Accidental Warrior: The Unlikely Tale of Bloody Hal

by Colin Alexander

  Then he saw that the square was not entirely empty. Up near the front of the church, a boy was building a snowman. Hal rushed toward him, ignoring the drifted snow that came over the top of his boots. By the time he reached the church, the boy had had turned away from the snowman to watch him. He was a ten-year-old named Tommy O’Brien, often around the inn and often into mischief. Hal had chased him out of the kitchen more than once.

  “Tommy!” he called out, “Have you been out long this morning?”

  “A while.” The boy peered at Hal for a minute, then said, “Oh, you’re Hal from the inn.”

  “Of course I’m Hal. Who did you think I was?”

  “I dunno. With those dumb two caps on, it’s hard to tell.” Tommy grinned as Hal snatched the caps off and stuffed them in a pocket.

  “Dammit, Tommy, it’s cold out here.”

  “Nah, not really. But, if you’re so cold, how come you’re out? Slade punishing you?”

  Hal decided to ignore that. “I’m looking for somebody. I want to know if you’ve seen them.”

  “Who?”

  “A couple of woodsrangers who came into town last night. One is a big man, name is Fons ten Eyck. The other is a girl named Bel.” Hal indicated approximate heights with his hands.

  “Is that the girl with the cut-up face?”

  “That’s right. Do you know where they are?”

  “Sure! Follow me!” Tommy jumped away from his snowman and ran toward the street. Hal followed, cursing under his breath. He would have much preferred the boy to simply tell him where the woodsrangers were.

  Tommy darted into the store nearest the church, a dry goods store that Hal knew from his shopping trips for the Slades. The inside was gloomy, almost dark, after the bright winter sun reflecting off the snow outside. It also felt like a sauna, with a fire roaring next to the shopkeeper’s counter. Even as his eyes struggled to adjust to the relative darkness of the shop, Hal could make out Bel’s form by the counter. She was stuffing something she had purchased into a sack.

  “Hey, Patchwork Face!” Tommy shouted at the top of his lungs. “Somebody wants to see you.”

  Bel turned quickly at the shout, as did the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper was grinning; Bel was not. Hal froze in embarrassment in the doorway. Judging from the grin on Tommy’s face, the boy had led him to the store just for the opportunity to deliver that line.

  Hal let the door swing closed behind him. The noise as it struck its frame got his mind moving again.

  “Dammit, Tommy,” he said, “that’s rude and you know it. The lady’s name is Bel. Now, you apologize to her.”

  “Huh? What for?”

  “For your mouth. And because if you don’t, I’ll give you what for.”

  Tommy looked at Hal, who was blocking the path to the door and licked his lips. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “You want to bet?”

  Tommy must have decided that it was a poor bet, because he turned back to Bel and said quickly, “I’m sorry I called you Patchwork Face, Bel.” Then, he ducked around Hal and ran out the door.

  The shopkeeper was now laughing openly. Bel’s face was unreadable. Hal was wishing it had been the garrulous ten Eyck in the shop or, if he had to meet Bel, that ten Eyck had been there as well. He had no idea what he should say to Bel.

  “Look, Bel,” he said tentatively, “I’m sorry about the boy. I had no idea what he was going to do.”

  There was a suggestion of a grin on half her face. “Being called ‘Patchwork Face’ by a child is hardly the worst thing I’ve faced. I think I can handle it.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you,” Hal said.

  “None taken,” Bel replied. “The boy said you were looking for me. Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “Come outside, then. I think we’ve given the proprietor enough entertainment for one morning.”

  Coming out from the store, Hal found himself squinting into the glare. The wind, at least, had died down so it felt less cold. Bel stopped on the wooden planks that fronted the stores. The planking ran the length of the street under the eaves of each shop, providing a partially sheltered walk.

  “All right, then,” the girl said. “What do you want?”

  Brusque and all business, Hal thought. “Last night,” he began, “Fons said you were in town to trade beaver pelts. When I told Slade that, he asked me to buy one or two from you this morning.”

  Bel laughed, although there was no humor in it. “Which means only that Mr. Slade believes that there are no pelts and we are not here to trade. You do understand that, don’t you?”

  “I understand that,” Hal said quietly. “I just didn’t want to say it.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m only sorry that the good Mr. Slade himself couldn’t come out to call us liars instead of sending his tavern boy to do it.”

  “I’m not a damn tavern boy, so don’t call me one,” Hal snapped, and instantly regretted it. Bel wore a sword at her belt and her hand rested lightly on the hilt as they talked. If she drew that sword, the only thing he could do was run. From the athletic way Bel moved, he doubted that running would do any good.

  She did nothing more than stroke the hilt, however. Then she looked at him quietly for a minute. “Well said, and I’m sorry. You took the time to be decent and chastised that boy for ridiculing me. For me, that is important. I owe you no less decency. I understand that you would like to buy two beaver pelts. Is that correct, Hal Christianson?” Her tone changed with that last sentence. It sounded as though she was discussing something far more serious than two beaver pelts.

  Hal nodded.

  “Good enough,” she said. “As it happens, I have two in my saddle pack. I was planning to take them to Freylinghausen’s this morning as samples, but I’ll sell them to you if you like. I can always come back, and it will save you a trip.”

  “That sounds fine,” Hal said. “Where is your horse?”

  There were, indeed, no animals visible in the street. Bel gestured with her right arm.

  “He’s tied up on the side street over there. Come on with me and I’ll show you.” With that, she walked off on the planking without looking to see if Hal was following.

  She had gone perhaps five paces before Hal hurried to catch up. He was following an armed person of unknown and debatable character to an unknown location. Suppose she turned on him when they were out of sight? While he was thinking these grim thoughts, he caught sight of something on her leather jacket: little strands of pink ribbon tied among the leather fringe that ran down the back of each sleeve. Surely, someone wearing pink ribbons would not turn out to be an armed robber.

  Bel reached the gap in the planking, where a narrow lane entered the street fronting the village green. She jumped down into the snowy street and Hal followed her, his boots kicking up little clouds of snow. The narrow lane, enclosed on each side by a row of two-story buildings, acted as a funnel for the biting wind so that the cold froze his skin even through the two coats. A large, black horse was tied to a railing two doors in from the intersection. At the sound of their footsteps, the horse turned toward them. Catching sight of Bel, he arched his neck and whinnied.

  “All right, all right, calm down. I was only gone a few minutes,” she said to the horse. She stroked his neck and the horse whickered and pushed his nose into her other hand. “No, nothing to eat now.”

  She gave the horse a few more strokes, then moved to unfasten one of the saddle bags. The first thing she pulled out was a long woolen scarf. This she wrapped around her neck and over her chin.

  “I can’t trust the feeling along my jaw,” she said. “Sometimes, in a cold wind, it feels like it’s burning.”

  “How did it happen?” Hal asked.

  Bel just shook her head. She turned back to the horse and opened another one of the bags. From that one, she pulled out two beaver pelts. She laid them across her wrist and held them out for Hal to examine.

  “What do you think?” she asked. />
  Hal looked at them. He could tell they were beaver, but that was the limit of his knowledge. They could have been the best beaver in town or poor specimens, usable only as rags; Hal would not have known the difference. Suddenly, he did not feel like even trying to bargain. He just wanted to get the pelts and leave. The way Bel had ignored his question made him wonder if he had crossed a line. Once again, she seemed dangerous.

  “I can give you forty-five guilders for both of them,” he said. “That’s all I can pay.”

  He was answered by a startled look on her face. She gathered both pelts in one hand. She stroked them for a minute before she said anything.

  “Have you ever bought pelts before? Any kind?”

  “No,” Hal admitted.

  “I didn’t think so. Not if you’re offering forty-five for these. These are only fair to good in quality and they’re small. I would say they are worth only thirty-five, for both of them that is.” Bel held them out to him again. “Does that seem fair to you?”

  “Of course it does,” Hal said. “I was prepared to give you forty-five.”

  “And I’m prepared to take what they’re worth,” Bel replied. “It’s a deal, then?”

  Hal answered by counting thirty-five guilders into her open palm. In return, she handed him the two pelts. He put them into a leather pouch that hung at his waist.

  “You’ll tell Mr. Slade at the inn that he got a fair deal from us?” Bel asked.

  “I will,” he said. “Good luck to you.”

  She turned her attention to a strap on the horse’s saddle that appeared loose. Faced with the girl’s back, Hal decided it was time to leave. He was halfway to the main street when he was stopped by a shout.

  “Hal Christianson!”

  It was the first time he had heard her voice raised above a near-whisper and the force in it startled him. He turned back to see her standing by the horse’s head, reins in hand.

  “We’ll not cause any harm to you or your inn. You have my word on that,” she said. Then she spun on her heel and jumped, reaching the saddle in one smooth motion.

  Hal shook his head. It was bizarre. Not so bizarre as his own story, of course, assuming he ever found anyone he dared tell it to. Still, this would be strange enough for Slade. Why would a woodsranger give him the pelts for less than he offered? An unpleasant thought occurred to him. Suppose the pelts were worth even less than thirty-five? How good a judge was Old Jack? Might she have given him that price to keep Slade from immediately realizing he had been cheated? The moment he thought of it, he was sure it was ridiculous. Still, ridiculous or not, he couldn’t get the idea out of his head. Fortunately, there was an easy way to put it to rest. Freylinghausen’s shop was on the square.

  Hal had never been to Freylinghausen’s Furs and Skins. Inside, it seemed to be a helter-skelter collection of the furs and skins the shop’s sign advertised. Some hung from the ceiling beams. Others were draped over wooden racks, and still others were stacked in piles on the floor. Wooden carvings and implements covered most of the bare spots on the floor. Johannes Freylinghausen was a barrel of a man whose large belly defined his shape. He had a round, florid face framed by black hair everywhere except on top, where he was balding. He stood behind a counter covered by a black bear skin and leaned forward, elbows on the bear skin.

  “Meneer Freylinghausen?” Hal asked.

  “That I am. Who might you be?”

  “I’m Hal Christianson. I work at the English Inn.”

  “Oh, Jack Slade’s place. I don’t recognize you, though, and I thought I knew his people.”

  “I’ve only been here a couple of months. I came in from across the Delaware and Mr. Slade was good enough to give me a job.” It was amazing how facile that explanation was becoming. Soon enough, I’m going to believe it, he thought.

  It was satisfactory enough for Freylinghausen. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “I need to know how much two beaver pelts are worth,” Hal told him.

  “Which two?” Freylinghausen asked. “Prices on pelts can vary a lot. It depends on size, how thick the fur is, whether there is any damage. You need to look at them closely.”

  “These two.” Hal pulled the pair out of his pouch. He laid them on the bear skin in front of Freylinghausen.

  “Are you looking to sell them to me?” Freylinghausen asked.

  “No,” Hal said quickly, it having occurred to him that Freylinghausen would certainly quote a lower price if he were buying them from Hal than if Hal were the buyer. “I just bought these and I want to know if I got a fair deal.”

  Freylinghausen just glanced at the pair, then looked up at Hal. “Thirty-five guilders.”

  Hal stared at him. “You just told me how carefully you have to examine them. But when I took these out, you didn’t do anything. How can you know they are worth thirty-five?”

  Freylinghausen’s deep laugh originated in his belly. “I know those two are worth thirty-five because I just sold them for thirty-five this morning. If they were worth thirty-five an hour ago, I’d say they’re still worth thirty-five now. Believe me, I can recognize them.”

  “You said you just sold them?” Hal nearly stammered in disbelief.

  “That’s what I said, boy.”

  “To whom?”

  “A woodsranger girl.”

  “One with a scarred face?”

  “That’s the only woodsranger girl in town that I know of,” Freylinghausen answered. He was grinning as he said it.

  “But wait,” Hal said, “why would she buy the two from you and then turn around and sell them to me?”

  “Now that’s a very good question. Some of these woodsrangers will play some strange games with you. You can’t trust them. How much did she take you for?”

  “She didn’t,” Hal said. “She sold them to me for thirty-five.”

  Now it was Freylinghausen’s turn to look mystified. “Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she likes my face.”

  Hal was thinking hard as he walked back to the inn with the pelts in his pouch. Bel had said—or at least, ten Eyck had said—that they were in town to trade beaver pelts. If that were true, why would Bel buy two pelts? The only explanation that made sense to Hal was that Bel had no pelts to trade and had tried to conceal that from Hal. Had they guessed that Slade would send him to town to test their story? It all argued that whatever business Bel and ten Eyck had in Gap, it was not legitimate. So, why were they here? Slade was convinced the pair were thieves with the inn as a likely target. Bel had figured that out, had said as much to Hal. She had made a point of assuring him that neither he nor the inn would be harmed. Hal found himself smiling at the memory. Yet if this was all part of a deception on Bel’s part, it was unlikely he could take her word.

  Hal spent the rest of the walk back to the inn trying to decide what he should tell Slade. The simplest thing, of course, would be to tell the whole story. What would Slade do with that information? Did it matter? Yes, because Bel and ten Eyck hadn’t stolen anything yet. If he told Slade everything, they would be marked as criminals from that point on.

  The sun was well up in the sky by the time he returned to the inn. It felt much warmer, although it was not warm enough to begin melting the snow. The street in front of the inn was busy nevertheless, busier than Hal could remember it being since the first snow. Most of the people there were Gustavus’ men, although a few of Tewes’ Provi Guard were there as well. Usually, they would come by the inn only around mealtimes, or for beers in the afternoon, but now they were actually guarding the street. Hal smiled at that. Maybe they just wanted to appear to be guarding the street. Either way, their presence made Hal think again of the consequences of telling Slade what had happened in town that morning.

  As it happened, he did not need to decide on what to say; the elder Slade was not at the inn when Hal arrived. Instead, John met him at the entrance.

  “Hal, I’m glad you’re back,” he said. “I think to
day is your lucky day.”

  10

  Johanna

  “IT’S MY LUCKY day?” John’s cheery greeting jolted Hal out of the endless loop of his thoughts about Bel and ten Eyck. “How so?” he asked.

  “Simple.” John was grinning from ear to ear. “The gorgeous Johanna has decided that she wants to see the view of the Gap from Wilson’s Hill. Gustavus is sending two men to ride with her, but she will need an escort who knows the path off the road and up the hill. She has decided that the escort she wants is you, you lucky old sod.” John poked him in the sternum, hard enough to bruise through the layers of clothing Hal wore.

  Hal was sure his face was cherry red. He had daydreamed all sorts of outlandish scenarios that ended with him alone with Johanna. “How come you are looking so happy about it?” he asked John as a way to cover his feelings. “I’d have thought you’d have enjoyed this particular chore.”

  “Ah, so I would.” John sighed. “However, I—and I’m sure everyone else—could see how you looked at her last night and Father has always said I should be kind to dumb animals. More to the point, she said, ‘Hal Christianson’ and then Father said, ‘Hal Christianson’ and you know what the reverend always says: Fiat voluntas tua. Anyway, you do know the path up Wilson’s Hill, don’t you? I know I showed it to you.”

  “I remember.” John had considered it a good place for a break from chores and a few beers, and Hal had been happy to join the indulgence. “Can we get up there in the snow?”

  “It shouldn’t be a problem,” John told him, “not unless it’s badly drifted. If it is, you just bring her back. Don’t try anything foolish.”