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 ago gives 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 of Straussberg, 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.
There are shouts along the river—larger boats vying for better positions, good-natured calls among the men from one boat to another. Several of the boats have sails, but without wind, oars and poles are used more often.
Trier slips away.
I focus on the oars. The slap of wood on water. Splashing and creaking. I am a cog in a mill, cranking the boat forward, forward.
“It’s midday.” Fritzi’s voice cuts across the cool air. I glance up, sweat stinging my eyes, and see that both girls are sitting, their eyes on me. Fritzi’s brows are creased in the middle, concern etched on her face.
Midday. The time Dieter had intended to start the fires.
“You can stop for a second,” Liesel says, as if my attempts to save her life have annoyed her.
I flex my fingers, realizing for the first time that they’re numb.
“Where are we?” Liesel asks.
“We shouldn’t stop until Zell or Cochem, if we can help it,” I say. I try to force my fingers around the oar, but my shoulders scream in protest. I look up at Fritzi. “Do you have any potions for strength?” I ask. “Something to keep me rowing.”
“No,” she says in a small voice.
“Okay.” I nod, thinking to myself. There are remarkably few boats here, away from the main city. “I can go ashore, find some herbs, just tell me which ones. You can make something that will help me row faster, yeah? I don’t need to sleep.”
“Yes, you do,” Fritzi says. “And no, I will not make you such a potion.”
“But—!”
“I don’t care,” Liesel says. “Let his heart explode from overwork.”
“I care!” Fritzi snaps at her.
“You care about his heart?” Liesel says snidely.
A blush creeps up Fritzi’s cheeks, but she turns to me with ferocious eyes. “We are too exhausted.” She turns to the side of the river. The trees are thick. “If we pull the boat up, we can hide here and rest.”
I don’t like stopping. But if my body gives out, it leaves Fritzi and Liesel in a dangerous position.
“And we have a way to find a path,” Fritzi adds. “We’re running aimlessly. We need a direction.”
That’s what Liesel can provide for us. If she’s not too exhausted to work her magic.
I find a place where a fallen tree grants easier access up the bank, and let the girls out before hauling the boat up onto the shore, dragging it between the trees until we’re a safe enough distance from the river that I’m certain we won’t be spotted.
Fritzi sweeps a flat area nestled among the trees with a fallen evergreen branch, and when she tells me to rest, I do, gladly. Liesel sits on the knot of a root, her hand playing with the flint and steel from the tinderbox, flicking a spark between her fingers.
I remember what Fritzi told me about her cousin and her affinity for fire. A type of augury, using flames. My gaze focuses on the little light dancing around her tiny knuckles. My thoughts go immediately to my sister. Can Liesel tell me where Hilde is? I bite the question away. The girl doesn’t trust me, but more than that—she’s a child who’s just been abused for her power. I cannot press her now.
Just as I come to that thought, I notice that her eyes are on me, almost hidden by her hair. She darts her gaze away, but I caught a glimmer of the same pale blue in Fritzi’s eyes. The little witch is as curious about me as I am about her.
I sit up, holding a small branch from the forest floor. With a flick of my wrist, my spring-loaded holster hidden by my shirtsleeve brings forth my dagger.
Last used to pierce Bertram’s throat.
I push the thought away, even if the image is seared into my mind. Instead, I turn the piece of wood over in my hands. It’s still pretty green, but my blade is sharp, and even if I’m tired, I’ve whittled enough in my day to make short work of it. In moments, I’ve carved a crude horse with evergreen needles for a tail. Fritzi bustles around the small camp, checking supplies, getting fresh water.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Liesel’s flicker of flame has died. She’s watching me, but when I look up, she jerks her head away, staring into the forest.
I toss the little wooden horse at her, and she snatches it from the air.
I chuckle, and she scowls, dropping it as if I’d thrown her a dead mouse.
I lean back against the tree trunk and notice that Fritzi has stopped to watch our strange showdown with an unabashed smile on her face.
“It’s not made of the finest Venetian glass,” I mutter with a shrug.
Fritzi grins as she bends down and sets the wooden horse upright. “It’s dear.”
Fritzi sits down between us. When Liesel thinks my attention is on her cousin, she reaches out, grabs the little toy, and stuffs it into her skirt pocket. Fritzi and I both pretend not to notice.
For the first time, there’s a light of joy in Fritzi’s eyes.
But it quickly fades.
“We need to talk.” Fritzi’s voice is quiet, but it pulls both my and Liesel’s attention directly to her.
“About your”—I can barely say it—“Brother.”
Fritzi folds her hands in her lap and doesn’t look away. “Yes,” she says simply.
“Why did he want to kill you so much?” I ask, unable to wrap my head around such depravity. He kept Liesel alive, torturing her to force her to use her magic, but he was going to kill Fritzi. He didn’t want to use her. Why?
Pain flickers behind Fritzi’s eyes. “He believes that great acts of evil feed his power. My death would have made him stronger.”
There’s so much I want to ask: H—how does that work? Why is he so hungry for more power, especially as he’d kept it hidden for so long? But I look at Liesel, at the tears stinging her eyes, and I remember that this is their family member. That he would have killed Fritzi, and likely Liesel too, after he was done with her, despite their blood bonds.
Their fury is encased in sorrow.
“Rather than talk about your brother,” I say, “let’s talk about my sister.”
“Is she a witch too?” Liesel asks innocently.
“No.”
“Pity,” Liesel says.
“I accidentally sent her…elsewhere,” Fritzi says. She fills in her cousin quickly, giving her the rough details of the past days.
“A protection spell shouldn’t have done that to someone,” Liesel says.
“There’s something wrong with my magic.” Fritzi’s voice drops. “It was stronger than it should have been with Otto’s sister. It didn’t act as I meant for it to in the house fort either.”
“And your protection potion deflected Bertram’s blade too,” I add.
“It can’t do that.” Liesel pointedly speaks only to Fritzi, mostly ignoring me.
“But it did,” Fritzi says. “Have you noticed that? Magic…stronger than it should be?”
Liesel cuts her eyes at me. She doesn’t like speaking about magic in front of someone who still, even under the grime, looks like a hexenjäger. She pulls Fritzi’s ear down, whispering something to her, and whatever she says makes Fritzi’s grim face fill with sorrow and worry.
“Do you think you can do a little?” Fritzi asks her cousin.
Liesel nods tightly.
“Let’s start nearby. There was someone I met in the prison. His name was Jochen.”
Liesel mounds some dry, dead leaves in front of her. The tinderbox flashes; a spark ignites.
“He’s out of the tunnels.” Liesel mutters. “Jochen. Wearing a hood. There’s chaos in the streets.”
Perfect. That’s exactly what I’d hoped for.
Liesel shakes her head. “It’s hard to follow one person,” she says. “There are riots.” She looks up at Fritzi, her pupils incandescent. “The people are rebelling.”
My whole body sags in relief.
“What about Otto’s sister?” Fritzi asks. The wires around my heart ease a bit. I did not want to push the child, but I’m grateful Fritzi asked about Hilde on my behalf.
Liesel frowns.
“Please.” The word is raw from my lips.
The little girl heaves a sigh, then turns back to the small fire. There’s an intensity in her gaze—not on the flames, but through them. She sees something none of us can.
When Liesel speaks, her voice is different somehow, calmer but with more authority. “Hilde Ernst is in the Well.”