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WICKED LITTLE THINGS

UNIVERSITY OF MORGANA: ACADEMY OF

ENCHANTMENTS AND WITCHCRAFT
EMMA DEAN
 WICKED LITTLE THINGS
UNIVERSITY OF MORGANA:
ACADEMY OF ENCHANTMENTS AND WITCHCRAFT

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in
critical articles and reviews.

Copyright © 2020 by Emma Dean

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, locations, organizations, and events
portrayed in this novel are either products of the imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.
 CONTENTS

Author’s Note

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23

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About the Author
 AUTHOR’S NOTE

All of my paranormal books exist in the same universe. The more

you read the more you see familiar faces. You don’t need to read
them in any particular order, or to know any others before starting
any of my series or standalones.
This series heavily features Kenzie and her foxes from The Chaos
of Foxes series, but there is nothing from that series that is needed
to read this one. Everything has been explained.
Last but not least, this is a slow burn reverse harem series. Don’t
forget to share and review and recommend your favorite books.
Join my group for the spoiler thread for each release in the
series!
Emma’s Enclave
<3 Emma
If I should go tomorrow
It would never be goodbye,
For I have left my heart with you,
So don’t you ever cry.
The love that’s deep within me,
Shall reach you from the stars,
You’ll feel it from the heavens,
And it will heal the scars.
- Author Unknown
 1

M ika stared at the mansion that had been in her family for so
long it was considered a historic landmark thanks to the
master architect who’d designed it, but the previous matriarchs had
always shut that down.
Having humans interested in their property was never a good
idea when the Council’s very existence was created to keep
paranormals from exposing them to humans.
“Are you sure this is going to be all right?” she asked Corbin,
gnawing on her lip in worry. “This is a lot of outsiders.”
“The ravens have sworn themselves to you, or will,” Corbin said,
arms crossed over his chest as he studied the ridiculously massive
house just as intently as she.
Mika had thought she could just up and leave the university and
head straight for the eyrie, but she’d sworn an unbreakable oath to
a goddess of war and death to protect what was hers.
The people who kept her property running fell under that
jurisdiction. Callie, Mrs. Jenkinson, and Chuck all had to come with
her. Mika couldn’t protect them from an eyrie and after what had
happened to the Kavanagh’s ancestral mansion last year…
She wasn’t taking any risks.
Lucien came out with armfuls of bags, Mrs. Jenkinson right
behind him. The kitchen witch looked nervous, but her daughter was
safe. No one left alive knew Molly was related to her thanks to them
not sharing the same last name and Chuck’s family was far enough
away he wasn’t worried about it.
Callie though had argued every step of the way.
“This is too much stuff,” Mika muttered.
It wasn’t even all of it, and Mika felt her chest constrict as she
considered her greenhouse and all those plants she had to leave
behind. Hundreds of years of collecting and curating for her to
sacrifice it all like it was nothing.
She understood Callie’s protests, but how they felt about it didn’t
change the reality of the situation. Mika had to sacrifice what she
could until things leveled out.
Ethan was just as vocal as Callie though.
When he practically burst from the house with as many plants as
he could carry, she grimaced, knowing that if they kept asking, she
was going to cave.
“We can’t leave so many,” he said for the thousandth time.
“There are plants so rare they’re priceless, and that doesn’t even
cover the ones that have gone extinct. Mika, that greenhouse is
worth more than this entire house.”
Her infamous poison garden was among those she had to leave –
most of the plants in that one area were among the priceless and
irreplaceable.
“We have space,” Corbin murmured. “I’m sure I could convince
the Administration of the Collective to take them in.”
“You can’t transport most of these,” Ethan snapped, clearly more
distressed about this than he was about leaving Morgana. “Mika, I
don’t know what to do.”
This was supposed to be her tactical retreat – hunkering down to
gather her allies and prepare for the potential war with the Council
while waiting to see what Azrael would do.
Mika hadn’t exactly been gentle either when she’d declared her
position as Head Witch still covered in the blood of the previous one.
“Mika,” Ethan pressed. She turned to watch as Callie came up to
them with her arms full of just as many plants as Ethan if not more.
“They will die without someone to watch them and care for them.”
 Still, Mika didn’t say anything. She ignored the sideways look
from Corbin as Lucien went back in to get more bags, Malachi
passing by him.
If this was going to be a war, then she couldn’t bring her entire
life with her. Warriors couldn’t carry everything with them
everywhere they went, as Morgana had told her. They carried what
they could and made sure they were still able to defend.
Her home base had been taken and she was officially on the run,
Aine had warned. They couldn’t afford to be so sentimental with
things.
Did the others realize that yet?
Mika knew they were with her every step of the way and she’d
given them so many opportunities to opt out they told her never to
bring it up again. But she didn’t think any of them were prepared for
what that choice really meant except maybe Malachi and Corbin.
It twisted her heart to give up the babies she’d taken from seed
to glorious blooming pieces of art, but this was what it meant to be
a warrior sometimes.
“I can stay here,” Callie offered. “If these plants die because of
neglect, I could never live with myself.”
Mika narrowed her eyes and focused on the green witch. “These
plants aren’t worth your life.”
“I’m pretty sure my life is worth whatever I say it is,” Callie
snapped. “You can’t stop me.”
Corbin’s laughter turned into a choke when she glared at him.
Being a leader wasn’t something she was used to, and Mika was
starting to feel the weight of her supposed crown more and more
with every passing hour. Technically she had the rank to stop Callie,
but Mika knew better than most just how irksome it could be when
others tried to dictate your worth.
“Like I said, we have the room,” Corbin said gently. “We have our
own greenhouses not to mention the gardens on the ground we
share with the coyotes.”
Those fucking coyotes.
Mika tried to ignore the panic that was starting to set in. Soon,
she would be meeting with his entire eyrie and entering a world she
could not possibly understand or comprehend. There was no way to
anticipate exactly how things were going to go down.
No one went into an eyrie and came out alive unless they were a
raven.
Mika clenched her hands into fists, nails pricking her skin hard
enough to draw blood if she wasn’t careful. “I’m bringing eight
outsiders plus everything they hold dear. If the Heads agree, we can
come back.”
Ethan sighed, looking down at the plants in his arms.
“I’ll stay here until then,” Callie promised. “I’ve worked my whole
life to get into that greenhouse. I’m not going to abandon it now
when it needs me the most.”
Mika eyed the witch and summoned one of her rubies. “I’m
giving you hazard pay and if you don’t allow these to protect you, I’ll
fire you for your own good.” Five blood beasts manifested before her
and she pointed at Callie. “Protect, and guard.” Then she whispered
the old language, weaving the instructions into a simple blood spell.
Callie flinched as one rubbed against her leg.
“If you can’t stand them, you can’t stay here,” Mika told her with
a shrug.
“I’ll be fine,” Callie promised. “What plants will you need with
you?”
“Only another cutting of the blackthorn which I already have.
Thank you.” And Mika meant it.
She watched Callie head back into the mansion with the armful
of plants, a look of relief on the green witch’s face.
Mika hoped she wasn’t leaving her here just to end up dead by
nightfall.
“It’s only been a few hours,” Corbin murmured. “There is no way
any of those assholes on the Council have the ability to move on you
so quickly.”
“I’m not necessarily worried about them,” Mika admitted.
“Death wouldn’t come here.” Ethan shook his head, the hair
falling into his eyes. He still wore the Morrigan’s armor – they all did.
Mika really liked how it looked on him. “You aren’t his endgame. If
Callie is staying, I’ll take these plants back.”
 He kissed her cheek then and Mika nodded, feeling like she was
already losing control of this circus.
“We don’t know what his endgame is,” Malachi reminded Ethan,
tossing a bag into the pile. “That should be the last of it.”
Too much stuff.
“I want to leave all this here until the Commander tells me to my
face that we can bring it,” Mika told them. “I’ll go first with Corbin
and Dagon. Then he’ll come get everyone else.”
Dagon came out just then with her hell-forged armoire stocked
full of rubies. He carried it like it weighed nothing.
“I can’t believe you got approval so quickly,” Audrey was saying
as she practically ran to keep up with the hellhound. “They just let
you go?”
“Jessica released me and sent another to Morgana in my place,”
Dagon said again, just as patiently as he had the first three times.
Jessica had released him.
Mika didn’t know what that meant exactly, but she didn’t want to
ask. Hell wasn’t her domain and she had enough to worry about as
it was.
The armoire with an army in it was set before her like some kind
of prize. The way Dagon smiled – he was certainly pleased with
himself.
And Mika still didn’t know how to deal with him. She barely knew
Dagon, but there was definitely something between them. He’d
saved her life more than once, but how the hell was he going to fit
into her world?
Mika shoved all that back and considered everyone before her.
Mrs. Jenkinson’s jaw was set in worry as she stood next to
Chuck. The squirrel shifter had a frown on his face. Before she could
think too much about what that meant, Callie came back.
Mika cleared her throat and fixed her eyes on the green witch.
“Callie, since you’re staying here, I’m going to make sure there are
wards as well as the blood beasts. Order rats to keep them fed and
only feed them at dusk. You have my cell. But I need you to know,
there is nothing in that greenhouse I consider worth your life. If you
have to, leave it. Here’s my demon father’s summoning sigil. Only
use it if something comes after you.”
“I’m going to stay with her,” Chuck stated. His tone brooked no
room for argument. “I’m fast and trained.” By the void, Kenzie.
If it had been anyone else…
“Fine,” Mika snapped, uncrossing her arms to plant them on her
hips. “But if either of you die, I’ll find you in hell myself.”
Callie’s face drained of all color, but Chuck gave Mika a
determined nod.
The blood beasts slunk off onto the property when Mika flicked
her fingers in dismissal, and she watched as their size changed to
little more than a housecat before disappearing completely.
Was this what it was going to be like?
It felt like no one really understood the ramifications of their
choices, but she couldn’t wrap them all in bubble wrap and hide
them away until this was done. No matter how much it terrified her
that they all wanted to put themselves in danger—for her.
Both Selene and Kenzie would ward her house on top of Mika’s
own. Maybe she could get Jessica to ward it too, or Eisheth if she
was busy. No doubt she and Lucifer were using every waking minute
searching for Azrael.
“Lucien, your pack will take us in if the ravens decide this won’t
work?” Mika asked for the thousandth time.
And of course, Lucien rolled his eyes at her. “The entire flock
showed up to the Council meeting a few hours ago. They’re not
going to deny you.”
Mika knew he was right, but she was still so nervous.
She didn’t like people looking at her, waiting and expecting—
anything, let alone something this big. But now she was a fucking
queen, and this was her fucking life.
She had to get used to it. There was no other option.
“It’ll be fine, Mika,” Ethan reassured her, voice low and soothing.
“We’re going to be waiting for you, right here.”
Rolling her shoulders back, Mika eyed all their shit, and then the
mansion behind them with the early morning light behind it.
 Everything that was valuable was in this pile. Everything else
would be sent off to where it could be better protected.
Mika snapped her fingers and a note appeared. She handed it
over to Chuck and then nodded once to herself. She’d done
everything she could.
“After we’ve all gone, make sure you take care of that list. I don’t
want anything left here for them to take.”
Chuck nodded and slipped the note in his pocket.
Mika didn’t deserve any of them.
Dagon held out his hand for her, and Corbin placed his on the
hellhound’s shoulder.
Taking a deep breath, she avoided rubbing her hands over her
face. Her skin was still covered in Cassandra’s blood as well as the
Morrigan’s warpaint and she desperately needed a shower.
Mika held Ethan’s gaze as she placed her hand in Dagon’s. “I’ll
see you soon,” she promised, turning to Lucien just as that
blackness overtook everything.
Her entire world was gone and, in its place, a new one she had
to learn how to navigate. Mika didn’t even have the luxury of
knowing her own body anymore. Thanks to the goddess’s gifts she
had to figure out how to exist all over again.
When the darkness dissolved, Mika looked up at the open sky.
November in the Pacific Northwest was cold and rainy, and today
wasn’t any different.
Mika breathed the clean, cold air in as deeply as she could and
then looked forward. She released Dagon and studied the six
individuals before her.
Thanks to the shitshow that was her life, Corbin hadn’t really
explained too much about the eyrie and how it worked. And Mika
had done everything in her power to ignore the fact that she was
not really an outsider, that him telling her didn’t violate any of the
raven’s careful rules.
Because if she had done that, she would have had to admit that
she was what they saw her as.
Witch Queen.
Morrigan.
 The ravens were kindred, and they had a place on their
administration for those like her.
If Mika were honest with herself though, she hadn’t been ready
to hear anything Corbin would have told her about his eyrie, and her
place in it.
But now…
Everything was different now.
Armad landed on the space between her and those six
individuals. No one looked at him as he went to stand next to
Corbin…
With her, not with them.
Lines were already being drawn and Mika shoved down the panic
that kept trying to get out. The next few days would determine her
future – her life, and the future of so many it was hard not to freak
out.
But she took a step forward, taking in every detail of where she
was.
Dagon had taken them before a massive stone gate with what
looked like hell-forged iron doors. They were twice as high as
Corbin, and Mika noted the runes carved into them.
There was nothing else around.
Only an edge that dropped off into what felt like a grey abyss
with the way the rain poured down. What was beyond those gates,
she didn’t know, but this platform felt ominous somehow – both a
place of joy and of…terror. She could feel it on the air.
Then her eyes slid to one of the females. She was ancient and
based on the feel of her power—a witch. The younger female behind
her wasn’t a raven or a witch though. Mika narrowed her eyes and
then felt them widen as she realized—she was a banshee.
Mavis wasn’t alone.
Corbin hadn’t explained who these people were exactly. All she
knew was that ravens called this place an eyrie, that it wasn’t just a
flock but a Collective. There were those in charge of various
important tasks, and then these six ruled their Collective.
Much like a coven.
 An older male walked out to meet her, and Mika held her ground,
focusing her gaze on him.
Would he kick her out?
Corbin had gathered ravens for the Council meeting, but how
many of them had been comrades who owed him a favor? Or had
they been given permission?
“Mika Marshall,” he said, clasping his arms behind his back as he
studied her. “The last witch queen.”
“Can’t be the last until I die,” she told him, not feeling any better
about this.
He smiled slightly at that. “Death is merciful.”
Corbin had told her that once.
Mika tilted her head slightly as she used her new senses to get a
reading on him. “I’ve seen death,” she murmured. “And I’m not
afraid.”
That smile widened. “You certainly proved that at the Council
building.”
So, he’d been there. Interesting.
“I am this Collective’s Commander,” he told her then. “My
decision is final and cannot be overruled.”
His pause made her stomach twist.
“Except by you.” When the Commander bowed slightly that
twisting grew worse, not better.
“What does that mean exactly?” she asked, feeling Corbin and
Dagon at her back. The hellhound practically crackled with energy
behind her.
“It means this eyrie and our flock are commanded by you as well
as me,” he said, straightening. “We have much to discuss.”
Mika studied the ravens behind him including a witch and a
fucking banshee.
And the witches thought they were so powerful in the
paranormal world, selling magic – gifting it to those they favored. All
the while the ravens and the coyotes and the foxes had an entire
world that existed on its own.
With their own witches.
 “I have people who need to stay here with me,” Mika told him. “I
have…things.”
“Our eyrie is yours.”
Her eyes snapped to the Commander’s. “Just like that?”
He shrugged and never once looked at Corbin. His unwavering
gaze was intense. “It may seem simple but it’s not. To you it’s ‘just
like that,’ but to us this is our way of life and has been since the
Morrigan created us. To serve you is why we exist.”
That twisting grew worse until she thought she was going to
throw up.
Mika didn’t want this strange sense of servitude. It was one thing
to hold onto their old ways, and another completely to blindly follow.
She’d deal with that later. Right now, she needed to get her
people into the eyrie.
Mika glanced back at Dagon and he nodded before disappearing.
“What exactly do you expect from me?” Mika asked, glancing at
the others behind the Commander again. What did they think of all
this?
“We can discuss everything and answer all your questions,” the
Commander promised. “But first you should settle in, get cleaned
up, and rest.”
All six of those administrators studied her from head to toe. Mika
knew they saw Corbin’s feathers in her hair, the trinkets left by the
goddess, the blood on her face from both the Morrigan and
Cassandra, as well as the armor that matched Corbin’s.
Mika wouldn’t be able to sleep, but she could do everything else.
Then she pierced her finger with her thumbnail as she knelt,
drawing a blood rune into the stone.
A single word as she stood and everything that had been in the
circle at her mansion manifested in front of her. Mika walked around
it as Dagon reappeared with Lucien and Ethan. “Show me where my
people and I are supposed to go.”
The Commander gave her a tiny smile before falling in step
beside her. “We are your people now, Morrigan.”
The name felt like a slap and Mika stopped to stare at him,
feeling the eyes of all the other ravens on her back. She ignored
them and focused on the Commander. “Maybe we should discuss
that before everything else.”
He glanced at one of the females and she was gone before Mika
could ask anything. Then the Commander gave her his full attention
once more. “Corbin has explained that you don’t know much about
being a blood witch.”
She could practically feel Corbin’s wince.
Mika clenched her teeth together as she tried to process. All she
wanted was to find her footing but every moment something new
tripped her up.
Dagon was back with Malachi and Audrey before disappearing
just as quickly as he’d appeared. Lucien’s eyes gleamed and he
grinned before punching Corbin in the arm. “This is fucking cool.”
It snapped Mika out of it, and she couldn’t help the small smile.
“Let me take you to your quarters,” the Commander said gently.
“Get settled and I will send someone so we may converse on the
matters at hand. I will answer any questions you may have then.”
More ravens descended upon her stuff and started bringing it
into the eyrie before she could respond to the Commander.
Just like that.
Mika took a moment to absorb how easily the ravens had taken
this transition. Her thoughts felt slow and sluggish and she couldn’t
remember the last time she’d slept.
Maybe she did need a nap.
Audrey cleared her throat. “Mrs. Jenkinson insisted on staying
with Chuck and Callie. She’s, um, scarier than she looks.”
Dagon shrugged awkwardly and Mika almost laughed.
She most definitely needed a nap.
“It’s okay, now let’s go check out our new home.”
 2

T he rooms the ravens had given her were larger than she’d
anticipated based on what she could see from the landing deck
outside the gates. Mika had taken a quick shower and then changed
into some black jeans, comfortable boots, and a grey knit sweater
that would keep her warm against the chill that never really eased,
even inside the eyrie.
Wind cut through the hallways and Mika’s bedroom connected to
a main room that had others shooting off of it in a strange curved
direction like the eyrie was a hive full of tunnels. Somehow there
were enough rooms for everyone, even though she’d said multiple
times some of them could bunk – no one had really listened to her.
Corbin had his own room somewhere else in the eyrie with his
family.
When she’d heard that, Mika had felt like a total asshole.
Of course, he had a family, and never once had she asked him
about them. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had a lot going on but…still. He
was there now, talking to his brother while they all got settled.
She stared out the window with her arms crossed as she waited
for the Administration to summon her.
Not that she could really see anything.
They were in the clouds. Literally. All she could see was the rain
and the thick grey fog. On a clear day she might have been able to
see the forest Corbin said was below – ‘the ground,’ he called it.
 Mika couldn’t look away from the grey. If she could get her
fucking shit together, she could leap off that landing pad like any
raven and fly…
What would that feel like?
Coasting to the ground she could shift to coyote—maybe the only
thing that would keep them from tearing her apart like the savage
scavengers they were. Mika could practically feel what the damp
earth would feel like under her paws as she imagined it.
Shapeshifter.
One more title to add on to the rest of them.
She looked down at her hand and the long red nails that ended
in stiletto points, her favorite style. They were slightly longer, slightly
more feral. If she concentrated, she could see them extend and her
skin shimmer slightly like it was trying to morph into something that
might have claws.
“Mika.”
She jumped at Lucien’s voice, mentally kicking herself for getting
lost in her thoughts. When she looked back at her nails, they were
normal again and she almost felt like she’d imagined the tiny shift.
“You shouldn’t be nervous.” Lucien leaned against the wall beside
her, wearing something relaxed and delicious that somehow still
gave off that rockstar vibe. “The ravens aren’t as terrifying as the
Council likes to pretend they are.”
She eyed the silver rings on his hand before watching the rain
once more. “I’m not afraid of the ravens. Or nervous.”
“We trade with them a lot,” Lucien murmured, tugging on a loose
strand of her hair. “They value honesty above everything else. I
know you’ll be fine.”
Mika knew she would be. Like she’d said, it wasn’t that they were
assassins.
“They welcomed me with open arms,” she told him. “I’d thought
I was the first witch here since the last morrigan, but I was wrong.”
Did anyone else know the eyries had witches on the
administrations?
“Ah.” Lucien’s eyes flashed gold when he understood. “Some fox
dens take them in as well.”
 “Is it because they’re mates?” she asked. “Ravens don’t mate
though, so having a witch in the eyrie means they want her here.”
“Usually,” Lucien admitted. “But not always. Human born witches
have a hard time of it. Sometimes we stumble across them and take
them in.”
Mika tugged on the layered chains hanging around her neck as
she considered that.
She felt so stupid and naïve, but she wasn’t the only one. It
seemed the Council had turned a blind eye and the witches…
Well, Mika had always known living as a high society witch
separated them from their brothers and sisters in a way that made it
impossible to know anything about the rest of the world. Ethan
probably had known, or witches he knew might have.
What else was out there that they didn’t know about, hiding
under the Council’s radar thanks to their very narrow field of
concern? Then again, what did they know, but kept to themselves?
Mika would have to ask Kenzie.
“They’re ready for you.” Corbin stood just inside the door of the
living area or common room—whatever it was.
Being back home was changing Corbin – not in any way that
really mattered, but Mika could see how this place was different for
him than her world had been because he lapsed into terminology the
rest of the paranormal world didn’t really understand.
Their culture was thick and mysterious.
It had also put Corbin on edge.
For the first time since he’d been her bodyguard and would-be
assassin, Mika couldn’t sense anything from him. His emotions
seemed to be off.
That couldn’t be good.
Lucien followed after her at the same time Ethan came out of his
room, grabbing a jacket. Corbin shook his head.
“Just Mika.”
Ethan went to protest, and she cut him off before he could start
another argument.
“Can you call Kenzie?” she asked him, silently asking with just a
look to trust her. “I might need to meet with her soon. It would
probably be safer if she came here. I’m sure Dagon wouldn’t mind
bringing her.”
Not that she even knew where the hellhound was at the
moment.
Ethan gritted his teeth but nodded. Lucien tugged on her hair
again and then followed after Ethan, no doubt to reassure him as
well. Out of all of them, this was closest to the fox’s world. His
people and the ravens dealt with each other regularly.
Lucien would keep Ethan from freaking out, Mika wasn’t worried.
What she was worried about was Corbin and everything they’d
never talked about.
As she followed Corbin through the curving hallways, taking tight
stairs that wound up and up in a spiral that was so narrow Mika felt
like the walls were pressing in on her and it was difficult to breathe.
She couldn’t wield her sword in this hall and fighting with her knives
would be almost impossible.
At least she had her magic.
“What’s wrong?” Mika murmured, staring at the tense muscles
between Corbin’s shoulder blades. Clearly something was bothering
him.
“I know you don’t want this,” he stated. There wasn’t a drop of
emotion attached to the words either. “You’re not going to like what
they have to say.”
That twisting in her stomach came back and she had to take a
minute to catch her breath, which shockingly wasn’t because of
climbing hundreds of stairs. Her thighs burned but her breathing was
even.
“I already knew that.” Mika didn’t want to ask him what the
Administration had planned when he wouldn’t tell her anyway. “Why
does that bother you?”
Corbin led her toward a room with two doors and it gave her
Council building vibes for a moment. When he stopped, he looked
down at her with those cold eyes and Mika had to admit, she liked
how they looked on him.
“Because this isn’t just my world. It’s also yours.” He didn’t wait
for her to respond before pushing the heavy doors open.
 Mika’s stomach flipped and she took a moment to steel herself
against whatever this was going to be, and whatever Corbin meant.
Then she strode inside, blinking at the dim light that came only
from candles. It took a split-second for her new eyes to adjust and
Mika focused on the tall hell-forged iron table in front of her. It was a
half-circle and sat everyone on the Administration at six feet high so
even Dagon would have to look up at them.
Her eyes skimmed over each person, noting they were the same
as those who’d greeted her. The Commander sat at the center. On
his right was an empty chair and Mika had a sinking suspicion that
was meant to be hers.
On the other side of the empty seat was one of the most
beautiful women she’d ever seen, but she had a dead look on her
face. Mika realized then that they all wore the same black, militaristic
uniform. Each one had a different patch on the arm designating their
positions.
Too bad she hadn’t thought to ask Corbin to explain each one.
But she was more interested in the old witch and the banshee on
the Commander’s left. What was their purpose?
“Mika Marshall,” the Commander said softly, his voice carrying in
the dark, windowless room. “Before we address your questions and
discuss the matters at hand, I’d like to formally introduce ourselves
and explain our positions.”
She narrowed her eyes as she studied each of the ravens,
realizing why they all seemed so similar. None of them had their
emotions on.
“I am the Commander of this Collective, or flock as you would
know it, and as I said before I make the final decisions.” He cocked
his head to the side ever so slightly and she could see the bird in
him. “My given name is Torin.”
Without waiting for the order, the female on his right spoke next.
“My name is Blaise, and I am the Diplomat. I handle all relations
between our Collective—flock, and the others as well as the
overarching Enclave and the Council of Paranormals. If something
goes awry, I handle it.”
 “Such as when your flock took a kill order to murder innocents,”
Mika stated. “You worked for Bradley Davis.” Who’d raped her.
Corbin almost flinched at that.
Blaise looked as though she were sucking on a lemon at the
reminder. “Yes. Thanks to my daughter, I was able to discover the
truth of the situation and make reparations with the Bay Coven.”
The raven sat back, clearly done with the conversation. The male
next to her glanced at Blaise and Mika wondered why he seemed
different than the others. “I am Edgar, the Guardian. And Blaise’s
husband. I train the fighting forces, protect the eyrie, command the
armies, and deal with war. On top of that I am in charge of the
academies where we train our assassins.”
She flicked her gaze between Blaise and Edgar, wondering how
they were even together, but honestly it wasn’t her business. Mika
was just trying to ignore the fact that ravens apparently had armies.
The Commander gestured to the woman sitting next to him,
another raven. “I am Vera,” she murmured, and Mika did her best to
hide her shiver. “I am the Spymaster. I am in charge of all
intelligence as well as the blood hunters…if we had them. At the
moment we use the title for those forces underneath me trained in
espionage.”
Mika couldn’t remember ever reading the term before. She’d
have to ask Corbin to explain, or maybe have Armad show her the
library. She sighed internally and wished they could get this part
over with already.
“And I am Cordelia, the Daimona,” the old witch stated. “I’m two
hundred and ninety-three this year. I am the resident ruling witch
and I handle all witches living among the Collective.”
Mika couldn’t hide her reaction. Two hundred and ninety-three?
This one had lived through the second slaughter of her kind, through
the enslavement of witches to marriage.
Had they all sat here and done nothing? Or had they somehow
not known?
“I am Sibyl,” the banshee told her. “My position is Seer. It can be
held by anyone gifted with the Sight.”
 “But you’re a banshee, not a witch,” Mika stated, crossing her
arms over her chest. “Just so we’re all on the same page.”
The banshee’s eyebrows raised slightly at that. “Correct. To some
degree I can read minds, similar to the night witches.”
So, their Seer warned them of the future and could ensure no lies
were told.
Mika bit her tongue against all the questions she had. If blood
witches had them all at their disposal, then why? Why was she the
last?
“A few morrigans were found but they were few and far
between. No more than one or two each generation,” the
Commander said, answering her silent question. “After Eleanor
Marshall’s sacrifice, it was impossible to find the blood witches as
even they had no idea what they were.”
Mika turned the ring on her finger with her thumb, over and over
as she thought and considered those sitting at their hell-forged iron
table. “I assume you want me to take that chair there?”
“It is reserved for a morrigan,” Torin told her. “The position of
Morrigan is equal to Commander. The witch is supposed to handle
relations between us and the Witch Queen as well as other blood
witches. The Morrigan seeks out orphaned and abandoned blood
witches and trains them. She also commands the death knights.”
“There is no official witch queen.” Mika smiled slightly at Torin,
testing the waters. “I’m not even officially the Head Witch. I haven’t
taken my oath yet.”
Their Daimona rose then and walked around that insane table
down the curving stairs with more grace than Mika had assumed she
possessed due to her age. When she stopped in front of Mika,
Cordelia glared up. Her frail frame was all that gave away her age.
Even her face wasn’t all that wrinkled and her white hair could mean
anything.
Cordelia barely looked seventy.
“It’s not up to the Council whether you are Witch Queen or not,”
the Daimona snapped. “It is up to witches and ravens. How we rule
ourselves is none of their damn business.”
 Mika felt her smile widen at that. She already liked this old bat.
“Witches think they’re neutral. It’s been a long time since you
walked among your own kind.”
“I am among my own kind.” The Daimona patted Mika’s cheek
roughly before conjuring a high-backed, comfortable-looking chair.
“Now, I would kneel before you but I’m old. This will have to do.”
Mika clenched her teeth in frustration. “What exactly does Witch
Queen mean to you?” she demanded, looking from the Daimona to
the Commander. “What do you expect from me?”
“Traditionally the Witch Queen rules over witches,” the Daimona
told her. “As well as the Enclave and all the flocks under it.”
Mika didn’t know what to do with her hands, she was so flustered
and annoyed. “And why is that?”
“You are the daughter of our goddess,” Torin explained with a
small shrug. “You’ve been blessed by her. If the blood of our own
deity isn’t worth ruling over us, then what is the point of our
existence?”
This was too much. Why were the ravens so damn cavalier about
all this?
“I’m pretty sure you’re worth more than that,” Mika told them,
glancing at Corbin for the first time since she walked in. She still
couldn’t feel anything from him, and it made this entire situation
worse. “You aren’t servants and slaves. You owe me nothing.”
Torin grinned and the two raven females studied her more
closely, as if she were no longer boring. “True, we owe you nothing.
But we’ve chosen to honor our oath to the goddess. Our entire
Collective has agreed to swear themselves to you. The others…it’s
been too long. We will need to meet with the Enclave next.”
Mika glanced at Corbin again.
“It’s like our Council of Paranormals,” he explained. “They rule
over all the ravens.”
Great. Just great.
“There are other problems,” Mika said carefully. “Other things
going on, not just my position in the world.”
“We are aware,” the Guardian stated. “We already have patrols
watching our territory as well as our brothers. I’ve called in a few of
our allies who should be arriving in the next few days. They’re
interested in meeting with you to discuss the issues at hand.”
Well if she wanted help keeping her position as Head Witch, she
got it. The only thing was, Mika didn’t know how far they were
willing to go, especially with someone as dangerous as Azrael.
“You’re also aware that Death has been hunting down my kind
since Morgana and is now on the loose?” Mika crossed her arms over
her chest and frowned. “He’s older than old. How do you propose we
defend ourselves against Death, Guardian?”
“We are familiar with death,” the Commander promised her. “I’m
sure Edgar will have plenty of ideas. In the meantime, do you have
any questions?”
Yeah, Mika had a lot of fucking questions. Like, what was she
supposed to do all day? What did they expect from her as their
Morrigan? Was she supposed to sit at that table and judge people
like they did?
She looked at the Daimona still sitting in her navy-blue velvet
chair and considered.
This was Corbin’s world, but it was also a witch’s world.
“Armad is the librarian?” she asked.
“Caretaker, yes. He is the head librarian, as you say.”
Then Blaise stood and walked down those curving stairs toward
her, and Mika had to say out of all of them, this one made her the
most uncomfortable.
Apparently, she wasn’t the only one either because suddenly
Corbin was at her side glaring at Blaise.
“You put our lives in danger,” she said simply.
Mika narrowed her eyes. “Your lives have always been in danger.”
Blaise nodded. “And yet, ravens will end up fighting for you
against our own kind.”
Still, Corbin said nothing, but he angled his body until he stood
slightly in front of Mika.
What power play was happening here that was going completely
over her head?
The doors slammed open behind them then and Mika whirled
around to see a raven even more beautiful than Blaise.
 “Mika Marshall,” she said, stopping barely a foot away from her.
The raven crackled with energy and life. “I’ve heard so much about
you.”
Somehow, she had a feeling that things had just gotten more
complicated. “Do I know you?”
The raven looked at Corbin then and gave him a wink. “I’m Emily.
I hear we’re cousins.”
 3

“C ousins?” Mika arched a brow at this raven who looked like

she’d slit her throat and laugh while doing it.
Emily studied Corbin from head to toe with an unreadable
expression on her face. “Mhm, or so Eisheth says.”
She narrowed her eyes at the raven. “Funny, he hasn’t
mentioned that.”
Those dark grey eyes snapped to Mika’s and she smiled lazily.
“It’s complicated. But you’re not going to get the answers you need
from my mother. I promise you that.”
This was Blaise’s daughter? Fates, they couldn’t be more
different.
“I missed you, Corbin.” Emily popped up on her tiptoes and
kissed Corbin’s cheek before whirling around. “Come with me, blood
witch.”
Mika bristled, feeling her power crackle. They didn’t need another
repeat of what happened with Mavis.
She clenched and unclenched her hands to dissipate the energy,
breathing long and deep before turning to Corbin. “It’s rude not to
greet someone you clearly know very well.”
Those ruby red eyes met hers and then darted away. “Emily and
I used to be partners.”
Mika glanced back at those still sitting at the table, clearly
watching the drama unfold. She buried down her jealousy and
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
pezèn, uwén gebèèntèn.… en weg is uwèn smart.…
weg uwèn lijdèn!.…

Twee minuten lang oreerde de kwakzalver weer door,

al deftiger, hoogdravender, voelend z’n stijgender
invloed op ’t bokkige, eerst scheldende publiek. De
woeste kerel, stond onder ’m, met opgeblazen
wangen, ’t vocht speelsch rond te spoelen in z’n
mond, doodstil in één houding, bestaard, met ontzag,
door heel den kijkkring.—

—Spuug nù uit, vriend, èn spreek!.… tot ùw

maagden.. en makkèrs.… spreekt.. en zèg.. niets dàn
den.. wààrheid.. Spréékt.. Drink nog éénen keer.. vàn
dit.… ijskoùd wàter.. En zeg dàn.… of gij pijn hèbt …
Zeg dèn … vollèn wààrheid aan uws gelijkèn.… aan
uwèn meerdèren.… en mindèren.. spreekt.. hebt gij
pijn?.… [117]

—Gain spier! f’rdomd.… of ’k mot ’t liege hee?

Jeesekrim! meroakel.… daa’s òplucht!.…

—Hai jai gain spier pain Piet? schreeuwde een.—

—Gain spier!

—En hep ie je nie van mékoàr hoald?

—Saa’k f’rbrande.… aa’s ’k wâ voelt hep hee?

snó’f’rjenne moat.… daa’s de weg noà de haimel
hoor!.… Jemikremi!

Maar Jood bleef stil even van z’n hoogte loeren met
z’n gitpupillen op Piet gestard, en toen juichend den
 kring rond, hoed in den hand, schorde en stootte z’n
stem weer:

—Gij àllen.. ziet hèt.… hooggè.. eerd pùbliek.… Ik ben

gèèn.… leugènaar.. ik ben gèèn.… bedrièger.… ik
ben.… gèèn.… galeiboef.… gèèn Chamberlain.. gèèn
Rhodes!.… Hier vòòr u.… staat dèn.. èchtèn den
èenigèn.. afstammèling van Profèsseur.… Jaack
Ròzel.… Seni-òr.. woònachtig te Montabilie.… in zijn
leven.. en strevèn.… op het rotsgebergte van Zuid-
Amerika, alwààr hij.… de Sioux’s de Panie-ews!.. de
Irokeèzèn, gràties hielp.… gèlijk ik.… dat ù doe.…
Hier staat hij dan, in dèn.. levendèn lijven.. Gij ziet
hèt.. gij hoort.. hèt.. gij rùikt het.. gij vernèèmt het.. gij
beproèft het.… Hij gèneest.… ùwen maagden.…
uwen vrièndèn.… uwèn kindèrèn.… Hij is.. den
èenigèn.. Jaack Ròzel òp den ganschen wèèreld.. die
hier komt om u.. te bewijzèn.. een weldààd.. Hij is.. tèr
naam en tèr faam.… bèkend en spèciaal bè-vriend
met àllen doktorèn.. professeùren, met àllen genèès-,
hèèl-, verloskundigèn des heelen ààrdkloot.… En hij
rèist den wèreld door mèt hèt vocht.… van Valura.…
en den.… profesòren àchter hèm áán! En hij trekt.…
gansch zondèr pijnen.… Hebt gij niet.… gèzien.. dat
ik.… hier stàànden.… voor drie màànden.… twee
lammen, van wien ik den krukken.… over dèn.…
knieën, stuk bràk.… ter aarden.… wièrp,.… hen
bèstreek … met hèt vocht.… van Valura.… èn zij.. van
mijn tafél, weer loopènden vertrokken,.… rècht op!.…
slank en elègant.… gelijk chiraffen.… En hebt gij niet-
gezien.… dàt ik.… ùw vriend.… hiernèvens … trok-
zòndèr … dàt één … spier vàn [118]zijn.… gèlaat
vèrtrok.… en dàt hij.. nu zelf.. bèweert en bèvestigt
 gèèn pijn te hebbèn.… gèvoeld? Zoo genees ik
lammèn.… blinddèn.… doovèn.… rheumatieken.…
met mijnèn wonderdruppels.. mijn vocht.. van
Valura … Nu zal ik nog dezen.… vriend helpen.… en
dan zal ik vertrekkèn.. uit hoofden en onherroepelijk..
zonder àànziens des persònen, na te hebben.…
aangebodèn.. laatsten vòòrraad.…

Weer bedremmeld stond een derde kerel voor ’m,

mond wijd open. Zacht beduidde hij den jongen, dat ie
niet noodig had getrokken te worden. Ook hém liet ie
spoelen met zijn Valura, en onderhands haalde ie
flakons uit z’n tasch in vloeipapiertjes verpakt.—Weer
aarzelde verbluffing rond, in den verhitten kijkprop van
tuinderskerels en meiden, sjouwers en vrouwen, want
weer stamelde de kerel, na twee minuten ’t vocht in
z’n kies te hebben gezogen, dat ie geen pijn meer
voelde.—Naar alle kanten werd ie getrokken en
verbluft knikte, stamelde ie uit, nergens pijn meer te
voelen.—

—Dat wondèr voor dén prijs.. van vijf èn twintig cènt!

Geen woord kon Moor-Jood meer uitbrengen van

vermoeienis. Het zweet drupte als stijfselkorrels vettig
op z’n donker hoofd. Van drie kanten uit den kring,
drongen lijven òp, grijp-armen vooruit, hoog naar ’t
tafeltje. Meer niet. Gezicht van den Moor-Jood betrok,
zenuwachtig, spijtig, alsof ’r ’n huil draaide rond z’n
mond. Maar toch beheerschte ie zich, sprak ie weer
met afgetobder, heescher geluid.

Eindelijk, de geholpen kerels, waren weer den kring

ingesjokkerd, schouerbonkend, getrokken en
 gesleurd, babbelden en schreeuwden ze met
ondervragers mee. Wantrouwig landvolkje, beduusd
en vergaapt, kwam in beweging. Weer had de Jood
getoeterd, schel en hoornhoog den hemel in, spattend
z’n klanken, schuimend tegen opsteigerend gewoel,
en weer zwaaide ie z’n brandende toortsen tegen al
donkerder luchtgoud. Er kwam beweging, woeling in
den menschprop, uit elkaar brokkeling van broeierige
kluiten. Telkens, slechts twee, drie tegelijk, drongen
naar de kruk, met ’t kwartje klaar in de hoog gerekte
hand. En drukker stalde ie z’n flakons uit, zalig-
wachtend [119]op uitwerking van z’n wond’re woorden
en proeven.—Sneller drongen de lijven en armen òp,
dat ie nieuwe voorraad uit z’n tasch moest halen.
Rapper z’n handen graaiden in den tasch-muil, z’n
donkere kop lachte, tegen ’t licht in, burlesk, ironisch,
onmerkbaar bijna.—Nu zòng z’n stem met klank van
zalvende zekerheid:

—Een iedèr.. dièn lijdt.… ’t zij aan zinkèns.. ’t zij aan

koortsèn.… ’t zij aan wondèn, blindheid.. doòfheid..
làmheid.… ik help hèm.… ook zondèr gèl-den.…

Trager trok kring om ’m los. Meer en méér handen

grepen, naar z’n hooge tafel, dat ’n stapel kwartjes
tusschen z’n tangen ophoopte.—

Z’n oogen git-glanzigden, lachten, vonkten.—Eindelijk

stopte ie. Zwaar gedaver en laatst gewoel dromde
langs z’n tafel achter z’n kruk. Nou wou ie ook een ’n
glas bier gaan drinken. Z’n keel brandde van rauwen
krijsch en pijn. Eerbiedig weken de kerels voor den
lang-mageren Moor-Jood, met z’n angst donkeren
 kop, z’n streng borenden blik, z’n kalmte. Even z’n
schouders, in krommige lijn opgehaald, ging z’n lang
lichaam tusschen de sjofele sjouwers en tuinders, z’n
zwart-bleeke kop, prachtig beglansd in lichtwaas.
Geheimzinnig in donkeren staar, schoof ie voort
tusschen de botte kerels, zich-zelf voelend als ’n
Cagliostro in zuidelijke gratie en suggestie.—

In eindloozen koepel, blauw-bleek glanzend,

rondgestold in ontzaglijken hemelkring boven
havenbrok en polder, wuifden struisveerige wolken,
zilverzij-licht, en ver, heel naar den horizon, tusschen
violette neveling van spitsjes en daakjes, bouwde de
lucht porceleinen torens van lichtwolken, slank, met
fonkelende tinnen.

Menschenprop was weggebrokkeld, nu kwakzalver

bier dronk in rookige walmkroeg.—Daverend
roezemoes ratelhotste in ’t zonnezinken als ging er
hellevaart rond in Wiereland; begloeid en beglansd
stedeke, met z’n hel-rood en zilver leigedak in
vervloeienden goud-roes van eindloos polderruim.—

Op en af de booten ging ’t weer in laatsten

ploetersjouw en [120]afhitsende werkkoorts als hadden
de kerels zich verzuimd met luistering naar den Jood.

Woester stormden de kroegen leeg en vol.—Verhitte

zuipdrift stramde de koppen, en zwaarder, paffender in
’t zomerbrio, doorregenden geuren en stanken de
haven; verklonk in rommelende donkerte ’t lawaai der
zwoegers tegen al stillere rood-verre oneindigheid van
polder-avondlucht; hemelkoepel, doorzeild van
 laatsten klankenjubel en verren vogelenkweel,
leeuwerikkenvlucht, donker verstippend de luchtzee
door.—

Sneller, àl lager sloeg de blink-glanzende gang van ’t

licht over de haven, als kon de dag niet sterven dààr,
vloedgolfde ’t over de kerels, roodgebrande tronies,
nimbus van avondzon, gloedkoppen, verwaasd en
verheiligd.—Dwars door den rauwrumoerenden
gruwel van krijschende, furiënde sjacher en zwoeg,
over pijpen, masten, zeilbrokken, pramen en sloepen,
stroomde avondtooverige gloed, vreemd zilverrood,
blond en telkens wisselend in gamma’s. Van de
porceleinen wolk-torens, gloei-purperden de tinnen,
vonkten hun gouden ommegangen.—Al lager de
lichttoover doezelde over heete havenjoel, gedaver en
gezwoeg; al wijêr glansde stralende purpering,
verstillend de luchten, bedampend in wond’ren
zonnemist, keien, sintels, en werkers. Paardkoppen
droomden in stille, verglijdende glanzen en karren met
aardbei en groen, doofden langzaam, bij stukken uit,
in doffe zonloosheid.—

Zonnedroom, die uitdoezelde, wegnevelde, in violet

gedamp en paarse vlekken, schaduw-fantomen wierp
aan walkant, goudteer vergloorde, tusschen rag
touwwerk en masten.

Over bootsrompen, en boegrondingen, waar

kleurkopering van roeren en luikjes verbleekte; over
heel het havengeraas, waar werkersopstand in
drommen dooreen krioelde, starde al meer de vlam
van den hitte-dag, de felle daverende blinkgang van
 licht, verdampend in wazige tonaliteit, in zilverige
schemer-vegen en aarzelend blondrossig-goud.

Tusschen het al donkerder kastanje-geboomte, waar

de schemer ’t eerst in duisternis verweefde, keken de
kerels onder ’t lommer nog òp tegen den kleurzang
van zonnedag, die lang, heel lang, [121]tooverig
begloeid, in polderhemel bleef nazingen z’n wond’re
tinten. Menschen, paarden, honden en karren in
opgepropte kronkel en warrel, onder ’t duisterende
lommer kleurden nà, in de ver-affe roezemoes van ’t
stervende licht.—Allen dáár, wriemelden dooréén in
schemer-avondgoud.—Petten kleurden vaal, in al
gamma’s; kielen, jassen, schorten, donkere sjouwers
en tuinders-venters, boeren en kijkers, in één
warreldrom, loom langs elkaar verkleurend en
verkronkelend, als drasten ze voet-zwaar aan
vastzuigende havenkeien, moeras van rottend
groentenafval.—

Dirk Hassel was met Klaas Grint, z’n zoon Jan, en

Rink van den polder, tusschen ’n groep tuinders de
kroeg ingeschoffeld.—Voor hun beenen buldogde ’n
ton-buikige boer, met ’n korf kleine varkentjes onder
z’n arm gekneld, waar hooilucht uitrotte, urineachtig-
vuns. Krijschend en ronkend woelden de dieren,
scheefhangend tegen de korfbiezen op, en telkens
bonkte bullige boer, met z’n worstige handen, ’n
driftstoot op de krijscherige diersnuiten.—Achter
kroeggangers ratel-rolden, dwars door de woelende
menschenmassa, groote gele tabaksvaten, door
troepje kerels met trappen tusschen de karren en
dieren voortgebonkerd naar ’t spoor.
 Dirk was blij dat ie eindelijk zat. Al twee maal van de
haven naar de akkers geweest, extra-oplading, en nou
zou ie ’t d’r eens lekkertjes van nemen. Hij grinnekte
tegen z’n brandewijntje met suiker, dat op z’n schor-
korten roep, dadelijk gebracht was. Om ’m krioelde ’t
van klomp-klossende kerels, in stampigen gang op
knarsenden zandgrond. Lekker en poeteloerig-duizelig
snoof Dirk de jenever en bierlucht, zoetig en scherp,
en stil tegen den muur ingedrukt, ’n pijp den mond
ingebeten, sloeg ie, brandewijntje na brandewijntje
klein, mummelde wat woorden uit, tegen groenboeren
die naast ’m neersmakten, aemechtig hijgend van
zwoeg.—

Zwaar-laag dampte de kroegrook, nevelig, en rood

misterig toen gasvlam bij ’t buffet en boven biljart
àànplofte. Stil bleef Dirk zitten, roerloos in z’n hoekje,
uitspuitend pruimsop en pijpnikotine in de
spuwbakken, doodop, lekker duizelig, in de
[122]wemeling van al meer aanstommelend landvolk en
roezemoes van stemmen, achter hitterook
uitkrauwelend, tot ie doorzopen, landerig en woedend,
tegen tien uur naar huis waggelde.

[Inhoud]

III.

Om drie uur den volgenden ochtend, kwam er kort-

driftig gestommel in de duister-beluikte woonkamer
 van ouën Gerrit. Zurige zweetlucht vervunsde uit de
krottige slaapholletjes. Dirk uit ’t donker bedsteetje,
was opgesprongen, òver Piet heen, nog slaperig en
gaperig, rauw van pijn, geradbraakt van vermoeienis
en katterigheid. Branderige matheid voelde ie door z’n
lijf loomen. Driftig schouerbonkend stootte ie Piet op,
die nijdig even gromde, maar dadelijk weer insnurkte.
Dat maakte Dirk kregel en snauwender porde ie ouë
Gerrit en Guurt, dat ruw z’n korte stem,
kamerochtend-stilte doorscheurde. Wijê gapen loeide
ie koeïg door ’t vertrekje, dàn vlak tegen beschot, dàn
vóór bedsteedonker, telkens zich rekkend in
achterwaartschen lijfkronkel, armen omhoog
gerengeld en vingers verkrampt in slaapzoeten
wellust, dien hij machteloos-heerlijk door z’n lijf voelde
terugstroomen, tegen z’n luiigen lijfrek in. Langzaam
slofferde ie op z’n kousen naar buiten waar ie de
luiken van de ramen losmorrelde. Onder de pomp
beplaste hij z’n gezicht, luchtigjes met water, vies van
’t nattige dat z’n hemdsmouwen en hemdboord
beklefferde, en in branderige straaltjes tot op z’n
naakte borst afdroop.—

Guurt was gauw opgestaan.—In ’r nachtpon,

haarhang opgebonden in woesten kronkel, maakte ze
vuur op ’t achterend, drentelde rond de stellen en
zette boterhammenkoffie.—Ouë Gerrit en Piet in hun
rooie onderbroeken waggelden nog slaapdronken en
grommerig door de kamer, loom en lijzig hun
bovenkleeren aansjokkerend. Even bleef Piet hang-
zitten op z’n stoel, klepten z’n oogleden dicht, hield ie
z’n stinkende pilow, half over z’n dijen getrokken, slap
 in de slaaprige, krachtlooze knuist. Ouë Gerrit, in
schreeuw, schrikte ’m wakker. [123]

—Wà sloapmus, jai toch, gromde ie, soo’n jonkie!

Na ’n kwartiertje rondgeslenter en gedribbel,

sluipzacht op ’r kousen, had Guurt de kerels bakken
koffie en hompen brood voorgeschoven. Gretig
schuifelden de mannen hun stoelen áán,
neerblokkend met armen op tafel, hoofden gebogen
over hun dampende koffiebakken, slurpend, gaperig,
rekkend en korrelig-stil. Rond hen, walmde slaapstank
van ’t kamertje, dat al zacht volgevloeid glansde van
vreemd, gloed-stil ochtendgoud. Roodflonkerende
zonnedans koperde bliksempjes op de staartklok-
gewichten, op ’t pronkstelletje, tang-pook-schep,
onder het schuingetimmerde, versierde
hoekschoorsteentje.—

Langzaam, in bedaarde ouderwetschheid tiktakte de

klok, zacht-vlammig aangegloeid rond de gewichten.
—Guurt had ’t duifje losgedekt en daadlijk koerde z’n
kopje als van verre, droef door de kamerstilte heen,
waar alleen smakten en slurpten de wreede
werkersmonden, en de klok dreinerig ti-jik.… tàkte.…
—

Moeder Hassel lag, met opengesmakte deuren, de

kamer in te staren, bleek beslaapmutst hekserig
hoofd, op peluwgrauw, de uitgedoofde staaroogen
naar de slurpende kerels.—Ze hoorde koffie slurpen;
dàt geluid kende ze. Ze zag ’t, voelde, besnuffelde ’t,
met wilde, gesperde neusgaten.—Dàt geluid haakte
vast in ’r ooren, ’t hoofd, bleef in ’r herinnering
 leven.… Woest instinkt naar koffieslurp.—Telkens
gretig, even keek ze naar Guurt, als wist ze nu klaar,
dat ze ’t van die moest hebben. Maar de kerels hapten
door, slurpten onverschillig. Guurt klepperde nog ’n
roodaarden bord voor hen neer, waar ze weer hompen
brood op afsneed, slurpte zelf mee, gejaagd zittend op
stoelpunt, ongewasschen in blauwkorten onderrok nu.
Stil slurpte d’r mond in doorzond ochtendgoud van
kamer, ’r blond hoofd in stil aureool. Buiten, achter ’t
raam, glansden de akkers in aanbrandenden gloei van
zonnekomst.

—Nou Ouë, gromde Dirk plots, kauwend en slikkend

dat ie niet verder spreken kon eerst—aa’s ’tr nou moàr
puur om drie uur, de oarbei-boel dur stoan, an de
markt hee? daa’k [124]hullie om vaif uur an de kant hep
in de stad? kaa’k t’met nog ’n hooge markt moake..
hee?

—Sel d’r weuse.… mi sonder mekeere.… Hoho!

ho!.… Piet loait op.… en Kees goan de hoàfe
langest.…

—Hier-op-pan! aa’s Kees de hoafe opgoàn, ken ie

t’met oploaje ook.…

—Hoho! dà lief ’k nie! dà lief ’k nie.… die suupt te

veul.… die hep s’n skoenlappertjesmoandag.…
enne.… dá’!.…

—Wa’! Kees?.. Kees suipt?.… krijschte Dirk uit, ’n stuk

brood, dat ie half al in z’n mond gestopt had er weer
uithalend, met ’n web van fijne spoegdraadjes,—
f’rvloekt aa’s de fint één borrel lait! jai suinege Job!
 —Hoho! vier en vaife en nie g’nog! bars jai nie uit!..
soo vroeg in ’t morgeuur hee?.…

—Wa’.… éénmoal.. andermoal.. ikke wil dá’ Kees

oploait.. Piet hep s’n aige dood te plukke op haide.. En
denk dur om.… niks aa’s oarbaie.… Op haide voart de
boot twee keer!.… ikke goan doar.… om veur van …
om twaalf uur is t’ie d’r wair.… sel main ’n dotje weuse
op de kant!.. snof’rjenne, gain ploas om je klompe af
te trappe, waa’n klus.… ’n drukte op de boot.… sullie
dringe hoarlie aige t’met hardstikke dood.. hoagelvol!

Ouë Gerrit was opgestaan met ’n smak z’n koffiekop

op tafel neerstootend, dat vrouw Hassel in ’r bed
opschokte, iets brabbelend uitstamelde. Nog had
Guurt ’r geen leutje gebracht. Onrustig, hongerden ’r
oogen naar ’t zoete vocht, dat op stinkend
petroleumvlammetje konkelde en leuterde. Ze
besmakte ’r drooge lippen, zonder dat ze vragen
durfde, vragen kòn. Besefloos Guurt te roepen, uit
angst voor nijdigen snauw, in ban van trage dofheid,
bleef ze staren, vroeg ze toch met ’r oogen, zonder
dat iemand uit de aanlichtende kamer naar ’r omkeek.
Gerrit, handen in zakken geknuist, keek met z’n neus
op ’t raam gedrukt, naar buurman’s tuinderij, waar nu
alles groen-goud in den ochtend-tintel gloeide,
doorvonkt van dauwig druppelvuur.—Ochtendstilte, uit
paadjes en wegjes, [125]ruischte rond de
tuindershuisjes en de roode bedakingjes vlamden
licht-hel.—

Vandaag zou ie wat te plukken hebben, mijmerde

Gerrit, speelsch drukkend z’n neuspunt tegen ’t ruit,
 wiebelend op z’n hakken. Z’n rug zwoor en stak van
pijn. Maar ’t most, most nou. Hij had al dagen
achteréén onrustig zitten piekeren, dat ’r geen regen
kwam, gejaagd, nou de boel zoo droog stond. Maar
nou most ie maar doèn, doèn en niet seure.…

Met hun drieën waren de kerels over ’t erf den tuin

ingestapt. Guurt drentelde weer op ’t achterend,
spoelde en sjokte, terwijl de kamer in ruischender
glans van zonnige ochtendwarmte, sterker
aangoudde, tot op ’t slaapholletje waar vrouw Hassel
staarde, en besmakte ’r droge dorstlippen. Op de tafel
brokkelden nog broodhompen. Aarzelende glansjes
van schichtigen prismaschijn uit geslepen
spiegelrandje, kaatsten trillige vlakjes rood, goud en
groen, op twee rood-aarden doffe bordjes.

Daar stààrde ze op, vrouw Hassel, besefloos en traag,

tot ze de kleuren voor ’r oogen zag verflakkeren.—

Buiten hurkte Kees al, in pluk bij de erwten. Nog ’n uur

bleef Dirk werken op ’t land, achter de wortelen.
Eindelijk werd ’t tijd voor ’m om op te stappen naar de
haven. Nog ’n mandje pieterselie en postelijn,
schokkerde ie over den schouder en stil liep ie den
weg op naar de boot. Nou had ie zich nog puur te
haasten merkte ie, toen ie even achter ’t ruit gluurde,
hoe laat ’t was.—Kwart voor vijf. Om vijf uur precies
ging de schipper van wal.

Zwaar hijgend, z’n mandjes dobberend op z’n rug,

kwam ie snel de haven opbeenen. Maar „Tuinders
Geluk”, de boot waar hij mee voer, lag er nog rustig,
met vier andere schuiten achter d’r áán, hoog
gestapeld ’t schel-groene van kroppen, beflonkerend
aardbeirood en wortelenoranje, tegen den blauwen
luchthemel in, die diep en wijd lichtte, in strakke, fel-
heete zonnigheid al.—

Op àchter-en-voordek, stonden de groenboeren

saamgedrongen, in hun sjofele plunje, tusschen de
dreigstille punthoekende hurrie van hoog
opgestapelde kisten en mandwallen, waaruit
[126]zwavel-zoete geuren walmig verwasemden. Tot
onder den stuurstoel, stapel-brokkelden de
aardbeikisten en langs de reeling, propten,
saamgekneld, bakken, vaten, manden, zakken, dat de
kerels en vrouwen, in bochten er tegen elkaar
opgedrongen stonden. Enge doorgangetjes,
kronkelden tusschen de ladingen, waar ’t landvolk
elkaars lijf beschuurde, schreeuwerig verscharrelend
en ruilend koopwaar die ze te veel hadden. Tusschen
zakken gekneld, op manden of kisten neergestooten,
sjacherden de zwoegers, klonken òp de gesprekken,
levendig, krijscherig, overgoten van duffe
groentestanken uit de achterkajuit opwalmend, voos
en duf, zuur en ranzig. Aardbeien zoetten ’t hevigst en
weeïgst tusschen de mestige koolstanken.—Zwaar
dampte uit, in de broeierig lange boot, hageldicht
bestapeld, de stinkende kleeren der tuindersmannen
en vrouwen, de zweetlijven, wàrme walg tusschen de
gronderige stanken van ’t groen.—

Prachtig, jubel-fel schalden de hooge groentebergen

als festijnen van licht, tegen ’t doortrilde, in zon-
zwemmende lichtblauw. Daar onder, barokke wal van
kleur-woelige kisten, met donkerder groen in
 onderschepte glansdempingen. Maar hoog-
schuimend, gloeide kleurbrand van aardbeien boven
alles uit.—Versjofeld en kleurbemorst, scharrelden de
tuinders bijeen, in de vroege ochtendboot, al meer, al
méér, achter elkaar. Galm-luid, de klok van hoogen
katholieken kerktoren sloeg vijf, bevend in de wegstilte
en havenrust. Laatste bootsein van vertrek liet kapitein
zangbassen over de ochtendleege havenkaai.—Wat
karren met aardbei-aanvoer ratelhotsten kei-beukend
weer weg, wreed rumoerend door de morgenstilte.
Bas-zang van pijpen bleef seinen, als stemmegroet
van tuinders naar de verre makkers op ’t land, dat de
reis naar de stad beginnen zou. Een dekknecht van
„Tuinders Geluk”, had plankier gelicht en ingeschoven,
reeling saamgehaakt en kaptein was op z’n stuurstoel
geklommen. Statig liet ie draaien, ’t kanaal in.—Uit ’t
boothart schokkerde machinedreun òp. Achter ’m aan,
zongen pijpen van andere tuindersbooten, stemzwaar
en hevig vibreerend, dat de stille starende
ochtendlucht [127]sidderde onder ’t dreungeluid. Plots
klonk jagend geroep, onder zwaar lommerende
kastanjelaan uit, van twee groenboeren die zich
verlaat hadden en meemoesten nog met „Tuinders
Geluk”. In vlieggang holden ze langs de stille huizen,
kei en sintelpad over.

—Piet Groome en Anseeler, riepen ’n paar van de

boot, over de reeling gebukt,—hee keptain! t’rug!.…
twee van Lemmer! Hij had ’t al gezien, toeterde wat
zangerige woordjes door z’n spreekbuis naar
machinekamer, waarop boothart heviger bonkte, de
voorboeg achteruit bijdraaide, dat de kerels in
hollende vaart, rood-bezweet, nog net tusschen kisten
 en manden, over verschansing, heenklauteren
konden.—

Achter „Tuinders Geluk” lagen nog drie booten, „De

Dageraad”, „Ons Welvaren” en „Weltevreden” met
tuindersvolk van heinde en ver saamgestroomd,
ongeduldig wachtend op vertrek van de voorliggende
schuit. Ook daar stond ’t landvolk, achter en tusschen
de aardbei- en groentebakken opgepropt, ingekneld;
één donker-dreigende, sjofele kerels-stoet, vlak om ’t
koelscherm van machinekamer saamgepakt,
wegzwartend onder rookwolken van stoompijpen, die
dreun-zangerig doorbasten als duistere stem van
zwoeg, somber-smartelijk, in den fellen klaterenden
zonnegloei van polderlucht, in ’t eindeloos blauw, en
weigroen.—

Stil zoeften de booten achter elkaar áán, de kerels en

wat vrouwen, al meer opeengedrongen, donker
tusschen den frisschen jubel en stoeiende kleuren van
hun vruchten en waar. In de havenstilte, roerloos weer
na zwijg van pijpzang, verdwenen de booten één na
één onder lage spoorbrug, ’t kanaal in, dat wijd-
geplast, zilver-vonkte en dampte tusschen onmeetlijk
poldergroen. Stil druischten de kerels weg van wal, de
donkere opgepropte stoeten, in de ochtendglorie;
zittend of half hangend op en over de verschansing,
beklemd tusschen de neerbrokkeling der stinkende
kisten, als ’n bende vervuilde schooiers en
melaatschen, naarstiglijk verpakt en versjouwd, onder
den heeten jubel van hun vruchtengloed. Al de booten
waren „Tuinders Geluk” voorgedraaid. Langzaam
zoefte die eindelijk, achter [128]de andere áán, onder
 de enge spoorbrug, zacht-schuiflende pàl langs
wanden van brugbogen en pijlers.—

Dirk stond ingehurkt naast Klaas Grint, die weer

aanleunde, half tegen twee vrouwen, een lange, met
’n gore steekmuts op, de andere met ’n donker rood-
wollig kapertje over ’r hoofd gefrommeld. Vóór de
vrouwenbuiken, spannend gestrakt onder boezelaar,
hoekten kistenstapels waarachter weer ’n stoet kerels
gekneld stond.

—Tjonge.. Tjonge.. d’r’is nog puur wâ wind op de

ruimte hée?.. zei met vertrokken gezicht Klaas Grint,
naar de lucht kijkend.

—Daa’s net bromde Dirk terug.… hai jai ’n pruim

Kloas? nou he’k f’rdroaid main sak legge.… loate!.…

—Bi-jai’t Hain!.. lolde Grint, da’ sel woar wese.… roep

jai sàin d’r bai op Sint Jan hee?.… hier!.. pak-àn..
moar mondjes-moat.… oue!

„Tuinders Geluk” was ’t groote kanaal ingestoomd.

Zacht kabbelden watergeruisch en schuim-zilverende
vloedgolfjes langs de kanten. Zweef-luchtig zoefte ’t
schip voort, tusschen ’t eindelooze poldergroen,
bedauwfonkeld met vuurdroppels van trillend leven,
robijnen weerlichtjes, en vurig smaragd.… Uren ver,
verfonkelde nat goud-groen, glanzend en uitwebbend
kleurige hette. Heerlijk frissche windbries stoeide
luchtzuiverend om de boot, de voosduffe geuren en
stank-wasem wegflapperend, ’t koele waterruim in. ’n
Troep tuinders was achter de pijp geklommen, op
zwarten kop van machinescherm, waar ze luiig
neerhurkten in zonnegloei, of schuin opstonden achter
den rooker, koppen fel omlijnd tegen luchtjubelblauw.
Er was drukke stemmenhurrie onder ’t landvolk,
gesnater en gelach tegen vrouwen, en overal
brandende lust om van landgescharrel, marktwaar en
prijzen te spreken. ’n Paar tuinders met fluweelig
pilow-zwarte vesten en dof-zijden pofpetten,
trommelden met hun gekleurde pantoffels, op ’t
verhitte plaatdek van machinekamer, ’n orgeldeun
meelallend. Plots de bootbode, kerel met
roodgezwollen snuit, akteurskaal en voor-den-
gekhouerigen, paarsen drinkebroersneus, werkte zich
los uit [129]stemmenroezemoes en scharrel van
opgepropte tuinderstroep.—Z’n blauwig-glad
geschoren komiekenkop grinnikte leukjes tegen z’n
volkje en grimassig sprong ie op ’t veilbankje, hoog
boven woel-massa uit, grabbelend in guitig steel-
gebaar, met z’n hand in ’n grauwen zak.—Tegenover
hem, op zon-doorhit koelscherm, zat luiig ingedoken
tegen de pijp, ’n kerel met notitie-boekje, klaar om te
schrijven. Bootbode, die onder reis van Wiereland
naar groote stad, te veel waar van tuinders-zelf in
veiling moest brengen, bleef rammelen in z’n zak,
lolde wat tegen de kerels onder ’m, dat z’n
roodfrissche wangen bolschaterden, sterker zwollen,
z’n blanke tanden uitwitten onder z’n bieteneus en
tusschen plaatjes-mooie helrooie lippen, hagelrein.
Hard en stalig klonk z’n stem, toch vol, met ’n galm er
in, als nadreun van klokgelui. Telkens uit den zak,
vischte ie ’n blikken nummertje op, afroepend wie d’r ’t
eerst veilen zou. Zoo regelde hij de beurten, schreef
z’n maat, tegen de pijp, in kookzon luiig weggedoken,
namen van veilers op.—
—Wie mot ’r ’n nommer?.… Gijs Janse! Kaike?.. daa’s
vaiftien, klonk hard-galmend z’n stem door den koelen
bries-stoei, klank-zangerig Wierelandsch.

—Bekermaa’n.… achttien?.… Grint.… drie en veertig!

Hassel.… ses-en-dertig!.…

—Main d’rook ain!.. riep ’n tuinder uit achtergroepje,

die nog wat kwijt wou wezen, hopend op ’n begin-
nummer, om ’t eerst te kunnen veilen.

—Vaif-en-veertig!.. Nailis Roskam.… hee! „netoàris”…

Roskam!—lachte de Bode, lolligjes met oolijken
oogenknik naar den „schrijver-notaris”, die luiiger
weggedoken lag achter de pijp.

—Logge megoggie! nou ka je wachte, gromde de

pachter, woest dat ie zoo’n laat nummer beet had.
Nou was ie zoo heet geweest op ’n begin-blikkie.—
Stem van Bode bleef afgalmen de nummers met veil-
namen, en telkens lacherig, uitblankend z’n tanden,
bloed-rooie lippenmond wijd open, kraaide ie
schooirige grapjes uit, strooide ie schalksheidjes en
hekelwoordjes boven hun hoofden rond, omgierd van
terugkonkelende [130]stemmen en giegelende
kreetpretjes. Telkens klauterden andere kerels op en
af ’t machinescherm, naast en tegen de pijp
lawaaiend, rond den „notaris”, die overal spottend om
z’n eeretitel beschaterd werd. Van hun hooge
standplaats schreeuwden ze mee, boden, kochten en
verscharrelden, de koppen, warm en zweetbedropen,
paarsig en brons-nat, rood en geel-grauw aangegloeid
in zonnebrand. Van achterdek af was alles plots naar
voren gedrongen om vlak bij Bode te staan. Op kisten,
morsige vaten, walm-stinkende manden en zakbulten,
hingen en hurkten de kerels, in struikel en klauter,
achter elkaar opgepropt.

De achtersten, ver van den Bode, loerden tusschen

schoudergeultjes van vóórstaanden, in drom
saamgestrompeld, heet op den scharrel.

—Veertig! vrouw Plenk.… dreunde Bodestem.… vaif..

vrouw Boterblom.… naigtien.… mamselle Kiester.…
sestien.… vrouw Zeune!.…

Eindelijk had ieder z’n nummer, kon de veiling

beginnen. Zacht briesden en woei-koelden luchtige
windscheringen over ’t smoezelige, walm-stankige
dek, als ging er tochtige wiekslag van vliegende
vogels rond. Recht voor den boeg, sprankelden
waterglanzige sparteltjes licht, violet-zilverig, paars-
goud, kabbel-deinend hemelblauw-vuur, dat in
schuimig golfjes-spel zich heet verbraste in damp.
Tusschen de fel-groen bezonde ochtend-oevers,
komde in eindloozen kring, ’t vlakke zonnignevelende
polderland, in vochtige ochtendpracht. En overal
rondgekringd, goudden de lage hooi-schelfjes,
tusschen siddergroei van korenhalmen, brokken
weiland, ontsluierd uit morgennevel, uit nat-dampig
goud en zilverende gloeiingen. Schitterig flitste ’t
dauw-vuur, dat mijlen ver, weiland aan weiland in
arabesk vonkspel omtooverde.

Bode op z’n bank, hoog boven de opgepropte tuinders

uit, al dichter op één punt van de boot
bijeengedrongen, klankte met z’n jolige, rauw-heldere
spotstem in: