Grantville Gazette, Volume 71

by Bjorn Hasseler

  "No way," Henri said. "I'd rather face the necessary than Frère Pierre."

  "But the necessary isn't that big," Gabriel pointed out. "All four of us wouldn't fit."

  "So you and I will examine the necessary and Claude and Charles will keep watch," Henri countered.

  The other boys nodded, and Gabriel looked around them. Apparently both Frère Stephan and his assistants had given up on making the boys clean the pile of filthy bed pans, he thought, because they were all busy with the patients. Gabriel nodded to his friends.

  "Okay, let's go," he said, and the boys crept out of the infirmary and through the corridors to the necessary by the chapel.

  Gabriel started to pull open the door and suddenly stopped. Frère Joseph was sprawled on the floor, a small streak of blood at one side of his mouth and a larger pool drying where the brother's head met the floor.

  "Mon Dieu!" Gabriel shouted as he jumped back, hitting something solid as he did. A pair of large hands grasped at his arms as he over-balanced and nearly fell onto Frère Joseph.

  "For the love of . . ." Frère Jacques sputtered as he pulled Gabriel out of the necessary.

  "I didn't hurt him," Gabriel shouted as the monk hauled him into the corridor.

  "I know that, Boy," Frère Jacques sputtered. "I was two seconds behind you, coming to see what the four of you were doing in the corridor instead of in the infirmary. Or did Stephan let them go, Matthew?"

  Gabriel turned and saw Frère Matthew coming toward them. Matthew shook his head as he joined the group, slightly out of breath. "No, Frère Jacques. I was just coming to get them."

  "Frère Matthew," Gabriel said, "Frère Joseph is in the necessary unconscious, I think something's wrong."

  The lay brother blanched, and pushed his way through to Frère Joseph. Kneeling down, Matthew pressed his fingers to Frère Joseph's neck, then shook his head.

  "He's gone," Matthew said slowly as he looked up at the boys. Tears began to form in the younger monk's eyes.

  "Someone killed him?" Charles asked, trying not to sound excited.

  "I doubt it," Frère Matthew said, glaring up at Charles. "Frère Joseph had been ill a long time. Most likely he had another seizure."

  "Another seizure?" Gabriel asked at the same time the other boys asked, "Frère Joseph had seizures?"

  Frère Jacques sighed. "Frère Matthew, please go get Frère Stephan. You know what he'll need. As for the three of you," Frère Jacques gave the boys a hard look, "I think Father Abbot should deal with you. Again."

  ****

  "So you see, Father," Gabriel said, "we decided to investigate. Just like the people in the mysteries."

  Gabriel's father nodded slowly and exchanged a look with Abbot Dauret that Gabriel didn't understand.

  "As you can see, Young Gabriel," the Abbot said, waving at a tall chest, "the settlement's triptych is perfectly fine."

  Gabriel flushed as he examined the triptych as it sat in isolated splendor on Abbot Dauret's carved prie deau. It was a lovely thing, Saint Anne cradling Saint Mary, her blue veil embroidered with fleur-de-lys on the right, Saint Martial in gold on the left, the Virgin and Christ child in the center. Worthy, Gabriel thought, of a future king.

  It was so lovely and new it made the rest of the Abbot's office look faded and shabby. But then the plain, uncarved desk, the ordinary straight-backed chairs, rickety bench, and brass candelabra looked like they belonged in a peasant's hut, Gabriel thought disdainfully. Even his parent's home, as poor as they were for a noble family, was better furnished.

  "But what happened, Father Abbot?" Gabriel asked, unable to stop himself.

  "Frère Jacques knocked the triptych over when he had a seizure," Gabriel's father said, putting a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. "May God bless his soul."

  "Indeed," Abbot Dauret said, folding his hands into the sleeves of his habit. "The jewels and icons were knocked loose by the violence when Frère Jacques thrashed out. I believe he was reaching for the Host when the seizure took him. He often did that," the Abbot told Gabriel's father, "forgetting he was no longer able to function as a priest. Poor Frère Matthew has had to take communion from Frère Joseph several times, fearing stopping him would do more harm than good.

  "Frère Jacques found the icon of Saint Martial in the necessary," Abbot Dauret continued, looking at Gabriel. "The icon of Saint Anne was found by Frere Pierre with the jewels behind the altar."

  "But . . ." Gabriel started, then stopped when he felt his father's hand on his shoulder.

  "There's nothing wrong with healthy curiosity, Gabriel-Nicholas," his father said. "And it's good for a magistrate to know how an investigation is run. But . . ." Gabriel flushed at his father's stern look. "There is a difference between curiosity and interference. The next time one of your elders tells you not to interfere, you should listen."

  "Yes Father," Gabriel said. "But what if the person telling me not to interfere is hiding a crime?"

  "Hmmm," Gabriel's father said, nodding. His displeased expression softened slightly. "It depends, I suppose, on whether you're investigating a real crime or indulging your curiosity. What do you say, Father Abbot?"

  Abbot Dauret smiled softly. "I agree, Monsieur."

  "I think I understand," Gabriel said, then paused. "Father? Can I ask you something?"

  His father chuckled. "You already did, but go on."

  "Do I have to be a magistrate?" Gabriel asked in a rush. "What if I became a private investigator like Monsieur Holmes? Maybe I could go to Grantville or Magdeburg to study up-time police things? When we're not at war with the up-timers anymore? Please?"

  His father exchanged a strange look with Abbot Dauret and tugged on his doublet's worn sleeve. "I don't know. If we can afford it. Maybe when the war ends. But, Gabriel-Nicholas, there's no place for a private investigator in Limoges."

  "But I could go to Paris," Gabriel countered, his mind filling with dreams. "Paris could use an investigator."

  Abbot Dauret rubbed his chin. "Hmmm. Monsieur, I think you should have a talk with His Grace about the information we spoke about earlier. I think he might have an idea or two about young Gabriel's desire to study in Grantville or Magdeburg when he's a little older."

  Jean-Nicholas de Traslage, Seignior de la Reynie smiled down at his son. "Perhaps. If he stops cutting Latin class."

  ****

  Henrietta crossed the muddy yard between the house and the barn, weaving back and forth to avoid the worst of the puddles. It was barely an hour past dawn, and already she was exhausted. No matter how hard she tried to put the Monster Society and the loss of Ray out of her head, she had lain awake all night thinking of things she might have done differently—things she might have done that would have saved him.

  She ducked into the barn and stood for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. It was warmer than the yard, at least. The ox and pigs gave off heat, and the hay in the loft above held it in, even when the wind whispered against the roof.

  Henrietta tucked her braid up under her cap and grabbed the two-pronged pitchfork from beside the door. On any other day she might have been resentful of doing this work alone and the knowledge that she might not be able to see her friends. But with Ray gone, she no longer had friends, and the work was at least an outlet for the anger and grief that held her so tight she wondered if it would ever fade.

  She murmured to the ox soothingly as she used the fork to pull the dirty straw from his stall. Her arms and back aching as she worked with a feverish determination – tossing the soiled bedding over her shoulder into the middle of the little barn. Thrust. Lift. Toss. Focusing on the work so she would not have time to think of anything else.

  The door to the barn creaked open, light spilling in for a moment before it shut again. Henrietta shoved the fork into another mound of straw. "I'm not done yet, Papa."

  "It's not . . . Hey!" Natalie dodged sideways as a clod of straw and manure hurtled toward her.

  Henrietta turned and looked at her with a
scowl. "I'm busy."

  "I can see that." Natalie shuffled her feet. "But we need to talk."

  "About what? The Monster Society? I told you. I'm done with that." She dug the fork into another pile of straw and hurled it over her shoulder.

  "Hey!" Natalie sidestepped again. "No, it's not about that." She moved closer, leaning on the top rail of the stall. "It's about John."

  Henrietta paused, a new wave of anger making her cheeks flush. She had known from the moment she first saw John and Natalie together that he was more interested in the up-timer than he ever had been in her. But now, with Ray gone, hearing Natalie say his name was just a reminder that she was alone.

  She scraped the last bits of dirty bedding out of the corners and tossed it onto the pile, looked at Natalie, ready to tell her to get out. But Natalie's normal shy demeanor was gone—a serious wrinkle across her forehead.

  Henrietta sighed. "What about John?"

  "He's not taking Konrad's . . . passing very well."

  Henrietta shook her head. "Some of us were his friends. Not just in the Monster Society. Some of us knew him. Some of us . . ." She stopped, throat burning with the effort of holding back tears.

  Natalie reached out impulsively and laid her hand on Henrietta's shoulder. "You loved him."

  Hearing it out loud hurt more than anything else, and Henrietta tried to shake her head, but tears spilled over, and she reached up to take Natalie's hand. "Maybe." She took a deep breath. "Yes."

  Natalie rubbed at her own eyes fiercely, but didn't let go of Henrietta's hand, still leaning awkwardly across the top rail of the stall. "I am so sorry, Henrietta."

  Henrietta looked at her, trying to say something sharp and nasty. Because she knew that being around Natalie and John again would only make Ray's absence more obvious. But she couldn't. Deep down she didn't want to—she wanted her friends back, even if it meant thinking more about Ray. She realized that as much as it hurt to remember him, trying to forget him hurt even more.

  She let the pitchfork fall to the ground and took Natalie's other hand. "I'm sorry, too." For a moment they stood, tears running across their cheeks in hot and sticky lines.

  Finally Henrietta let go and wiped her face on her sleeve, then took a few deep breaths of the warm and pungent air inside the barn. "Tell me about John."

  "I think he's lost it, Henrietta," Natalie told her.

  "Lost it?"

  "We both know John walked a razor's edge sometimes between what was real and what he had built in the Monster Society, but—" Natalie frowned as Henrietta interrupted her.

  "John always knew what was real and what wasn't," Henrietta protested. She had seen firsthand what happened when someone got lost in the games the Society played. Her brother, Van, was the reason she had joined the Society. Van had never been right in the head. That and his age had drawn her to follow him in the Society to watch over him. With each passing adventure, Van had become more dangerous and more caught up in the world that the Monster Society had helped create in his mind. Ultimately, Van had injured another new recruit that John had brought in and was booted from the Society altogether. She had stayed, though. She had found more than she bargained for in the Society and fallen for John at first sight. The Society had become her family.

  Natalie shook her head. "I got to know John better than any of us guys did, Henrietta, and you know it. I loved him too," Natalie paused so she could keep her voice under control. "Trust me when I tell you that he was . . . troubled. Something happened to him during his time in the army. He never told me what but whatever it was, it shook him to the very core of his soul. I think the Monster Society was his means of coping with his past. It was a new start for him that gave him purpose. Through it, he wasn't alone anymore either. He had us . . . all of us. When Ray died, all that shattered for him."

  "He's hurting," Henrietta said, "We are, too."

  Natalie couldn't argue that. "Yes, we are, but John . . . I think John believes he can really bring Konrad back from the dead."

  Henrietta stared at Natalie for a long moment before she spoke again. "And you think he may hurt himself or someone else trying to do it."

  Natalie nodded. "John has never fit in anywhere but the Monster Society, Henrietta. He's always lived on the edge and thought outside of the box. There's no telling what he may do if he believes it could bring Konrad back to us. We have to stop him before something bad happens."

  "Fine," Henrietta consented. "I'll help you. Do you know where he is now?"

  "No," Natalie admitted.

  "We'll find him together then but not right now," Henrietta told her. "I have to finish my chores around the farm first. You go on. I'll meet you at the edge of town in a few hours."

  "Thank you," Natalie said and left, leaving Henrietta to her work.

  Henrietta finished her chores as quickly as she could. After she was done, she popped into the house long enough to tell her parents she was heading out for the evening to see her friends. As she left, Henrietta carried a shovel with her.

  When Konrad died, she had buried her Monster Society costume nearby and swore to never put it on again. That was a promise she had known even then that she might not be able to keep.

  Henrietta found the spot where she had buried her costume and set about digging it up. Sweat poured from her skin as she dug into the earth. Soon, she would be "Red" again. When she wore her hood and her cloak, she always felt stronger than she ever did as plain old Henrietta. It was as if the character of the wolf slayer that she portrayed became a part of her.

  She flung the shovel aside in the wake of uncovering her costume. She cleaned it as best she could flapping the cloak about in the air to fling the dirt from it. Her hands trembled as she clasped the cloak around her throat. As she flipped its hood up over her head, her hands stopped shaking. The features of her face hardened with determination. Losing Konrad had been enough. She wasn't going to stand by and let John destroy himself if there was anything she could do about it. Leaving the shovel lying where she had thrown it, Red set out towards the edge of town where she knew Natalie would be waiting.

  ****

  Natalie paced a slow circle around the tree where the members of the Monster Society always met up. She had already eaten one of the sandwiches out of her backpack. It was the second time in a month that she'd skipped school without telling anyone, which meant she hadn't gone home after she left Henrietta, but had stayed here—near the edge of Grantville—trying to pass the time while she waited.

  She considered eating the other sandwich, but she wasn't really hungry, just bored. And cold. She breathed into her gloves to warm her fingers and plodded another circle around the tree.

  Up the road, something flickered. A splash of scarlet among the grey-brown winter trees. "Ah." Natalie snatched up her backpack and broke into a run. There was no need to wait and see who it was; the red cloak could only belong to one person.

  "Red!" Natalie sidestepped a puddle and skidded on the muddy road, struggling to stay upright as her arms flailed around for balance. "Whoops. Hey, I'm glad you're here."

  Red nodded. "I'm glad you waited."

  Natalie looked at her more closely. "Are you all right? You're a little , , , uh . . . " She waved a hand at the muddy cloak.

  "Oh. Yeah. I'd buried it." She smoothed her hands across each shoulder, coaxing the wrinkled fabric to lie flat. "I guess some things shouldn't stay dead."

  "Cool." Natalie stuffed her hands in her coat pockets, suddenly wishing she'd brought her costume, too. But that would have made Mom suspicious.

  "So." Red looked at her intently. "Now what?"

  "Now we go talk to John." Natalie stamped her feet, boots squelching in the mud. "I do miss paved roads, you know. We could have taken my bicycle."

  Red nodded. "But our legs work. And it's not that far if we go together." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Friends make things easier, right?"

  "True," Natalie said. She hitched her thumbs through the straps of her bac
kpack and started walking. "And at least if we're walking my feet won't be so cold."

  John had been kicked out of his relative's tavern and now lived in a tiny hut tucked back in the woods. There was a path that led from the main road, but it was narrow and the trees on either side tended to snag and catch at anyone walking that way.

  When Natalie and Red finally reached the little clearing around the hut they were both red-cheeked and brushing bits of twigs from their clothes and hair.

  "Oof." Natalie untangled a particularly stubborn piece of a branch from the flap on her backpack. "Stupid trees."

  Red thumped on the door with her fist.

  There was a muffled clatter from within, then silence.

  Red frowned and knocked on the door again, surprised that doing so didn't cause it to fall from its hinges. "John."

  Natalie leaned down close to the door jam. "We know you're in there. Answer the door."

  There was more clattering, like pots or crockery being shoved to one side, and the floorboards creaked.

  Red was just raising her fist to knock a third time when the door flung open and John burst through. "Hello."

  He pulled the door shut behind him and looked at both of them with a ragged smile. "I wasn't expecting . . . And Red. I thought you were finished with the Monster Society?"

  Red shook her head. "Maybe not. You look terrible."

  "What? Oh." John raked his fingers through his hair, and tugged at his shirt. It did little to hide the black circles under his eyes or the dirt crusted under his fingernails.

  Natalie wondered about the reddish tint to the stains on his shirt. "Is that blood, John?"

  "No. No." He flinched back as Red stepped closer. "I mean, yes. But I cut my finger the other day and I must have, you know, wiped it on my shirt." He blinked and rubbed his sleeve across his face. "What are you doing out here?"

  "I've been worried about you, John." Natalie looked at Red. "And so is Red."