Gwendolyn’s breathing was even now, and her cheeks were less waxy than they had been just a few moments before. Lukas was once again taken aback by how pretty she was, with her red hair, her freckles, her pale complexion.
A loud, gruff voice snapped him back to the present. “Hey, here he is! Here!” It was Bernhard, running over to him with his two-hander drawn. Apparently, the others had been searching for him.
“Hah, caught him!” Matthias shouted, following close at Bernhard’s heels. He had his crossbow raised threateningly, and only lowered the weapon when he saw that the figure on the ground was no longer a danger. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Gwendolyn lying on the ground. “That’s a girl!” he cried. “And what a pretty one, too.”
“She fell from the roof,” Lukas reported haltingly. “But she’s alive. Don’t worry—she’s no henchman of Schönborn’s, just an ordinary thief.”
One by one, the others made their way to the abandoned garden. They stood around the unconscious girl, gawking in amazement.
“Just a thief, you say?” Zoltan growled. “Somehow I find it hard to believe.” He clapped Lukas on the shoulder. “Good that you caught her. We’ll take her with us to the Black Boar. When she comes to, I’ll squeeze the truth out of this little tramp.”
Lukas stared at Zoltan in outrage. How dare he call Gwendolyn a tramp? He doesn’t even know her. He wanted to protest, but he was too weak. Bernhard tossed the girl over his shoulder as though she weighed nothing. Together they all started back toward the tavern.
Lukas wobbled along behind them as though in a trance, already suspecting that getting Gwendolyn to talk wouldn’t be quite as easy as Zoltan thought.
XII
“Let me out, you stinking donkeys! You thrice-accursed swine!” They’d locked Gwendolyn in the cellar storeroom, where she’d been protesting loudly all morning. Zoltan had gone in to speak with her three times, but received only cursing and fist blows for his trouble—so far, Gwendolyn hadn’t told the commander a thing.
Zoltan sighed once again at the sounds of screaming and hammering ringing out from the other side of the door. Despite his threats to the contrary, Zoltan didn’t seem to intend to hurt her, but his severe expression deterred the others from asking too many questions on the subject. Even so, Lukas couldn’t suppress a grin, and the others winked at each other on occasion as well.
“For a poor little bird who fell from the roof, that one sure has plenty of strength in her lungs.” Bernhard plucked at his beard. “She’d have made a good Musketeer. Pity she’s only a girl, albeit a rather pretty one. What do you think, Zoltan?”
“I think you should shut your mouth,” the commander grunted. “I don’t believe that little brat is an ordinary thief. Did you see the way she wielded that bow? I’m telling you all, that girl is a well-trained assassin, sent by Schönborn himself!”
“She said her father was a famous archer,” Giovanni reminded him. “Someone called Falcon Eye. I asked around in the marketplace this morning, and word has it that there was, indeed, such a fellow in the Saxon army. A Welsh marksman, and a true legend! But they say he lost his life a year or two ago, here in Prague. He was in a tavern, protecting his daughter from a band of scoundrels, and someone stabbed him in the back.”
“And the daughter?” Jerome asked.
“Redhead, supposedly quite pretty. Hasn’t been seen since that day.”
Jurek spat on the floor contemptuously. “Bah. Even if that is the daughter, it doesn’t mean she isn’t working with Schönborn. I wouldn’t put anything past a redhead. They’re in league with the Devil.”
As if to confirm what Jurek had said, the caterwauling in the cellar grew even louder. Several of the men held their ears.
It was Elsa who resumed the conversation. “Red hair or not,” she said, “I find it strange that the girl came away with no visible injuries. Matthias examined her while she was still unconscious.” She glanced over at Matthias, who was sitting beside her at the table, looking contemplative. “Her doublet was soaked through with blood, but she had no wounds. Not even a scratch!”
“See?” Jurek hissed. “She’s a witch. I told you.”
“Right, and all one-eyed men have sacrificed an eye to the Devil,” Lukas retorted sarcastically. He suddenly felt Elsa’s eyes on him, but he avoided her gaze. Did she suspect something? He would tell her about the magic healing episodes soon enough, but not now, not in front of everyone. Especially not in front of Jurek, whom Lukas trusted less and less.
“That’s enough,” Zoltan exclaimed, slamming his fist down onto the table and standing up. “I’ll talk to that beast whether she likes it or not! And this time, I’m not letting her wailing soften me up.”
“Don’t hurt her!” Lukas called after him.
“Oh, so now you’re protecting her?” Elsa taunted him, crossing her arms defiantly. “Don’t forget, even if she’s not a witch, she’s still a thief.”
“I just don’t want Zoltan to hurt her,” Lukas insisted. “Is that a crime?”
Paulus laughed. “I’m starting to believe that the two of you had quite an enjoyable time together in that rose garden.” He winked at Lukas. “But don’t worry. If anything, Zoltan will just give your little darling a proper spanking.”
The shrieks from the cellar fell silent, and Paulus nodded knowingly. “What did I tell you? Now she’s getting soft.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Giovanni replied.
After a while, Zoltan returned to the tavern room. He wiped the sweat from his brow as though he had just come from a long battle of swords and shields. “The beast remains stubborn,” the commander said curtly. “She says she’ll only talk with Lukas.”
“With Lukas? Oho!” Jerome ran his hand through his hair coquettishly, and the others laughed. “A little tryst in a beer cellar, comme c’est gentil! Perhaps we should play some music for you to dance to?”
“Oh, be quiet,” Lukas replied wearily, but he felt the blood rising to his cheeks. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Zoltan, who nodded reluctantly.
“Go on down,” he muttered. “But make it clear to her that this is her last chance. We can always let her starve down there. Everyone talks after a couple of days without food. And don’t let the beast catch you off guard. She knows every trick in the book!”
Lukas went down the stairs to the tavern cellar and knocked on the door, but everything remained still on the other side.
“I’m coming in,” he said at last, sliding the latch open. Cautiously, he stepped into the low cave, which stank of old beer. A ray of sunlight fell in through one tiny window, but most of the room was dark. Barrels as tall as Lukas himself lined the walls to either side.
“Gwendolyn?” Lukas asked in a tentative voice.
Suddenly, a shadow flew out from between two barrels and knocked him to the floor. Long red hair blocked his view.
“Gwendolyn!” he cried, shaking her off. “Don’t! I thought you wanted to talk? There are a half dozen roughnecks upstairs who would be only too happy to torture every last scrap of information out of you.”
Gwendolyn let go of him and stepped a few paces away as Lukas rose cautiously to his feet. He felt strangely insecure and awkward in her presence, and found himself struggling for words—even though she was the prisoner, not he.
“Yes, I wanted to talk,” she said, green eyes glittering. “About what you did yesterday.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know perfectly well what I mean,” she replied in her unfamiliar accent. “I was near death, I could feel it. I remember you laid your hands on my stomach, and now there’s not even a scratch on it! How is that possible? Are you a magician? Who are you people, anyway?”
“We’re no magicians,” Lukas replied. At least, most of us aren’t, he added in his head. “But we’re trying to stop an evil magician. He stole three pieces of Imperial Regalia, and we need to find them.”
Gwendolyn hesitated for a moment, but then nod
ded. “The scepter, the crown, and the sword, right? I heard you talking about them.” She grinned. “I bet those things are worth a lot of money.”
“We’re not interested in money, Gwendolyn.”
“But I am. Money is the only thing that counts. Coins are hard, they don’t melt away in your hand like love. They have substance. But what would a young pup like you know about that, anyway?”
“I’m nearly fifteen,” Lukas retorted, blushing. “And you’re not all that much older, so don’t you talk to me about love.”
Gwendolyn’s expression hardened, and Lukas remembered that the girl had lost her father and presumably her mother as well, just as he had. He wondered whether she’d ever experienced love since.
“I have a proposition for you all,” she said. “I’ll help you find these imperial things if you’ll pay me properly for it.”
Lukas blinked. “You’re our prisoner! Why should we cooperate with you at all, let alone pay you for it?”
“Because I know where the crown is.” Gwendolyn winked.
Lukas stared at her in disbelief. “What?” They’d been waiting for days for another message from their mysterious helper, and now Gwendolyn knew what they needed? Absurd. “You’re lying,” he said. “How would you know where the crown was?”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter. I just do. I give you my word.” Gwendolyn raised her right hand solemnly. “Give me your word that you’ll stand up for me to your smelly friends, and I’ll help you find the crown. Swear it!”
Lukas hesitated. Gwendolyn was the finest archer he’d ever seen, and an excellent climber as well. If she really did know where the crown was hidden, they could only benefit from her help. And if she was lying, he didn’t feel bound to his promise, either. Though he did feel that strange connection to her.
“All right,” he said at last, raising two fingers in a V. “I swear.”
Gwendolyn grabbed his fingers, spit forcefully onto them, and rubbed them against her own hand. “That’s how we do it in Wales.” She grinned. Then, out of nowhere, she stuck her hand down into her doublet.
Lukas froze. Was she undressing?
Gwendolyn smirked, and simply withdrew a folded note from her bodice. Lukas immediately recognized the handmade paper. It was the same type that the mysterious stranger had used for his last message. Lukas slowly realized just how Gwendolyn planned on helping.
She’s skilled at more than archery and climbing, he thought. She’s a good thief as well.
“Oh, were you all looking for this?” Gwendolyn cooed, fanning herself innocently with the paper. Then she shoved Lukas in the chest. “Go up there and tell your fat-assed saber-dancer friends that Gwendolyn is ready to negotiate.”
“Where in hell did you get that?”
Zoltan, like the others, was staring at the crumpled message in Gwendolyn’s hands. They were all sitting together upstairs. Gwendolyn had taken the seat at the head of the table.
“Simple.” She shrugged, smoothing the paper flat. “The morning after you nearly caught me in the attic, I came back and saw a fellow leave this note at your doorstep. I grabbed it and left.”
“Our mysterious helper!” Lukas blurted out. “Did you recognize him? What did he look like?”
Gwendolyn pursed her lips. “Not sure. It wasn’t quite light out. He was wearing a coat and a floppy hat. It could have been almost anyone.”
“And you expect us to believe that?” Zoltan muttered.
“Believe what you want, but if you don’t let me join you, you don’t get the letter.” Gwendolyn folded the note and stuck it under her bodice again. “So, what do you say? Are we in business or not?”
“And what if we simply take the note and slit your throat?” Jurek pulled out his long knife. “What will you do then, little bird?”
“You won’t. Lukas promised. Isn’t that right, Lukas?”
Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward Lukas, who flushed bright red. “Ah, that’s true,” he stammered. “I promised I would take her side.”
“Oho, and what did she promise you in return, Lukas?” Paulus asked in a taunting voice. “Another trip to the rose garden?”
The others laughed and winked at one another. Elsa alone remained silent, eyeing her brother as though she suspected he was hiding something from her.
“Gwendolyn can help us,” Lukas cried. “You saw for yourselves how well she can climb and shoot!”
“Why don’t we go ahead and ask every unemployed mercenary we encounter in a dark alley to join us?” Jurek sneered. “We could invite half of Prague while we’re at it. Or at least all the pretty girls. What do you say, Lukas?” He batted his eyes coquettishly, thrusting his hips.
Gwendolyn scowled at the others furiously. “Hellfire and damnation, I know what this letter says,” she hissed. “And believe me, if you want to steal the imperial crown, you’ll need all the help you can get. Every bit!”
“Well, spit it out already,” Zoltan growled. “Where is the crown?”
Gwendolyn crossed her arms. “In the White Tower.”
“The White Tower?” Bernhard shook his strawberry-blond head skeptically. “Where’s that supposed to be?”
“It’s up in the castle,” Gwendolyn explained. “At the end of Golden Lane. The infamous Polonius Sendivogius works there. A dreadful alchemist who experiments on human beings.” She shivered. “Polonius probably needs the crown for some sort of attempt to create gold. Golden Lane is crawling with charlatans and pseudomagicians.”
“I’ve heard of that Polonius,” Giovanni piped up. “A renowned alchemist who supposedly began searching for the Philosopher’s Stone back in the days of Kaiser Rudolf. They say he is the only person who has ever successfully created gold, albeit in extremely small amounts. If that really is the same Polonius, though, he must be very, very old.”
Paulus sighed. “I hate to say it, but right now, I wish we had our astro-babbler, Senno, here with us. He might know how to handle that alchemist quack.”
“Polonius’s laboratory is directly beside the castle torture chamber,” Gwendolyn whispered. “The commander of the Red Archers occasionally turns prisoners over to him for his experiments.”
“The Red Archers?” Jerome scratched his nose. “Who are they, now?”
“The Prague Castle’s elite troop,” Gwendolyn said quietly, as though afraid someone might be listening in. “They guard the castle, Golden Lane, and especially the White Tower, so that nobody can uncover the secret to making gold. The crown is hidden down in Polonius’s lab. Trust me, if it were easy, I’d have already snatched it for myself.” She pushed the letter over to Zoltan. “Here, read for yourself.”
Zoltan skimmed the lines and then nodded. “The message appears authentic. At least, the handwriting is the same as the one that led us to the scepter.” He pocketed the letter and turned to Gwendolyn again. “Now, how is it you think you can help us?”
“With this.” Gwendolyn laid her small, crooked bow and quiver of arrows in front of her on the table. “The entrances to the White Tower are all heavily guarded, except for the windows at the top. Those windows are locked and secured with smooth copper shutters, and are nearly fifty paces overhead.”
“Damn,” Matthias murmured. “So we won’t be able to tie a rope to an arrow and shoot it through the window to climb up. Arrows bounce off copper.”
“None of you can do it, but I can.” Gwendolyn removed an arrow from her quiver and ran her fingers over the runes carved into it. “I’ve considered breaking into Prague Castle before. While exploring the area, I noticed a single hook and eye underneath the battlements. They probably used it to hoist stone up when they built the castle, and then the masons forgot it was there. An arrow would fit through that eye.” She stuck her chin out with pride. “By my honor and that of my father, Falcon Eye, when I hit that mark, we’ll have a rope to climb up.”
“Fifty paces? At night? Through an eye no bigger than your own?” Matthias shook his head. “As a trained bow
man with years of experience, I can tell you that’s impossible. Forget it!”
“I can do it!” Gwendolyn insisted defiantly. “My father taught me to shoot every squirrel down from a tree, even under a new moon. I could hit that eye blindfolded if I wanted to. You have my word!”
“Keep up this blustering and I’ll pull your fur over your ears like a squirrel’s,” Zoltan warned her. He hesitated, clearly wrestling with himself. Finally, he sighed in resignation. “All right, I’ll give you a chance. But only one!”
“You mean you actually want to bring her with you?” Elsa protested. “She’s a thief! Have you forgotten already?”
“I know those Red Archers up at the castle,” Zoltan replied. “They’re not to be trifled with. Gwendolyn’s plan is at least worth thinking about. And I haven’t heard a better plan at this table yet.”
Lukas exhaled in relief. “So, now there are ten of us?” he asked.
“Well, for the time being, anyway.” Zoltan pushed a few beer tankards to one side and began sketching the layout of the castle onto the table with a piece of charcoal. When he finished, he turned and gave Gwendolyn a sharp look. “Now, tell us everything you know about Prague Castle. I repeat, everything! I have no interest in ending up as that alchemist Polonius’s newest experiment.”
XIII
They spent the next two days planning. After the conversation with Gwendolyn, even the most skeptical among them understood that they must use whatever support they could get. Unlike Lukas and Elsa’s home, the Prague Castle was no small structure. It was a gigantic, heavily reinforced complex with trenches, a moat, ramparts, and walls that stretched up to the heavens. Saint Vitus Cathedral towered in the middle of it all. There were individual palaces, churches, chapels, and small servants’ houses. Essentially, Prague Castle was less a castle than a city unto itself—and all of it was patrolled by the infamous Red Archers.
Sword of Power (The Black Musketeers Book 2) Page 10
