. . going away? Giselle realized it was getting difficult to see, and glanced over at the cottage. And her jaw dropped.
The light from the windows was fading, but more than that, the cottage itself seemed to be aging before her very eyes. Black mold was visibly growing over the walls, the plaster was forming cracks, and the thatch of the roof was rotting. Even as she looked, astonished, one of the shutters on the window nearest her started swinging by only one hinge. “What’s happening to the cottage?” she gasped. Rosa cast a glance in the direction she was looking.
“The Blood Witch’s magic is wearing off. Or rather, her illusions are. That’s the way the cottage really looks,” Rosa said flatly.
Any thoughts that Giselle might have had about the children staying here evaporated as the last of the light faded out of the windows and enormous holes appeared in the roof. Giselle spun up a ball of magic, set it alight, and put it to hover over their heads so they could all still see. Then she went and retrieved her revolvers from where she had dropped them, and reholstered them.
“What are we going to do with these children?” she asked Rosa, helplessly. “We can’t take them back to the show! Even if there was a place for them in it, how would we ever explain where they came from? Or how we rescued them? Or why we went charging out into the night to do so?” It was one thing to speak openly of magic and monsters to the Captain, Leading Fox, and Kellermann. It was another entirely to do so to anyone else.
The children’s heads all came up at once. But before they could start begging or crying, Pieter spoke up.
“Children come stay with Pieter.” And it was very clear from the tone of his voice and the way he patted the backs of the two clinging to his legs that he meant it.
Now the children raised their voices to plead to be able to do just that. “Children,” Rosa ordered, in a stern voice. “Hush a moment.”
It was clear from the way that they quieted immediately that they were all too used to obeying without question. Instead, hopeful—and some tear-filled—eyes turned toward Pieter as the ultimate arbiter in this question.
“Pieter, are you sure you want to do this?” Rosa asked. “Are you sure you can? Children need more than food, they need clothing, they need warm beds, they need to be clean—”
Pieter chuckled. It sounded like rocks falling. “Pieter’s cave is warm. Pieter has goats. Pieter knows where many things grow. Pieter has human monies. And Pieter has Bruderschaft friends. Pieter even has books. Pieter can teach children books. Pieter can teach other things. Children will learn to tend goats, to build, to lay stones, all useful things.”
“I can spin and sew and knit and cook,” said the little girl, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.
“I can chop wood, and I can cook, too,” said her brother. The others all volunteered things they could do, until Rosa held up her hands, laughing.
“All right, all right! I am convinced. You can all go and live with Pieter.” She smiled as they clapped their hands and laughed. It looked as if it had been a very long time since any of them had worn a smile.
Rosa looked up at Pieter. “After you feed them and let them sleep the first thing you must do is get them clean, Pieter,” she said, sternly.
Pieter looked down at all of them. “Pieter must shear your heads like sheep,” he said. “You will have bugs in that hair. All except little girl. Little girl must keep pretty hair.”
Thankfully the children all thought that idea was hilarious, and the one that looked to be the eldest agreed, ruefully, that they did have bugs in their hair. Pieter nodded solemnly. “We go home, Rosa,” he said. “Help children up.”
By this, he meant that Rosa and Giselle were to help the children to climb up on him, for he intended to carry all of them to their destination. The biggest one straddled his neck and clung to his head; he had one on either shoulder and more cradled in his each of his massive arms. So that he could see and would not stumble—or crush something—Giselle made a second light, and sent it to float above his head until he got to his cave.
“Good night, Yellow-hair, Red Cloak,” Pieter rumbled, his mouth