“Are you coming with me all the way to the abbey, Flitter?” Giselle asked her. Flitter had been the only sylph to tag along from Neustadt. Giselle had no idea why she had followed the show across so many miles. Perhaps she was just so amused by the show she had decided it was worth the effort of coming along. Sometimes sylphs took on a notion and were actually able to hold onto it for months at a time.
“Yes. I want to meet your friends there. I think I might want to stay there. The meadow where I grew up is all under bricks now.” The sylph alighted on the rump of Lebkuchen (who took no notice of her) and sat there. “I want to see a beautiful meadow again. I would like it if there were not many humans about. I am tired of noise and I have not found anywhere else that I want to stay, yet.” Clearly she didn’t feel the cold, since even though Giselle was bundled up in that fine loden wool winter cape she had been given, with mittens and the hood up and a knitted scarf wrapped around her neck, the sylph was still clothed in little more than a few gauzy ribbons and her long blond hair.
“Well, I shall enjoy having you along. And if you like, you can travel in the wagon. I’ll part the wards for you. I don’t want you to end up somewhere strange, too tired to fly on. Winter is a bad time for that.” Giselle concentrated long enough to make a “door” in the wardings—one that she specified was only for the sylph—and let Flitter dart inside. Even though the sylphs didn’t seem to mind the cold, they all loved heat, and Giselle was fairly sure she would spend the day curled up over the stove, drowsing.
It would be nice to have her company. Already Giselle missed Rosa.
Another day on the road brought them to their first show, in the small town of Bludbehren. Despite its name, it was a lovely little place, and the abbreviated show was well received. There was a telegram waiting for them there from Rosa, a simple “All well.” Bludbehren was home to a rather impressive, modern flour mill, and Kellermann was able to procure enough bags of flour there to last them the whole winter at a very good cost, and grain for the horses. Meat, they were well supplied with; besides what he had sent ahead, he’d had the brilliant idea of going around to every one of the food vendors at the Oktoberfest before they left and buying up their surpluses. The vendors were happy to be rid of things that otherwise might have spoiled, and he was happy to have it. He arranged for what was fresh to be salted down in barrels and then packed up and sent over, and what was smoked or otherwise preserved to go straight into in the wagons.
As far as Kellermann was concerned, anything could be salted and preserved. Salt beef, salt fish, salt pork, even salted-down fowl; Giselle had the feeling he’d salt down anything that didn’t run away fast enough.
They would be able to hunt once they got to the abbey, since the forest all around was full of game, most of it unmolested for as long as she and Mother had lived there. That was why “Johann Schmidt’s” story had been so believable. It was entirely likely that a professional hunter would have investigated such a relatively virgin forest for hunting. But virtually everyone with the show could shoot, and fresh game would liven up the table as the winter went on.
The next town they stopped at, their show coincided with the weekly farmer’s market, and again, Kellermann was able to find things at a good price. This time it was root vegetables. Burlap bags full of them were added to the wagons. Everyone was carrying foodstuffs now. She even had things that would not be harmed by the weather piled on the top of the vardo in order to make room for food inside other wagons, and shared some of her space with casks of spices he entrusted to her. He was completely in his element, and utterly happy, whenever he could make these bargains. It made Giselle smile to see him so happy.
But then, she had a great deal to smile about. It seemed that the unknown “watcher” had lost them when they left Freiburg,