THE DRY PRINCESS
EXCERPT
A Witch Hunt
A man came to the town of Hope Springs bearing a pail. He was old, but vital; he limped, but he walked with purposeful, although somewhat erratic strides. The pail he carried in a firm embrace, like a loved one he wasn’t quite ready to part with. And he approached the river of Hope Springs, or at least he got as close as he could—there was a wooden fence that spanned its entire length, shoulder height, on both sides. He peered over. There was a man on the other side, young and thickset, motionless and staring at the river’s slow current. The old man watched him for a few minutes, and then said, “What is it you’re during there, young lad?” The young man startled, and turned to find the old man’s wispy head, projecting over the fence and looking rather ghoulish. But he quickly regained his sense of gravity, and said, “I’m an engineer, and I’m surveying’s what I’m doing.” “Surveying,” the old man said, knowingly. “Yes, surveying.” And then he said, “Hey, if I hand you this pail, will you fill it up and hand it right back over? Fill it as close to the top as you can manage.” Expecting that the answer would certainly be yes, he got onto the feeble tips of his toes and dangled the pail over the fence enticingly. “What is it you need a pail of water for?” the engineer asked, instead of springing into action as expected. The old man was indignant about the irreverence of youth for a while. “Ah, well I’m from the village just a few leagues yonder, and if you must know, there’s quite a few people that are thirsty and depending on me to remedy the situation. So be a good lad.” He shook the pail a little for emphasis. The engineer fell into a pensive silence, but eventually managed to say, “I’m not at liberty to be handing out any water, old man. I’m only authorized for surveying—the Plumbess was very clear on the matter. If you want water, you’re going to have to go talk to her about it.” “Plumbess?” the old man asked. Then, answering his own question, “You mean one of those old water witches? Those that sent me told me to keep a watch out for her.” “That’s the one, but she’s not old and she doesn’t much like being called a witch—I’m giving you fair warning that she’s prone to hitting people the call her a witch with her magical little stick. Now excuse me, I’ll be getting back to my job now.” Considering the dismissal final, he turned back to the river. “Well come on now, lad, at least spare me a little bit of trouble and tell me where I can find her. Does she live in a well? Or maybe that there river?” He craned even further over the fence, to get a good look, and the local timbers sagged dangerously under his weight. “I don’t know what kind of fairy tales you been listening to, but she lives in a shed just like the rest of us. Look right there—see the golden pipe coming out of the top of that building? That’s the Pipe Lord’s shed, and she lives just across from it. Now if you please.” The old man excused himself rather ungratefully, and then made his way in the indicated direction. But even in such a small town—just a few hundred people—he quickly became lost and had to ask for further directions from a young woman tilling a desolate piece of land in the presence of a few oblivious children. “I’ve been told I need to ask the blessing of the Plumbess to get a pail of water, but I can’t seem to find her anywhere. Could you direct me, young miss?” “Plumbess?” the woman asked, wiping the sweat from her brow with one hand as she braced herself against her hoe with the other. “You mean the water witch, performing all them miracles? I think I just saw her walking over thataway, only an hour or so ago.” “And what does she look like, so I can recognize her when I see her?” “There’s not much to her. She’s carrying around a baby, though, and she’s got her stick too.” The old man bowed for the sake of the young woman, and then continued on his pilgrimage. |