The children threw their heads back as one, opening their mouths and exposing rows of black and bloody teeth filed to jagged points; they screamed with rage.
Mouse covered her ears with her hands and pushed herself back farther on the cot, though the creatures were only an arm’s reach from her still. “I will not!” she screamed back at them.
“Teach us!”
“I will not,” she said, weeping.
In an instant, they went quiet, just children again. They turned and began sliding through the dark at the corner of the cell where another candle was dying. One of the hollow-eyed children stayed at the salt-line cross watching Mouse until the others had disappeared.
“You will teach us,” it said.
“No, I—”
“You have tricks,” it said, pointing to the salt. “But others here do not.”
“What do you—?”
“You will teach us,” it said again and then disappeared into the shadows.
The first scream came from a room down the hall from her own. Sister Ida. Mouse took a step toward the door, her foot hovering at the line of salt.
Another scream. She bent her head listening; she heard fear, not pain. No one was hurt. She sat back on the cot. At least now she knew the dark things were real. If others could see them, they must live somewhere else besides Mouse’s mind.
If she crossed the salt, she would be unprotected. She didn’t know what powers the creatures had, but she knew they could play with her mind. They could take what they wanted. Could they take her power? Learn what she had done to the squirrel? Do it to other dead things? Mouse couldn’t take the risk.
She pulled her knees to her chest again, laying her head against them, rocking. It was her fault the Sisters were suffering. Her tears darkened the stain of Ottakar’s blood on her surcoat.
Mouse knew dawn was coming when the screams finally stopped.
Her body ached as she stood, but her mind was clear. She would leave the abbey today.
Lord Rozemberk met her at the guesthouse door.
“Where are your things?”
Mouse pulled her mantle back and pointed at the leather sack hanging from her waist.
“We do not need the other horse,” he said over his shoulder to one of the men.
Mouse reached for the door handle, and Lord Rozemberk grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”
“I need to speak with the King.”
“No, you need to mount your horse. We are leaving.”
“I am not going with you.”
“What?”
“I need to go somewhere else first and then I will catch up with you,” Mouse said as she pulled her arm free of his grasp.
“As much as I would love to leave you behind, the King wants you with us in case he has need of you.” He made no effort to hide the innuendo. “You have no say in the matter. You go where he says and when. Which is now.”
Lord Rozemberk moved to grab her arm again, but Mouse anticipated him this time, turning just as he reached out and then shoving him hard in the chest. She pulled the door open, smiling as she slipped into the guesthouse, and closed the door behind her.
He was at her back by the time she reached the King’s room. “My Lord—”
“Did you sleep well?” she asked as she approached Ottakar, who was sitting in a chair by the fire.
“No.” He certainly sounded tired.
Brother Jan came in carrying a cup of warm mead. “It was a strange night, my Lord.” He bowed as he approached the King, who took the cup.
“And how did you sleep, Mouse?” Ottakar asked.
She simply shook her head.
“Seems it was a bad night for everyone, then,” he said. “Good enough reason to start the new day.” He sat the cup on the table and pointed to a hauberk at the foot of the bed. “I am ready, Vok.”
“Can you not ride without the mail? The extra weight will worsen the pull on your ribs,” Mouse said.
“He is safer with it on,” Lord Rozemberk said.
“Not if it makes the injury worse.”
“That is why you are going with us.”
“No I am not, I must—”
“The King said you are—”
“Enough!” Ottakar said. “What do you mean you are not going?” he asked Mouse.
“I must get permission from my guardian, Mother Kazi. She is training the Sisters at Chotesov. I can walk there by midday prayers, and, if she gives her blessing, I will catch up with you by tomorrow.” Mouse had crafted her plan last night. “If you ride slowly, stop frequently and change your dressings often—”
“I must get to Prague. My father waits for me. By your own word, I need a physician to manage my wound.” Ottakar winced as he raised his arms for Lord Rozemberk to slide the hauberk over his head.
“And what will happen to me when we reach the castle with your court, including your own physicians? You will have no need of me then. How will I seem to others, a woman, neither wife to man nor Christ, who has traveled alone with men?” As she spoke, Mouse fiddled with the bracelet in the bag at her waist.
Ottakar walked to her. “You will be under my protection, Mouse.” She kept her eyes on the floor. He bent his head to speak more quietly to her. “Will you not feel safe with me?”
Her heart raced—too aware that she was arguing with the King and too aware of how close he stood. “I would feel safe with you, but can you also keep me safe from what others would think? Others like Hartwin?” Or your own men, she wanted to add.
“I will grant you guardianship, then. We will draw the papers here. Bring someone to—”
“My Lord, this is ill done! You know nothing about this girl,” Lord Rozemberk said.
“What say you, Mouse?” Ottakar asked.
Mouse didn’t know what to say. She had never expected such a response. “I am . . . deeply honored, but Lord Rozemberk is right, I am no one and have no family. My only connections are here. I cannot imagine that your friends would advise—”
“I am the King of Bohemia. Or one of them, at least. I need not heed the advice of anyone. Will my guardianship suffice to shield your reputation as well as your virtue?”
Mouse nodded.
“You will need the signature of her current guardian to make it legal, my Lord.” Brother Jan spoke softly from the corner where he had been quietly observing. Everyone turned to him. He smiled, and Mouse could see his intent. Though he wanted her gone from the abbey, he did not want Mouse to go at the favor of the King. “And I am sad to say that Father Lucas is away. We have not heard from him for some months.”
“Mother Kazi is also my guardian. She may sign,” Mouse said.
“You have papers to prove this?” Lord Rozemberk asked.
Mouse was about to answer that the papers were in the library when she realized that she would be stepping into Brother Jan’s trap, revealing to the King and Lord Rozemberk that she had been in cloistered space. They would have little choice then but to punish both her and Father Lucas.
“I am sure Brother Jan knows where they are,” she said.
“Fetch them,” Ottakar ordered. “And someone to write the new guardianship papers. Quickly! Seems we will need to stop at Chotesov anyway.”
“I can write them,” Mouse said.
Ottakar startled them all with his laugh and then he grabbed at his side and sat back down on the edge of the bed. “You are most certainly an odd Mouse,” he said, looking at her.
“Surely you know women who can read and write,” she said, stepping over to a table already scattered with parchment. The King had been working.
“Read a little, write a little, but not draft a legal document.” He chuckled more lightly.
Mouse was nearly done by the time Brother Jan returned with the papers. He handed them to the King.
“Thank you, Prior,” Ottakar said. “We are also in need of a chaperone. A Sister. To leave with us immediately.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Mouse gave Ottakar the document she had written. Her script was beautifully even and smooth, her hand steady, but her head was swimming. She was about to become a ward of the King of Bohemia, and as astounding as that was, Mouse understood that it had simply been the easiest means for Ottakar to achieve his ends. His protection would end when they reached Prague, and she had written the document to show that she understood this. What unsettled her was his request for a chaperone though she hadn’t asked for one. Chaperones were for people of value.
Sister Ida was already mounted when Ottakar, Lord Rozemberk, and Mouse stepped out into the courtyard. The Sister looked ill. Mouse wanted to go to her, echoes of her screams reigniting Mouse’s guilt, but Lord Rozemberk, hand around her arm, pushed her toward a horse. She was suddenly astride it and tugging at her mantle and surcoat as the line of horses began trotting toward the gate. They were headed down the hill toward the river so quickly that Mouse had not had a chance to say good-bye to the only place that had ever been home for her. She turned to look back, but all she could see was the tip of the church tower against the dusky pink sky.
SIX
Vok! The King!” Mouse cried out. She had seen the subtle slump of Ottakar’s shoulders as the horses were reined to a stop at the nunnery steps, but she was too far behind to do anything. Lord Rozemberk had just dismounted to speak with the abbess. He now turned quickly toward the King, catching him as he started to slip from his horse.
By the time Mouse reached them, the abbess was directing them to the infirmary.
“No, he will be more comfortable in the guest rooms,” Mouse said. She motioned for Lord Rozemberk to follow her to a smaller entrance at the corner of the front wing. She’d spent much time here over the years with Mother Kazi training healers. Mouse spoke over her shoulder to the abbess, “Mother Marta, would you please bring Mother Kazi?”
When she recognized Mouse, Mother Marta crossed herself, nodded and left; she had been a Sister at Teplá when Mouse was a child.
The guest rooms at Chotesov were small but elaborate with carved wooden panels along the walls and heavy tapestries in rich colors. The ceiling was painted with murals of Bohemian saints: Cyril and Methodius, who fought Rome to bring Christianity to the Slavs in their own tongue; Ludmila, who was strangled with her veil for keeping faith; and Eurasia, who lost her limbs and her head to save her virtue.
It was the image of Eurasia, hands severed and bleeding, that had caught Mouse’s attention as a child and made her wonder what she believed in enough to be willing to make such sacrifice. A Church that rejected her? A faith she wasn’t sure she had? It was people who anchored Mouse. Father Lucas, Mother Kazi—for them she would give up anything.
Mouse looked at Ottakar’s face, milky gray, his eyes closed as they laid him on the bed, and she felt a visceral draw to this man she had known for only two days; it frightened her and thrilled her all at once.
“Take his surcoat and hauberk off,” she said to Lord Rozemberk as she unfastened her own mantle and tossed it aside. And to Damek, who had helped to carry the King, “Get me cool, clean water and wine.”
She frowned when she saw the blood staining Ottakar’s tunic, dreading what she might find under the dressing. He was beginning to stir by the time she pulled the linen wrap away from the wounds. She sighed with relief; it was oozing at the edges, but the stitches had held. She laid her cheek against his chest, listening.
“How is he, child?”
Mouse nearly wept at the feel of Mother Kazi’s hand on her shoulder. “The breathing is good, but he has a fever.” Her voice broke.
“Tell me what we do for a fever,” Mother Kazi said, teacher to pupil.
Damek was there with the water and wine. “You bleed him,” he said.
“No,” Mouse answered, calming now that Mother Kazi was there and settling into her healer’s training. “He bled too much with the wound. He is weak and has pushed himself too hard. Look.” She pointed to the thin line of stitches. “No signs of festering.” She laid her hand on his abdomen. “No swelling in the gut.”
“Mother, will you check him?” Lord Rozemberk asked.
“There is no need,” Mother Kazi said. “Mouse is a better healer than I. She knows what to do.”
Mouse took a piece of clean linen from the bag at her waist. She soaked it in the water, washed the sweat from his face, and then laid the cool cloth on his forehead and another at the back of his neck.
“For a fever, you give coriander seed,” she said to Mother Kazi. “And honey and warm ale. Can you bring those?” Mother Kazi nodded and disappeared down the hall.
While she waited for Mother Kazi to come back with supplies, Mouse washed Ottakar’s wounds with the wine and dressed them again.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You overtired yourself, made yourself feverish. Nothing I cannot manage.”
Ottakar smiled. “We are at Chotesov then?”
“Yes”—she turned at the sound of steps—“and this is Mother Kazi. Mother, this is—” Mouse stumbled, not sure of the proper way to introduce a king.
“I know who he is, child. My Lord.” Mother Kazi bowed.
Mouse could see Lord Rozemberk shaking his head. Embarrassed, she bent her head to the task of crushing the coriander and mixing it with the honey and ale.
“Drink this. It will help with the fever.” Mouse held the cup to his lips.
“Bring the papers. And then we will eat and be gone,” he said after he drank.
“No,” Mouse barked, but she softened her tone after a look from Mother Kazi. “If you rest today and tonight, you will be able to travel farther tomorrow and make better time.”
“I have already told the men to set camp out back near a pond. Should I revoke that order, my Lord?” Lord Rozemberk asked.
Ottakar closed his eyes again. “No. We will ride at daybreak. Let me sleep.”
Mouse changed the cloth on his forehead. She and Mother Kazi moved to a table at the far side of the room to give the King some quiet. Lord Rozemberk went to check on the men.
“I left you to help tend the sick Sisters,” Mother Kazi said as she poured a cup of wine for each of them. “How did you manage to find a king?”
“He came to me, Mother.” Mouse told her everything, except for what happened at the river and last night’s terror in the abbey.
“I cannot decide if I should chastise you for recklessness and overconfidence or be in awe of what you did.”
“You would have done the same, Mother. That was how I knew what to do, imagining what you would do.” Mouse laid her head on the table.
“You are tired. Let me have them ready a room for you.”
“No. He may need me in the night if the fever worsens.” Mouse yawned. “There has been little time for sleep these past two days.”
“I understand there was trouble at the abbey last night?”
Mouse sat up.
“Sister Ida talked about terrible nightmares, not only hers, but for all the Sisters.”
“The Brothers, too,” Mouse added, tensing.
“And you? Did you also have nightmares?”
“I did not sleep.” Mouse would not tell the rest.
Mother Kazi was quiet for a long time before she added, “Sister Ida’s description of what happened sounded much like the dreams you had not many years ago.”
Mouse laid her head back on the table, and again there was silence.
“Why have you come here?” Mother Kazi asked. Mouse could hear the edge in her voice; Mother Kazi was afraid.
“The King wants me to go with him to Prague. I said I needed your permission first.”
“Go.”
Mouse sat up again, startled by the naked answer. “And leave the abbey?”
“The abbey is not your home, Mouse. It never has been.”
Anger welled in Mouse. “It is the only home I have ever known.”
Mother Kazi sighed. “I know, and I am sorry for it. I warned Father Lucas when h
e took you in and again when you—”
“You did not want me?”
“Oh, Mouse. I did want you, but I also saw the complications to come—for us and for you. The world offers little chance of happiness for most women and for someone with your . . . circumstances. . . . I just . . . I tried to tell Father Lucas, but he loved you from the first, like you were his own, all he could think of was protecting you, even—”
“He loved me . . . but not you?”
“Of course I love you! Have I not taken care of you, taught you—”
“Then why can I not return to the abbey with you and Father Lucas?”
“You have no future at the abbey.”
“How do you know? Does God seek your counsel?” Mouse hissed.
“Mind your tongue, child.”
“No.” Mouse leaned closer to the woman. “I am tired of being told what I can and cannot do. You are quick enough to close doors, but what other future waits for me?”
“This is what I tried to talk to the Father about before he left for this trip, and now—” Worry darkened Mother Kazi’s eyes.
“Have you heard from him?” Mouse felt uneasy, her emotions swinging from sadness to anger and now fear for the Father.
“No. Have you?”
Mouse shook her head.
“I wanted us to craft some plan before he left of what we meant to do with you, in case he . . . but now, it seems you have found your own way.” Mother Kazi nodded toward Ottakar. “You will have a great adventure, full of possibilities.” She meant to sound encouraging, but Mouse heard the relief in her voice; Mother Kazi was glad to rid herself of this burden. Perhaps the taunts of the hollow-eyed children had not been all lies.
Hurt, Mouse pushed back from the table, chewing at her lip. “I understand. You have fulfilled the obligation that was purchased on my behalf.” She meant the words to be icy daggers, and they hit their mark.
“Mouse, please, I—”
“I need to sleep,” Mouse said as she turned away. She sat leaning against the stone face near the fire, her back to Mother Kazi. She didn’t want the old woman to see her cry.
Bohemian Gospel Page 6
