Only Two Silvers
I crush six juniper berries, add
them to clear brandy and so mix the aroma of forest night – its mystery and its
touch of frost – with the brandy’s low flames. As I raise the glass to my lips,
a tapping, meek as milk, sounds at my door.
“Ah! A customer!”
I set the glass on my black walnut
sideboard, rise and open my door wide. There stands a young man of the gentry,
prosperous, perhaps a younger son. He wears a royal blue tunic over a yellow
blouse, brown leather pantaloons, soft riding boots with silver spurs and a
cloak of fine wool, forest green. A sword rides his belt on his left hand side
and is balanced by a dagger on his right. He’s not a bravo, but favors the look
of one. A thin moustache has crawled to rest beneath his strong nose and the
beginnings of a beard, fine as baby’s hair, rise like a maiden’s blush on his
chin.
Absolute deference is indicated! I
bow and sweep the air before him with my right arm. “Please, come in!”
He hesitates. All young men hesitate
when confronted with age and the prospect of an illicit experience. Then to
hide his hesitation, he steps swiftly past me.
“Sit here.” I pull a chair from
beneath the table and gesture to its deep, plush cushions.
He sits. I bustle to my side of the
table and seat myself facing him. “Your name, young sir, if you please?”
“Thomas.” His voice is hoarse with
tension. “You may call me Thomas.”
“Now, Thomas, have you come to be
entertained or diverted? To be enchanted?” I wink. “Perhaps to be enhanced?”
“I’ve come merely for help on . . .
a personal matter.”
“You’ve come to the right place! I
am Sebastian - storyteller, advisor and conjuror at need! My usual fee is five
silvers, but - for a fine gentleman such as you - only two silver pennies will
open the totality of my wisdom.”
He pulls his purse, fat as a baker’s
bottom, from a pocket in his tunic and removes a silver penny. “I shall add another
to this one penny - if I am pleased.”
I sweep my right hand high in a
gesture of complacence while I depress a lever on the table’s edge with my
left. “It is for you to decide. Now, as to the nature of your problem?”
“Lady Elsbeth . . .”
I throw up both hands. “Say no more!
I offer infallible solutions to all matters of the heart! A charm, a potion,” I
snap my fingers. “Nothing is simpler, but first I offer wisdom! I shall tell
you a tale from my fabled past.”
“You’re going to tell me a story?”
“While I speak, you may relax and
clearly frame the outcome you wish.”
He leans forward doubtfully. “I
think I might tell now quite easily.”
“Don’t be hasty, young sir! Much may
come into your mind while I speak.”
He frowns. “Speak on.”
“Were you in a different mood, I might
offer you diversion, adventure. I could speak of the forest, the endless taiga
and its endless mysteries, its beast of beasts? Or of the great sea beyond Kamchat?
Or the ice desert - the knives in its winds and its white serpents?”
Thomas shifts impatiently in his
seat and his hand wanders near the silver penny.
“But something erotic is more
pertinent. You have heard of Latifah the dancer?”
“Uh . . . ”
My door crashes open. A hideous
woman steps into my front room. Warts ring her face and are ruled by the queen
of warts upon her king of all noses. She
grins a three-toothed grin and, hairy knuckles crooked, motions with her right
hand.
Manacles spring from the arms and
legs of my second best chair and clamp Thomas’s arms and legs before he can
move. The woman moves close to him and chucks his chin with a fingernail
blacker than midnight.
“Sweet boy, you’re mine.”
“Who – who are you?”
The woman’s finger travel along his
jaw to his left ear and strokes its lobe. “I am the curse your father’s worst
enemy laid upon you on the day you were born. I followed you here, for today is
the day that curse comes due.”
“My father never said anything!”
“Why would he?” Her wandering finger travels to his left
eyebrow. “Such beautiful eyes, just like your mother’s. I will pluck them out,
of course, but later. First, you must see what is done to you.”
Thomas swallows several times. “I’ll
pay. You don’t need to do this.”
“But I do.”
I rise from my chair. “Unhand him,
you witch! This minute!”
Black eyes glitter at me. “Be
silent, old man, or you will share his pain.”
I lower my eyes, nod.
“Now, I need vinegar for the small
cuts, salt for the larger ones. Where are they?”
“The cupboard next to the stove.”
She walks across the room. I pluck
up the silver penny and lean close to Thomas. “Silver acts against a witch’s
spells.” I rub these manacles with his
penny and they spring open. “You have silver in your purse?”
Thomas nods. “Lots!”
“Give me the purse.”
He hands it to me. I open it and
fill my hand with silver. “These coins will burn her like the very fires of
hell. When I fling them, run!”
He nods.
The witch turns, holding my jug of
vinegar. I tug scream, “Now!” Thomas leaps, turning the chair over in his
frenzy. The witch bounds for me like a panther. She snarls and clouts me with
the vinegar jug before I can throw the money. I collapse on the floor.
Eyes starting, mouth gaping Thomas
flounders across the room and out the door. Fresh air offers him hope of
safety. He catches his balance and begins to run. Long, inspired strides eat up
the path and carry him out of sight.
I raise my head.
Maggie the witch grins at me. “I
think he forgot about Lady Elsbeth.”
“He paid well enough for his advice,
however.” I heft the purse. “Ten silvers and a gold for you?”
“You’re a tight one and no mistake,
Sebastian. That rusty bell you’ve put in my hut makes no more noise than moth’s
whisper, too.”
“Well, you came, Maggie, my dear. You must
have heard it.”
A tap-tapping at the door.
“Another customer! Out the back!”
Maggie curses.
“Might you entertain a visit when the moon
is down?”
Maggie glances slyly at me. “You’re a goat,
Sebastian, and no mistake.”
“We should celebrate our success. Shall I
bring a skin of my second best wine?”
Her eyes gleam. “You do that.” She turns toward
my back door. “I suppose an old woman must make do with goats if she’s not to
be alone in the night. But then all men are goats. Bah! What we suffer!” The
door closes behind her.
I crush six juniper berries, add them to my
clear brandy and so mix in the aroma of forest night – its mystery and its
touch of frost.
Robert Walton - Is an experienced writer from King City, CA. His novella "Vienna Station" won the Galaxy prize and was published as an e-book. It is available for Kindle on Amazon. He co-wrote “The Man Who Killed Mozart” with Barry Malzberg, later published in F&SF. His novel Dawn Drums won both the Tony Hillerman best fiction award and first place in the Arizona Authors 2014 competition. Most recently, Cricket Media published his “Mansa Musa’s Wisdom” in the February, 2022 issue of Spider Magazine.
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