31
Village Talk
He didn’t even knock.
As he’d thundered toward Anna’s house, it had occurred to him that it was all her fault. She was the one who ran things in the village, she had ordered that Agnes should be the bride at the Nunta Mortului. She must know by now that Agnes was missing, that the door of her prison lay splintered in the snow. She should have organized a search party.
He burst into Anna’s house and, following his instincts, went up a low flight of stairs. There! He could hear the voices again. He flung open a door, striding into the room, all sorts of accusations on his lips.
What he saw took the words away.
“How dare you!” Anna was the first to recover from the shock of Peter’s entrance.
She was surrounded by a motley group. Other Elders, as well as Daniel, the priest, and Teodor, the feldsher, stood arranged on one side of Anna. On the other Peter was amazed to see a party of the Gypsies. Sofia was not there, but Peter recognized Milosh, her uncle, at their head.
Peter suddenly doubted himself. Feeling like a small and stupid boy, he wanted to run from the room, but he forced himself to speak.
“Agnes!” he blurted out.
“What?”
Anna barked the word at him, and even that was enough to unsettle him. She was an alarming figure, very tall for an old woman. Her face was sharp and her nose sharper. She had eyebrows like a man’s that seemed fixed perpetually in a scowl. It was no wonder she ordered everyone else around, controlling this wretched little kingdom with ease.
Peter tried again, desperately trying to make some sense.
“Agnes! You put her in the hut, but she’s been taken! By those things!”
Anna took several steps toward him, and despite himself, Peter retreated slightly.
“People are coming back from the grave!” he yelled. “You know it. I heard you talking about the Shadow Queen. And they know it!” He pointed at the Gypsies. “They’ve come to try to stop it, but Agnes is missing! You have to do something! Help me find her.”
Peter stopped. The silence in the room was even more terrifying than Anna herself.
“This is not your place, boy,” Anna said, when she was sure he had finished. “You do not belong in this village. You and your useless father! I have tolerated you. Now I find out there is more to you than at first appeared.”
Almost imperceptibly she glanced toward the Gypsies. They must have told her about Tomas. The sword.
“You should understand this, boy. Chust is my concern. Do not trespass on my patience. I am aware of everything, not just in Chust, but all around it. I have been discussing the threat posed by the Shadow Queen with those assembled here. These people, from the village and outside it, who are wise enough and powerful enough to act. And yet you dare to break in here and insult us all!”
She stopped for effect, and Peter took the opportunity.
“But Agnes,” he gasped, “you’ve as good as killed her! She was taken. Why don’t you—”
“Be quiet!” Anna shrieked, with such intent that the room seemed to darken. “You know nothing. Yes. Agnes is no longer where she should be. In the hut. But she was not taken. She left herself. You helped her! She has disgraced us all by breaking her honor in this way.”
“No,” said Peter. “That’s not true. She’s missing.”
“Enough!” Anna declared. “Remove him. We have no time.”
The men closed around Peter, and though he struggled, they forced him from the room easily, and dragged him back down the stairs.
In a moment he found himself sitting in the street in the snow.
“But Agnes!” he cried. “We must find her and help her.”
One of the Elders paused and considered Peter.
“You are a foolish boy. Agnes is at home. With her mother. She has disgraced herself, and you helped her do it. Count yourself fortunate we don’t punish you and your father for the shame of it all.”
“At home?” Peter could scarcely believe what the man had said. “At home?”
“Go and see for yourself.”
The man spat at Peter’s feet, and shut the door.
Peter stood up. He looked down the street that led to Agnes’s house.
He ran all the way there, skidding in the snow and ice.
He didn’t even have to get as far as her house.
There she was, up ahead of him, looking just as she always did, though Peter saw with a shiver that she was still dressed in mourning weeds. Why hadn’t she changed to her own clothes? The forty days had been broken after all. Was there still a need to dress for them?
She was crossing the street, toward her front door.
“Agnes!” he called, breaking into a run again as he saw her unlock the door.
He saw her turn and look at him, but the relief he felt rapidly turned to confusion as she saw him, then deliberately looked away.
She opened the door, and while Peter was still yards away, she slid inside.
Peter was in time to hear the door being bolted from inside.
“Agnes!” he called through the door.
No answer. He tried again, this time slamming the palm of his hand against the wood.
“Agnes! What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Go away, Peter.”
Her voice came through the wood, muffled and faint.
“What?” Peter cried. “What do you mean? Are you all right? I’ve been looking for you since—What happened to you?”
“Go away, Peter.” Once again, her voice was dull and flat.
“Why are you being like this, Agnes? What’s wrong?”
Peter strained to hear her, pressing his ear to the door to catch her words.
“Go away. I left the hut and now I’m in disgrace. My whole family. Hah! What’s left of it. Go away, Peter. I want nothing to do with you. I never did want you. You were never good enough for me. Now you are less than useless.”
“Agnes!”
“I’m well, Peter. Does that make you happy? Now go away.”
Peter stepped back from the door, looking stupidly at the wood, trying but failing to understand.
Agnes was right.
What was he good for?
He walked away.
As he went he passed again by Anna’s house, but this time could hear nothing.
Neither did he see Old Anna looking down at him, a wide smile slowly spreading across her face.
“The sword.”
She mouthed the words silently.
“The sword!”