The Brixen Witch (7 page)

Herbert Wenzel the rat catcher stood up tall and lifted his chin. “I’m an honest tradesman, sir. I’ve been at this job for thirty years—a job very few would take on, if you don’t mind my saying—so I know whereof I speaks. No one can get rid of every last rat. I wish I could give you such a promise, but it’s not possible. Rats is that kind of creatures.”

Otto the baker put his hand on Marco’s shoulder. “In all my visits to Klausen, I’ve never heard a word spoken against Master Wenzel. Besides, we can deal with a few rats. It will be a relief and an improvement over what we have now.”

“You don’t want to solve one problem only to cause another, Master Smith,” said Oma from her chair. “Get rid of every rat, and where will the fleas go? Rats are a part of life, sorry to say.”

Then, as if to punctuate Oma’s words, the coals settled on the fire, and a startled rat scuttled out and across the room, to the noisy consternation of the ferrets in their hutch.

Herbert Wenzel sprang to action. “Hold this, boy,” he ordered Rudi, tossing him the burlap sack.

Oma (who was spry when she wanted to be) jumped out of her chair, grabbed her broom, and handed it to the rat catcher, who brought it down in the corner of the room with a
WUMP.
He held the bristles tight against the floor for a few seconds, then gave one last decisive jab.

No one dared to move.

After a few seconds, Herbert Wenzel lifted the broom tentatively. Then he motioned for Rudi, who stepped forward, holding the open sack as far away from his body as his arms could reach.

The rat catcher pulled on a pair of thick gloves, bent down, and produced the result of the battle, dangling by its tail and quite dead. He dropped it into the sack.

“I’d say we’ve called in the right man,” announced the mayor. “Let me do the honors.” And he pulled a penny from his waistcoat pocket and handed it ceremoniously to Herbert Wenzel the rat catcher.

“Why, thank you, your honor,” said Herbert Wenzel with a bow. He took the sack from Rudi and tied it closed. “Well done, boy. It always makes things easier to have a helper on the job. I shares one-fifth of my earnings when I has a helper. Are you game for the task?”

Rudi’s eyes grew wide. He’d never earned a real wage before.

“You ought to take that up with his father,” said Oma, settling back into her chair.

Then came a cooing noise from the hutch in the corner.

“Would I be able to work with the ferrets?” asked Rudi.

“Why, of course,” said the rat catcher. “That’s what my little dears is for. They loves to catch rats. And I can tell they like you already.”

“Your mother would not approve,” warned Oma, and Rudi knew she was right.

And yet he did not stop the words from spilling out: “I’ll do it.”

Herbert Wenzel smiled and held his hand out to Rudi. “Congratulations, boy. It seems as if you’re hired.”

AND SO THE next morning, Rudi became the rat catcher’s assistant.

He learned to handle Annalesa and Beatrice, so that they quickly grew to trust him and obey the sound of his voice.

Then, beginning at Rudi’s own house, Herbert Wenzel and his ferrets instructed Rudi in the rat catcher’s trade.

“First we gets permission from the master and mistress, because we has to pull up some floorboards.” Herbert Wenzel looked to Rudi’s parents, who stood in the doorway with arms crossed and forlorn expressions on their faces.

Papa nodded solemnly. “We’ll attend to the milking, then. Good luck.” With that they hurried out and shut the door behind them.

Herbert Wenzel surveyed the room, and produced a crowbar from his bag. He commenced prying up two of the wide floorboards, one at either end of the room. He laid them carefully across the rug, lit a candle, and then knelt alongside one of the exposed lengths.

“See how the joists run crosswise with the floorboards? They makes perfect little tunnels for rats.” Herbert Wenzel held out the candle and motioned for Rudi to kneel beside him and look into the space beneath the floor.

Rudi ventured a careful peek, more than half expecting a rat to jump out at him from the darkness. But all he saw was a series of parallel channels, created by the thick foundation beams that lay side by side beneath the floor, about half an arm’s length apart, from one side of the room to the other.

“So now we works together,” said the rat catcher, “you, me, and my little dears taking turns—and we sends the ferret in at one end of the tunnel, and the rats bolt out the other, and we catches ’em with these.” Herbert Wenzel held up a large net and an empty wire cage. “Which end of the tunnel do you want?”

Rudi felt the blood drain from his head.

The rat catcher burst out in a great guffaw and clapped Rudi on the back. “That’s a joke for the
new helpers, young master. I can never resist seeing the look on lads’ faces. Yours was right up there with the best.” And chuckling to himself, Herbert Wenzel stood and carried the net and cage to the opposite side of the room.

“We’ll work our way across, one joist at a time. Now, you just bring out my Annalesa nice and gentle, and set her into the first tunnel. She’ll know what to do.”

Rudi did as he was told.

Annalesa had a long body and short legs, and her pale fur was soft as a rabbit’s. She looked something like the weasels and stoats that Rudi often spied on the meadow, but she had a gentle disposition, and she chortled as Rudi rubbed her head and lifted her out of the hutch.

Rudi set the ferret into the opening of the floor. Herbert Wenzel waited at the other end, holding the net. Annalesa immediately disappeared into the darkness, and Rudi could hear her muffled progress across the room as she scrambled along between the joists. A few seconds later, she popped out at the other end and into Herbert Wenzel’s waiting hand.

“Nothing there,” said Herbert Wenzel. “Send her down the next one.” And he released the ferret,
who bounded back across the rug and toward Rudi. He scooped her up and sent her again into the darkness beneath the floor, this time one joist to the right.

In short order they had worked halfway across the room. Annalesa was clearly enjoying her game of back-and-forth, but she produced no rats. Rudi was secretly disappointed. He was hoping to see (from his safe position on the opposite side of the room) what the docile Annalesa would do when confronted with a surprised rat.

His disappointment did not last long.

Upon the ferret’s very next journey under the floor, there came a wild screech, and then an urgent high-pitched call, something between a squeal and a squawk, and a noisy shuffling and bumping beneath the floorboards.

Annalesa had found her prey.

With a queasy feeling, Rudi realized he could precisely follow the noisy progress of the chase beneath the floor as the animals worked their way toward Herbert Wenzel, who was waiting with his net.

“Got it!” the rat catcher announced, holding up the wriggling net. He shook its contents into the cage, nodded with satisfaction, and made a soft clucking noise, upon which Annalesa emerged from under the floor.

“Good girl,” he said, and he rubbed her cheek with his finger. “Now our Beatrice will have her turn.”

Thus Rudi, Herbert Wenzel, and the ferrets continued their work, and when they had finished, there were six rats in the cage. Rudi was tempted to brag to his parents about what they had accomplished, but he decided some things were best not bragged about, at least not to his mother.

Next, they prepared a number of traps and laid them in various places under the floor. “For the latecomers,” said the rat catcher with a wink, and then they replaced the two floorboards but did not nail them down. “We’ll check back in the morning,” Herbert Wenzel said. “Shall we visit the neighbors?”

And so they moved from house to house, successfully ferreting rats in nearly every cottage they visited, to the nervous approval of the human inhabitants. They set traps under floors, in the dark corners of barns and sheds, and behind woodpiles. This last task was performed at dusk, so that children would not be in danger of wandering near a snapping trap.

That evening, Rudi gobbled his dinner with zest.

“The boy has worked up quite an appetite,” said Oma to his father. “You’d think such unsavory work would have the opposite effect.”

Rudi’s mother coughed. “Must we have such talk at supper? We have company.” And she gave their guest a weak smile.

“Oh, it never bothers me,” said Herbert Wenzel. “All in a day’s work, I always say. Are there more potatoes, if you please?”

Oma passed him the bowl. “I don’t know when else we can talk about it. The boy has been gone all day chasing rats. And catching them, too, I’d say, the way that cage of theirs is filling up.”

Mama groaned, and Rudi grinned. Oma clearly delighted in vexing his mother, and Mama never failed to be vexed. Rudi decided that now would not be a good time to tell Mama about the traps lurking beneath the floor, set and ready to spring.

“It goes well, then?” asked Papa, who had no use for delicate conversation. “Rudi, will you forsake the farm to take up the rat catcher’s trade?”

Rudi’s smile faded as he considered the question. Rat catching (despite its more repulsive aspects) had so far been exceedingly more exciting than hoeing or milking. Such appeal was bound to wear off sooner or later, but there were other advantages. The villagers already looked at him with newfound respect. He was no longer just Rudi Bauer the farmer’s son; now he was Rudi the rat catcher’s assistant, who was helping to liberate Brixen from its peculiar scourge. And he liked Master Wenzel,
so he hesitated to say anything that might sound ungrateful. Still, Rudi knew he could never forsake the farm. It was too much a part of him, and he was too much a part of it.

“No,” Rudi finally said. “I mean to say, I like the ferrets, and the work is very … interesting … but it’s more tiring even than plowing. I could never do it regular.”

“Thank the saints for that,” breathed his mother.

Papa mopped his plate with a bit of bread. “Nothing personal, you understand, Master Wenzel. Our family has tilled this soil, such as it is, for seven generations.”

“Oh, I never takes it personal,” said the rat catcher. “Very few is cut out for the profession, I’m well aware. The young master here is an able helper, I’ll give him that, and my dears have grown right fond of him already. But I can tell he’s not a rat catcher at heart, and there’s no shame in that. Mayhaps I could have another drop of tea?”