Grantville Gazette-Volume XIII

by Eric Flint

  "What do you mean? What's going on, Dore?" The older woman paused in her frenetic cleaning. Her face was red and her eyes puffy; she was full of anger but there was also something of fear written across her broad face. She blew a hot puff of air from her button nose, her shoulders slumped as if letting go of some heavy load.

  "The men who killed your wooden duck." Dore's English had greatly improved but still had some idiosyncrasies Pam often found too amusing to correct right away. "Gerbald knows them."

  "What? How?" Pam moved closer, stunned at this revelation.

  "They were soldiers with Gerbald. He knew them by the way they made trap, it was Gerbald who taught them that. They are bad men." A gray, worried expression swept the red from her face. "Pam, Gerbald is not like them, you do understand? He was a soldier, but he never did the bad things, the things to women and children. He hated the men who did those evils. He spoke against them. It became trouble for him."

  "Is that why he left that army? I knew it was something like that. What happened?"

  "Dear Pam, it is not my story to tell you. Gerbald will when he is ready. But now those old troubles have found us here." Tears were building in Dore's eyes, her wrath had run its course and left a tired woman afraid for her husband. Pam gave her a fierce hug. Dore hugged back, nearly hard enough to break Pam's ribs. No words were needed. After a minute Pam released herself from Dore's powerful washerwoman arms.

  "How long ago did he leave, Dore?"

  "An hour. He had the look that comes before battle. He said that you that you must stay here with me."

  "I'll stop him. I can catch him." Oblique terror came to Dore's hazel eyes.

  "No! You must not go Pam, it is dangerous! Gerbald is a strong man, a good soldier. You must let him do as he will."

  Pam stood undecided. Dore was probably right, Gerbald could take care of himself. But what if something went wrong? She had come to love the man like a brother, he was without a doubt her closest friend in the world, and when it came down to it, other than Dore, he was her only close friend.

  "Goddamnit, that stubborn billy goat! I'm putting a stop to this." Pam grabbed a gnarled oak walking stick from the corner of the room, it had been her grandmother's. It was hard as a rock and the only thing she had resembling a weapon; carrying it would make her at least feel somewhat safer. It wasn't going to come to that anyway, not if she could help it.

  "Pam, no, you are crazy! They will kill you, those bad men, or worse, I know . . . Don't do this, please!" Dore moved her solid frame between Pam and the door. Pam felt sorry for her friend but she had made up her mind.

  "Dore, don't be afraid for me, please. I'll stay hidden if I can't catch him first, and if he's hurt I'll bring help. They won't see me unless I want them to. Let me go, please." Pam met Dore's fretful look with a cool, confident gaze. There would be no changing her mind. Dore relented, crumpling into a shape much frailer than Pam ever could have expected of the seemingly indomitable woman.

  "Ja, I know. You have a soldier's courage in you my Pam. Go then, find Gerbald. Damn fools the both of you. I will clean up this barnyard you have made of your house." With a curt gesture of her chin Dore turned to advance menacingly on the soiled kiddy pool. Pam hurried down the walk, not saying good-bye.

  * * *

  She ran up the road as fast as she could. If she could only catch him before he left the inlet. She exited the road to head up the trail, moving fast on the well packed earth. She kept her breathing as regular as possible, she was in the greatest shape of her life but sustaining an all out run was taking its toll; she was no track star. Fast enough, I'm fast enough. He's hunting men and will go slow, he'll never think that I would dare come after him. Doubt threatened her as she huffed along. Should I really be doing this? What if we both end up getting killed? This isn't a game Pam, these people are killers. The walking stick she carried before her in sweating hands suddenly seemed an ineffectual and foolish hope—what good would it be against trained soldiers? She almost dropped it beside the trail but held onto it anyway, it was all the protection she had if something went wrong. Stop thinking, it isn't helping. Just catch him.

  The inlet was quiet, the dark water calm. Gerbald was not to be found. Damnit! Pam went to the spot where they had found the bird snare. To the left the inlet opened onto the wider lake. To the right the sliced West Virginian hillside made a flat edge along the water's edge. There was a new looking boot print on the muddy shore headed toward the hill and Pam remembered Gerbald saying they had gone in that direction. Up we go.

  Keeping well away from the unstable edge Pam followed what she thought might be the possibility of a trail. A scuff mark here, a bent branch here—she began to feel like a genuine Davy Crocket. A sincere regret that she had disdained the ownership of a firearm as an adult filled her, she had been such a promising shot as a youngster. A Winchester rifle would have provided a wealth of comfort at the moment. She used Grandma's walking stick to impatiently bash a clump of scratchy brush out of her way. Quiet now Pam, you are going to let the birds know you're here. An image came to her of murderous looking cartoon birds: crows, vultures and evil-eyed eagles sharpening wicked battle axes with feathered hands; nearby a fire with a big Pam-sized cook pot bubbled. Birdwatching. A nice safe hobby. Too bad they don't have gator wrestling in these parts, I could use the relaxing change of pace.

  Pam came to the corner of the lake, a jumbled landscape where the hardwood forested West Virginia hilltop abruptly adjoined a pine covered German ridge. The trail seemed to continue to the hard left along the ridge top past the rim, there were signs of recent skids on the still mostly bare soil of a steep two meter tall elevation mismatch. Pam slid down it into Thuringia proper. The ghost of a trail continued roughly northwards away from Grantville into brooding pines. Pam felt a momentary thrill of fear. Okay, I've never been here before and I've left home territory. There are killers and rapists out there, and I'm looking for someone who is looking for them. I must be crazy and I better be careful.

  Pam walked slowly through the Thuringian forest, listening for the sound of movement or voices. She stayed low and wary, not wanting to be seen or heard. There was no more rushing to stop Gerbald, this was now. . . . What, a rescue? Hardly! She certainly wasn't the cavalry coming. Why didn't I call the police, tell them what's going on? It had never occurred to her to do so. Too late now. Doubt threatened to turn her back; she fought it, willing it away. This is something I have to do for Gerbald and Dore. That was reason enough for the risk.

  The ridge curved sharply away east, the lake forming another inlet below her. Pam stopped to think. How am I ever going to find seasoned woodsmen who don't want to be found? A breeze wandered through the pine branches, it felt good. Voices came with it; the voices of men . . . angry men. Pam froze. After listening very carefully Pam thought she knew which way they were coming from. She slowly made her way in that direction. At least they're upwind of me, I'll take that break.

  She soon found herself crouched under a bush watching three men arguing loudly in German. Realizing one of them was Gerbald her heart leapt. She forced herself to stay in hiding instead of rushing to his side, instinctively sensing that would not be a good move. There were two exceptionally scroungy-looking characters standing in front of a dilapidated shelter. Two earthen walls were covered by an incongruously bright side of aluminum sheeting, obviously filched from the outskirts of Grantville. Objects hung from a length of twine across the shack's opening; dead birds and small animals. Pam's heart wrenched as she recognized a Baltimore oriole and a redhead duck drake next to a fox pup. A fury began to kindle within her. There were many other items lying about the decrepit shack; a child's bicycle, a coil of rusty chain, a gas can. These men were thieves at the least.

  The shouting had resumed. Gerbald was gesturing angrily at the stolen goods and the hung carcasses. She could only catch about half of his rapid fire German, it wasn't the Thuringian dialect and she guessed that every other word was an exotic blaspheme or
bloodcurdling curse. The two dirty men glowered at him, she saw that one lightly held the heft of a sizable axe and the other had a long knife stuck in his ragged belt. The murderous crow and vulture. They were unmoved by Gerbald's fiery lecture but not willing to challenge him either. She had never seen Gerbald like this. He was furious, his voice a thundering avalanche of icy shards and unstoppable boulders. Although his stance seemed relaxed Pam knew he was coiled to pounce, one hand eagerly gripping the hilt of his prized katzbalger shortsword. This is what Gerbald looks like when he's going to war.

  The harangue continued. It occurred to Pam from watching the demeanor of the two ruffians that they had experienced Gerbald's rage before. These were once his men! He must have commanded them back when they were all soldiers! Pam nodded slowly at her revelation. I wonder who's in command of them now?

  A hard, heavy boot placed itself firmly on Pam's bottom where she squatted. With a mighty upward shove it sent her sprawling face first out onto the scrabbly ground in the hut's clearing, in full view of Gerbald and his former command.

  "Well, we have guests I see!" a sneering voice announced in false friendly tones from behind her. The man's German was slow and clearly spoken, undoubtedly for her benefit since she was clearly dressed as an up-timer and would be unlikely to understand anything but the simplest language. Pam kept enough wit about her to hang on to her walking stick as she rolled quickly to the side. She regained her feet in a ready crouch, backing carefully away from the man who had kicked her. The evil eyed eagle had arrived. Gerbald quickly hid his look of unhappy surprise at Pam's presence, but the unpleasant newcomer had seen it well enough. He continued in taunting tones.

  "So, Gerbald, you have found yourself a woman amongst these American witchfolk. You are doing well, she is a fine improvement over that old potato you used to keep. That old sack wasn't even good for birthing! Tell me, I have wondered what these Grantville she-devils must be like, I have heard they think themselves the equal of any man. When you have your way with her does she howl like a wild creature? Has she taught you some new sins?" Pam gazed at him with a mixture of disgust and disbelief

  Gerbald's face went radish red with wrath. He snarled. "She is a sister to me, Kurt, so stop your filth. Your mouth is a pit full of shit and rotten puss. One more word and I'll shut it for good." Gerbald was advancing toward this Kurt creature, the two men he had been haranguing forgotten. Pam feared the look in Gerbald's eyes nearly as much as she feared the three evil men. She noticed, much to her terror, that the first two had readied their weapons and were quietly in step a few yards behind Gerbald. The leader of their flock had returned and now they were emboldened. Gerbald was outnumbered three to one. Well, I'm here, too . . .

  "Oh, your sister! Well in that case, I must surely taste such delight for myself!" Kurt gave a sharp nod to his two cronies who now rushed at Gerbald. Gerbald, no fool, knew they were coming from behind but Kurt was already lunging toward Pam, one hand reaching to grab her, the other pulling a shortsword from its scabbard. Pam knew he would go for Kurt at all cost to prevent the man from touching her, ignoring the approaching threat. Men. Some tacticians they are. A rage had been building in Pam as well, enough to match Gerbald's—maybe more. She had to prevent Kurt from taking her hostage so that Gerbald wouldn't end up with an axe in his back thanks to his heroic foolishness. She took a step back, planted both feet, gripped the walking stick like a baseball bat and let fly the mightiest swing of her life, shouting in German:

  "TASTE THIS!"

  KE-RAK!!!

  The length of hard oak shot above Kurt's grasping talon, colliding solidly with his jaw. The jaw gave way to the walking stick, bone breaking with an awful splintering sound, teeth spilling out like rice thrown at a wedding. A gush of blood followed as his head snapped sideways at the blow. He went down in seeming slow motion, an inhuman sob emerging from his throat. Gerbald stopped in his tracks stunned at the unexpected sight. Pam shouted at him in English. "Behind you!" Idiot!

  With Pam no longer in immediate and distracting danger Gerbald's years of battlefield experience kicked in. It occurred to Pam that he had never fought directly for a loved one before, and the concept had distracted him from his usual combat savvy. Well, that is kind of sweet. With a practiced move Gerbald's katzbalger found the poorly guarded gut of the knife wielding enemy to his left, his thrust leaving a spreading circle of red on the man's wool tunic. With a low moan the man fell forward on his face. The other attacker swung his axe at Gerbald's head. Gerbald side-stepped that blow but tripped against the fallen form of his first target. This gave the axe wielder another shot, he connected a cruel cut into Gerbald's lower left thigh. This caused Gerbald to grunt with pain but it didn't stop him. His short sword was a silver blur as the man was pulling his axe from Gerbald's flesh. The katzbalger's razor sharp tip darted into the man's throat and twisted. Pam found the look of surprise on the man's face more shocking then the streams of bright blood coursing down his front. That's death. That's what death looks like. Lifeless hands released the axe, the man fell backwards with a gurgling cry.

  Despite his pain Gerbald spun around, sword raised, crimson and thirsting for more. He stepped heavily toward the spot that Kurt had gone down thanks to Pam's at bat. Kurt wasn't there. Pam saw him slipping into the bushes, one hand holding shut his broken jaw. Gerbald started to lurch after him, laying a trail of his own blood next to that which Kurt had left. Pam's wits returned reluctantly, trying not to look at the two gored corpses slumped at their feet.

  "Gerbald!" she shouted. "Stop!" It was a command. She pointed grandma's walking stick at him like a general's rod. Gerbald took another uneven step, awkwardly trying to hold the blood seeping from his thigh in with his free hand. He wasn't having much luck and knew it. Slowly he turned back to Pam as the despicable Kurt made his escape, fleeing whimpering into the brush.

  "Yes, ma'am?" in that infuriatingly accurate hillbilly drawl he had made such a point of mastering. Pam shook her head in relief, horror, exhaustion, joy. It was really all a bit much for a summer afternoon.

  "Hold still right there and let me wrap that wound. War's over." Gerbald nodded resigned assent, there was no way he would catch his enemy in rough terrain with such a wound hampering him. He wiped his gory shortsword nonchalantly on the pair of Levi's jeans he had come to favor. Later he wouldn't be happy about that tear in them. Pam handed him Grandma's walking stick which he used to take the weight off his injured leg.

  "A handy thing." he remarked, idly stroking the smooth wood. "Very effective."

  "No kidding. I can't believe I did that. Good lord, what would Grandma say!?" Gerbald handed her a length of linen bandage from one of the many useful pockets within his sage colored wool soldier's coat. It didn't matter how hot it got, he rarely took the thing off. Pam wrapped the bandage as tightly as she could around the wound; the blood slowed but didn't stop. "Can you walk?"

  "I can, at least for now. A valkyrie from the old stories guides me to my spot at the table of heroes." She took his other arm and did her best to help support him. She couldn't help but look again at the two dead men as they passed by. A sudden realization shocked her.

  "Gerbald! These men! I've seen them before!"

  "Where, Pam? When?"

  "In the woods along the rim a couple of years ago, not too far from here. These were the three men I saw who scared me when I was out birdwatching alone. I hid from them. It happened the day before I met you! They were why I hired you!"

  Gerbald nodded. "It is good they did not see you then. Also, hiring me was a very good idea." Wry Gerbald charm despite the severity of the situation.

  "Yes, I'd agree, most days . . . Boy are you in trouble. Do you want to tell me about it before Dore gets hold of you?"

  "Not really. I knew them. They were under my command for a time. I felt a responsibility. I thought they were near but so far they had contented themselves with thievery. Eventually the rapes or murders would start as their fear of Grantville left them. It is
all a bad story, we've had enough blood for today. Another time I'll tell you, please?"

  "All right soldier, but I'll hold you to it. What about the bodies?"

  "I am not a religious man, Pam. I'd as soon leave them for the carrion crows, they deserve no better. I suppose we should alert the Grantville authorities, especially since Kurt is still out there . . . Do you think I will be in trouble for this?" his eyes looked questioningly at her.

  "As far as I'm concerned they got what they deserved. I'll tell them you were defending me; you aren't going to be in any trouble. Besides, it's kind of like the wild west these days, anyway."

  "Yippee!" he cheered faintly. Why did the Germans love cowboy movies so? Gerbald's face turned serious again.

  "Pam, this is important: That man, Kurt. It was brave what you did, who would have guessed our gentle bird lover contains such fury? He has hurt many women, it was good to see him get some measure of justice at your hands." Gerbald paused, making sure to catch her eyes with his. "It would have been much better if I had been able to kill him. Please understand, a wounded beast is more dangerous still. He will want revenge, in time he will come looking. You must be careful. I will always watch over you but he will try to find a time when I am not there, he is a coward but still very dangerous. Do you understand me?"