In a Weary World

Chapter VII: In Which Solvej Has a Plan

The best-laid plans of mice and men
Go oft awry
– Robert Burns, To a Mouse (paraphrased)

Solvej waited. And waited. And waited. The only sounds were the quacks and clucks of the animals in the farmyard. The house might as well have been deserted, for all the signs of life in it.

Curiosity took over and she peeped through the window next to the door. Through it she saw a kitchen. Two chairs, rather rickety, stood next to an equally-rickety table. Instead of taps the sink had a hand pump. A broom leaned against the fireplace, and a kettle stood on the hearth. It was a pleasant enough kitchen. The only problem was, there was no one in it.

Solvej knocked again. This time there was the distant squeak of a door opening on the other side of the house, followed by approaching footsteps.

"Just a minute!" a voice called.

The footsteps crossed the kitchen. Someone turned the door handle and the door slid open. Solvej found herself face to face with a stout, middle-aged woman in a brown dress, with a white apron pulled over the dress. Her greying blonde hair was swept up in an untidy bun, and a pair of glasses perched on the end of her rather long nose.

"Hello," she said, peering curiously at Solvej. "And what can I do for you?"

"I need advice on how to break a curse," Solvej said, which was perfectly true.

"Ah, I see. Come in, then."

~~~~

Although the fire was not yet lit, and despite the fact few sunbeams slipped through the trees to reach the house, the kitchen was relatively warm. A faint smell of cinnamon and something like wet leaves wafted down the hall. Solvej recognised it as the smell of a good luck potion she herself had often brewed.

On the wall she spotted a certificate, proclaiming to whoever read it that as of 15/09/1842, Ulrikke Hjorth was licensed to brew potions, make charms and cast spells, signed Jytte Eskildsen.

"If you'll just wait here for a moment, I must see to that potion," Ulrikke Hjorth was saying.

The witch bustled off down the hall. There was the scraping sound of a cauldron being stirred, followed by a clatter and an annoyed exclamation. Then Ulrikke reappeared, grumbling to herself about spoons seemed to be designed to fall out of cauldrons these days and how when she was young spoons had been properly made.

"Now then, dear, would you mind telling me about this curse?" she asked, sitting down on one of the chairs in the kitchen.

Solvej sat down on the other chair and began the story she had concocted on the way here.

"One of my friends offended a warlock," she said, "and he cursed her to be little more than his puppet."

Ulrikke nodded sombrely. "That's the sort of nasty trick they pull. Cursed creatures! They seem to have no purpose in life except to make other people's lives harder!"

Solvej, who had while living had several bad experiences with warlocks, could only nod in agreement.

"How do we break such a curse?" she asked.

"Well," Ulrikke said thoughtfully, "it depends on the strength of the warlock. A weak warlock will cast a weak spell, and so the cursed person might well be able to throw its effects off on their own. A stronger warlock will cast a correspondingly stronger spell, and a witch or wizard would be needed to break it. And a warlock who is stronger still... That spell would be the hardest of all to break. It would take a very strong witch to break it, or even one of the Fair Folk."