The Gravedigger’s Son and the Waif Girl 1

by Sam Feuerbach

  "That sounds comprehensible. I think I can use some of that for myself. The only thing disturbing my harmonious trinity is a sarcastic chimera rampaging around inside my head, uninvited."

  Wimpish little worm, you understand nothing. You’re a long way from equanimity, concordance and balance. You’re neither focussed, nor do you possess a reasonable measure of self-awareness. You’re lacking in aggression, decisiveness and tenacity. I can help you compensate for your deficits to achieve psychological balance. But for that you have to let me in. The chimera snorted impatiently. You’ve just done it, you’ve opened a tiny window into your dusty spirit, through which I can slip in and enable you to read in foreign languages. That’s more than your God ever did for you.

  Farin mechanically pushed the book on carpet weaving back in its place. "Hm! I have a goal I’m following with determination. I want to be a good squire!"

  Well, then!

  "Now I have to get a move on, I don’t know how much more time the guard will allow me in the library. How do I orientate myself among all this book chaos?

  The shelves are colour coded. On the south wall is a board with explanations. I think you’ll find the really interesting works at the back of the library.

  Only now did Farin notice the big boards left and right. The various subject areas such as history, geography, arithmetic, philosophy, natural history and crafts were given individual colours which could be found again on little signs at the tops of the shelves. He’d accidentally landed in the crafts section. Was he interested in any of the other themes? No sign of demonology, anyway.

  He was about to move on when…wait – history. Farin wanted to find out more about Castle Stormwatch. He looked for the white markings and found two long shelves with books about architecture, lost kingdoms, battles and wars, old and new constructions. When he got to the end, several crimson tomes drew his attention. A quick look confirmed that the books were written in his language.

  "Time’s up. I’m locking the library now." Tap, tap, tap. The sound of the halberd on the tiled floor echoed loudly and clearly. Farin concluded his excursion into the world of the written word by stuffing the first volume under his tunic. He wanted to read it in peace later in the tower room.

  "Thank you", he said to the guard as he left the library. Luckily, the man took no notice of his fat, literate stomach.

  the dress

  I t was around midnight when Aross scaled the graveyard wall. The crumbling mortar between the large stones was a perfect fit for her small toes. This was where the aristocracy buried their dead, entrance to the riffraff strictly forbidden.

  Bans never bothered rats.

  The detour had been necessary as she’d spotted two soldiers of the town watch on the large square doing their rounds between the cathedral and the place of execution.

  Crouched, she flitted her way between the graves and crypts. She stopped at a fresh grave mound and rubbed dark earth onto her forehead, cheeks, chin and throat. Arms and feet received the same treatment too. Now she resembled her shadow. She reached the front of the cathedral without further difficulties and examined the scene. The large square lay in darkness. On her right and towards the upper town, lanterns burned every hundred paces all the way up to the royal palace. Thirty yards in front of the cathedral entrance, the remaining embers of the pyre cast the surrounding area in a diffuse circle of light. The two guards were standing a few yards in front of the enormous double doors and were looking straight at the remains of the fire. The soldier closer to her looked just like a horse that was standing and sleeping. The other seemed to fit into the image by occasionally shaking himself and snorting.

  Shit, thought Aross. Embers and guards made the matter much more complicated. Do they always stand here? Are they guarding the entrance to the cathedral or the execution platform?

  The girl had no idea – after all, she never hung around the large square in the middle of the night. The eager crescent of the moon splashed light here and there. She thought about her situation – sometimes thinking helped even if nothing struck you. A big cloud pushed its way in front of the moon. That seemed to Aross to be a sign, and so she decided to take advantage of the opportunity. It was hardly going to get any darker. All rats were grey – not only during the night. She crept towards the embers, which were still radiating enormous heat, in a roundabout manner. The ice-cold cobbles were becoming warmer and warmer.

  A voice echoed across the square. Aross remained motionless, pressed to the ground, her heart beating wildly in her breast.

  "Have you nodded off again, Fredder?"

  "Uh…? Um…noooo. Not at all."

  "That’s alright then," said the other guard, with a touch of malice in his voice.

  Shit and more shit! Now they were both awake.

  The girl waited another while and threw a concerned look up to the heavens. The cloud cover was thinning and threatening to separate – the moon wasn’t going to hide her for much longer.

  Using her forearms, the girl pushed herself across the square and closer to the platform. Only another few yards and she could hide herself behind it. Success! Two steps led up the stone platform. She cautiously looked over the top ledge. Good that she’d rubbed her face with earth, so it wouldn’t reflect the embers like a red Chinese lantern.

  Where had Shewhoknows been standing? Aross couldn’t make it out exactly, now that the wooden stake was missing. Of course – the fire had also reduced it to ashes. Ashes everywhere. Fire was an equaliser. Enough heat and everything turned into grey flakes. The girl raised her head, the embers were drying out her eyes, burning her brows, at least that’s what it felt like. She couldn’t see a single bone, never mind the skull. Instead, she spotted glowing, oval rings. The iron shackles with which the old woman had been tied to the stake. That’s exactly where she must have stood. And that’s where she’d died, for reasons Aross couldn’t understand. She didn’t believe one word of the spurious tittle-tattle about weather magic nor the nonsense about hanky-panky with the devil.

  She hadn’t anticipated this being so difficult. Even if the light of the embers was quite weak, it still created shadows. Long shadows that sometimes moved. In spite of this danger and the increasing heat, Aross crept closer to the shackles.

  "There’s something moving over there in the pyre, Fredder."

  "Uh…? Um…noooo. Not at all."

  "Wake up, you idiot. I’m telling you, there’s something there."

  "Uaah!" A loud yawn. "Sure – the witch is still living and is about to walk home as if nothing at all happened." The man craned his neck. "I can’t see anything."

  "I’ll go have a look." The chainmail rattled lightly as the guard on the left marched closer, pike extended. He took his job damn seriously.

  Aross narrowed her eyes to protect them from the heat, and in desperation searched the embers and ashes one last time. The earth on her face stretched on her skin. Nothing! She could do no more, now she had to scarper as quickly as possible. A bright point attracted her attention, a little away from the shackles, something small and shiny. Aross didn’t hesitate for a second but grabbed it. Ashes burned her fingers, the hot object bit into her palm, but she gripped it as hard as she had gripped Shewhoknows’s silverling that time.

  "In the name of the King, come down! What are you looking for up there?"

  Aross was already on her feet, made one leap down the two steps and ran as she had never run before, diagonally across the large square, away from the heat, away from the guard, away from the fear. She heard rattling steps behind her that slowly died away. A quick glance over her shoulder showed her the guard had given up. Good that chainmail boots and fast running didn’t exactly go hand in hand.

  The girl reached the narrow alleyways of the old town. Only now did her heartbeat slow down. Her closed hand which held the object hurt, but she took no notice. She knew where she would spend the night – she headed back to the place she had headed back to a thousand times before – the orphanage. />
  She was surprised by a new sensation when the dark silhouette of her old home came into view. She felt no sense of belonging, no sense of security or familiarity, but was filled with mistrust and suspicion. She crept closer, saw nothing out of the ordinary, everybody was long since in bed. In spite of her anxiety, she yawned. She absolutely needed a place to sleep. She tiptoed into the old barn. It smelled musty and her toes sank into the damp ground.

  Oh yes, all that blood, she thought.

  The haystack, the old ladder to the hayloft, the pitchfork against the wall, a few sleeping hens – everything as she remembered it. Only Wolf was missing from the corner.

  She quietly climbed the ladder and slipped through the hatch, closed it behind her and crept into the deep straw. Only now did she open her hand. There was the knickknack that Shewhoknows had spoken of. A molar. Her molar! Her memento of the old woman, that was all that was left of her. What a world!

  Forgive me, Shewhoknows. But you really wanted me to collect it. The witch’s tooth! The tooth of time? Whatever it was supposed to mean, whatever it was supposed to be good for. The girl realised with contentment that she had paid her debt to the old woman. Weary, she curled up in the straw. Exhaustion led her into a dreamless sleep.

  Voices!

  Aross’s eyes opened wide. She was lying in the hayloft in the orphanage barn, and the sun was already high in the sky. Two men were talking a short distance away in the yard.

  One of the kitchen maids came out of the house and stuttered a few obsequious phrases. "Your Excellency" was one of them.

  Aross crept across the straw as quietly as she could, ready for another wild flight across the roof. Steps approached, she held her breath. She could see nothing – she didn’t dare to stick her head out of the hole in the roof. She did the only thing that was open to her for the moment – she eavesdropped.

  One of the men explained: "It happened in the old barn. Rats tore the orphanage matron to pieces. I’ve never seen such a mutilated body in all my livelong days."

  "I want to take a look in the barn, captain," said a mellifluous voice.

  Dammit, what did he want here?

  The door opened and Aross pressed her eye to a gap between the floorboards. The Archbishop of Hubstone was standing directly under her and looking all around him.

  The maid said eagerly: "The matron was lying here, under the ladder. Everything was full of blood and the rats…"

  "Spare me your drivel!" said the bishop, cutting her off. "Just answer my questions."

  "My apologies, Your Excellency."

  "I’m looking for a girl. Fifteen years old at most. Small, ugly, grubby. Short, slime-coloured hair, scratched face. She was at the witch burning yesterday and was wearing a dress from this orphanage."

  "All the children were here, sir."

  "Apparently, not everyone. I could of course have all your fingernails pulled out to help you remember", suggested the bishop.

  "Please, sir…only one girl is missing, but she’s been gone two days already. Aross is her name – it can only be her."

  "Aross? Strange name. What’s her story?"

  "The matron was giving her a beating when the rats appeared."

  "Where is this Aross?"

  "Sir, I don’t know. She ran off and hasn’t appeared since."

  "You’re not exactly helpful. Do you at least know what happened here?"

  "I’m sorry…I only helped to move the bodies, Your Excellency."

  "What do you mean, bodies? Who else died apart from the matron?"

  "The dog, Wolf. Aross stabbed him to death, there in the corner, with the pitchfork."

  "You’re talking about a moronic mutt? Why did she do that?"

  "Sir…we can’t explain it. To be honest, the girl really liked the dog and was always nice to him."

  More marching steps echoed across the yard. Aross reckoned there had to be at least ten men standing before the barn. Things were getting better and better. Or worse and worse.

  Dear day, hardly do I open my eyes, but you have the first surprise ready for me. I could really begin to believe you have something against me. I really need air, she thought. Oh yes – don’t forget to breathe.

  The sharp voice of a soldier cut the air: "Your Excellency! Here is a man who wishes to speak to you. A matter of great urgency, he claims."

  "Very well. I’ll deal with him."

  The maid interrupted by whining: "Sir, I’ve said everything. May I go now?"

  This was clearly going too far for His Excellency, the archbishop.

  "People always have something to hide. What do you think, captain?"

  "Uh…I follow orders and leave the thinking to others."

  "Very good! Take the stupid cow away. Get everything she knows about Aross out of her. When she arrived in the orphanage, where she comes from, what she likes to eat, who her friends are…everything! Skin her alive or do whatever with her, then she won’t forget anything."

  "No…sir…mercy. I have done nothing, sir. I’ll tell you everything! I beg you, don’t take me away!"

  "Shut your trap!" The bishop’s voice trembled with fury. Aross could sense through the ceiling how dangerous and unpredictable the man was. "Take her away!" he ordered. "Captain, wait outside."

  "As you command."

  Aross heard the stamping of boots once again. The captain left the barn and the town watch led the maid across the yard. The poor thing whined and wailed, there was the sound of a slap, then she was silent.

  The bishop closed the door, leaving himself and the newcomer alone in the barn below. The latter was standing so far to the left that Aross couldn’t see him through the little gap.

  The bishop snapped at him in a lowered voice: "You do realise that you should only come and see me in the most urgent of cases. I’m a very busy man."

  "Who says this isn’t an urgent case?" the stranger sounded throaty and sinister. He clicked his tongue quietly. "But let’s leave that for the moment, we’d need more time than the few minutes we have. What brings you to this…establishment?"

  Aross thought she was hearing things. How could he be talking like this to the godlike archbishop?

  "A girl called Aross lives in this orphanage. This much is obvious: the mistress of the dark arts we burned at the stake yesterday was in league with the girl."

  "Mistress of the dark arts? Is that your term for the evil witch?" it wheezed, unimpressed. "I arrived just in time to experience your performance. The old woman stole the show from you. Ah well, there won’t be a second performance with the same cast."

  A cold shiver ran up the girl’s spine. The voice was swimming in scorn and malevolence. Such wickedness was unfolding only a few inches away from her this morning- such an honour!

  "She was anything but evil and anything but a witch. But she was becoming a problem and a danger to our plans. The boss wanted her to burn. Or do you believe that nonsense about screwing the devil?"

  "Of course not, but that’s not the point. The main thing is – the people believe it."

  The bishop let out a malicious laugh. "Don’t you worry about that. I decide what our honest citizens believe."

  "Of course! One reason I like you so much," whispered the voice. "Why was the witch so dangerous?"

  "She knew all about the Necorers. An obscure woman with extraordinary abilities. She sailed here from over the ocean with Redbeard."

  "On the Barbarossa? Amazing! But I wanted to discuss another problem with you. I’m just back from Heap. The gravedigger’s son has left the village."

  "How is that possible?" the bishop groaned. "If you hadn’t slit open the priest there lengthwise, we’d have got all the information we needed."

  "You see I have no difficulty in slaughtering a man of the cloth – just for fun."

  Aross shivered. She found the man sinister. Also, her bladder was very full.

  "Are you trying to threaten me?" The archbishop was indignant now. He certainly wasn’t used to anything like this.<
br />
  "I’m not trying to, I am. You should have told me about this Gerlunda much earlier. Now it’s going to be much more hassle finding her," he whispered.

  "What about the village alderman? Didn’t you want to take him in hand too?" asked the bishop. He clearly didn’t want the argument to intensify.

  "I’ll leave him in peace for the time being. We’ve rocked the boat enough already, so we’ll concentrate on the most likely thing. My instinct tells me: The gravedigger’s son has it and that’s why he disappeared from the village."

  "Where could he be hiding?"

  "His father absolutely didn’t want to tell me. A tough nut, I had to cut off a few body parts before he eventually spilled the beans."

  His wheezy chuckle as he spoke caused a fearful shiver to run down Aross’s back. She would never have believed a person could be capable of such malicious whispering.

  "You’ll never believe it, but the gravedigger’s son is staying in Castle Stormwatch in the company of our good friend Emicho and is being trained as a squire. Nothing slips past the boss."

  "That’s incredible! Who would believe it?" said the bishop in amazement. "Does Emicho suspect anything?"

  "I don’t know. We have a plan for getting rid of the troublesome knight once and for all. And we’re going to need your help. The grand tournament will take place right on his doorstep next year – the perfect opportunity. The boss has also instructed our informers in the castle. It won’t be long before we know what the gravedigger’s son is up to."

  Aross didn’t understand a single word of the conversation. She thought about Shewhoknows, who sailed over the ocean with Redbeard. Whatever that meant.

  The man certainly didn’t seem to be overflowing with respect for His Excellency, the archbishop of Hubstone. Aross could feel every muscle in her body, she was lying in such a cramped position on the rough planks and squinting through the gap. Added to that she was dying for a piss. Maybe onto the archbishop’s head?

  Seeing as God’s representative in the Worldly Kingdom was paying a visit, a prayer had to be uttered: Please go away, just please go away. Amen.