Werewolf Castle

by Tracy Falbe

  His howling ushered his pack through each night. They watched the waxing moon impatiently.

  At dawn on the third day, they reached the Danube River valley, where Pressburg went about its business beneath a great castle on the heights. New walls reached out and up from old walls, revealing how the centuries had placed an ever expanding demand upon the castle’s occupants to dominate the river. The waters that had flowed long before walls rose to command the view were dull as they reflected bare trees and muddy banks.

  “Yon castle must be the one Carmelita described,” Sarputeen said. He leaned on his staff and contemplated his entry into another city.

  Regis, Raphael, and Carlos were pleased to reach their destination. Although Pressburg lacked the legendary splendor of their native Venice, and was not as immense as Prague, the inspiring steeples, river boats, palaces, warehouses, and sprawling castle told of wealth and cosmopolitan tastes.

  “A patron to feed us through the winter should not be too hard to find here,” Raphael predicted.

  Thal rubbed his chin. The beard hairs against his fingertips reminded him of the many variables that he had to manage during this rescue effort. He knew next to nothing of the city and only three days remained until the full moon when he intended to act.

  “Pressburg presses me for time,” he grumbled. The potential that Valentino might be facing execution this very morning added to his impatience.

  Sarputeen gently offered a solution. “I’m in possession of a letter from the Archbishop of Prague meant to grant our departed friend Brother Miguel access to high places,” he said.

  “Why did you not mention this before?” Thal wondered.

  “There was no need till we got here,” Sarputeen said. “I’ll try to gain a meeting with the Duke here and convince him to release your friend. Using your pack to cow him with terror may not be effective. Truly it would be best if we did not do such a thing in so populous a place.”

  Thal believed that his father could convince a man to do most anything but could not place all of his hopes on his father’s audacious ploy. “I’ll look for the lawyer while you seek your audience with the Duke,” Thal said.

  Chapter 26. An Offer From the Prosecutor

  The guards shoved Valentino on a stool. He teetered upon the thing’s three loose legs. While he was off balance, one guard swiftly slid the chain through an iron loop in the floor and padlocked it in place. He knew to act fast with this prisoner.

  The coarse fellows lumbered off to other duties and left Valentino shackled just out of reach of a small desk. Quills and an ink bottle occupied the desk ready to record the pleadings of the guilty.

  He squinted at the windows set high in the thick stone wall. The daylight hurt his eyes, but he savored the chance to see the sky.

  When he heard footsteps approaching, he wiped his watering eyes with the back of his hands, taking care not to scrape his now pale face with the rusty edges of his thick manacles.

  The door swung open, and his lawyer came in briskly. Polished black leather shoes with high heels and oval brass buckles clicked lightly because Tobias Dorn had a spring in his step as if he did not oversee the grim business of a prisoner accused of heresy and insurrection.

  “Good Morning,” he said while glancing to make sure that the padlock was shut over the chain. Sitting, he opened his leather folio and scanned the documents within. “Valentino del Sangoro,” he said.

  Valentino clenched his teeth, hating to watch the lawyer look up the name of the man who had paid him with the last of his worldly wealth to represent him before the court. In exchange for Valentino’s rapier and pistol, a Jewish pawnbroker had provided the gold florins necessary to make the lawyer pretend to defend him.

  Tobias shifted his cloak off his arms and read through the papers in front of him. Valentino stared at the thick silver pin at the man’s shoulder that secured the cloak of thick wool trimmed in black silk. He wondered if such a thing could pick the lock on his cell.

  “I’ve had a chance to talk about your case with the prosecutor and the justice minister,” Tobias said. “I’ve done my best.”

  “Really?” Valentino said. His voice was weak from disuse. He supposed he should start babbling and ranting like some of the other wretches in the cells next to his. He doubted very much that the lawyer’s “best” was going to impress him.

  Tobias took a moment to observe the big man before him. Imprisonment had starved him down to a lean man with pale skin over hard muscles. Dirt dragged at the curls of the prisoner’s long dark hair, and his beard was spreading like unpruned grape vines.

  “These conversations are never easy,” he said.

  Valentino growled lightly before silencing himself. He did not want to be dragged back to his cell prematurely because of a wrathful outburst. The tenderness of his persistent rib bruises urged him to forgo another battle with the gaolers.

  Tobias cleared his throat. “You’re a literate man, so I know that you understand the gravity of the charges against you. I heartily recommend that you accept this offer that I’m bearing to you from the prosecutor.”

  “And what’s that?” Valentino asked. A spark of hope startled his constant despair as he imagined that some merciful crumb had fallen from the plate of justice.

  “You’ll have a swift death by beheading if you sign your confession,” Tobias said as if announcing that Valentino had just been accepted to a prestigious university and had a promising future ahead of him.

  “Hmmm,” Valentino managed. After months in a dungeon, laying his head on the notched block of the State’s authority had some appeal.

  “There’s no shame in putting your name to this confession. We both know that this document contains only truth. We’ve sworn testimony from witnesses who said that you’ve contracted military services for Protestants for years.”

  “Do I get no credit for the battles waged for Papists?” Valentino asked.

  “Ah...no,” Tobias said, indifferent to Valentino’s early days as a mercenary among Italian princes before seeking fresh fortunes in Bohemia.

  Definitive responses from a lawyer were never good, and Valentino supposed that he should just make the final arrangements with his sorry fate.

  But his pride refused to stop fighting. He might find some redemption if that lawyer had to spend his gold on crutches.

  Tobias recognized this recalcitrant passion that inflamed so many of the rebels and heretics that he had processed. After heaving a sigh, he leaned forward and reminded his client of the facts most earnestly.

  “Valentino, if you don’t sign, they’ll torture you. My petitions for you have been all that’s prevented it so far. I’ll make sure you get a priest for last rites. Accept your swift death by the axe. I do implore you.”

  “You implore me?” Valentino said, mocking the notion that Tobias cared.

  “Not everyone gets this type of chance,” Tobias said.

  “I’m well aware of my good fortunes,” Valentino groused, but then drew himself up proudly. While he had breath in his body, he intended to fight for his life.

  “Write another petition offering ransom to the crown. Offer the terms that upon acceptance of payment I’ll go into exile,” Valentino proposed.

  Exasperated, the lawyer said, “The ransom is not coming. Your noble father knows better than to squander his reputation on his Protestant bastard. We’ve been sympathetic to your noble blood, but your fantasies about a ransom will no longer entice imperial patience.”

  Valentino had to look away and shut his eyes as he struggled to master his emotions. The abandonment by his father stung immensely. Although a bastard, he had enjoyed some favor. His father had educated him and often remarked that Valentino was a son of finer quality than those birthed by his wife and not the peasant girl who had to accept the advances of her lord.

  Regaining his determination, Valentino proposed, “There’s no need for the crown to spill my talents at the block. Men will follow me. I’m trained in warfa
re. I’ve proven myself in many battles and skirmishes. I could do much for Duke Osmount. I’m not hobbled by old-fashioned notions. I’ll do whatever needs to be done.”

  “We know that you’ll stoop to any deed, even aiding rebels against Holy Mother Church,” Tobias criticized.

  “Take my offer to the Duke!” Valentino demanded.

  “He’s well stocked with fighting men both brilliant and brutish. You’ve nothing special to offer him,” Tobias said.

  “As if you could be the judge of such things,” Valentino muttered.

  “Sign your confession. Go to your peace,” Tobias urged gently.

  “My peace!” Valentino thundered but then hung his head. His emotions swung between valor and despair too easily, and his will to live puddled into self loathing because of the wife and child that he had failed so immediately and completely. There was no peace for him.

  In a smaller voice, he said, “Can’t you delay things until after Saint Nicholas’ Feast and Christmas. I’m sure no one wants to deal with tortures and executions during the holidays.”

  Sarcasm had prompted his suggestion, but Tobias surprised him by saying, “Well, I suppose.”

  Startled by the tiny victory, Valentino looked up to see if the lawyer was only teasing him, but Tobias continued, “An execution right after the holidays would be a good reminder to the people about the way things are after all the peace and love nonsense.”

  “Exactly,” Valentino agreed. “And I’ll have more time to hear back about the favors I’ve called in.”

  Tobias frowned at the piteous statement. “Valentino, we both know that no one you contacted will or can pay your ransom. You’ve no more favors to call in.”

  The baleful stare from Valentino made the lawyer regret his frank speech. Perhaps he should not taunt the man with the hopelessness of his situation.

  Valentino thought of the one favor that he had not dared to call in. To send a friend or relative to find Thal, a man accused of worse crimes than him, would have fallen somewhere between impossible and murderous.

  Thal would give these louts what they deserve, Valentino thought fondly.

  Tobias shut his folio and stood up. “Until the New Year then,” he said.

  “Can I have paper to write my wife?” Valentino asked urgently.

  “When the time comes,” Tobias said.

  “What do you mean by that?” Valentino demanded.

  “No need to write your goodbyes yet. Maybe Mikulas will leave an imperial pardon in your boot three nights hence and you’ll be set free,” Tobias joked.

  “Scoundrel!” Valentino cried and lunged. The stool went flying into a corner and the lawyer backed away from the table even though the chain halted Valentino out of reach.

  “Guards!” Tobias shouted.

  Valentino lashed out with a long leg and kicked the table over, spilling the ink and scattering the quills.

  The dungeon lackeys entered the room with their wooden batons and got one behind Valentino’s elbows across his back and another under his chin. The brawny guards wrestled Valentino down to his knees before one unlocked his chain.

  “I’ll pray for a Christmas miracle for you,” Tobias said, marveling at the tenacity of his client’s resistance to reality.

  Chapter 27. Merrymaking in Pressburg

  Although Pressburg lacked the size and style of Prague, the place still reminded Altea of her home city. The streets bustled with women bundled against the cold. Children hustled ahead of their mothers and exhorted them to hurry. Eagerness for holiday treats from the markets excited the rosy-cheeked children, and Altea recalled how the care of children had once filled her days. Her half brothers were forever lost to her, but she tried not to focus on her sorrows. Now that she had experienced the wolf state, she understood the contentedness of wild things for they lived each day with the scales swinging between peace and mortal danger. Such knowledge made good moments easy to enjoy.

  She surprised her husband with a smile, and he appreciated the little distraction from their serious business.

  “Does this place please you?” he asked.

  “I remember going to holiday markets,” she said fondly.

  “I’ll buy something sweet for you,” he decided.

  “I’d like that,” she said and squeezed his arm.

  Behind them, Sarputeen admired their young love. He recognized their easy rapport and hoped that they would have many years of happy companionship after he purged Tekax from the world.

  When the group reached a large square, a noisy and colorful scene of vendors hawking their wares bombarded everyone like a nest full of baby birds demanding food. Some people pushed carts and others carried baskets from which they proffered small wooden ornaments for holiday trees, little cakes, lace, cheeses, meats, and every manner of hat, scarf, and glove. Voices badgered and beguiled browsers, enticing them with holiday happiness.

  Thal’s group stepped aside from the flow of traffic and took in the details. The cacophony overwhelmed their senses briefly.

  Sarputeen beckoned Mileko closer. “I suggest you put on a magic show. Have those fellows play music for you. You might earn a few coins while I chat up the locals for information.”

  Mileko nodded and scouted for a space that he could claim for a performance. With so many companions, he had little trouble taking over an area between an oxcart full of firewood and a crone and young girl selling mistletoe bundles.

  While the musicians prepared their instruments, Thal drew his pack close. “We’re looking for a lawyer named Tobias Dorn.”

  “Mileko asked me to assist him with his tricks,” Lenki said.

  “That’ll be fine,” Thal said although he had some doubts about her disguise succeeding under the full light of day.

  He took Altea’s hand and strolled off among the vendors. They found the sellers of baked foods clustered in one quarter of the market, and they bought bread loaves for everyone and then indulged in two small cakes of honeyed walnuts.

  “So sweet,” Altea said and wiped a crumb from her lips. “We must get some for everyone.”

  Thal approved and extended another coin toward the stall stacked with sweet breads and cakes. “Ten more...I mean nine,” he amended sadly as the loss of Harvath jabbed his memory.

  The baker gathered the order and noticed Thal’s pistols as he handed off the cakes. He glanced up at the apparent mercenary, trying to look casual as if his curiosity about the weapons had not plainly crossed his face.

  “I’m new to town,” Thal said pleasantly. “And in need of a lawyer. What district do they do their business in?” he asked.

  “On King’s Street but nobody’s working much with Saint Nicholas feast upon us,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Thal said.

  After bundling the food in a cloth, they meandered through the market. A clock tower chimed over the square like a mechanical watchman who demanded order.

  As they circled back toward Mileko’s magic and music show, they could hear the familiar instruments of their friends, who had already drawn a crowd.

  “What is your father doing?” Altea asked just as Thal spotted him standing on a crate. He appeared to be giving a sermon and had attracted five listeners already. Thal and Altea stopped to observe him as well, and he only indicated that he knew them with one quick twinkle of eye contact.

  “Look to God and save yourself from the wickedness of this Age!” he proclaimed and stabbed his audience with a piercing gaze that brooked no denial of sin. His eyebrows drew over his dark eyes like an eagle swooping down on prey.

  “Know ye well of the Seven Deadly Sins, but hear me when I tell you to beware the worst of that gang of scoundrels. Avaratia it is, and it can sweep away all goodness, all gentleness, all reason. In the vernacular, we call it Greed, and all of us, even I, have felt its terrible pull,” Sarputeen proclaimed and clasped his chest where his silver crucifix glittered in the sun.

  “Greed makes you want what should not be yours,” he cont
inued. “It whispers comforting words about deserving it, but this most foul sin is the favored of the Devil who would see Creation ruined to spite the Heaven he can’t have.”

  Two people nodded, and three more stopped to listen to the preaching.

  Throwing wide his arms, Sarputeen looked to the sky and mania shone on his face. Thal, who watched with a mixture of alarm and amazement, admired the performance although he had no idea what his father might be hoping to accomplish.

  “Greed has many dogs that it sets loose upon the world, and here in sight of the houses of the moneychangers we tolerate the crime of usury!” More people grumbled disapprovingly. As the capital of Royal Hungary, Pressburg had become a center of banking. Sarputeen continued, “Usury makes kings drive men to dig deep graves. They scourge the Earth to pay debts whelped of that bloated bitch greed,” he thundered and then crossed his arms, awaiting the praise of his audience, but the people only gaped as if unable to draw breath until he said more.

  He took a deep breath and clapped his hands. “Keep your soul clean and look only for your fair share in this life. Do not cut down all the trees and then cry for shade. Do not slaughter a ewe before she lambs...”

  Thal and Altea listened as he went on with increasing fervor and his crowd grew. They retreated to the edge of his gathering so that they could converse.

  “He is most convincing in his role,” Thal commented.

  “If I did not know better, I really would think he was a man of the Church,” Altea said.

  Thal assumed that those drawn to his father’s bizarre lecture too easily heeded words spoken with conviction and vitriol regardless of the message. He was wary of those who looked too much to God. He remembered sadly the werewolf who he had tried to help in Prague. The man had thought himself polluted by the Devil, and Thal could not convince him to embrace his nature.

  “Let us see how fares Mileko. Those who seek pleasant entertainments have a temper that matches,” he said.

  Mileko’s station had inspired a lighter mood. When Thal and Altea arrived, the musicians were yielding the tiny stage to Mileko and Lenki. She smiled mysteriously at the onlookers as she held up a pair of slender daggers. Her smooth cheeks and narrow frame consciously taunted people to see the truth of her identity. Her sheepskin poncho hid her bosom, and the raggedy locks of her dark hair splayed around her obviously feminine neck.