After dinner, coming upstairs to hang the laundry, Lisette found Jeroen with his nose pressed firmly against the window in the spare room. He looked at the façade and part of the pavement in front of his former home with relentless attention. It looked like he wasn't even breathing.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Lisette in a whisper, peering over his shoulder through the immaculately clean tiny windows, which, if Hidde was to be believed, were over a hundred years old.
‘Seven,’ Jeroen replied, not taking his eyes off the window.
‘Excuse me?’
‘There are a total of seven people there now: Gertrude Jansen, Owl, Anna, Mr vicar, the twins, and Margriet.’
‘And the dog.’
‘Yes, and that dog too. It's bedtime already, what are they all doing there?’
‘I don't know... Helping the old lady?’
‘I beg you... Has Hidde already looked downstairs?’
‘Yes. Candlelight indeed. None of the lamps are lit.’
‘Orchids?’
‘Only on the south side. Full windowsills.’
Lisette and Jeroen stared at each other.
‘What does it all mean?’ asked Lisette, crumpling a freshly washed and lily-scented pillowcase in her hands with excitement.
‘I have no idea. But one thing is for sure, something is not right here.’
‘What should we do?’
‘Stay calm. Pretend nothing is going on, as if we don't know about anything.’
‘Jeroen, what do we know then?’
‘I will definitely find out. I'll give a shout if anything changes. Are the children home yet?’
Lisette nodded in agreement.
‘Keep them inside. Because you never know... I'll stay here for a while.’
In response to his apprehension, another palpable thud sounded from behind the wall, accompanied by the hasty stamping of several pairs of feet.
‘Are you all right?’ called Hidde from downstairs. ’Need any help?’
‘Go,’ Jeroen gently nudged Lisette towards the door. ’And remember - pretend nothing is going on: watch TV, play with the kids. I'll do the laundry. And the rest,' he raised a finger in a conspiratorial manner in the direction of the restless neighbours.
‘I think you're exaggerating,’ Lisette said with doubt in her voice. ’This lady is old, she knows a lot of people. It's understandable that they all haven't seen each other for a long time. Perhaps it is their tradition to drink tea with honey by candlelight? You saw for yourself how Owl dragged honey into the house’.
At that moment, another mysterious thump sounded, as if someone had dropped a giant sack of flour, followed by a long, melodious tone, like the sound of a horn. The sound was very beautiful, but at the same time menacing and alarming, like a signal for the inevitable battle. Lisette let out a cry and rushed downstairs. Jeroen returned to his observation post behind the floral-patterned pink curtains and stared grimly at the rectangle of mysterious candlelight falling onto the street from behind the windows. But no matter how hard he strained his eyes, no one had come out of number thirteen that night. At least not through the door...
***
‘Bloody hell!’ came a sudden cry in the middle of the night under the starry sky above Bird Island. ‘I hate it!’
This was followed by a disordered splashing of water, as if there was a walrus struggling with gravity to work its way to the shore. The only difference was that this walrus, first, had glasses on its nose, and, second, cursed without stop and shivered with cold.
‘Kobe, shut up,’ the second voice added, laughing. ‘It's not that cold.’
‘Easily said,’ the first voice continued snarling. ’You are an elf, after all.’
‘A fae,’ the second voice corrected him, accompanied by almost musical tinkling of drops falling into the water.
‘And what exactly is the difference? And please stop splashing, or I'll freeze to death’.
‘Shame on you,’ snorted the second voice. ’As a whisperer, you should know about such things.’
‘Aaah! One more splash, Margriet, and I'm going back!’
‘You chose those orchids yourself - don't whine now. A little fresh water is no great prize for this little crassness, don't you think?’ there were sudden metallic tones in the second voice.
‘Come on, Margriet, we're all doing our best.’
Kobe the Owl shuffled off his feet in disgust and waddled out of the water to a dry spot covered with grass that had yet to turn yellow.
‘Cees said nature is a little backward this year,’ he said.
He changed the subject and looked about the place. There was such perfect silence all around that he could clearly hear the mysterious murmur of the sea from behind the dike. The Pluimpot lived its hidden life, shrouded among the dense trees, tall grasses, and soft bird feathers. Here and there the cries of night fowls sounded. Kobe listened, trying to discern those so familiar to him. Quiet, like a fox on the hunt, Margriet also emerged from the water that shone like a black mirror behind her and threw back her wet hair.
‘And suppose you should dive in January,’ she said with mock surprise. ‘My friend, you'd better harden up.’
To this, Kobe did not reply. He threw a waterproof bag containing a towel and dry clothes on the ground and started changing.
‘I hope there is no one around,’ he shared his displeasure as the pause lingered.
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Margriet snorted in contempt.
‘As if anyone would believe their eyes if they saw two people appear out of nowhere. At worst, they would think we are divers’.
‘Yes, and one of them is a naturist. Aren't you feeling any shame?’
‘For what?’ asked Margriet with feigned bewilderment in her voice, stretching out her naked body, which was still wet from her recent cold bath.
‘For standing here in front of me, for example?’
‘Kobe, of all the men in the world, I am least embarrassed by you. Besides, I don't need to change my clothes thirty times. Are we going or not?’
‘Yes, let's get started already.’
The odd pair silently went deeper into the forest. At the start of the path, they split up and disappeared into the dark thicket, breathing in the rising mist like disembodied spirits. The usual squabbling with Margriet put Kobe in an expectedly good mood. With wakeful attention, he slipped among the trees, noting new details. Here an old poplar tree had fallen over, there a beautiful witch's ring, whitish in the dark, had appeared, and here a young sea eagle had chosen a spot for its future nest...
Kobe beamed. Birds were his secret. First and foremost the big predators, in whose fate he was most interested. He stretched his lips into a narrow slit and made the soft, tender sound a mother sea eagle would make during a long, devoted brood. The young eagle moved in its sleep and his beak relaxed. Even the hunger that often accompanied him, as with all of his kind, had temporarily subsided, replaced by a feeling of warm blissful satiety. Kobe stood still for a moment. Closing his eyes, he listened with pleasure to the sounds of the night. Everything sounded right. Everything sounded as it should. At least for now... He opened his eyes again and let out the call of an owl, recognisable to whoever it was meant for.
A few minutes passed and Kobe was about to repeat the signal when a large dark shadow landed on his shoulder without any sound. Kobe was glad he had not listened to Margriet and brought dry clothes, especially a thick warm shirt with recognisable bits of rough leather on the shoulders... A silent dialogue followed.
‘You haven't been for a while.’
‘Different things... Things have changed, things are taking a new turn.’
‘I've heard that’.
‘From whom?’
‘ Sea eagles...’ The eagle owl made a disdainful sound.
‘I spotted the newcomer,’ the notary added after a long pause.
The eagle owl put on its feathers.
‘Do you want sausage?’ asked Kobe conciliatingly.
He took out a metal sandwich box from his bag and offered it to his companion. When the owl finished the treat, a request followed. The eagle owl blinked its large as two full moons round eyes and flew away. In no hurry, Kobe set off along the barely visible flickering trail in the sky to anyone but him. He sunk into his memories.
It had been more than thirty years since he and the bird met. Almost a lifetime for an owl. The first time the young future notary saw him, he was still an owlet. A very heavy owlet, though. When he fell on Kobe's head, it was a palpable blow. It took them both a while to recover. The bicycle lay forgotten in the ditch for a long time, while its owner suddenly found out something new about himself. For instance, that he could talk to an owl. And not just to an owl. The crying of all predatory birds soon became as clear to him as human speech....At first he thought he was going insane, or had a concussion, but then he met someone. Someone who could answer his questions. That was more than thirty years ago, say. His eagle owl was getting old... Kobe sighed and quickened his steps in search of Margriet.
With a satisfied glint in her eyes, the fae stood under a tall and heavily branched alder, resting her hand on the lichen-covered grey bark. With her bare feet, she felt the movement of moisture and nourishing juices in the soil, a wide network of countless roots and invisible spores. She felt life filling the thick trunk and flowing confidently on to the branches, leaves and graceful ball of an uninvited guest. Both were still young and strong and formed an inseparable harmonious union with the black and cold night.
Margriet gazed dreamily through the beautiful ligature of branches, still covered with foliage, when something caught her attention. Between three of those branches, woven together with elder growing next to them, was a huge spiders' web. Silvery in the moonlight, it was completely covered with crystal moisture droplets that sparkled like tiny diamonds. The web stirred, as if on waves, and the outline of a familiar face appeared.
‘Hello, Margriet,’ the ghostly lips spoke out and smiled.
Margriet smiled back.
‘Hello Wilhelmina, long time no see.’
‘You know, you can always come by for a cup of coffee,’ the web replied.
‘You're just not always home,’ Margriet parried. ’You're on holiday more often than any of us. Where are you now?’
‘Home, darling, just home.... And what are you doing in the forest?’
‘Looking for a solution. Our good old friend has gone completely mad.’
‘Speaking of which. Will you tell Kobe to send his boys to me? I could use some help.’
‘Of course. But when will you come yourself?’
‘Soon. As soon as everything is ready.’
She was silent for a moment, listening to the night.
‘It's what we assumed, right?’ asked the round cheerful face, sparkling in the spider masterpiece.
‘The worst-case scenario, yes.’
For another moment, the enigmatic face bobbed on its translucent canvas, then it rippled again. There was nothing more than a beautiful cobweb stretched between the branches. Margriet raised her head, examining her find closely.
‘There you are!’ Kobe the Owl emerged from the thorny thicket and looked curiously at the alder. ‘Found it?’
‘I was talking to Wilhelmina,’ Margriet said instead of answering.
‘Surprise,’ Kobe looked around. ‘When is she coming? ’
‘As soon as she can. And she needs your ossaarts.’
‘Guys? I'm really starting to become unmissable, ladies,' he coughed, meeting Margriet's critical gaze. ’Fine. I'll send them. Anything else exciting?’
‘You'll see in a moment. Where is your...?’
‘Whoo! Whhooo!' sounded abruptly from above.
A vivid black shadow descended with grace on the notary's shoulder. Both, the owl and Kobe, looked at Margriet with a sense of superiority.
‘Circus men,’ she gave the owl a bow and shrugged. ‘Would your relative be so kind as to remove that mistletoe from the top? It must not touch the ground’.
‘I know,’ Kobe exchanged meaningful glances with the owl.
After a brief silent deliberation, the bird took off and disappeared under the gloomy vaults of the alder branches. Immediately afterwards, moss, bits of bark and small twigs scattered down, betraying the concentrated work of powerful claws and beak.
‘Bag!’ commanded Margriet impatiently.
‘Here, love,’ Kobe held out the requirement. ‘You know, you're starting to look like a medieval witch. Naked in the forest, looking for mistletoe.’
‘Kobe, shut up,’ the fae looked at him annoyed. ‘You read too many children's fairy tales. You brought me half-dead epiphytes yourself. It takes life to bring them back to life’.
‘And this is your scientific approach?’
‘Here!’ exclaimed Margriet, quickly opening the wide waterproof bag to catch the nearly perfect sphere of mistletoe covered in white berries. ‘ I've got it!’
Her eyes glowed with a supernatural green flame, her cheeks were scarlet with excitement and her naked figure, bathed in starlight and fresh salty air, radiated an incredible power. One that resembled the strength of a free-growing tree rooted deep into the earth. Looking at her now, no one would have recognised her as a flesh-and-blood human being. She was now what she had always been - a fae, the child of plants, mosses and dragonflies.
For some time, Kobe admired the swiftness, the aesthetic precision of her movements as she closed the bag and pressed it against her chest, as if the vicious night air could damage her treasure. That excitement of contact with one's element was not unknown to him, though he could never experience it so intensely. But that was no bad thing; after all, he was only human. One of the few in the mysterious carefully hidden world of magical beings, with whom they formed a very unusual and effective team.
‘A beauty!’ cried Margriet, as she quickly calmed down and became like a normal earthly woman again. ‘Let’s go back now, we can't wait long.’
Kobe nodded. Followed by a satisfied owl cry, they hurried to the water.
‘According to the brambles, the ground becomes brackish,’ Margriet shared as they walked. ‘And the poplars choke sometimes. The air becomes deoxygenated, at night as a rule. You?’
‘Everything is quiet. Too quiet actually. The birds seem to be going to sleep more. It's like it's winter already’.
‘So they're getting closer,’ concluded Margriet.
‘Closer they probably can't,’ grumbled Kobe. ’Oh no, not again!’
He got going too fast and suddenly found himself knee-deep in water.
‘Kobe, come on. You're not going to put on your swimming trunks again, are you?’ the fae snapped at him.
Without any hesitation, she stepped into the water herself and plunged utterly silent into the cold darkness. Groaning and shuddering with all his body, Kobe followed her. The waves after his noisy splash flowed through the water for a while longer, disturbing and waking the waterfowl. The young sea eagle, woken by the croaking of a duck, opened his eyes, saw that it was still dark and fell asleep again...