The Brixen Witch (6 page)

“Good evening, Mistress Bauer. You have a bone to pick with me, do you?”

She wagged a finger at him. “It seems you’ve spent these last weeks using all your energy in predicting and complaining. What about a remedy? Here we are, true enough. But what we need to know is this: What’s to be done about it?”

“About the rats?” said Marco. “There’s nothing to be done, except wait for the winter to freeze them out. Or wait for a new sign. Whichever comes first.” And with that he spun away from Oma, as if their conversation had come to an end.

But Oma seemed to think otherwise.

“Sit and wait,” she said to his broad back. “I suppose you needn’t worry about rats chewing through your metalworks. But how will you feel when one of your beautiful fat twin babies is bitten?” Oma folded her arms and tapped her foot, and waited.

Rudi, and all the villagers within earshot, held still and waited as well.

Marco turned toward Oma once more. His face had gone pale. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“
Hmph
!” said Oma. “That’s what I thought.” She turned away from Marco the blacksmith.

And now the conversation had come to an end.

Oma beckoned to another man in the crowd, a wiry bald man whose mustache was as wide as his face.

“Did you hear all that, mayor?” she asked him.

“Aye, mistress, I heard,” said the man. “What do you think?”

“How should I know? You’re the mayor.”

The mayor furrowed his brow and pulled at his
mustache. “I think tomorrow night, then?”

Oma nodded. “Tomorrow night.”

And so the town meeting was called to order at sunset the following day.

Rudi and his family arrived in time to hear the mayor’s gavel striking. The room was already full of people, and the debate was already under way.

“My children have been afraid to go outdoors,” someone was saying. Rudi recognized the voice of Not-So-Old Mistress Gerta. “Even on the sunniest of days. Then one morning a rat fell out of the rafters, and so the children ran back outdoors. Now they play in the middle of the lane, where they can see whatever might be coming toward them. I fear that one day they’ll be struck by a cart.”

“Seven sacks of flour,” announced Jacob the miller. “That’s how many have been gnawed upon and spoiled by rats. How many more before the summer is out? Soon enough no one will have bread to eat.”

Even Rudi’s mother had something to say. “I keep a spotless cottage. I scrub the floors, beat the rugs, wash the linens. And yet there they are, as happy to be among us as in the barn under the manure. I don’t know what’s gotten into the creatures.”

Several villagers responded with sympathetic murmurs and nods.

“We need Herbert Wenzel,” crackled a thin voice beside Rudi. “Someone needs to go to Klausen and fetch him.”

The voice was Oma’s. And though Rudi himself had barely heard the words, the entire room fell silent.

“Herbert Wenzel?” said the mayor from the platform. “The rat catcher?” And then, meeting Oma’s steely gaze, he cleared his throat and banged his gavel. “Of course! The rat catcher. Because this is nothing more than an ordinary, disgusting infestation of rats. Who better to deal with it than an ordinary, disgust—er, a professional rat catcher?”

Rudi glanced sidelong at Oma. The mayor was proposing exactly what she had suggested the day before: If ordinary measures got rid of the rats, then there could be no enchantment.

Not in so many words, of course. It was bad luck to talk of such things.

“A rat catcher? What would that cost?” blurted Marco the blacksmith. “A pretty penny, I’ve no doubt.”

Oma stepped forward and narrowed her eyes at Marco. “And how are those fine children of yours, Master Smith? Healthy, I hope?”

Marco the smith gulped and said to the room at large, “I think perhaps Old Mistress Bauer is
right. It’s time to call in a rat catcher.” And then he nodded toward Oma with recently acquired respect.

Jacob the miller spoke up again. “No one is saying it won’t be costly. But it’s already costing me a pretty penny. Seven sacks of flour they’ve ruined, and more to come, I’m sure. Might as well throw money into the river. Herbert Wenzel provides a service. He’ll earn every penny we pay him.”

Again the voices crowded the air, each with a different opinion.

The mayor banged his gavel, which did nothing much to calm the crowd. “We all agree this cannot continue. It’s time we called in an expert.”

The crowd murmured and muttered. Oma crossed her arms and chewed the inside of her cheek.

The gavel again. “Master Smith has a point as well. Does anyone know how much Herbert Wenzel’s service might cost?” The mayor looked around the room.

Otto the baker climbed onto a chair. “A pretty penny is right enough. My cousin lives in Klausen. He told me once that’s what Wenzel charges: a penny a rat.”

“He charges by the rat?” said Marco. “In that case, I say each household should pay for the rats caught within. That’s fair.”

Mistress Tanner stepped out of the crowd and addressed the burly blacksmith. “And how is that fair? I live next door to you, and I happen to know that whatever rats are in
my
woodpile came from
your
woodpile.”

The blacksmith drew himself up to his full height. “Is that so? I’d say it was the other way around!”

Rudi half worried, half hoped it might come to blows, though he knew it would be a lopsided fight. No one stood a chance against Mistress Tanner.

“Now see here!” The mayor pounded his gavel, his voice barely heard above the discussing and the arguing. “This problem belongs to all of Brixen. We will divide Herbert Wenzel’s fee among every household. All agreed?”

“Agreed,” came the answer in ragged unison from the crowd.

“Master Otto,” said the mayor, “would you be willing to venture to Klausen?”

The baker nodded. “I can leave at daybreak and be back in three days’ time.”

“It’s decided, then,” announced the mayor. “Good Otto the baker will fetch Herbert Wenzel, the rat catcher of Klausen. I suggest we all start counting our pennies.”

And he brought down the gavel with a
bang
.

THREE DAYS later, Otto the baker returned home to Brixen as promised, accompanied by Herbert Wenzel, the rat catcher of Klausen.

That same morning, Oma sent Rudi up to the roof to patch any holes he might find in the thatch. But his father had performed that same task only the day before. It was possible that Papa had missed a gap or two, but Rudi suspected Oma might have another purpose for pushing him up the ladder.

Then Oma mentioned (when his mother was out of earshot) that as long as Rudi was on the roof, if he happened to see any travelers coming up the road from Klausen, he should climb down and tell her.

And so, by the time anyone else in Brixen knew of the rat catcher’s arrival, Oma had already
invited him in and learned the names of his ferrets (Annalesa and Beatrice), how long he’d been in the trade (“Thirty years now, and I still have all my fingers!”), and how many lumps of sugar he liked in his rosehip tea (two, thank you).

Rudi’s mother set to work preparing a tray for the visitor, but she appeared to be distracted. Finally, she said, “Pardon me, Master Wenzel, but are you sure
that
needs to be in the house?” She tilted her head toward a small hutch in the corner of the room. It was made of wood and wire, and it was only partly covered by an empty burlap sack.

Herbert Wenzel nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, mistress, for certain they do. They gets terrible fretful and lonesome if they can’t see me. But don’t you worry. Anna and Bea are the quietest, cleanest creatures you’ll ever see.” And Herbert Wenzel crouched and waggled a finger between the wires of the hutch. The ferrets chortled and rubbed their faces against his finger.

Rudi knelt beside him. “Do they bite?”

“Oh, no, they never bites people,” said Herbert Wenzel. “The hand that feeds them and all that. Here, see for yourself.”

So Rudi slid the tip of a finger between the wires of the hutch, and the two ferrets sniffed it, and examined it, and nibbled it gently. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“Rudi! Must you?” said his mother, and he wondered if she’d nearly reached her limit of tolerating small furry creatures in her house, caged or not.

“It tickles,” he said. He reached in farther and rubbed the top of one soft head.

Rudi’s mother sighed heavily.

“Lovely little things,” said Oma, wrinkling her nose. “Now tell me, Master Wenzel, I imagine you’re keeping quite busy this season, what with the overabundance of vermin hereabouts. You must be up to your earlobes and eyeballs in rats.”

Upon hearing this, Rudi’s mother pushed the tray into Rudi’s hands and announced, “I must be off. I’m sure Old Mistress Gerta needs me. For something.” And she hurried out the door, barely able to conceal a shudder.

“My daughter-in-law,” said Oma. “A bit queasy when it comes to talk of unpleasant things. But she bakes a lovely elderberry tart, don’t you think? It’s my own recipe.” She motioned for Rudi to offer the tray.

Herbert Wenzel rubbed his finger on his shirt and helped himself. “Well, mistress, I can’t say as I’ve been busy. As a matter of fact, it’s been right quiet in Klausen this summer, so I was a bit surprised when Master Otto came to inquire about my services.” He popped a tart into his mouth.

Oma rocked in her chair. “You don’t say? So, then, why do you suppose the little beasties have chosen to visit Brixen in such numbers?”

“Oh, that’s always hard to say. Mayhaps they heard about the good cooks here in Brixen.” Herbert Wenzel reached for another tart and laughed at his own joke, but Oma didn’t so much as smile.

“Or”—he tried again, swallowing his bite—“mayhaps an extra litter or two came to town on the coal cart or some such … and you know how it is with rats.” He leaned forward in his chair and lowered his voice. “They multiply like rabbits.”

“Ah,” said Oma. “Reasonable explanations, then.” She shot Rudi a look.

Herbert Wenzel tipped his head. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that everything has a reasonable explanation.” He slurped his tea and sighed contentedly. “Unless, of course, someone’s done something to vex the Brixen Witch.”

Rudi gulped, but Oma scowled at him, and so he remained silent.

“Still,” continued Herbert Wenzel, “in all my years at the trade, I’ve never seen such a thing. Rats doesn’t seem to be the witch’s type of doing, if you know what I mean. I’ve always thought her hexes were more … poetical. Snow in July. Two-headed calves. That sort of thing.” The rat catcher
leaned back and rested his hands behind his head. “No, mistress, take it from me: You’ve nothing here but an ordinary, disgusting infestation of rats. I’ll have it cleaned up in no time.”

Just then Rudi heard voices outside, and a moment later there came a knock at the door.

“We have every confidence in you,” said Oma to the rat catcher. And then she turned to Rudi. “Master Otto has fetched the mayor, I suppose?”

Rudi looked out the window and nodded. “Master Smith is here as well. Shall I brew more tea?”

“They haven’t come for tea,” said Oma. “Open the door.”

So Rudi did, and after polite introductions and curious glances at the hutch in the corner, the talk turned to the business at hand.

He’d need to size things up, of course, but Herbert Wenzel supposed he could clear the village of most every rat in ten days’ time. He would set traps wherever he could, and use the ferrets everywhere else. His rate of pay was a penny a rat.

“I must say, though,” added Herbert Wenzel upon seeing the beet-colored face of Marco the smith, “that most times, people thinks they have more rats than they truly has. That’s just the way of people. They see one rat and right off they imagine there’s twenty. So let me take a look around. I could be finished in less than a week.”

“Back up a minute,” said Marco. “Did you say
most
every rat? I should think at that rate of pay, you’d get rid of every one. All you need is to leave two behind, and
poof
! We’re right back where we started. Don’t be thinking we’ll call you back time after time to do the very same job.”