© Anna-Karin 2001
Springtime in Sleepy Hollow was very much like springtimes in the other places the Hessian had been to. Tiny green leaves on the trees, birdsong and cherryblossoms. Ichabod sitting outside his house with his face turned to the sun. Everything growing anew.
And the Hessian was the only one who did not fit into this picture of springtime joy.
Like now for example. He was taking a morning ride through the woods. Daredevil did not clash with this season, he was just a horse, but his rider did. Black clothes, ragged cloak and pale skin just was not what one should wear for the season. But he had no other clothes. And no other looks.
He was a dead man in a world that was celebrating life.
Ichabod sat on a bench in the little garden behind his house. The sun was warm and nice, and that felt good after the winter. It was april after all, soon to be may.
He was thinking about what Georg had said earlier that day; about not fitting in. From what he had gathered of the bits and pieces of the Hessian's past that he had heard, and observed, Georg wanted to fit in but on his own terms. He wanted to fit in but not to be de-fanged. One difficult balance that was.
Ichabod knew everything about not fitting in. Being a gawky boy in a school where physical sports were the only thing that counted among his fellow students had made sure of that. Not to mention that his father had been a famous preacher, which made for a few jeers and some pranks from the more cruel ones.
They had been together for a year now, the ghost gamekeeper and the notary. And a good year that had been too. No killings, no awkward circumstances regarding wills or anything else. Just life going on, as it always had. That had left Ichabod and Georg plenty of time to get used to the everyday business of being a couple. In secret though. One could guess what the villagers would think of the infamous Hessian Horseman and the Notary's relationship, once they found out.
It was so good just sitting out here in the light. Too bad Georg did not see things that way. Last spring the Hessian had actually been away between april and august. All Ichabod had heard from him was a few short messages delivered by a talking raven named Jessamyn.
Jessamyn, by the way, had a part in the story Georg finally had told Ichabod, on their first Valentine day together.
'It is hard to put words around something one never had the need to even think about before', Georg had said. 'When I died I thought that it was the end of me, of Isegrim, of Georg Aschenbach. That little girl who broke that dry twig had killed me. The fight with those soldiers was just a formality to me. I was dead.
I thought that I was going somewhere, most probably to Hell, but then I didn't go anywhere.
Have you ever wondered what it might be like to be a winter coat, Ichabod; hung away over the summer, to be used the next winter. That was what it was like. Somehow I was trapped. I could not go anywhere.
I could feel the years pass as I was held, or trapped inside that space between Heaven, Earth and Hell. I could feel the flesh on my bones turn into dust, and mud.
Now when I think back on it, I understand that I was kept inside the Tree, with my body buried beside it. It is still confusing to me, but I think there might be words invented for that someday.
When my skull was taken from my grave, I knew *she* would have total control over me. And then lady Van Tassel sent me out for the Van Garrets, then for Masbeth, Phillipse, the Killians, then for Mr. Van tassel, for miss Van Tassel.
I hated being a puppet doll, a marionette, with her pulling the strings. I never liked the idea of working for nothing. She said that if I did what she told me to do, then I would get my skull back. She would return my freedom back to me and I could go anywhere I wanted to. She said that would be my payment. I considered it blackmail. She had taken something that was mine from me, she would return it if I did as she said. That qualifies her actions as blackmail.
I don't regret killing Mr. Van Brunt though. He could not take a piece of good advice and attacked me even when I left him alone. He only have himself to blame. No Ichabod, I don't where he is. I think he passed on when I killed him. He's not among the ghosts at the graveyard, even though he is buried there. And I haven't seen him anywhere else either.
When you showed up on the stage, I had no hope of you being able to figure out what was going on. Then you did exactly that, and returned my skull back to me. I was amazed at that. Really.
The regenerating hurt. It hadn't hurt that much when my flesh rotted, but this hurt. And then it was over. The pain was just a memory, a reminder, like the sound that stays in the air after you've beaten the drum. And then I saw the world with my own eyes. Really saw.
And the first thing I saw was snow. Just like when I died. Felt a bit disappointed about that. Then I turned around and saw you.
It was the first time I saw you with my own eyes. Before that, I had only felt the presence of people. That had been a bit like standing in a dark room seeing only shadows of the people around me. I had felt their presence more than seeing them, and I had managed to hit the target every time.
You were the most beautiful thing I've seen since Oleg died.
Then I saw you hide behind miss Van Tassel, and I knew that I would never be able to tell you that. Looking like I do makes anything nice and tender I say seem like a cruel joke.
Then Daredevil came and and reminded me of the more urgent businesses.
When I had lifted up lady Van Tassel, I decided to get even. I had picked up from her stray thoughts that she was proud of her perfect skin. I made sure her skin was not so perfect anymore by kissing her.
You saw how I did.
She had killed me, used me and blackmailed me into killing people for no payment at all. It simply was time for her to get hurt.
Then I rode into the Tree and down to Hell.
(The Hessian; continued)
"On the way to Hell we were followed by a raven who told me it had been sent out to lead me right. When I asked its name, and how it came it could speak with human tongue, it answered:
'My name is Jessamy, and I'm in service of the Lord of the Dreaming.'
I was happy just to have someone to guide me right even if it was just a bird. Lady Van Tassel was of no help at all.
Either she screamed hysterically trying to get out of my arms, or she was totally still, and just whimpered or mumbled words I could not make any sense of. I was probably as nervous as she was about going to hell, but at least I did not show it.
It was good to have a guide because the Nowhere, that area, or space, that lies between the worlds was very very wide. It's easy to go in the wrong direction if you don't know where you're going.
Soon enough we were at the gates of Hell.
The gatekeeper seemed to recognize lady Van Tassel, and said something about the fulfilling of an agreement. Then it ( I couldn't figure out if it was a he or a she ) told me that I was to stand as a witness in the trial that had been awaiting the lady for some time. When I asked why there was to be a trial, Jessamy told me that it was because it had to be carefully decided where in Hell she was destined to be. Most trials go very quickly, while others take ages.
I was lead by the raven and one of the other guards to a huge hall, which had been made into a courtroom. The judge was sitting on a throne. He had a crown on his head and a mallet in his hand. He was dressed in a robe that seemed to be made out of blood.
There were other people there too. Bird-headed men, girls with scorpion bodies. Lots of other strange creatures like that. But also persons (I couldn't see if they were male or female) so beautiful I had a hard time keeping my eyes off them.
Lady van Tassel was sitting on the floor in front of the throne. I was told to stand about ten feet away from her. No, I don't know why.
Then the judge spoke to me, and his voice was like thunder.
'Witness, what is your name?'
'Georg Aschenbach.'
'You know why you are here?'
'Yes.'
The judge turned to her, lady van Tassel.
'Jane Archer, also known as Jane van Tassel; you have signed away your soul to gain possession of this man, to use as a weapon in your revenge against those who evicted you and your family.'
'Yes', she whispered.
'Your soul is therefore bound to Hell, by your own consent.'
'Yes.'
'Since you are deemed guilty already, this trial is to determine your place in Hell. Do you understand?'
'Yes.'
The trial went on, with me as the principal witness. I was asked questions, she was asked questions, and we both answered as well as we could.
In the end she was sentenced to the part of hell known as Therapy. No, I do not know what that is. Jessamy said it was much like Purgatory, without the flames, but with people asking you questions over and over again.
Apparently, that's quite painful.
Jane van Tassel was escorted out of the courtroom, and then it was my turn to stand trial. At least that was what I thought.
But the judge just said that there were a few people who wanted to see me. He mentioned names that held no meaning for me. The lord Morpheus, lord Auberon and lady Tatiana.
The Lord Morpheus is a very pale man, paler than me, and with black holes where there should be eyes, though one can see something sparkle in them, a bit like stars on a night sky.
It was he who spoke to me. His voice was like the ones one hear sometimes in the back of your head in the morning, just before you've woken up completely.
'I wish to employ you as my agent in some of the affairs that concerns the Waking World, your world', he said.
My instincts kicked in.
'What will I be paid?'
'A place of your own, and the freedom to go anywhere you want, under my protection of course.'
'As long as I don't abuse this protection.'
'Exactly.'
I agreed and signed a contract where I was given this realm where I live now as my pay. It's actually a part of the Dreaming that has been closed off for me and it has its own gateway to the other worlds.
Lord Auberon, the ruler of Faerie, was also employing me, as a guardian for the Tree of the Dead.
I am to make sure that no one will try and enter the Faerie. My payment for that is the ability to come and go as I please in the Twilight Realms. That's a position I'll keep for as long as the Tree stands. It will end on the day the Tree has rotten away. But I'll keep the payment.
As far as I know, lady van Tassel is still in Hell. And she can stay there for all I care.
Then I returned to this world, our world.
It took me a whole year to put words around what had happened to me, a whole year. I did what I was paid to do, and spent the rest of my time trying to get the ghosts to understand that *I* had not killed them of my own free will. That it had been lady van Tassel who had *used* me to kill them.
I also thought a lot about my past, of things I had forgotten. Those memories were like pieces in a puzzle, and they finally began to form a whole picture. I remembered Ermengarde and her stories, Mother and her attitude towards priests and churches, and all other things I had not been able to recall for so many years.
And then you came back to Sleepy Hollow."
Author's note:The raven Jessamy, was borrowed from Sandman issue #28, the one named Thermidor. She was used without the consent of Neil Gaiman, the creator of Sandman.
Ichabod rose from his bench. It was almost noon, and that meant lunch. Not that he was very hungry, but he did feel like eating something light.
Bread, cheese and a slice of that cold roast beef his housekeeper had made for dinner a couple of evenings ago. A decent lunch, washed down with some cold water. Had he still lived in town Ichabod would have called this frugal, but now he just enjoyed the food.
While he ate he pondered the question of how to make the Hessian stay for the whole summer instead of just leaving for a while as he had done last year.
Suddenly it came to him.
New clothes!
Georg had once told him that he had never been to a tailor. Instead he had seen battlefields as perfect opportunities to find new clothes. Of course they were still on their previous owners, but the owners were dead, and a pair of perfectly good trousers would just be wasted on them. Ichabod had felt a bit nauseous at that.
'A visit to the tailor in Tarrytown to get Georg a new wardrobe. Why not', thought Ichabod. Georg could afford it. He was paid to keep an eye on the woods for Katerina, and he had not spent a single coin of those money.
And the tailor would be able to make clothes that fit Georg's style as well as the current trends. Something timeless.
And new clothes always put people in a better mood.
New clothes would also make him able to walk through the village without people recalling that episode called 'The Church Battle' and wanting to get even.
Ichabod began to ponder how to sell this idea to Georg. He hummed a happy little tune to fit this glorious spring day.
The two men, the mercenary and the notary lay together in bed enjoying the afterglow that came after they had made love. Georg loved this moment, this peace after the storm. Ichabod lay curled up against his lover and pondered if this was the right moment to stat discussing new clothes. Then he decided that it was indeed so, and rose on his side to talk.
"I've been thinking, Georg", said Ichabod.
"Yes?"
"You need new clothes."
"Ichabod, I do not need new clothes."
"Yes, you do."
"No."
Ichabod sat up.
"Then what are you going to use those money for?"
That made Georg frown a bit.
"Well", he said after a moment of silence, "food, if I were still alive. Oh, I don't know."
"Then use those money to get new clothes. New clothes always put people in a better mood."
Georg pondered this for a while, then shrugged and gave in.
"Alright. New clothes then. Bur nothing frilly or macaronish or foppish."
Ichabod smiled.
"You have my word. Black, red and charcoal gray. And as plain as possible."
"Not too plain though. I do not want to look like a priest."
"But like a gentleman, right."
"No."
"What?"
"Most gentlemen I've ever seen were fops, at least to me."
"Then they weren't real gentlemen. Real gentlemen have a restrained and elegant style."
"Whatever you say."
"Mr. Aschenbach, would you mind standing still. I really need to take those measurements of your legs", said Mr. Schneider, the best tailor in Tarrytown.
"Why?" said his new client, a tall man with pale skin and hair that seemed totally out of control. The clothes currently worn by this man were old, and Mr. Schneider swore they were somehow sentient. But this person had a wallet with cash, which he had shown to the tailor and said that he wanted a wardrobe in a restrained and elegant style, so the tailor did not say a word about that.
"So that the trousers will be of a perfect fit", the tailor said with an exasperated sigh.
Ichabod looked on while Georg made himself any tailors nightmare. It had taken some time to convince Georg that one did not have to wear the cloak and the leather harness to the tailor. It was a bit strange to see Georg in only that plain coat and those plain trousers when one was used to seeing him in full battle regalia.
Once all the measurements had been scribbled down on a piece of paper, it was time to select the fabrics. Mr. Schneider was told to bring down only the black and dark gray textiles from the shelves. Together Ichabod and Georg discussed which fabrics that were suitable to which clothes.
"You do need one set of Sunday clothes," Ichabod said, "and two sets of everyday clothes. And two waistcoats for the Sunday set, one for funerals and one for celebrations."
"I cant go to funerals, unless they are held outside graveyards."
"You can stand near the fence and look as if you're shy."
"I'm not shy."
"I know, but do anyone else know?"
In the end they agreed on a black satin fabric with thin red stripes for the festive waistcoat, and a plain black fabric for the more solemn ones.
The selection of textiles for the other clothes took a long time, but by the end of the day they had selected the fabrics, and placed an huge order. The tailor was overjoyed at having been paid at once. Normally his customers asked for credit and then failed to pay unless threatened with a lawsuit.
His customer was asked to come back in a week for a fitting before the clothes were to be finished. And the tailor hoped that that nice young man would come too, since apparently his presence was the only thing standing between the tailor and the temper of his customer.
It was one month later. They had picked up Georg's new clothes at Mr. Schneider's shop. Now they were at Ichabod's place and The Hessian was picking a bit nervously at the bundle.
"What if they look silly now, when they looked so good at the tailor's?"
"Just put them on. I want to see what you look like in them."
"All right."
Georg began to take of his old clothes and to put on the new ones.
"Dear Mr. Crane!
It has been a while since you wrote to me, I know that, but I have been so awfully busy. You can't imagine how much I has to work on my reputation as a lady of the world. I must go on visits to the most important profiles of the high society, and I must always have a chaperone with me since I'm not married yet.
Yes, there have been offers, but none of the men in question have been interested in more than my money. I want a husband who'll respect me, nor for my fortune but for who I am. Someone who can give me as much as I can give him. I have thought the matter through, and I do not want passion, because that can go wrong one the first glow have worn off, I want something that's lasting. A man who is not afraid of my powers, and who can see past my money, and my looks, and who'll love me. That's what I want
It doesn't have to be love, but if it evolved into that it would be so good.
I am so jealous of the relationship you have with Mr. Aschenbach. I laughed out loud when you described what it was like at the tailor's. He does have a short temper, but is good for you. I have noticed that you are less inclined to faint at the drop of a hat these days. Among other things.
On an other note: I have now commissioned my portrait, to be painted by an artist from France. He is not really a Frenchman, he is apparently German but have lived in France for many, many years. He fled from Paris after the French revolution with his family. His name may sound familiar to you: Claus Aschenbach.
I am going to visit him to-morrow for the first time. I've heard that he is nice and likes to tell of Paris before the revolution.
Sincerely yours
Katerina Van Tassel
P.S Masbath sends his regards and says that he will send you a letter in a few days. He is working hard, but is paid well, I made sure of that last time I met his uncle, Mr. Bridge."
-<--<--<--@
"Dear Miss Van Tassel
It was good to hear from you.
I must tell you that I have heard this Claus Aschenbach's name mentioned only once, in a dream I had two winters ago.
In this dream I'm standing on a beach. It is summer but the world is grey. The sea is grey too. I meet and talk to five children. One of them is Georg Aschenbach, but as a seven year old boy. He told me that his parents had died, leaving him and his sisters in the care of someone who apparently killed two of the girls, the oldest, Ermengarde, and the youngest, Karolina. He also mentioned that his brothers, Albrecht and Claus, came to Ermengarde's funeral and decided to take the surviving kids away from this murderer.
Can you find out if my dream were true, and what happened to Georg. He won't tell me, and thinks that his family is his own business. I've told him everything about mine though.
Sincerely yours
Ichabod Crane
PS: It's good of you to take care of Masbeth."
-<--<--<--@
"Dear Mr. Crane!
Thank you for telling me of your dream.
I am still trying to put my mind around the fact that someone like our mutual friend can have one brother who is an artist, and one who is a writer. Somehow that doesn't go with the image that I have of our mutual friend.
But I must tell from the beginning, or else this letter will make very little sense.
I went to the study of Claus Aschenbach. It is on the first floor of a three-storey house. a girl, maybe ten years, opened the door, and led me to the study, where Mr. Aschenbach was waiting for me.
I asked the girl's name. She told me that it was Libertée, and that I was not to laugh. She also told me that Mr. Aschenbach was her grandfather.
Mr. Aschenbach sat at the easel on a stool. On the easel was a pre-prepared canvas and in front of him was the chair on which I was to sit. I didn't see his face at first, but when he turned around to greet me I was amazed at how much he resembled *our* Mr. Aschenbach.
He seemed not to notice this though, but lead me to the chair and asked me to turn my face in his direction.
I must describe to you what Claus Aschenbach looked like. Imagine our mutual friend about thirty years older, with softer features and warm hazel eyes. And long white hair tied neatly together in the neck. Also add a few color spots here and there on his clothes, in his face and on his hands.
He began to start working on the canvas while I asked him questions.
'Why is that girl named Libertée?'
'Her father, my late son, was an avid believer in the revolutionary ideals; Liberté, Fraternité and Égalité. And so was his brother, and Albrecht's oldest son, their cousin. They are dead now. Were guillotined back in -93, during the Terror.
'Why?'
'They were in the wrong party. They should've gone with Robespierre instead of with Danton.'
'Do you have any children left alive then?'
'I had seven, and now only three are still alive. Myself I had eleven brothers and sisters, of which three are alive.'
As you know I have a talent for making people speak, and he only needed a tiny nudging to start talking.
The story he told me I have written down separatley, on its own piece of paper. Please write back to me and tell me what you think. And what our mutual friend think of this as well. I'd like to know his side of the story.
Sincereley yours
Katerina van Tassel
P.S. Claus Aschenbach have the most gorgeus son, named Gérard, and he's only four years older than me."