Lost World of the Wends (54)
The maiden, Amie’s eyes grew as wide as dinner plates.
How did she get up here? The doctor pondered. Perhaps Herr Roach was right. Perhaps. But witches? Nein, he didn’t believe that. And using a little magic box that captured their image and then killed people? Definitely not. The first time he heard of a magic box doing such a thing. All superstition.
Dr Zwar recalled the travelling circus—they had a man with a magic box there. Cost a few Pfennigs, but he made pictures on the spot in his wagon. All Science. Chemicals reacting with light made the image, but not magic. Did Roach think we are stupid primitives who believe in the supernatural? The doctor was sure Boris’ magic resulted from science too. So many advancements had taken place since the Renaissance…and if these two young people came from a future time or place, what’s to say the silver magic box wasn’t just advanced science? And the girl standing here? What’s to say she didn’t use some advanced physical science to climb two storeys to gain entry?
‘Bitte! Bitte!’ Amie pleaded. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’
Zwar raised his hand. ‘I won’t.’
She backed against the wardrobe.
‘Believe me.’ Naturally he wouldn’t harm her. A pretty looking fraulein like her? If he was just ten years younger…then again what’s age got to do with it? Widower Weiss wed a maiden twenty years his junior. When he was still a pastor, Zwar had married them. They looked happy—especially Weiss.
Zwar smiled. Besides, I’m quite a catch, I’m a doctor, now, with a big house and an auto, after all. What more could a maiden want?
He stepped toward Amie.
As if reading his thoughts, Amie slid sideways to the corner of the room.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ the doctor said. ‘I want to help you.’
She shook her head.
‘Don’t be afraid.’ Zwar took another step.
Amie gestured, pointing, then clutching her neck.
Is she crazy?
The back of Zwar’s neck prickled with heat. Warm air flowed down the top of his back bone. He switched his head around. ‘What are you doing here still?’
Joseph towered above him. The young man’s clothes clung to him, and his hair dripped water onto the Persian rug.
Doctor Zwar sighed. Maybe he wouldn’t have a chance with Amie, after all.
© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2018
Feature photo-creation: Photo premonition © L.M. Kling 2018