Thirty-Five

 

Darkness had fallen by the time he arrived at the walls around the witch's garden. This had to be the place, for the rest of the mountain was covered in vineyards and these stone walls looked positively ancient. There was just one problem: the gates were closed, and no matter how loudly Lubos knocked or shouted, no one came to open them.

All his frustration and fury at losing Molina bubbled up. He'd ridden so far, willing to do anything to save her, and the witch wasn't about to let the crown prince of the realm she lived in through the gates?

To hell with that.

Lubos found a spot where the wall looked easier to climb, and started up. It had been some time since he'd climbed anything, but it was a skill, once learned, that a man never forgot. A handhold here, a toehold there, stretching for a new one, one limb at a time, until he could haul himself over the top of the wall.

From the surprisingly wide top, he had his pick of trees to climb down to reach the ground below. The garden stretched out as far as a vineyard in the moonlight, carved up into beds by myriad paths that went everywhere. It was a labyrinth with a thousand ways through to your destination – much like the capital, but with patches of plants where the buildings should be.

Each plot had a little post with a sign on top, that was surprisingly easy to read in the moonlight. It must be some sort of magic, Lubos realised, glancing around. What other spells lurked within these walls?

He was so intent on finding the sign with rapunzel on it that he nearly missed the right plot, for the sign said lamb's lettuce. He snorted to himself. Molina was correct, as usual. He peered at the sign again, and was surprised to see that it had changed so that it clearly said rapunzel. Magic for sure. Lubos shivered.

Well, whether it was rapunzel or lamb's lettuce, this was what he needed. He stooped to pick a handful, and the whole plant came up, like a turnip. He shook the soil free, then opened a sack and slipped the plant inside. He stared at the remaining plants for a long moment, debating whether he dared take more. For if one was not enough...he would not have time to ride back here for more.

In the end, he took three, reasoning that if one had been enough for Schuttmann's sick wife, then he would need at least two for Molina. Three...just in case.

He'd brought a bag of gold coins to trade for the plants, and he emptied the pouch into one of the holes he'd left, as payment. Though he'd climbed the wall at night and taken the plants without asking the owner, he was a prince and a man of honour, not a thief. That much gold would feed a family for a year. More than enough payment for three plants.

Tying the sack shut, he flung it over his shoulder. Now he had another decision to make: back over the wall, the way he'd come, or through the gate, which surely opened from the inside?

Leaving the gate open would surely alert the witch that she'd had a visitor, but Lubos had never intended his visit to be a secret. She'd know once she reached the rapunzel beds, regardless.

He strode confidently toward the gate, holding tight to his precious sack of plants.

Only to find a figure stood in his way.

The witch lifted her lantern. "Who dares steal from Mistress Kun?"

Lubos swallowed. "I am Crown Prince Lubos, heir to the king, and I have left fair payment for the plants I took. Let me pass, for a woman's life depends on them."

The witch did not budge. "I decide what is a fair price, not you." Her eyes seemed to glow blue in the darkness. "What is it you have taken? Ah, the rapunzel. You lie, Prince. More than one life depends on the plants you hold."

Lubos hung his head. "'Tis true. The woman I love is carrying our child. We were betrothed to be married, but she has fallen ill, and I fear for her life." He paused, then added, "And for the child."

"What is this woman's life worth to you?" the witch demanded.

"She is worth more to me than everything I own, including my own life," Lubos said without hesitation.

"What would you give me, if I let you leave with your pilfered plants, and my solemn promise to you that both the woman and her child will live long and healthy lives?"

For Molina? "Anything," he said.

The witch smiled and named a terrible price.