Chapter 8
Elise had tried to find some comfort during the night, but her efforts had not been particularly rewarded.
There had been a few surprises, none of them welcome.
First, the magic fire Morgaine had lit for her, both for cooking and in the fireplace, went out the moment the witch left the common area.
Elise was left in complete darkness, tucked into the corner where a mattress had been laid out for her.
The thing was so hard she first thought it was stuffed with straw, though the more she shifted under the covers, the less certain she became.
Anyhow, even with the hard bed and the desire to keep an eye open during the night in case of trouble, Elise fell swiftly into a deep slumber.
She did not know if the mattress possessed some kind of magic or if it was simply her exhaustion, but she rested soundly for what felt like a few hours.
The night seemed to promise a measure of rest, until the loud snoring from Morgaine’s room set her expectations straight.
The wicked commotion had been loud enough to pass for a stable full of horses. The noise made Elise rise from her bed and place a curious ear on Morgaine’s chamber door. She caught a number of distinct sounds, from laughter to names, Volker included among what might have been prayers.
When Elise returned to her bed, the calls of owls added to the snoring did little to improve her rest.
Soon it was dawn, and a pale blue sky, interrupted only by a few dark clouds, illuminated the place with a persistence that made further sleep impossible.
Elise could now admire in greater detail the finery of Morgaine’s dwelling.
The house was a true display of beautiful woodwork and masonry wherever she glanced.
One wall of the kitchen was made entirely of glass, set in wooden frames from floor to ceiling.
It was a most magnificent sight, and despite the lack of peaceful sleep she had hoped for, Elise rose with the first rays of sunlight.
She took her clothes, which had been drying by the hearth during the night, and began to work. She was determined to show Morgaine all the advantages of having her in her service.
Elise crept around the house, dusting, sweeping, mopping, and cleaning everything she could without making much noise. Before Morgaine woke up, the house was spotless, and Elise was so proud she could barely wait for the witch to see.
The hard labor had helped Elise to distract her mind from the sorrow that still lingered in her heart. Retelling her story with Edward had made the events feel more present.
When Morgaine emerged from her chamber, however, she didn’t look surprised. The woman could barely lift an eyelid and stumbled into the kitchen looking for water. Once she had a cup of tea Elise had ready for her, she finally opened her eyes and jolted awake.
“What have you done to this place, darling?” she grumbled.
“You don’t like it?” Elise gasped.
“I don’t think I’ve seen this place as clean since the time my friend built it.”
“A refined architect, I presume,” Elise said.
“He’s one of the dwarves from the north. A grumpy fellow, but he knows his trade.”
Elise smiled, happy to gather bits of information about the magical world she so eagerly wished to learn.
She didn’t ask more, content with whatever small pieces the witch chose to offer in conversation.
It seemed to her that the less she inquired, the less likely she was to be invited to drink the memory-erasing potion.
Elise prepared another sizable meal for breakfast. She watched with some concern as Morgaine hurried through the eggs and bacon, swallowing them as if they might try to escape.
After the small morning fare, Morgaine invited her to the garden to let the meal settle. The way there was through the wall of windows; a door sat so neatly fitted in one corner that one might miss it entirely.
The weather had warmed, and the night’s rain had already faded. Spring’s first sprouts painted the garden a hopeful green, while the early flowers did their best to justify the season with scent and color.
Morgaine lay back on the grass without the faintest trace of concern.
It seemed to Elise that the witch was not one to trouble herself with hard labor, or with anything that might spend a day’s energy too quickly.
Elise liked what she saw a great deal. She was impressed by nearly everything Morgaine did, and being a quick learner, she was beginning to understand that serving a witch was considerably more appealing than being a lady’s companion.
Furthermore, seeing how self-reliant and free the witch was, Elise soon wished the same for herself. If she had at first taken a dim view of Morgaine’s trade, having mistaken her for a woman of negotiable affections, she was now absolutely convinced there could be no greater fortune.
Too curious to hold her tongue any longer, Elise moved a little closer and asked, “How can I become a witch?”
“Ah, so you haven’t changed your mind. I commend you for no longer wishing to marry rich,” Morgaine said dryly. “It is a pitiful dream, really. I do not know a single woman who has ended happy in that bargain. They all come to despise their husbands in time.”
Elise listened to the unrequested advice and the many opinions Morgaine seemed to hold on a limitless number of subjects. She moved from marriage to the most passionate sorts of lovers, until at last the subject of witchcraft made its way to her lips.
“Being a witch is not for everyone,” Morgaine said. “The trade has to find you.”
Elise gasped and didn’t dare to challenge her host. She reasoned that the longer she stayed and kept her ears open, the more she might learn and the closer she might come to her newfound ambition of becoming a witch.
“Allow me to stay for a week,” Elise said firmly. “I have yet to show you my talents in spinning, weaving, and sewing.”
Morgaine had shown a marked interest in those crafts, and Elise had not failed to notice it the night before, so she thought it only proper to put that knowledge to use.
The offer proved tempting enough. A faint smile crossed Morgaine’s face.
“One week.”
*****
It was the second week since Elise had arrived in Metz and convinced Morgaine to take her under her ward. Sleep had proven easy in the days after her arrival. Elise had set herself the modest task of producing a dress each day in hopes of impressing the witch.
Morgaine had provided a set of magical artifacts concealed in one of the more mysterious rooms of the house.
It was the Tailor’s Room, according to the witch, and the tools had not been used in a century.
Elise did not know if this was a figure of speech, but she was beginning to suspect it was not.
The tools were not in the latest fashion, and she had some difficulty understanding their peculiar workings.
Spinning in the morning, weaving by noon, and sewing well into the night, Elise spent her days indulging in thoughts of a promising future and entertaining the thought that she might one day become something of magic herself.
The spinning wheel was by far her favorite tool.
The wicked thing required no effort of her feet; it began to turn on its own the moment she drew the thread and joined it with flax.
Elise needed only to mind the amount of fiber, and the thread came out so even and so fine that she started to look forward to weaving just to see what type of fabric could be produced.
But that was when the real chore began. The loom was an enormous wooden apparatus that took up half the room.
Elise did not trouble herself with patterns.
The thing worked so slowly that, even if all it required was passing the thread from one side to the other, she soon found herself wishing for a way to make it work without her involvement.
Twenty yards of fabric felt like weaving a banner for a royal coronation.
Fortunately, out of sheer boredom, Elise came up with a clever trick. She set the thread on a shuttle she could push from side to side. With this arrangement, she finished in a day and spared herself the monstrosity for the rest of the week.
The coloring was left for the end. Morgaine had a special powder that gave color to the fabric in no time at all. She blew it over the cloth, murmured a short chant, and the work was done.
With a memory many would call prodigious, Elise already knew a few chants and the names of several potions.
She was eager to see the room where Morgaine prepared her concoctions, but the door only opened when the witch stood before it.
There was no lock, no handle, no crossbar, and no hope for Elise to force a latch or discreetly remove a hinge.
It seemed to recognize a witch and refused to oblige anyone less.
Elise would have to earn more of Morgaine’s favor before seeing the wicked room, but for now she was hemming the last edge of the dress she hoped would bring her closer to the coveted room of potions.
She stepped back to admire her latest creation.
She had already tried it on, and even without a mirror, she knew it would not disappoint Morgaine’s taste.
Elise and the witch shared similar proportions in the more sinful regions, and though Morgaine was more generously endowed in some, the resemblance was enough for Elise to continue her dressmaking without troubling her with fittings.
Two weeks had been enough to gather Morgaine’s preferences: necklines low enough to make anyone blush, bodices so tight one might as well forgo food, and a slit in the skirts placed carefully enough to give a few men ideas at the sight of skin.