She wished they would take off the blindfold and call this whole thing a joke—and then they could all laugh and she would scold them for being so naughty—but her relief would make her forgive them in a heartbeat if only it were all in jest. She had been so trusting when he had taken her by the hand and told her they were going to a party and that there would be delicious food and treats in store for her. All she needed to do, he had said, was to allow him to blindfold her and he would lead her to his house. She had never been to his house before, but she was bound to go and visit one of these days. He was her bridegroom, after all: her dear fiancé picked for her by her parents to wed once summer arrived at last.

So, giggling along a path that seemed to stretch on forever, she had stumbled behind him while he playfully scolded her not to peek. It seemed that the sun had gone down as they went—and then not even a sliver of light could she see under the fold of cloth over her eyes.

“I’m growing weary,” she had told her lover.

“Just a little way yet,” he had replied.

When they reached his abode, he paused at the threshold and knocked four times in what she felt was an unusual pattern. The door was opened to them. She could see light again when she looked down. Singing and laughing came from within; the place seemed quite lively. She could not wait to celebrate with her new love.

He had led her inside and sat her down on the ground; voices hissed and twittered all around her in a circle. This seemed to be some sort of game; and yet still he had not taken the blindfold from her eyes.

Now she cleared her throat. “Who are all your friends? I long to meet them, my love, and to see your fine home at last.”

Hushed laughter hissing inside her ears was the only reply she received. She felt her face forming a slight frown; the noise died down as she continued to sit in the middle of what she guessed must be at least a half-dozen bodies.

Finally, he spoke. “Lizette, we have brought you here for our special party. You are our honored guest. If you are a good girl and do as you’re told, we shall all have a grand time.”

Lizette cocked her head to the side. “Will you take off the blindfold, please?”

“No, we will not!” answered a strange voice. Someone pushed her lightly in the small of her back, and she fell forward and caught herself with her palms on a roughly woven straw rug. A slight whimper escaped her lips.

“Lizette, we want you to be as merry as we are before we take off your blindfold.” Lizette turned toward the voice of her bridegroom.

“What do you want me do?” She tried to keep her voice from quavering, but she was quite nervous now.

“Simply drink a little wine that we have prepared especially for you. Drink this,” he said, and she felt a cool metal cup forced into her hand. “This is wonderful red wine for you to drink. It’s a special treat only for you. Drink it all.”

Lizette placed the cup to her lips and let the cool tang of the red wine trickle down her throat. It burned lightly, and when it hit her belly her head suddenly felt a strange wave of dizziness.

“Very good! You’ve done well. Now stand up and come and dance with me.” His arms enclosed her. She stumbled slightly, but she felt much braver and the wine had made her nerves and unease slip away. She laughed lightly and allowed herself to be twirled about in his arms as a merry tune was struck up on a fiddle; the people around began to sing a song that Lizette had never heard before, about a wayward lass. All the voices were male. What a strange party, she thought, but she wanted to impress her sweet bridegroom, so she danced gaily and through her blindfold at the place where she thought his face might be.

Even before the singing was finished, he stopped her in her tracks; then she heard a slight rustle and he forced another cup to her lips. “Here, my dearest, this sweet white wine is for you alone to drink.” She allowed him to pour the liquor down her throat and instantly felt quite strange and giddy. Now he took the cup away and the blindfold also, and with her newly blurred vision she could hardly see the faces that peered at her with rude and leering expressions on their dirty faces. No gentlemen were these, but she felt incredibly strange and that she ought to continue dancing, and so she began to step around the room in what she hoped was an enchanting manner. Laughter resumed around the room, and so did the singing—although now it had a cruel-sounding twinge to it.

Every so often one of the men would come and pull at her or push her about, and she almost fell quite a few times. Fear began to well up in her chest and tightened there in a hard lump, but she was so dizzy she could not stop spinning, even when her feet stilled. Something was dreadfully wrong.

“Are you thirsty, my dear?” Her fiancé was suddenly at her side. She saw the gleam of a pewter cup in his broad hand and felt that indeed she was very thirsty.

“Yes!” she gasped and reached for him. He laughed a bold laugh directly in her ghostly pale face as he handed her the last cup of wine she would ever drink. The men around her closed in around her to watch her gulp the yellow wine down. Her eyes swept around her, trying to focus on what they were chanting in a singsong manner.

Once you drink the last drop you’ll be dead!

Yes, once she drinks the last drop she’ll be dead!

The cup was drained, and now Lizette swooned amid her nameless assailants, led by her dear bridegroom. She hit the floor. No one had stepped forward until then, and when they did now it was with a greedy glint in their eyes and a thirst for blood in their grim visages. The sharp knives they brought forth made splashes of light dance off the walls and onto their poor victim’s body as she lay lifeless from the last drink of the yellow wine.

***

Sir Jonas Martin hated the bumping and jostling that came from riding in a carriage; instead he had insisted on riding his own fine steed, Truth, alongside the carriage that was meant for his comfort. Strapped on top of the fine black carriage, with its gilt trim and royal seal on the door, were his two trunks full of clothes and official documents. The dying heat of summer clung to the very air about the traveling party like an oppressive mist inflicted on them by the sun burning high above their poor heads. The coachman and footman and even Jonas himself found that they could not escape sweating in their finery as the pungent smells from the heated countryside continuously rolled by. Hours ago Jonas had discarded his fine velvet cap and cape in a vain attempt to somehow keep cool. He promised himself that when they stopped next he would order a flask of clean water instead of the wine he kept at his side so that he might pour it into a kerchief to keep his neck cooler.

This assignment he had received was partly a true honor and partly a way to utilize someone who was so new to nobility. Because he had only just been landed and knighted six months ago, after helping to win a border battle, Jonas knew that the Crown was not as rich as it once had been; and the need for law and order in the land was just as desperate as the king was cheap. He did feel, however, that it was his duty as sheriff to serve the common folk of this old rustic province. He would do his best—even if he wasn’t necessarily looking forward to it. Jonas felt he had served better as a soldier than as a seeker of justice among common folk with equally common problems. All that the farm folk seemed to worry about was gossip and who had stolen whose cow. Of course, this case did seem frighteningly different.

Jonas contemplated this first assignment while running his hands through the dark golden curls that were closely cropped to his head. A string of young maidens had been going missing in the area near the village of Sommerwood for about seven months now; none of the maids had been returned to their homes despite the local authorities’ best efforts. Where could they have gone, and why had they not returned? Had some beasts in the dense woodlands surrounding the lush farmlands come and snatched them away for a meal? It seemed that the people would better know whether or not such beasts existed near their lands. Jonas would have to make inquiries to all the folk in the area if he hoped to solve these disappearances. His first stop this evening was to visit with the local magistrate who presided over the area; he didn’t live in Sommerwood but in the nearby town of Langeville. It would be as good a place as any to stay the night before moving on to the heart of the province.

***

The carriage, its cargo, and the men who rode near or on it rolled into the village of Langeville around half-past six in the evening, just as the sun was near setting and the merchants and ware sellers were closing up their shops and stalls for the night. The air was blessedly cooler now that the merciless sun was setting, and a light breeze slipped through the narrow dirt streets of the simple town wafting hints of smoke. The local public house was just opening for the evening, and many folk hurried in for a drink or a simple meal with friends—made all the sweeter for the daily gossip among their neighbors. There was little harm in it, for these people survived off of one another; rarely was there any malice between them, other than the simple squabbles of the type that Sir Jonas had thought about earlier.

Some of the people stood under the eaves of the pub to stare at the official carriage and at Jonas himself as the outlandish vehicle passed by them on the street, kicking dust into everyone’s eyes. Jonas nodded in their direction, friendly but still official, thinking that they had probably never seen such a fine coach—especially not one owned by the king.

The party traveled up the street until the path became a bit steep; they passed over a small stone bridge with only room enough for one such vehicle to pass at a time. Jonas noted to himself that it was a good thing that in all likelihood two such vehicles would never meet at the same time in such a place. The stream appeared to be quite dry, even for this time of year; it looked more like a ditch than anything else.

At the top of this little hill were the magistrate’s land holdings; the main house was especially impressive for the area. It was built of red brick laid over simple wooden slab, but it nonetheless looked impressive in the dim evening light as a multitude of candles and lanterns illuminated the property. Jonas could see other small houses where the farmers and tenants who tilled the magistrate’s lands lived. They were much less imposing, made of a sort of mud stucco with stones here and there and only thatching for the roofing. A few of the richer residents had built their homes out of the beautiful timber that came from the forests surrounding the area.

Upon reaching the cobbled drive, the carriage and its weary travelers were stopped by a pair of young boys who saw to the horses. An older servant behind them appeared and bowed before Jonas as the boys took his mount away.

“Good sirs, if you’ll follow me up to the house, Master Klein has been awaiting you.” With this simple speech he turned his back and began to march unceremoniously up a stone stair to what appeared to be the front entrance of the main house. Lamps lit the way along the path; Jonas noted that no expense had been spared to impress a guest such as himself—a guest who represented the king.

Once inside the house, a bustling young housekeeper came to fetch the coachman and footman to the kitchen for their humble meal, while the slightly unkempt manservant continued on into the main dining hall with Sir Jonas striding along at his heels. There, sitting calmly as if he were sitting for a portrait was Herr Magistrate Klein and his stout wife. The table they had had laid out for Sir Jonas was quite a picture as well: full to the brim with fine local fare. The magistrate stood at once when Jonas entered the well-lit hall, and a kindly smile came to his thin-lipped face and stretched to his small but not unkindly eyes. He reached out a thin but sinewy hand, which Jonas hurried to accept in his own strong grasp.

“We are very pleased to have you here with us, Sir Jonas, and we are greatly relieved that our request has been acknowledged by our gracious King. He is truly magnanimous to offer such aid in our time of need.”

Jonas smiled at what perhaps was a practiced speech and sat down when the smaller man bade him to. A footman immediately came into the hall and began to serve the fine-smelling dishes to the three around the table; he began with Jonas, the honored guest.

“His Majesty sends His greatest felicitations to you, Herr and Frau Klein, and to the people of this county; He wishes for swift and speedy justice to be meted out and all of the poor maidens to be recovered to you.” Jonas swallowed a great deal of the small ale, a light alcoholic drink with a porridge-like quality, from the silver stein before him (no doubt the best stein in the house); now that both had said their little speeches they might discuss real matters of importance.

Jonas cleared his throat and nodded as the footman put a large portion of what appeared to be quail with walnut sauce on his plate. “Herr Klein, I have read the report that you sent to His Majesty’s representatives and now would like, as official investigator, to hear the facts from your lips as well. Please tell me all you know: even what rumors you’ve heard may be helpful in recovering these missing maidens.”

The older man sighed almost imperceptibly, and his countenance seemed to sink. He scratched at the stubble peppering his chin and cheeks; when he looked back up it was to gaze straight into the young knight’s eyes: slightly rheumy gray eyes meeting warm brown eyes full of vitality.

“I’m afraid there really is not much more I can tell you that would be useful to you in this investigation, Sir Jonas. It is a truly bad business for all of the villages round about. I’m sure you know that this county is spread here and there, and that I am in charge of keeping most of the peace and upholding the law of the land. The county has numerous small villages and towns; the young maids have gone missing from almost as many. In total, I believe it is seventeen of our loveliest and richest maids who’ve vanished in these past seven months.”

Frau Klein here sniffled slightly and crossed herself. Sir Jonas noted this and turned back to the magistrate, his blond brows drawn down low. “As many as that? The report mentioned only ten missing girls. Another seven are gone?”

The older man waved his hand in disgust. “That report’s old, Sir Jonas. It was sent months ago, and I’m sure you know it does take time to get the attention of the great lords of our land. We had sent a petition when the first five went missing and were told we must deal with it ourselves. Well, we have tried, and nothing has come of it! I can’t think of how many meetings we have held in how many village squares, asking folk to come forward who know anything about the matter.” He sighed deeply.

“I must tell you now, Sir Jonas, that the majority of the people in this county are slightly backward and superstitious. They believe that witches are spiriting away our young women and many other kinds of nonsense. They can’t fathom that their very own neighbor could be the one behind these horrible abductions.” Here he looked across the polished oak table at his own wife, who met his gaze with equal measure and then stood up abruptly.

“Please excuse me, Sir Jonas, I am quite weary and will be retiring to my bedchamber now. May the Lord watch over you and keep you, and may you find the culprits—whoever or whatever they may be.”

Jonas leapt up to bow hastily toward her retreating form; he felt a shocked smile come to his face as he realized thatFrau Klein had strong opinions on the whole matter which did not concur with her husband’s. When he sat back down he turned to the magistrate once again.

“Ah, yes. I should also tell you that one of the more recent victims happens to be our own sweet daughter, Catherine. She was only fourteen—last month was her natal day, and not a week afterward she was gone. It has broken all our hearts; mine, her brother Karl’s, and of course my dear wife’s.” His face seemed to collapse, and he turned to Sir Jonas with a tear-streaked face. “Please, sir, I beg you to not stop until all this is solved. We will provide as much aid as we can. Tomorrow my son Karl will join you, and you must continue on to the center of all the disappearances: Sommerwood. There you should stay with my good friend Roth Müller, the most prosperous busybody you will ever hope to meet. He will be able to provide for your comfort and he knows almost everyone in this county—everyone in Sommerwood of a certainty. I hope you don’t mind taking my son Karl with you, but he wishes to find his sister—or to avenge her if she be truly gone…”

“I am grateful for your assistance and shocked at your own suffering,” Jonas said. “Am I to understand that no ransom was requested of you?”

Shaking his head, the old man did not look up. “No. Not in any of the cases has a ransom been asked for. They are all simply gone—without a trace for anyone to follow.”

The two men stood and clasped hands. “You will forgive me if I do not see you off tomorrow. I must see to the harvest in the fields; this is a vital time to this estate.”

“I understand, most certainly. May I write to you with any questions or of any progress I’ve made?”

“Please do. Any progress will cheer our hearts at this time. Good night, Sir Jonas, and thank you for being here.”

Alone in his bedchamber after he’d retired for the night, Jonas began to make a few hasty notes in a leather-bound ledger in which he had already annotated the particulars about the case. Now he had more to add to the case—and seven more maidens to find. Both his heart and his mind told him that this would prove to be no easy task.