Chapter 4 - encountering the witch’s wrath

When they arrived at the confectionery, which was as dark as every other shop on the row, all seemed at peace within, though one of the two glass-windowed double-doors hung open by a hand’s breadth. The princess crossed her arms and glanced at Lev expectantly, who gave a slight nod, drew steel, and stepped inside–and stopped, stupefied in the doorway.

The front room was distinguished by a rich, sweet aroma that filled Lev’s lungs at the slightest inhalation, and memories of sugar-coated apples at harvest festivals attended during childhood days made the knight forget for a breath where and when they where. Saliva pooled in Lev’s mouth, and the monkey brain from which all human brains had descended screamed for just a taste–more than just a taste, a treat, a feast–of every flavor which presented itself in each subsequent, saccharine breath.

Lev’s reverie was interrupted by the princess pushing past impatiently, perhaps assuming the coast was clear from the knight’s unwary posture. Seeing as they hadn’t been killed yet, Lev supposed that the coast must indeed be clear–for now.

The princess casually scooped up a handful of rock-sugar candies by the door–Lev gave her a reproachful look for this, which she returned with a challenging glare–and cocked her head, listening. After a few moments, she popped the whole handful of candy into her mouth and pointed at the ceiling: “Upstairs,” the gesture said. “Quiet,” the next one said, a finger held to her lips. Or maybe she was just licking excess sugar off; it was difficult to tell in the dim light.

Regardless, Lev nodded and proceeded toward the stairs in the back of the room as gingerly as possible, though stealth wasn’t a strength of plate. Perhaps it would have been better to strip down to linens and leathers–

Creaking floorboards and steady thumps heralded someone’s descent along the stairway, and Lev scrambled behind a tall display case of marzipan flower bouquets. The princess, still near the door, slipped outside, leaving Lev alone with the figure who had reached the bottom step. It turned, and Lev sighed with relief upon seeing it was a squat man’s figure, clad in a merchant’s fine robes and a purple, pocketed apron–then choked the sigh upon seeing that one of the man’s hands held a dagger up to his own throat.

The man’s eyes leapt wildly across the room, and Lev heard a whimper as he hastened to a basket of small, pearl-like confections not three yards from Lev. Using just one hand–the other still held threateningly against his lifevein–the man gathered the pearls into his apron’s pocket, then froze as he saw Lev standing awkwardly behind the glass flower case.

They stared at one another for a tense moment, Lev watching the knife warily, and both of them jumped in their boots as the knife inched suddenly closer to the man’s pudgy neck. Before Lev could react, the man shouted, “On m-my way!” then lowered his voice to a groveling whimper, walking backwards toward the stairs. “P-please! Help me–there’s a witch–please!”

Lev blinked and nodded vigorously, raising a reassuring hand and mouthing the word, “Soon,” then watched as the man ascended to the second floor, tears and sweat staining his cheeks.

After Lev was sure he was gone, Lev looked to the front of the store to see the princess waving him frantically back outside. Sparing the stairway one last glance, Lev reluctantly complied.

“You hide as well as red on white, you know that?” she said as Lev exited the building.

“I–”

“Nevermind. This is bad. She must have gotten a hell of a headstart on us if she’s already feeling fit to puppet people. Did you see anything strange on him as he passed you? A bracelet made of hair, a bit of fingernail stuck in his arm, anything like that?”

“No, but it was dark.”

“We’ll assume the worst then and say she fed him some of her blood. Here’s what you need to do–”

“Explain a moment. Why was he holding a knife to himself? If she’s controlling him, did she see us–”

“See you.”

“–see me through his eyes?”

“No. Just like a puppeteer doesn’t see through the painted eyes of a wooden doll. Don’t worry about how or why. When he next comes down those stairs, take the knife from him, quickly and quietly so the witch doesn’t have him paint the floor red. She can’t see, but she can feel, like vibrations on puppet strings. Can you do that?”

Lev nodded.

“Good.” She paused, then added, “Don’t get stabbed yourself.”

Lev nodded again, somberly, then turned back inside the building, choosing this time to hide beneath the stairwell in order to be as close as possible to the merchant when he next came to fetch fuel for the witch.

Lev didn’t have to wait long.

The man descended once more with anxious, hurried steps. As his foot landed on the first floor, Lev confirmed that he still had the knife to his throat, and lunged, blade sheathed and arms out to grapple the merchant.

The two of them collided with a yelp of surprise from the pudgy man, and he would doubtlessly have fallen to the floor if Lev hadn’t already twisted the man down into a deep bow with the knife-arm pulled out to the side in an arm lock. Lev drew a sharp breath, feeling the man’s arm flex with strength that could not have belonged to a merchant who looked like he would lose his breath climbing a single flight of stairs; the force of the pull elicited a sharp cry of pain from the merchant as his muscles coiled against the armlock unnaturally, but it had an effect, unbalancing Lev.

With a grunt of exertion, Lev leaned into the fall, pulling them both into a tumble that ended with Lev lying awkwardly on top of the merchant’s arm, leaving one of Lev’s own hands free to begin prying the knife out of the man’s hand. Suddenly there was the sound of breaking glass, and, back turned to the rest of the man’s body, Lev felt a ripping, cutting pain from behind. Blood began to trickle down the knight’s nape. It was a shallow blow, so Lev assumed the man had found some piece of fragile glassware to use against his assailant for lack of a better weapon; the one in his hand had finally come free of his grip, and Lev tossed the knife across the room triumphantly before turning to face the man again.

Lev was not surprised to see his face drenched with tears and twisted in pain and guilt. What was surprising were the words he was mouthing, whispering hoarsely: “I’m sorry, she saw, she heard, she knew–”

And then Lev stood without meaning to rise, faced the doorway without meaning to turn, stepped without meaning to walk, then stepped again, and again, and again, until the dark interior of the candy shop had been left behind and Lev was looking into the princess’s bewildered eyes and had grabbed her arm and was dragging her kicking and shouting into the building and up the stairs and down a hallway toward the witch of Hexenberg–and all the while, Lev watched blankly, a puppet dancing on bloody strings.