Page 38 of A Magic Deep & Drowning

“Kabouters,” Jan helpfully supplied as he tapped out his pipe. “That will be the word you’re looking for.”

Clara jolted at his uncanny ability to know what she was thinking. “Kabouters,” she repeated in a numb whisper. The funny little characters from Helma’s stories that lived beneath the roots of trees or in windmills, and were seldom seen by human eyes. Jan and Tryn certainly looked human enough, and they were far larger than the little beings that were supposedly only a few inches tall. But then, who knew what sort of charm they might have cast to make themselves appear larger? Who knew what was real on the farm and what was the product of magic?

“It is not our custom to trifle with the affairs of humans, but you found us somehow. No one has ever found this place,” Tryn added with an appraising look.

“And then you began speaking about a flood...”

“And we knew that we must help you.”

Clara availed herself of the stone step, sitting down heavily and cradling her head in her hands. Jan and Tryn continued to offer her unbelievable explanations, and peppered her with some of the most confusing advice she’d ever been given.

“Take care around anyone you meet on the road, especially if it is night and if they come asking you for assistance. Never enter into a bargain or accept a gift unless the giver first offers to repeat the terms of the deal to you.”

“Don’t make new acquaintances on Sundays. And for God’s sake, stay away from water, especially during the full moon.”

“You are a clever girl,” Jan said. “You will be fine. But before we send you off, we give you three wishes as a token of our thanks for the work you did on the farm.”

“I... I don’t understand,” Clara said, finally looking up. Jan helped her to her feet and gave her hand a warm pat.

“Whether you believe us or not, here we stand before you, offering you three wishes.”

Clara blinked at the smooth stones sitting in Tryn’s small hand. If they were telling the truth, if these stones really did possess the power to grant her anything, she could wish for her old life back. She could ask for her family to be spared, for the water to have never risen. Pim. She could ask for Pim. As if sensing the turbulent thoughts roiling behind her eyes, Tryn said, “You cannot wish for someone to be brought back from the dead, nor the past to change its course. Magic has its constraints.”

“They need not be used all at once, either,” Jan added. “Perhaps you would like to save them?”

Clara managed to nod. Taking her hand, Tryn pressed the three smooth, round stones into her palm and closed her fingers over them. “You keep those somewhere safe. When you are ready, you will know what to do.”

The stones sat heavy in her hand, humming with magic. She had no choice but to believe now, didn’t she? Here were magic folk, just the kind that Helma used to tell her about. Whatever doubt—or rather, hope—that she had been nursing about Maurits had to be given up. He had told her as much, but even after everything that she had experienced, she had been unable to accept the fact that he was not human. If Helma was to be believed, then the Old Ones and magic folk were not to be trusted. Well, she had certainly learned that the hard way with Maurits. But what of Tryn and Jan? They hadn’t just treated her kindly, they had saved her from certain death on the road. She had to trust them.

Clara finally managed to thank them, and, pocketing the stones, gathered her things and readied to take her leave.

Jan was still watching her with shrewd eyes. “Another piece of advice, though you did not ask for it? There are folk who use their cunning as a weapon, and those that use it as sport. Sometimes it is impossible to tell the two apart. And humans have not been good to the land or the water, and those same folk have no qualms about teaching a human a lesson. If something appears too good, too perfect to be true, it probably is. So be on your guard, and when in doubt, hold your tongue and put your head down.”

“Has it always been thus?” Clara asked. “Why have I never seen someone like you before?”

Jan cleared his throat. “Have there always been magic folk? Yes, of course, and I daresay you have seen some but did not know it at the time. But there is something coming, and—”

“Jan!” Tryn said sharply. “That’s enough. No need to frighten her.”

“She ought to know. You said yourself that we ought to tell her the truth.”

“What is there to know?” Tryn argued back. “Nothing for certain. Leave it be.”

“Don’t mind us,” Jan told her with an apologetic smile, his mismatched teeth flashing. “You are a clever girl, and you will do well in the city. Now, off you go, before it grows too late. You should reach Amsterdam before nightfall if you can find a ride with a farmer or trader.”

As if speaking one into existence, the creak of wheels sounded around the turn, and soon Clara found herself bundled into the back of a jostling cart, bearing her toward a new life in the city. A farmer in a wide-brimmed hat idly flicked his reins on the hump of his bull, barely sparing Clara a glance as she settled into the straw. They were almost to the turn in the road when Clara looked back, hoping to catchone last glimpse of the cottage and commit it to memory. But as the wheels trundled over the rutted dirt, all the remained of the little farm where she had spent a fortnight was an overgrown clearing, and a faint wisp of smoke trailing into the overcast sky.

Chapter Twenty-Two

A pleasant current of water was running over Maurits’s body, teasing out his stiff muscles and slowly infusing him with life again. It felt marvelous. He couldn’t quite remember why he was here, or how he had gotten here in the first place. Come to think of it, he wasn’t even sure whereherewas.

A night bird called softly from above. Tentatively, he cracked an eye open. The light from the moon filtered down through the brackish water. An estuary; he was in an estuary. He had been walking—on land—until his legs gave out and he was gasping for water. Clara. He had brought Clara back up to land, and then not even a day later had regretted it terribly and gone looking for her. He’d searched the canals, the cow paths, and even the carriage roads, hoping against all odds for one more glimpse of her. But, of course, she was clever, and had taken his advice to heart and fled as soon as he had left her. That hadn’t stopped him from walking himself dry, desperate to find her again and see her one last time.

He was pathetic; he knew that. He was everything his mother and brother had always accused him of being. If he had spent half as much time in his kingdom attending to his duties as he did wallowing and pining after a woman he could never have, what might have gone differently?

Feeling sorry for himself was becoming tiresome. Disgust, that was what he felt. He had lain right down on the ground,determined to let himself die. How had he gotten here? Not just to this estuary, but to this point in his life?

As if in answer, there was a rush of water beside him. “You’re awake,” said a chorus of hissing voices.

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