Count Karlstein

  I stood up, trembling, and felt my way to the door. After what I’d seen, I had no fear of the castle servants, and I ran down the stairs quite openly. The great hall was deserted; the fire was burning low and its embers gave the only light. I looked around for a lamp or a candle that I might light from the last coals and then I heard voices, high-pitched, panicking, and looked up to see who it was.

  Frau Muller closely followed by Snivelwurst scuttled into the hall like a pair of seedy mice. She was wearing a dressing gown and a nightcap, and carrying a carpetbag—and something seemed to have happened to her face: it had sunk, and her nose and chin had grown closer together. She looked mad, quite deranged, like an inhabitant of Bedlam. She saw me and shrieked and mumbled, pointing angrily—and then I saw that she’d got no teeth. False teeth! I never knew that! She must have left them beside her bed….At any rate, she held her dressing gown away from me and fled. And Snivelwurst…I think, of all the things I’ve ever seen, that was the strangest and the most pathetic. For whether you liked him or loathed him, he was a grown man; and yet he hastened after her, whimpering with fear, and tried to hold her hand….

  They dragged the great door wide and vanished through it; and that was the last I saw of them.

  Sunshine, birdsong, the sparkling river, with a blue sky above it all—you’d have thought there was no such being as Zamiel, no such thing as darkness, no such time as midnight. The village looked its very best. The dew—it had been frost a little earlier, but the sun had been at it—gave the stone of the bridge and the houses all the brightness of fresh paint, and the air was tingling just like the water they bottle in Andersbad, further down the valley.

  I’d left Frau Wenzel the cook in charge at the castle. She’d heard the terrible sounds from the tower, and she and little Susi Dettweiler, and Johann and Adolphus, were shivering in the kitchen when I came down; and now that Frau Muller and Snivelwurst had disappeared, it was obvious that the old cook was in charge.

  But I couldn’t stay there. I had to know what had happened to the girls, and it was in the village that we’d agreed to meet, if everything had gone according to Miss Davenport’s plan. Besides, this was the day of the shooting contest. And there was Peter to think about….I was trembling with impatience and curiosity.

  But here was the village green, with no one about as yet; and here was the Jolly Huntsman, with old Conrad swilling down the front step with a bucket and mop, though it was so clean already that you could have eaten your breakfast off it. Breakfast! I nearly fell over with hunger as I thought of it.

  “Where’ve you been to?” said old Conrad, stepping down to make room for me to go in. “You mind this step, now. Lift that skirt up—don’t trail it in the water. You’re all muddy and dirty. Where’ve you been?”

  “Here and there,” I said. “Has Peter come back yet?”

  He frowned and looked around, and put his finger to his lips, and I remembered that Peter was still an outlaw. “I don’t know anything about that,” he muttered. “He’s a wild one, that boy.”

  The clock on the church struck seven.

  “Isn’t there anyone about?” I said. “Are they all still in bed?”

  “Where was you last night, then? Didn’t you hear all that to-do up yonder?”

  “Where was that?” I said innocently.

  “All Souls’ Eve, last night, it was. You be thankful you was out of it, my girl. You don’t want to go wandering about on All Souls’ Eve—you want to stay indoors and say your prayers.”

  “Well, I’m here now. Is Ma up? She’s surely not still in bed?”

  “You know your ma better than that. You’d better go and give her a hand—she’s got a houseful of guests to feed. I don’t know what you’re coming to—getting dismissed from a good position like what you had up there, and then wandering about all night. You’ll be the death of her, you will, you and that rascal of a brother….”

  I left him to his grumbling and hurried to the kitchen. Ma was stirring some eggs in a big pan, and Hannerl was heating some water for coffee. As soon as they saw me, they each gave a little cry, dropped what they were doing, and ran to me. I felt oddly embarrassed.

  “Oh, Hildi, darling! You’re safe! Thank God, thank God!”

  That was Ma, pressing me to her breast and nearly stifling me. And Hannerl clasped her hands and just looked at me, with a big dumb question in her big blue eyes—and I had to shrug, as best I could in that soft imprisonment.

  “He hasn’t come back yet, then?” I said as soon as she set me free.

  “You haven’t seen him either?” said Ma, and her expression was all anxiety.

  I shook my head. “He’ll be back before long,” I said. “And he’ll want a big breakfast, too.”

  “Oh, Lord—the eggs,” said Ma, and rushed to the fire, just in time to save them from a scorching doom.

  “D’you think he’s safe, Hildi?” said Hannerl.

  “I know he is. I don’t know where he is now, but I know he’s not….” I trailed off, not wanting to say dead. But did I know? I’d heard the terrible voice of the Demon say that the hunting lodge was empty, but what did that prove? He might have enjoyed his first helping so much that he’d come back for another. I just spread my hands, and Hannerl sniffed and blinked before going back to her work.

  I thought: Shall I tell them about last night? And then I thought: No, I can’t; it’s not the time for it. Besides, I wanted to forget it, if I could—it was too dark, too overwhelming. So I joined in with the cooking. This must have been the biggest breakfast the Jolly Huntsman had ever served—the place was bursting. And all the familiarity of the dishes, the cutlery, the warm, friendly smells and sounds seemed to bathe away the bad memories of the night like a warm bath. Hannerl and I served the breakfast and washed the dishes, and got it done quickly, since there were two of us; though most of the guests weren’t in any frame of mind to linger. They all had their minds on the contest.

  As soon as I could, I went out to see what was going on. The contest was to be held on the village green; and there were a couple of men there already, putting up a platform for the Mayor, with a striped awning over it. I stood and watched them for a minute and then walked on. I couldn’t help it; I was nervous. Nervous for Peter, for Frau Wenzel and Susi (would Frau Muller and the secretary come back?) and, most of all, nervous for Lucy and Charlotte.

  But the first people on the green, apart from the workmen and myself, were none other than Max and Eliza. I didn’t notice them at first; they were sitting under the trees, and looking mighty despondent. I rushed up and greeted them, and a pair of long faces turned to look up at me.

  “What happened last night?” they said, so I had to go through the whole tale and they oohed and aahed in all the right places. But they hadn’t seen the girls or Peter either, so when I’d finished, I sat down on the bench beside them and began to share some of their gloom.

  “We’re in a fine old pickle, Eliza, me love,” said Max.

  “It’s awful, Max!” she said. “Your master arrested, and—”

  “I’d forgotten about him,” I said.

  “ ’Tis the injustice of fate, Hildi, that’s what it is,” he said. “Everything happens at once, and all of it’s bad.”

  “I’m sure Miss Davenport’ll never come back,” said Eliza miserably.

  “Why ever not?” I said.

  “I had a strange feeling as she left yesterday,” she said. “It was a kind of a galloping feeling in my heart. I used to have a little kitten once, and I had this galloping feeling one day, and three weeks later the kitten was dead. It just died, just like that, under mysterious circumstances. I’m sure Miss Davenport will have fallen over the edge of a cliff…”

  “Well, wherever she is, I’ve got hardly any money left,” said Max, in the depths of gloom. “There’s nothing for it, my lamb—we’ll have to part. I can’t marry you now. I can’t ask you to share the life of a pauper.”

  “Move over, mate, you can’t sit th
ere,” said another voice from behind us.

  We looked around, and saw old Gunther the baker, carrying some complicated apparatus made of wood. He nodded at me importantly.

  “What’s that?” I said.

  “This is the target!” he said. “For the contest! It’s going to stand right here. You don’t want to get shot, do you?”

  “It’s not such a bad idea,” said Max, and he sounded so mournful that I couldn’t help laughing.

  “What’s the prize?” asked Eliza.

  “Fifty gold crowns,” said Gunther, setting his wooden structure on the ground and unbolting various bits and pieces, “and the title of Chief Ranger of the Forest. It’s a great honor, that is.”

  “Maxie, you ought to enter! You might win!” said Eliza.

  “That’s all very well, but I ain’t got a musket—remember?”

  “Oh, no, I’d forgotten,” she said sadly. “That’s the end of that, then.”

  We moved aside to let Gunther get on with setting the target up.

  “I wonder what’ll happen to them kids, when they come back,” said Max after a moment.

  “There’s no one to look after ’em,” said Eliza. “They’ll be taken into the care of the court, I expect.”

  “Orphans, are they?” said Max. “Just like me. I was a foundling, too. I didn’t have no family to grow up with. Poor little things—they’ve been through a lot, they have. If I could win that contest…Oh, well, never mind. I ain’t got a musket, so that’s the end of it.”

  Suddenly Eliza jumped and squealed, as if she’d been stung by a wasp, and shook his arm.

  “Maxie!” she cried.

  “What is it?”

  “Maxie, your trombone!”

  “It ain’t a trombone, Eliza, it’s a coach-horn—”

  But Eliza was already turning away and speaking eagerly to old Gunther.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she said, curtsying prettily so that he stopped what he was doing and looked at her with interest, “could you tell me what the rules are for the shooting contest, please?”

  “Certainly, me dear!” he said. “See this little straw with the feather in it? Well, that’s connected to this bit here, that joins on to the spring underneath, and—well, they have to hit the target smack in the middle, and that makes the feather fly into the air. That’s all. But it ain’t as easy as it looks.”

  “They all shoot in turn, do they?” said Max.

  “Aye. But as soon as the target’s hit, that’s the end of the contest. Maybe the first man’ll hit it. Maybe no one will—then they’ll have to shoot again.”

  “And does it have to be a musket?” said Eliza.

  “Musket, pistol, cannon, whatever you like,” he said.

  “There, Maxie,” she said, in triumph, turning back to him. “Remember how Miss Davenport showed you how to fire your trombone?”

  “It ain’t a trombone, Eliza, it’s a—” He stopped, as he suddenly realized what she meant. “No, I couldn’t,” he said. “Surely not? I wonder, though—I’d have to go and practice. But no, I couldn’t….”

  I didn’t know what they were talking about; but didn’t have time to ask, because at that very moment two small figures wandered around the corner of the Mayor’s house and stood, bemused, looking around as if for someone they knew.

  “Miss Lucy!” I cried. “Miss Charlotte!”

  They ran, and I ran, and Max and Eliza came after me, and we all met in the middle somewhere. The green was filling up now, and people looked at us curiously—and no wonder, because we might, from our exuberance, have been welcoming each other back from the grave. And perhaps (a chilly thought that came and went in a moment) we were.

  “You’re safe!” I cried, and Eliza said, “What happened?” and Max said, “You’re all right, then?” all at once; and Lucy said, “Peter got there just in time!” and Charlotte said, “Oh, it was awful—you’d never believe it. We thought we were lost for ever—” And by the time we’d got those first words out, I’d noticed, and Eliza had noticed too, that the girls were wet through and shivering and worn out. So I made them come with me back to the Jolly Huntsman, to sit by the fire and have something to eat and drink. Ma fussed over them, and I let her, because they needed it; and Max and Eliza sat there, open-mouthed, as Lucy told what had happened in the hunting lodge.

  But first—where was Peter? Safe, it seemed, and Hannerl’s face grinned seemingly of its own accord, because she couldn’t control it at all. He was waiting out of sight for the time being, until the shooting began; he’d take his chance then, but he didn’t want to run the risk of being spotted and caught before he’d even had a try at the target.

  And while Charlotte sipped some hot milk and yawned and nodded, steaming like a pudding in front of the fire, Lucy explained how Peter had rescued them.

  It had been just before midnight when he’d arrived, and they’d thought his volley of knocking on the door was the Demon himself. The door was locked, of course, and he’d had to shoot through the lock to break in. They’d all run out and taken shelter a little way off, there being no time to put more distance between themselves and the lodge, and at five minutes to midnight…the Hunt arrived. Neither of them could describe it properly. But they were certain of one thing, and that was that Peter hadn’t fired his musket at all, apart from when he shot through the lock.

  “But how did you escape him, then?” I said.

  “Oh, it was terrifying!” said Lucy. “Zamiel’s horse was huge—halfway up the sky—and all the hounds, you could hear them straining at the leash and foaming and growling—and then Peter just stood up straight and called to Zamiel.”

  “He did what?”

  “He called out!” said Charlotte. “He said, You’re not having these girls! Count Karlstein is your prey—go and seek him!”

  Lucy said, “And Zamiel said, Who are you? His voice was like thunder—”

  Charlotte said, “And Peter said, Peter Kelmar, a freeborn huntsman.”

  Lucy said, “And Zamiel said, A huntsman? I do not harm true huntsmen, or those they protect. Go in peace!”

  Charlotte said, “And then Zamiel wheeled his horse around and the hunt rose up into the sky and they all flew away….”

  “And do you know?” said Lucy. “Peter only had one bullet with him—and that was the silver one! And he’d shot that through the door letting us out!”

  “Oh, the fool,” I said. “What was he thinking of?”

  “No, he’s not!” said Charlotte. “He was really brave.”

  “That was the bravest thing I ever saw, when he stood up to Zamiel,” said Lucy. “If he hadn’t done that…”

  “Where is he now?” said Hannerl. “Has he still got the horse with him?”

  Charlotte explained where Peter was hiding, and Hannerl hastened out. She’d bring the horse back to the stable, she said, since Peter’d be too busy and the owner would be worried about it.

  Eliza sat back thoughtfully. “What are you going to do now, though?” she said. “I suppose Miss Davenport could take you in—I know she’d like to, but the law’s very strict about that sort of thing.”

  “It’s got to be relations or nothing, that’s the law,” said Max. “You got any cousins anywhere?”

  “No one,” said Lucy. “Count Karlstein’s our only relative.”

  “Was,” I said, before I could help it. They looked at me in surprise; and I told them, in my turn, what had happened just after midnight in the tower. I missed out some of it, though—I said that their uncle had had an apoplectic fit and died at once. They listened without speaking, without moving, without taking their eyes from my face. And when I’d finished, they said nothing, but looked down at the floor; and Lucy said in a small voice, “We are alone, then.”

  “Oh, nonsense!” said Ma loudly. “You’ll always have a welcome here, my dears! You don’t think we’d turn you out and wave good-bye, do you?”

  “It ain’t as simple as that, ma’am, begging your pardon,” said
Max. “See, being an orphan meself, and in the profession, like, I know a bit about it. If there’s no relations living, they’ll have to go into an orphanage. That’s the law. But they ain’t bad places,” he went on, turning to the girls. “We had a rare old time in Geneva when I was a lad. We used to play ’em up something terrible, those old biddies who ran the place. There was one time—”

  “Hush, Maxie,” said Eliza. “We’ll think about all that later. When’s this contest going to start?” she asked Ma, trying to sound bright and cheery, and not really succeeding. Lucy had tears in her eyes, but she blinked them back and pretended to be interested in the contest, too, and Charlotte was too tired to feel anything.

  “Oh!” said Max suddenly. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but have you got such a thing as a dried pea?”

  And that broke the tension and made us laugh, and Ma said of course she had and how many did he want? And he said, just one, thank you very much, which sounded even odder. So she fetched it for him, and he tried to pay for it but she wouldn’t take anything—how can you take money for one dried pea?—and then we all seemed to be getting ready to go out.

  The green was full now. The platform was up, the awning was in place, and all the villagers—all who weren’t shooting, anyway—seemed to have come. You could hardly move. But the workmen had set up a railing and a rope to hold the audience back from the shooting area, and those men who were competing were strolling about in a lordly manner in front of the platform, watched by all the rest. They loved being watched, too. They held their muskets to their shoulders and sighted along the barrel; they held them in one hand and tested the balance, as if they didn’t know the feel of it by heart already; they rolled ball after ball in the palm of their hand, trying to find the most perfect one, the one that would fly straight to the target and win for them. But there was no sign of Peter anywhere; and what on earth was Max doing? He was trying to fit the pea into the mouthpiece of his coach-horn—and then it rolled all the way through and fell out into the grass, and we had to go down on our knees and look for it.