebs and
splinters from her clothing and a stray wood louse from her hair.
At her approach, three hundred lamps had sprung to life and the hearth was ablaze -- grandmother had always been good
at welcoming touches like that. Trudel gazed at the ornate hangings and magnificent furniture. A place setting for one
appeared on a mahogany table, followed by a platter of food and a goblet of wine. Though it looked and smelled delicious,
nerves had stolen her appetite, so she ignored the hospitable invitation to dine and made for the three doors at the far end
of the hall.
The first was made of copper, the second of silver. Trudel ignored them both and reached for the key to the gold door. A
rank smell of dog met her nostrils as she cracked open the door and peered round, but there was no sign of the guardian,
which should have been sitting on the massive chest. She was considering the implications when the air shimmered and
she found herself staring at the hound.
"Back from another mission, eh, Thrice?" The dog's huge whirling eyes made her dizzy so she averted her gaze. "What did
King Karl want this time? More money?" The dog didn't answer, and she remembered that grandmother had told her Once,
Twice and Thrice spoke only to those who summoned them.
She pulled the blue-checked apron from her pocket and unfolded it, then reached for Thrice, who gave her a wary glance
but didn't resist. The dog was heavy, and it took quite an effort to lift it down onto the apron.
"There," she soothed. Thrice yawned and rested his head on his paws. "Good dog."
As Trudel threw back the lid of the chest, the room grew twice as bright. She gaped at the gold coins reflecting the
lamplight -- it was one thing to hear of such wealth, another to see it -- then began transferring them to the floor, stacking
them in neat columns. When she had enough for her purposes, she closed the lid, returning the room to its earlier
comparative gloom. Lifting Thrice back onto the chest, she dumped the coins in the now empty apron, and tied it into a
bundle.
The climb back up the hollow oak tree was made more difficult by the weight and bulk of the bundle, and by the return of
her fear of confinement, which threatened to turn her muscles to water. She stopped often to rest, taking deep breaths to
steady herself, before continuing.
Emerging from the tree bole into woodland-dappled daylight was like being born again. Though it seemed days since she
had first entered the tree, in reality barely an hour had elapsed. Trudel fell to her knees, and kissed the leaf-strewn ground
in gratitude.
The next time I come here, she vowed as her trembling eased and she untied the rope from the branch, will be via the
tinder-box.
#
The harassed housewife whose cleaning woman had disappeared so inconveniently (the only compensation being that she
hadn't collected the rest of her wages) would have been startled to learn that she and the recently arrived Countess Petrine
were one and the same. Nothing was too good for the beautiful and very rich Countess, whose every need was catered for
by servants in immaculate livery.
She appeared at the theatre, the opera, and the most select soirees, and news of her soon spread. It wasn't long before a
message from the Palace arrived, an invitation to Queen's Almeta's birthday celebration in two days' time.
#
The birthday banquet had been underway for an hour, and unlike her fellow guests, still eating and drinking with gusto,
Trudel couldn't manage another morsel. Seated beside her was a tipsy King Karl. He had started making overfamiliar
remarks, but she decided to ignore them and fixed her smile in place. When, under cover of the tablecloth, he placed his
damp hand on her knee, though, she was barely able to resist the urge to thrust his face into his dessert. It was a relief
when the last course was cleared away and it was time for the women to leave the men to their port and cigars.
At first, the other women thwarted Trudel's attempts to get the young Queen alone. She was considering using a spell
when she found herself sitting next to Almeta on a sofa.
"And how are you enjoying your stay, Countess?" asked the Queen, politely.
"Very much." Trudel hesitated then plunged in. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but are you happy?" Green eyes widened and
the Queen made to rise. Trudel lifted a hand to stay her and murmured a spell to inspire reassurance and trust. "I mean no
offence. I might be able to help you."
The Queen frowned but after a moment resumed her seat. "No one can help me." She reached for the wine goblet that a
thoughtful page had placed on a little table at her elbow. "I am still a prisoner." She took a sip.
"What do you mean?"
"My husband won't let me go anywhere unescorted. I am no more free than when my father was alive." Her mouth
twisted as she explained. "He kept me confined to the Palace. Even so, the prophecy came true."
Trudel leaned forward. "What prophecy, Your Majesty?"
"That I would marry a common soldier, of course."
"Ah."
"It didn't mention he would kill my parents first, though." The Queen shuddered. "Those awful dogs!"
"Yet, pardon my presumption, you still married him."
"What choice did I have? If I'd refused, he'd just have sent his dogs to fetch me to his bedroom, as he did in the
beginning. And he claimed he loved me." She laughed, but there was little humour in it. "Needed me, more like... to
legitimize his reign and provide an heir. ... He has taken a mistress, you know."
Trudel blinked. "Already?"
The young Queen's glance was wry. "Actually, I'm grateful. She keeps him from coming to my bed more often." She
glanced at her goblet. "Why am I telling you this? This wine must have gone to my head!" She sighed and then continued,
"I, however, am to be allowed no similar freedoms. There must be no question any children might not be his."
Trudel considered. "As I said before, I think I can help you, Your Majesty."
Almeta have her a doubtful look. "You?"
"May I demonstrate?" She pointed at the Queen's wine goblet. "What flavour would you prefer?"
"Pardon?"
"Your wine. Raspberry? Or blackberry perhaps?"
From Almeta's expression, she now considered the Countess to be a lunatic in need of humouring. "Raspberry."
Trudel muttered a simple spell. "Drink."
After a moment the Queen did so. Her eyes widened and she licked her lips. "But how?"
"Magic, of course." Trudel waited for the other woman to digest that before continuing. "My magic has its limits, though.
To help you I would need... something else." She paused then said carefully, "Does your husband have a tinder-box he
won't let out of his sight?"
Almeta's forehead creased. "How do you know about that?"
"It's mine. He stole it."
"He said he found it!"
"It was my grandmother's. She took care of me after my own parents died. A few months ago she died too... Your
Majesty, get me the tinder-box and you shall have your freedom."
"Why should I believe you?"
"I give you my word." Queen Almeta looked unconvinced. "As one woman to another." The sound of male voices was
growing louder and Trudel knew that the men had finished their port and cigars. "Will you do it?"
Before the Queen could answer, the drawing room door burst open and in strode a smiling King Karl surrounded by his
fawning courtiers, all exuding a strong smell of tobacco.
"Ladies," he brayed. "We've come to keep you company."
#
For two days after the Queen's birthday celebration, Trudel received no word. Though she tried to behave normally, she
kept catching herself listening for the sounds of tramping feet. If King Karl learned that the witch he had decapitated was
here to retrieve her tinder-box, a troop of soldiers sent to take her to jail was not beyond the bounds of possibility.
Trudel bit her lip and paced, ignoring the glances of her servants. Perhaps she had misjudged Almeta. Perhaps the girl was
too accustomed to being a pawn in her own life, indeed expected it -- freedom often didn't suit animals accustomed to
captivity, after all. Or perhaps the Queen had decided that Trudel was mad, and everything she had said that night was
mere ramblings.
But on the third day, a palace messenger brought a note for Countess Petrine, or rather two notes. The outer piece of
paper was innocuous, an elaborately calligraphed invitation to a garden party next month in the grounds of the Palace.
Inside that, folded and refolded, was a tiny piece of paper containing a handwritten scrawl.
Just after midnight. Wait beneath the window above the postern in the north wall.
#
It was dark, cold and drizzling, and anyone in their right mind was tucked up in bed. At least the rainclouds cloaking the
moon provided deeper cover, thought Trudel, turning up the collar of her coat and muttering a spell for warmth.
She shifted against the alley wall and schooled herself to patience. From here she had a clear view of the copper castle's
north wall, and more importantly the postern and the window above it.
The sound of tramping boots grew louder, and she saw four sentries marching along the wall. They paused at the postern,
checked it was locked, then continued on. She checked her timepiece -- midnight. When the patrol had moved out of
sight, she crept out of the alleyway and scuttled across to the postern.
On cue, from above came the creak of shutters opening. Trudel winced and looked round anxiously before glancing up. If
she squinted she could make out what looked like a hand reaching from between the window's bars.
"Are you there, Countess?" The Queen's whisper seemed deafening in the silence.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Then remember your promise."
The fingers of the hand opened and a rectangular tin box dropped towards Trudel's head.
"Oy, you there!" came a sentry's shout, startling her so she almost mistimed her catch. "What do you think you're doing?"
She took a firmer grip on the box and turned to run.
"Stop! Stop or I'll run you through."
Boots crunched over gravel as the sentry set off after her. Distant shouts and the sound of running feet indicated his
colleagues had joined the chase, though she didn't dare to turn round and look.
Trudel ran until her lungs were bursting, turned one corner, then another, then yet another, before she halted, panting. She
fumbled open the tinder-box's hinged lid. If this doesn't contain what it should... For while grandmother's spell would
prevent her from being killed, King Karl could always devise some horrid torment. Have me sliced into little pieces and set
in cement perhaps.
Her hands shook as she sorted the contents of the box by touch alone. She discarded a candle-end and felt for the striker
and flint. Ah!
The first strike produced no spark, nor the second. She swore and adjusted her grip on the flint. Come on. She struck
again, more firmly. This time fire sparked, and she blinked away the afterimages.
"Over there," came a shout. A sentry must have spotted the flash.
Just then, a dog with eyes the size of tea cups materialized in front of Trudel and fixed the relieved witch with its fierce
gaze. "What is your command?"
"Take me to safety. Now!"
Once's muzzle reached for her. And in the blink of an eye her surroundings disappeared.
#
Trudel found herself standing, heart thumping, by an ornamental lake. She recognized her surroundings at once -- the park
on the far side of town. A willow tree sheltered her from the drizzle and hid her from prying eyes, not that anyone would
be here at this hour.
Only then did it occur to her that the alarm she had sparked might backfire on the Queen. For surely, in order for her to
get the tinder-box from him, her husband must have been drunk or sleeping. And when he awoke and found it gone...
She raised the striker and flint. Two sparks later, canine eyes the size of millwheels were regarding her in query.
"Bring Queen Almeta to me," she instructed. Moments later Twice was back, and astride him sat the young Queen, clad
only in a thin silk nightgown that looked black in the moonlight.
She took in Trudel and her surroundings with wide eyes before allowing herself to be helped off the dog's back.
"So it's true," she breathed, clasping her arms round herself for warmth. "I couldn't make up my mind if you were mad or
not. In the end I decided to risk it."
"Here." Trudel took off her coat and draped it round the other woman's shoulders, then muttered a spell to keep herself
warm.
"Where are we?"
"One of Your Majesty's parks."
"Really? I don't think I've ever been here before." The young woman's face became wistful. "But then I rarely go
anywhere."
"All that is going to change."
"I can't go back," stated Almeta, glancing at the tinder-box in Trudel's hands. "He'll never forgive me for taking that."
"He'll have other things on his mind than tracking you down. Now that his money supply has dried up, he won't be so
popular. And when the people discover that his pretty young Queen has gone missing in mysterious circumstances... I'd
like to see him talk his way out of that!"
The Queen blinked. "But what will happen to me? This" --she indicated her nightgown-- "is all I have in the world."
"No sooner said than done, my dear."
Trudel raised the striker and struck the flint three times. When Thrice appeared, she instructed him to return with a few of
Almeta's outfits, the ones suitable for everyday wear. Moments later, the young woman was pulling on a warm dress and
jacket and looking far more at ease.
"I'll give you enough money to tide you over," added Trudel. "But as for what you will do with yourself... that's up to
you." Almeta looked so overwhelmed at this novel idea, Trudel took pity on her. "Why don't you travel with me for a
while. See some of the world?" And in the process discover who you really are.
The former Queen's eyes brightened at that prospect. "Could I?"
"Of course." Trudel struck the flint once and told the dog with the eyes the size of tea cups, "Take us both to the hollow
oak."
Seconds later, Almeta was looking at her new surroundings in wonder. "Why have we come here?" She indicated the high
road and the great oak tree standing next to it.
"I have a couple of things to take care of. First..." Trudel summoned Twice.
"What is your command?"
"Take this." She held out a gold piece, which the dog took in its mouth. "Bring me a horse and cart and leave that as
payment."
Moments later it was back. A startled whinny greeted the witch, who stuffed the tinder-box in her pocket and grabbed the
mare's reins. "There, there, my beauty." The horse calmed quickly and Trudel turned her attention to the cart Twice had
brought. A basic but sturdy model. It would do very well for now.
"You said a couple of things," reminded Almeta. "What was the other one?"
"Ah yes. To armour the oak against the King." Trudel spoke a spell that would protect not only the oak tree but also the
ground around and below it from the King... and those working for him. "There." Now he'll never be able to reach the hall
without the aid of the tinder-box.
Almeta's confused gaze travelled to the tree and back. "But it looks no different."
"Yet different it is. And with any luck, your husband is going to be furious." At that, the Queen looked gratified yet baffled.
Trudel chuckled. To know that all that wealth is lying there, so close yet forever beyond his reach... Revenge is sweet
indeed! "I'll explain later."
Satisfied that nothing else needed doing, she clambered up onto the driver's seat and beckoned. "Want to see what freedom
tastes like, my dear?"
Almeta hesitated for only a moment, then with a smile she climbed up into the cart.
to shove the witch's head inch by painful inch over musty leaf litter, roots, dirt and grass. By the time it was reunited with
its body, and she could heal her sundered neck with a spell, she was scratched and filthy, and weeks had passed. More
spells expelled the last traces of dirt and sweat, mended the tears in her dress and darned the holes. She savoured the
feeling of being whole and clean again, and took stock.
She had no money, no apron... and no tinder-box. The entrance to her late grandmother's domain lay on the other side of
the high road, but the wealth hidden there might as well have been on the moon. Even if she managed to reach the sunken
hall -- and it was trying to avoid lowering herself into the great oak's hollow interior that had got her into this mess in the
first place -- the guardians would tear her to pieces.
And I've had quite enough of reassembling my body, thank you!
Trudel set off along the high road. As she plodded she pondered, not for the first time, why someone should cut off the
head of the person who had stuffed his pockets with gold coins. "Refusal to satisfy his curiosity about the tinder-box
seems a poor reason! Perhaps he just doesn't like hideous old women." But then, if he'd seen me as I really am, he'd
probably have tried to rape me. Also not for the first time, she cursed herself for having let need override her instinct to
give the soldier a wide berth.
At last, the town came into view and she paused to catch her breath and gaze at the smoke curling up from its chimneys.
Would the inhabitants respond more favourably to a pretty woman or an ugly one? She pursed her lips and considered.
But this time, perhaps not quite so hideous.
#
Trudel accepted a hunk of bread and a steaming bowl of cabbage soup from a kind-eyed woman behind the counter and
went to sit at a trestle table. As she ate, she eyed her dingy surroundings and pumped her fellow diners for information.
This soup kitchen was part of King Karl's latest initiative to help the poor, she learned. It was one of the reasons the
townsfolk loved their new king. Which only went to show how fickle people were, since, apparently, only a month earlier,
he had been but a common soldier, imprisoned and sentenced to hang for harassing the Princess.
Trudel blinked and digested this interesting titbit. "Sentenced to hang, eh? Then how on earth did he become King?"
"Those fierce dogs of his, the ones with the unnatural eyes," said an old man with a warty nose. "Turned up just as he was
about to be executed and tore nearly everyone to pieces, they did, including the King and Queen." He shuddered.
Even as she exulted that she had found her quarry, the witch's heart sank. The soldier must have learned how to use the
tinder-box to summon the three guardians. "And after that, they still made him King?" she asked.
The old man shrugged. "Can't beat 'em, join 'em, I suppose." He slurped more soup. "Princess Almeta must've thought so
too, for a week later she married him." He wiped his moustache on the back of his hand. "It hasn't worked out badly." He
gestured at the bustling soup kitchen. "King Karl's done more for poor folk in a month than the previous lot did in decades."
Trudel nodded. Easy enough to set up a few soup kitchens when you're spending someone else's money.
She finished her soup, then set about solving the problem of her own lack of funds. She could enchant a lump of coal to
look like gold for a day, but she had no wish to cheat anyone. Instead, she found a job cleaning house for a harassed
housewife with five screaming children and another one on the way, and begged a small advance on her pay, enough to
rent a tiny room with a hard bed and single chair.
Getting the tinder-box back was out of the question for the moment -- the soldier would keep it close at all times -- but her
grandmother's apron was a different matter. Over the next few days, she scrubbed and cleaned (using spells whenever she
was unobserved, which wasn't often enough for her liking) and spent her spare time researching the layout of the Palace,
known to the locals as 'the copper castle' because of the colour of its walls and towers.
One evening, the unusual hubbub and size of the crowd outside her lodgings alerted Trudel to the fact the royal couple,
surrounded by an armed escort, were passing, on their way to a banquet close by. As she peered down from her window,
she spied the soldier who had cut off her head and bit back a hiss of rage. Gorgeous robes befitting a monarch had
replaced his shabby uniform, as for his sabre and knapsack, he had no need of those -- a king has subjects to carry and
fight on his behalf. His eyes met hers, but no spark of recognition dawned, and he moved on.
Trudel turned her attention to the regal young woman on the King's arm. Queen Almeta was smiling and nodding to the
cheering crowds as she walked, but there was a paleness to her skin and a haunted look about her green eyes that made
Trudel pity her.
If it wasn't for me, she thought, the princess wouldn't be married to that brute, and her parents would still be alive. If I
can help her, I must.
The royal couple disappeared round the corner and the crowds began to disperse. Trudel decided to make the most of
their absence from the Palace. She hurried up the hill towards the copper castle, pausing only to mutter a spell that made
her look like one of the chambermaids who cleaned the royal apartments.
Once past the guards, a tracking spell led her along a maze of corridors and rooms to the laundry. There in an airing
cupboard, neatly pressed and folded, she found the blue-checked apron, which the soldier had apparently no further use
for. It looked none the worse for its experiences, and with a sigh of relief she stuffed it inside her blouse.
That night, the cleaning woman didn't return to her tiny room. She set off back to the great hollow oak instead.
#
It was pitch black inside the tree trunk, and smelled of damp and rotting wood. Trudel let herself down hand by hand and
tried not to think what would happen if the rope broke or came undone.
Why did grandmother have to make the entrance so inaccessible? ...And why did Knud have to play that trick on me?
Years ago her cousin, having tired of the six-year-old Trudel following him everywhere, had trapped her inside a hollow
tree and gone off to play with his friends. By the time her mother had realized she was missing and come looking for her,
she was hysterical, face smudged with dirt and tears, fingernails torn and bloody. Knud had been spanked and sent to bed
without any supper, but he emerged none the worse for his experience. The same could not be said of Trudel.
But she certainly wasn't going to ask another passerby to get the money for her. Not after what happened last time. So she
jutted her jaw, and continued her slow descent, until at long last she was standing in a huge hall, brushing cobwebs and
splinters from her clothing and a stray wood louse from her hair.
At her approach, three hundred lamps had sprung to life and the hearth was ablaze -- grandmother had always been good
at welcoming touches like that. Trudel gazed at the ornate hangings and magnificent furniture. A place setting for one
appeared on a mahogany table, followed by a platter of food and a goblet of wine. Though it looked and smelled delicious,
nerves had stolen her appetite, so she ignored the hospitable invitation to dine and made for the three doors at the far end
of the hall.
The first was made of copper, the second of silver. Trudel ignored them both and reached for the key to the gold door. A
rank smell of dog met her nostrils as she cracked open the door and peered round, but there was no sign of the guardian,
which should have been sitting on the massive chest. She was considering the implications when the air shimmered and
she found herself staring at the hound.
"Back from another mission, eh, Thrice?" The dog's huge whirling eyes made her dizzy so she averted her gaze. "What did
King Karl want this time? More money?" The dog didn't answer, and she remembered that grandmother had told her Once,
Twice and Thrice spoke only to those who summoned them.
She pulled the blue-checked apron from her pocket and unfolded it, then reached for Thrice, who gave her a wary glance
but didn't resist. The dog was heavy, and it took quite an effort to lift it down onto the apron.
"There," she soothed. Thrice yawned and rested his head on his paws. "Good dog."
As Trudel threw back the lid of the chest, the room grew twice as bright. She gaped at the gold coins reflecting the
lamplight -- it was one thing to hear of such wealth, another to see it -- then began transferring them to the floor, stacking
them in neat columns. When she had enough for her purposes, she closed the lid, returning the room to its earlier
comparative gloom. Lifting Thrice back onto the chest, she dumped the coins in the now empty apron, and tied it into a
bundle.
The climb back up the hollow oak tree was made more difficult by the weight and bulk of the bundle, and by the return of
her fear of confinement, which threatened to turn her muscles to water. She stopped often to rest, taking deep breaths to
steady herself, before continuing.
Emerging from the tree bole into woodland-dappled daylight was like being born again. Though it seemed days since she
had first entered the tree, in reality barely an hour had elapsed. Trudel fell to her knees, and kissed the leaf-strewn ground
in gratitude.
The next time I come here, she vowed as her trembling eased and she untied the rope from the branch, will be via the
tinder-box.
#
The harassed housewife whose cleaning woman had disappeared so inconveniently (the only compensation being that she
hadn't collected the rest of her wages) would have been startled to learn that she and the recently arrived Countess Petrine
were one and the same. Nothing was too good for the beautiful and very rich Countess, whose every need was catered for
by servants in immaculate livery.
She appeared at the theatre, the opera, and the most select soirees, and news of her soon spread. It wasn't long before a
message from the Palace arrived, an invitation to Queen's Almeta's birthday celebration in two days' time.
#
The birthday banquet had been underway for an hour, and unlike her fellow guests, still eating and drinking with gusto,
Trudel couldn't manage another morsel. Seated beside her was a tipsy King Karl. He had started making overfamiliar
remarks, but she decided to ignore them and fixed her smile in place. When, under cover of the tablecloth, he placed his
damp hand on her knee, though, she was barely able to resist the urge to thrust his face into his dessert. It was a relief
when the last course was cleared away and it was time for the women to leave the men to their port and cigars.
At first, the other women thwarted Trudel's attempts to get the young Queen alone. She was considering using a spell
when she found herself sitting next to Almeta on a sofa.
"And how are you enjoying your stay, Countess?" asked the Queen, politely.
"Very much." Trudel hesitated then plunged in. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but are you happy?" Green eyes widened and
the Queen made to rise. Trudel lifted a hand to stay her and murmured a spell to inspire reassurance and trust. "I mean no
offence. I might be able to help you."
The Queen frowned but after a moment resumed her seat. "No one can help me." She reached for the wine goblet that a
thoughtful page had placed on a little table at her elbow. "I am still a prisoner." She took a sip.
"What do you mean?"
"My husband won't let me go anywhere unescorted. I am no more free than when my father was alive." Her mouth
twisted as she explained. "He kept me confined to the Palace. Even so, the prophecy came true."
Trudel leaned forward. "What prophecy, Your Majesty?"
"That I would marry a common soldier, of course."
"Ah."
"It didn't mention he would kill my parents first, though." The Queen shuddered. "Those awful dogs!"
"Yet, pardon my presumption, you still married him."
"What choice did I have? If I'd refused, he'd just have sent his dogs to fetch me to his bedroom, as he did in the
beginning. And he claimed he loved me." She laughed, but there was little humour in it. "Needed me, more like... to
legitimize his reign and provide an heir. ... He has taken a mistress, you know."
Trudel blinked. "Already?"
The young Queen's glance was wry. "Actually, I'm grateful. She keeps him from coming to my bed more often." She
glanced at her goblet. "Why am I telling you this? This wine must have gone to my head!" She sighed and then continued,
"I, however, am to be allowed no similar freedoms. There must be no question any children might not be his."
Trudel considered. "As I said before, I think I can help you, Your Majesty."
Almeta have her a doubtful look. "You?"
"May I demonstrate?" She pointed at the Queen's wine goblet. "What flavour would you prefer?"
"Pardon?"
"Your wine. Raspberry? Or blackberry perhaps?"
From Almeta's expression, she now considered the Countess to be a lunatic in need of humouring. "Raspberry."
Trudel muttered a simple spell. "Drink."
After a moment the Queen did so. Her eyes widened and she licked her lips. "But how?"
"Magic, of course." Trudel waited for the other woman to digest that before continuing. "My magic has its limits, though.
To help you I would need... something else." She paused then said carefully, "Does your husband have a tinder-box he
won't let out of his sight?"
Almeta's forehead creased. "How do you know about that?"
"It's mine. He stole it."
"He said he found it!"
"It was my grandmother's. She took care of me after my own parents died. A few months ago she died too... Your
Majesty, get me the tinder-box and you shall have your freedom."
"Why should I believe you?"
"I give you my word." Queen Almeta looked unconvinced. "As one woman to another." The sound of male voices was
growing louder and Trudel knew that the men had finished their port and cigars. "Will you do it?"
Before the Queen could answer, the drawing room door burst open and in strode a smiling King Karl surrounded by his
fawning courtiers, all exuding a strong smell of tobacco.
"Ladies," he brayed. "We've come to keep you company."
#
For two days after the Queen's birthday celebration, Trudel received no word. Though she tried to behave normally, she
kept catching herself listening for the sounds of tramping feet. If King Karl learned that the witch he had decapitated was
here to retrieve her tinder-box, a troop of soldiers sent to take her to jail was not beyond the bounds of possibility.
Trudel bit her lip and paced, ignoring the glances of her servants. Perhaps she had misjudged Almeta. Perhaps the girl was
too accustomed to being a pawn in her own life, indeed expected it -- freedom often didn't suit animals accustomed to
captivity, after all. Or perhaps the Queen had decided that Trudel was mad, and everything she had said that night was
mere ramblings.
But on the third day, a palace messenger brought a note for Countess Petrine, or rather two notes. The outer piece of
paper was innocuous, an elaborately calligraphed invitation to a garden party next month in the grounds of the Palace.
Inside that, folded and refolded, was a tiny piece of paper containing a handwritten scrawl.
Just after midnight. Wait beneath the window above the postern in the north wall.
#
It was dark, cold and drizzling, and anyone in their right mind was tucked up in bed. At least the rainclouds cloaking the
moon provided deeper cover, thought Trudel, turning up the collar of her coat and muttering a spell for warmth.
She shifted against the alley wall and schooled herself to patience. From here she had a clear view of the copper castle's
north wall, and more importantly the postern and the window above it.
The sound of tramping boots grew louder, and she saw four sentries marching along the wall. They paused at the postern,
checked it was locked, then continued on. She checked her timepiece -- midnight. When the patrol had moved out of
sight, she crept out of the alleyway and scuttled across to the postern.
On cue, from above came the creak of shutters opening. Trudel winced and looked round anxiously before glancing up. If
she squinted she could make out what looked like a hand reaching from between the window's bars.
"Are you there, Countess?" The Queen's whisper seemed deafening in the silence.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Then remember your promise."
The fingers of the hand opened and a rectangular tin box dropped towards Trudel's head.
"Oy, you there!" came a sentry's shout, startling her so she almost mistimed her catch. "What do you think you're doing?"
She took a firmer grip on the box and turned to run.
"Stop! Stop or I'll run you through."
Boots crunched over gravel as the sentry set off after her. Distant shouts and the sound of running feet indicated his
colleagues had joined the chase, though she didn't dare to turn round and look.
Trudel ran until her lungs were bursting, turned one corner, then another, then yet another, before she halted, panting. She
fumbled open the tinder-box's hinged lid. If this doesn't contain what it should... For while grandmother's spell would
prevent her from being killed, King Karl could always devise some horrid torment. Have me sliced into little pieces and set
in cement perhaps.
Her hands shook as she sorted the contents of the box by touch alone. She discarded a candle-end and felt for the striker
and flint. Ah!
The first strike produced no spark, nor the second. She swore and adjusted her grip on the flint. Come on. She struck
again, more firmly. This time fire sparked, and she blinked away the afterimages.
"Over there," came a shout. A sentry must have spotted the flash.
Just then, a dog with eyes the size of tea cups materialized in front of Trudel and fixed the relieved witch with its fierce
gaze. "What is your command?"
"Take me to safety. Now!"
Once's muzzle reached for her. And in the blink of an eye her surroundings disappeared.
#
Trudel found herself standing, heart thumping, by an ornamental lake. She recognized her surroundings at once -- the park
on the far side of town. A willow tree sheltered her from the drizzle and hid her from prying eyes, not that anyone would
be here at this hour.
Only then did it occur to her that the alarm she had sparked might backfire on the Queen. For surely, in order for her to
get the tinder-box from him, her husband must have been drunk or sleeping. And when he awoke and found it gone...
She raised the striker and flint. Two sparks later, canine eyes the size of millwheels were regarding her in query.
"Bring Queen Almeta to me," she instructed. Moments later Twice was back, and astride him sat the young Queen, clad
only in a thin silk nightgown that looked black in the moonlight.
She took in Trudel and her surroundings with wide eyes before allowing herself to be helped off the dog's back.
"So it's true," she breathed, clasping her arms round herself for warmth. "I couldn't make up my mind if you were mad or
not. In the end I decided to risk it."
"Here." Trudel took off her coat and draped it round the other woman's shoulders, then muttered a spell to keep herself
warm.
"Where are we?"
"One of Your Majesty's parks."
"Really? I don't think I've ever been here before." The young woman's face became wistful. "But then I rarely go
anywhere."
"All that is going to change."
"I can't go back," stated Almeta, glancing at the tinder-box in Trudel's hands. "He'll never forgive me for taking that."
"He'll have other things on his mind than tracking you down. Now that his money supply has dried up, he won't be so
popular. And when the people discover that his pretty young Queen has gone missing in mysterious circumstances... I'd
like to see him talk his way out of that!"
The Queen blinked. "But what will happen to me? This" --she indicated her nightgown-- "is all I have in the world."
"No sooner said than done, my dear."
Trudel raised the striker and struck the flint three times. When Thrice appeared, she instructed him to return with a few of
Almeta's outfits, the ones suitable for everyday wear. Moments later, the young woman was pulling on a warm dress and
jacket and looking far more at ease.
"I'll give you enough money to tide you over," added Trudel. "But as for what you will do with yourself... that's up to
you." Almeta looked so overwhelmed at this novel idea, Trudel took pity on her. "Why don't you travel with me for a
while. See some of the world?" And in the process discover who you really are.
The former Queen's eyes brightened at that prospect. "Could I?"
"Of course." Trudel struck the flint once and told the dog with the eyes the size of tea cups, "Take us both to the hollow
oak."
Seconds later, Almeta was looking at her new surroundings in wonder. "Why have we come here?" She indicated the high
road and the great oak tree standing next to it.
"I have a couple of things to take care of. First..." Trudel summoned Twice.
"What is your command?"
"Take this." She held out a gold piece, which the dog took in its mouth. "Bring me a horse and cart and leave that as
payment."
Moments later it was back. A startled whinny greeted the witch, who stuffed the tinder-box in her pocket and grabbed the
mare's reins. "There, there, my beauty." The horse calmed quickly and Trudel turned her attention to the cart Twice had
brought. A basic but sturdy model. It would do very well for now.
"You said a couple of things," reminded Almeta. "What was the other one?"
"Ah yes. To armour the oak against the King." Trudel spoke a spell that would protect not only the oak tree but also the
ground around and below it from the King... and those working for him. "There." Now he'll never be able to reach the hall
without the aid of the tinder-box.
Almeta's confused gaze travelled to the tree and back. "But it looks no different."
"Yet different it is. And with any luck, your husband is going to be furious." At that, the Queen looked gratified yet baffled.
Trudel chuckled. To know that all that wealth is lying there, so close yet forever beyond his reach... Revenge is sweet
indeed! "I'll explain later."
Satisfied that nothing else needed doing, she clambered up onto the driver's seat and beckoned. "Want to see what freedom
tastes like, my dear?"
Almeta hesitated for only a moment, then with a smile she climbed up into the cart.
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Fortunately for Trudel, the protection spell her
grandmother had laid on her at birth worked ... after a
fashion. The soldier's sabre decapitated her but it
didn't kill her (a fact of which he was unaware).
Unfortunately, out of mischief, malice, or a feeble
attempt to hide his victim's identity, the soldier had
stuffed the young witch's head in his knapsack and
discarded it in a wood several miles further up the
high road.
Trudel's sightless body could do little except walk
in circles, and her head could only rock from side
to side. She spent some time bewailing the fact her
spells were more limited, her powers weaker, than
those of her mother and her mother before her,
then set about enlisting help.
grandmother had laid on her at birth worked ... after a
fashion. The soldier's sabre decapitated her but it
didn't kill her (a fact of which he was unaware).
Unfortunately, out of mischief, malice, or a feeble
attempt to hide his victim's identity, the soldier had
stuffed the young witch's head in his knapsack and
discarded it in a wood several miles further up the
high road.
Trudel's sightless body could do little except walk
in circles, and her head could only rock from side
to side. She spent some time bewailing the fact her
spells were more limited, her powers weaker, than
those of her mother and her mother before her,
then set about enlisting help.
| A sequel to Hans Christian Andersen's "The Tinder-Box" |