Page 84 of Night of the Witch
Otto starts to turn, but I hold fast to his arm.
“Heisn’tlike me,” I say again. Begging.
His face softens. “I know. I know, Fritzi.”
Another too short moment, and then we take off down the hall. I trail him through the Porta Nigra, delving back into the deep, dark tunnels beneath Trier.
26
OTTO
This is the route I had planned to run with my sister. I have spent months walking all the tunnels to ensure there were safe passages for the escaped prisoners, but I walked this one the most.
I run along it now, carrying Liesel’s limp body, with Fritzi splashing behind me. The only sound is our feet in the water, our panting breaths in the dark.
It helps, the movement. Standing still lets my mind work, and when my mind works, I see the gaping hole in Bertram’s neck that I put there, I hear the sound of Dieter’s voice coming from his broken lips, I feel the crunch of his dead face even though it was Fritzi’s boot and not mine that smashed it in.
No. Movement helps. Focus on holding Liesel. On running.
On reaching the drainage gate.
We stop short in front of the hole burrowed into the bank of the river, where the cold water drains back into the Moselle. It’s strange, the way the smooth carved stone the Romans built hundreds of years agogives way to mud and packed earth, but it serves its purpose. I have to put Liesel down, and all three of us crawl the last few meters, with me in the front. Branches have been shoved in front of the hole, mostly to keep debris from clogging the drain, but I’ve tested them before, and they break with little effort.
I turn and help Liesel up, then pull Fritzi from the mud and water. The three of us are streaked with grime, ash and silt and sweat and blood, but I am grateful for it. The niceness of my clothing is disguised now, and although I no longer have a cloak for warmth, I also no longer look like a hexenjäger, save for my boots, far nicer than any peasant would have but a luxury I am unwilling to give up. I let my heels sink into the mud a little, hoping for the camouflage it can provide.
“This way,” I say. The drainage tunnel put us north, outside the city wall, but not far enough away to avoid being spotted. I know the girls are tired, Liesel especially, but we have to get on the water as soon as possible.
The prisoners I helped set free will be able to disappear, either in abandoned buildings in the city or among friends and family in the country. Their accusers will hopefully be satisfied; the victims will fade from memory and make new lives for themselves. I hope.
But I have no illusions about what will happen to me, the traitor, or Fritzi and Liesel, true witches, if we are caught.
“Where are we going?” Fritzi asks as she follows me. “We don’t even know where we need to go to find your sister, or.…” Her words fade as the events of the day catch up to her.
“Right now, the only place we are going is as far away from here as possible,” I tell her, the confidence in my voice spurring her to keep moving.
When I had planned the escape with Hilde, we had intended to take a boat from the Moselle to the Rhine River, then south to the city ofStraussberg, and restart our lives in France. We have a distant relation in that city by the border, and it seemed far enough away from Trier.
Now? I don’t know where Hilde even is, but I do know where Dieter is, and that is where I don’t want to be.
“The river is fastest,” I say. “We have to get out of this diocese.” I already weighed the options even before knowing fully what was at stake, and the plan doesn’t change now. “If we go east, with the current carrying us, we can go faster than we could ride by horseback.”
“Not that we have horses,” Fritzi muttered.
“Dieter does,” I remind her. She pales and nods grimly. “Once we get to Koblenz, we…” I take a deep breath. “We figure out where next to go.” At least that city is larger, right on the Rhine, and we will be able to disappear among the crowds. And we’ll be at the very edge of the archbishop’s power. Deeper along the Rhine Valley, the Protestant princes rule. The politics of religion may work in our favor.
The boat I bought earlier is small, clinker-built, and with a pair of oars. I purchased it for far more than it was worth as the seller saw my desperation, but the size is to my benefit—I am able to pick it from the hiding place under some brush and half carry, half drag the thing to the water. Two satchels inside hold spare blankets and clothing, dried food and empty skins to fill with water if we have to leave the river. I keep all my money on me; enough gold, I hope, to see us through the journey.
Once the boat is on the river, Fritzi helps Liesel clamber in, then steps inside herself while I hold the bow.
“I can help,” Fritzi says, picking up one of the oars.
I push the boat deeper into the river and then use my momentum to throw my leg over the side and get in. Dripping, muddy, and tired myself, I grab the oar from Fritzi’s hand and use it like a pole, getting us out of the shallows. “No need to row,” I tell her. “The current will do most of the work.”
Still, I grab the other oar. She raises an eyebrow at me, but I ignore her, rowing us so we’ll move faster than the current. My hope is that the hexenjägers searching for us are still in the city or the tunnels. Speed is the only thing that can save us now.
The river is always crowded—it’s cheaper and faster to transport wine and hay and lumber by water. My little boat is typical of those used to ferry people across the river for less coin than the toll at the bridge; I look like a ferryman, hunched over the oars with two female passengers who keep their heads ducked, huddled under their cloaks for warmth.
I row until my shoulders ache, and then I row more. Liesel sleeps, her arms spread wide, and Fritzi pets her hair, murmuring to her.
