Spun (11 page)

Only when the carriage rolled to a stop in front of her father’s small cottage did Anja finally draw a full breath. Roulf alighted from the carriage and extended a hand to her, but she brushed past him and flew into the cottage without a backward glance. She was done with him. Done with Roulf and Werner and the tiny cottage and the gold. All that mattered now was seeing her father, making sure he was well.

Gregor sat at the table, his head in his hands. He didn’t immediately look up when Anja entered the room, and when he did, Anja was shocked at how thin and haggard he looked. His eyes were sunken, rimmed by heavy circles, and his complexion was gray. He looked as though he hadn’t eaten or slept since Anja had left him four days earlier.

“Oh, Father,” Anja cried as she hurried to him.

Gregor looked at Anja as if he were seeing a ghost. “Anja, is it really you? Werner has let you go?”

“Of course it is me, Father,” she said.

Gregor reached up to touch her, as if to convince himself she was real. “Are you…” Gregor gulped, guilt showing plainly on his face, “Unharmed? He didn’t … hurt you in any way, did he?”

“I am well, truly,” Anja said. She tried to keep her voice light and even for her father’s sake. She was indeed unharmed by Werner, but she hadn’t escaped her confinement unscathed. “But you … you look unwell.”

“Oh, Anja, I’m so sorry!” Gregor rose from his chair and threw his arms around her. He clung to her like a man drowning in a tempest, grabbing at driftwood. “It’s all my fault. I should have never told Werner those lies about you! I’m so sorry! So sorry!”

“Shh, Father, shhh,” Anja whispered as she hugged him. “I am free and unharmed, you can see that for yourself,” Anja spoke as soothingly as she could, trying to calm her increasingly hysterical father.

It was forever thus, Anja suddenly realized. Though they were father and daughter, it had always been Anja who had taken care of Gregor, ever since her mother died. Anja had made excuses for him, thinking it was only in unusual circumstances that he failed to act as a father should, but now she realized that wasn’t true. Gregor had always, and would always, need taking care of. It would never be any other way.

“I tried to free you, I did,” Gregor continued. “I went to the sheriff, but he wouldn’t take action against Werner. And the villagers, they were all too frightened to help me. I was going to go myself, I was, up to the
rittergut
to get you, it was only him that stopped me.”

“Who stopped you?” Anja asked, confused.

“Him. The
rumpelstilzchen
. He said he was looking after you, said he’d make sure no harm came to you.”

“Father, please, enough with the
rumpelstilzchen
nonsense. You know there is no goblin.”

“Well, he isn’t truly a goblin. Just some scarred man who lives in the wood.”

Anja’s heart stopped. Tillz, her father was talking about Tillz. “He was here?” she asked.

Gregor peered at her. “So he did look after you, didn’t he?”

Anja turned away. She didn’t want him to see whatever expression played across her face—whether it was the excitement that rose within her at the mention of his name, or the longing she felt since he was gone, or the utter despair at the knowledge that he was never coming back.

“He said he would make sure Werner released you or he would do it himself. And I believed him. Frightening fellow, that one. One look at him and I knew that if anyone could stand up to Werner, it would be him.”

Anja turned back to her father, unsure what to say to him. Finally, she said, “You look ill, Father, have you been eating?” And if Gregor realized how desperate she was to change the subject from the scarred stranger, he didn’t let on.

* * * *

Werner slammed his fist onto the table, causing the plates and cups to jump and rattle. “Damn it, Roulf, it’s been two weeks. Has no one come to see her? Has she not gone to anyone?”

“It’s as I’ve told you, boss, she’s done nothing but go to the mill and home again. Talked to no one but her father and maybe a village girl or two. It’s been the same, every day.”

Werner hit the table again. Damn it! This was supposed to be easy. The girl was supposed to lead him straight to the source of the gold. He should have both her and that source in his possession by now. Instead, weeks had passed and he had nothing.

“Are you certain you’ve been careful? She hasn’t seen you, has she? If she knows she’s being followed, she won’t lead us to the gold.”

“No, I’ve made sure of it.”

Werner sank into his chair, rested his chin on his templed fingers, trying to decide his next move. He lacked the patience to trail her any longer. He wanted his gold, and he wanted to be rid of the girl.

“And there’s been nothing else unusual about the girl or her father?” Werner asked. “No strange actions or discussions between them?”

“None,” Roulf assured him.

“They’ve not made mention of anyone?”

“Not anyone in the village, just some talk about the
rumpelstilzchen
coming down from the wood to protect her. It’s not but the usual superstitious non—” He broke off as Werner whipped up his head to look at him.

“They’ve talked about what?” Werner asked, his expression unreadable.

“The
rumpelstilzchen
,” Roulf repeated. “Some scarred man supposed to live in the wood, supposed to be a goblin of some sort.”

Werner sat silent for moment, his mind reeling.

“Roulf,” he said, rising, “get the carriage. I know who has the gold.”

Chapter 7

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, suffusing the room with light and warmth. It reached into every corner of the small room, but it didn’t reach Anja. She was cold, bereft, empty. Her time with Tillz had added dimensions to her life she didn’t know were possible, but now that he was gone everything had gone flat. She was simply shuffling through life now, going to the mill to try to get the work done her father wasn’t, trying to balance the books with funds her father kept gambling and drinking away. He had tried to change—he told her every day he was so glad to have Anja back that he would henceforth cease all gambling and drinking and instead become a paragon of industriousness. But Gregor was all good intentions and no action. That left Anja to deal with their increasingly precarious situation. To worry that the few villagers who still took their grain to her father’s mill would go elsewhere, to worry they would slide yet again into debt, and to live every day in fear that Werner would come back. She had neither seen nor heard from him in the weeks that she had been freed, but she knew in the pit of her stomach it was only a matter of time. Her purported talents were too lucrative to ignore.

Anja tried to keep herself busy, to keep her mind from both Werner and Tillz, but so far she had been unsuccessful. She knew it did no good; she could not keep Werner away from her with her thoughts. Nor could she make Tillz come to her, though if it had been at all possible, the strength of her wanting would have brought him to her side the first night she had been freed.

Anja set herself to straightening the cottage. She would clean the hearth and scrub the floors, and that would keep her mind from wandering where it shouldn’t. This time, busyness
would
work, she told herself as she grabbed the broom.

Behind her, the door to the cottage swung open. A cool breeze flowed inside, and Anja heard the faint sounds of a quiet evening. Crickets chirped, a dog barked in the distance, a carriage creaked by.

“Close the door, Father,” Anja said without looking up from the floor. She frowned when no response was forthcoming. She turned, the broom clattering uselessly to floor when she realized who stood in the doorway.

“Where is he?” Werner’s voice was low and menacing, his face blackened by impatient anger. Behind him, Roulf smirked at her, his expression vaguely threatening.

“H-he’s not here,” Anja said, backing slowly away. “What do you want with him? I paid you his debts, we owe you nothing more. We are current on rents and—”

“Not your father,” Werner snapped. “The other.”

“What other?” Anja asked.

Werner crossed the room in two quick steps, grabbed Anja by the arms, and shook her. Hard. “Do not play coy with me, girl. I know your secret. I know you didn’t make the gold—and I know who did.”

Anja gaped wordlessly. Too many thoughts swirled about her mind. How had Werner found out about Tillz? What did Werner mean to do with him? What would Werner do to her or her father when she couldn’t tell Werner where to find him?

“Tell me where he is and I might let you live.” Werner raked his gaze up and down Anja’s body, his leer an implied threat. He might not kill her, but she would not leave the encounter with him intact and unmolested.

“I don’t know where he is. I’ve never known where to find—” Anja was cut off when Werner slapped her across the face, snapping her head back.

“Do not lie to me, girl!” Werner’s fingers dug into her bare arms, his nails tearing at her flesh. “I have had enough of your lies. I know it was him, the one the villagers call the
rumpelstilzchen
, and I want to know where to find him.”

“Please, Werner! I’m not lying. I don’t know where he is!” Anja cried.
And I would not tell you if I did
, she added silently.

“Enough!” Werner roared. “I have been more than generous with you. I treated you kindly when you were at the
rittergut
. I gave you all the time you needed, saw that no harm came to you, let you go when I said I would.” Werner leaned into Anja until he was inches from her, his breath hot on her face. She winced and tried to retreat, but was prevented when Werner tightened his grip around her arms until she cried out in pain. “I am done with generosity. I mean to get what’s mine—by whatever means necessary.” He dragged her toward the door. “Take her, Roulf. We will finish this at the
rittergut
.”

“No!” Anja screamed, unable to keep her terror in check any longer. Her heart was pounding, she couldn’t catch her breath, and she knew she was dangerously close to passing out.

Werner shoved Anja into Roulf, who grabbed her roughly by the arms and pinned them behind her back. His grinned at her, toothless and wicked, and Anja’s knees gave way beneath her. Roulf spun her around and propelled her forward.

They would drag her back to the
rittergut
, they would beat her senseless, and when she couldn’t give Werner the information he wanted, he would kill her. And then he would go after Gregor.

No! She could not let that happen. She swallowed hard, willed herself to be calm. As Roulf dragged her through the doorway, she put a foot against the doorjamb and threw her head back as hard as she could. Her skull connected with Roulf’s face with a sickening crunch. He yelled and dropped her arms. She whirled around and hit him as hard as she could.

But it wasn’t enough.

Roulf’s head snapped back at the impact with her fist, but it didn’t stop him. He reached for her, murder in his eyes, and Anja saw Werner coming at her as well.

It was over.

She wouldn’t escape. And now they would beat her and kill her and then go after her father and—

Suddenly, Anja was grabbed from behind. Strong arms lifted her and she found herself shoved behind an imposing figure at the same time that figure cocked a fist and slammed it into Roulf’s face. Roulf crumpled to the floor, staggered to his feet, and snarled as he advanced, fist raised. He meant to kill the man who had dared punch him.

But then Roulf got a look at the man’s face.

And it stopped him dead.

One look at the fury and vengeance that burned in the stranger’s countenance was enough to send Roulf scurrying out of the cottage and running down the street.

Anja’s mind reeled.

He had come for her … again.

Tillz was here.

He had scared off Roulf, and now he stood right in front of her, shielding her from Werner, huge and looming and tensed like a coil ready to spring. She clutched the back of his coat. She wanted to drag him out of the cottage with her, to flee from Werner and the village and run with Tillz to his hideout in the woods. She was desperate to get him out of the cottage before Werner came after them, before he could harm either one of them. She tugged at Tillz, but he stood, rock hard and unmoving.

“Tillz, please, we must leave,” Anja said, panicked. Yet he continued to stand, frozen.

Anja peered around his bulky frame, trying to see what Werner was doing, trying to figure out why he hadn’t attacked them yet. Werner was also standing still, looking momentarily confused by the sudden appearance of the furious stranger. And then Anja saw another expression creep over Werner’s face. Stunned recognition slowly replaced his surprise.

“You,” Werner sneered.

Anja felt Tillz jerk slightly at Werner’s voice, and she realized Tillz had also recognized Werner. The two men were squared off, their gazes locked, and the tension between them was like a powder keg just waiting for the smallest spark.

“I should have killed you all those years ago, whelp,” Werner said.

“You probably should have,” Tillz said through gritted teeth, and the pure hatred dripping from his voice made Anja shiver.

“I see you’ve kept a souvenir from when we last met.” Werner ran a hand down his cheek, mirroring the scar that ran down Tillz’s face.

Anja sucked in her breath. It was Werner. He was one of the men Tillz told her about who had attacked his family when he was boy.

Tillz said nothing.

“Give me the girl,” Werner said. “Give me the girl and your gold and maybe,
maybe
, I will let you skulk out of here, tail between your legs like last time.”

“No,” Tillz said, his voice thrumming with danger. “You can’t have her.”

“You can give her to me now or I will cut your other check, take her anyway and kill her in front of you. As I did your pathetic father and your bitch mother.”

Anja gasped, the sheer cruelty of Werner’s words making her feel sick and lightheaded. Tillz twitched slightly, but showed no other reaction.

“Tillz,” Anja said, and the word was plea. “Please … please we must get out of here.”