by Dakota Chase
I glanced around at the clothing spread on the grass nearby and quickly picked up two pair of hose, two tunics, and two pouches. The only accessories not immediately available were hats and shoes. Screw it, I thought. We’ll make do with what we have. I was too anxious to get off the field and out of the dress to care much about what would pass for footwear and headgear of the medieval man. My arms full of pilfered clothing, I hurried off the field and back into the alley where Ash waited.
Ash held up the hose with two fingers and wrinkled his nose. “Pantyhose? Seriously? You grabbed pantyhose?”
“It’s what they wear, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, well, it’s not what I wear.”
I’d had enough. My nerves were shot, and I was tired and hungry. I scowled, and when I spoke it was all I could do not to bare my teeth at him. “I’m wearing a fucking dress. You’ll put on those hose or I’ll strangle you with them.”
For a minute I thought he was going to take a swing at me. Then he grinned, ducked in close, and stole a quick kiss. “I love when you get all growly. It’s cute.”
Try as I might, I couldn’t stay angry with his soft kiss still tingling on my lips. I settled for snorting. “Now who’s being an ass?”
We found another dark little alley and hurriedly stripped off to what passed for underwear in medieval Germany. We pulled on the hose and tunics and tied the pouches around our waists. Having no alternative, we kept the boots Merlin had dressed us in and hoped nobody would spend too much time looking at our feet. We took the rest of the clothes, including the stolen dress and cape, back to the edge of the field and left them at the mouth of the alley in a neat pile. Hopefully the dress and cape would find their way back to their owner. I figured the peasant clothing we left with them would be an added bonus—sort of like interest on a short-term loan.
The clothing, even though it was obviously more expensive than the trousers and tunics Merlin gave us, was far less comfortable. The fabric itched and didn’t breathe at all. The tunic was woolen and hot. I felt ridiculously thankful that I didn’t actually live in medieval Germany and wasn’t forced to wear the clothes all the time. I couldn’t wait to go home and put on my favorite jeans and T-shirt, not to mention my boxer briefs and sneakers.
After a nice, long, hot shower. With lots of soap and shampoo and conditioner. And moisturizer. Buckets of moisturizer. And I wanted a toothbrush and toothpaste. And deodorant.
You know things are bad when you start daydreaming about taking a damn shower.
“Okay. Now what?” Ash asked.
“We need to find out where the baron’s house is and figure out how to get us inside.”
“Oh, is that all? Cool. We’ll be home by suppertime.”
“Stop being an ass.”
Ash grinned at me. “Now who’s fixated on somebody’s butt?”
“Shut up. I think the easiest thing to do is just ask somebody. Do you remember the baron’s name?”
“I barely remember my own name.”
“You’re of no value, you know that?” I huffed and tried to think. I remembered Brida telling us her father took care of oxen for the baron. What had she said his name was? Mason? Mayer? Meier! That was it. “Meier. It’s Baron Meier.”
“Ooh, you get an A plus on the history exam.”
“Again, stop being an ass.”
“Again, stop talking about my butt.”
I hated when he turned the tables on me like that. Still, I felt better having a plan—such as it was—in place. “Come on. I’ll bet everyone in this town knows where Baron Meier lives.”
As it turned out, everyone did. And wondered why we didn’t.
The first man we approached scowled at us like we had the plague. He had a thick, flowing mustache that fluffed out every time he spoke. I found it hard not to laugh. It was like talking to a cartoon. “Everyone knows Baron Meier.”
Ash smiled at him. “We’re, uh, new here. Visitors.”
“Yah, I can see you’re strangers here.” He looked us up and down and, from his expression, wasn’t very impressed by what he saw. “What business have you with Baron Meier?”
I stepped in. “We’re looking for work.” It seemed like a legitimate reason for strangers to seek out one of the richest, most powerful men in town.
That seemed to do the trick, because he nodded. His mustache seemed to nod too, and I had to choke down a giggle. “His house is the large one next to the church. But he won’t see you. Ordulf is the baron’s steward and does all the hiring for the household.”
“Ordulf? Excellent. Thank you. Where might we find Ordulf?”
The man shrugged. “Where else would a man with coin be on the eve of Michaelmas? In the tavern most likely. Ordulf has a strong thirst for ale and wenches.”
I was tempted to ask what “Michaelmas” was but didn’t want to appear any more ignorant than we probably already did. “Of course. Where is the tavern?”
“Across the square, up two streets and over. The Stone Sow.”
“Thank you for your help.”
The man nodded and turned away, taking his fascinating mustache with him. I was sort of sad to see it go.
Ash tapped me on the arm. “What’s Michaelmas?”
“I don’t know. I was afraid to ask. I’ll bet it’s something everyone would know.”
He frowned but then seemed to brighten. “Wait a minute. I’ll be right back.”
Before I could stop him, he’d dashed across the narrow street to where a pair of small boys played with a hoop, using a stick to roll it across the cobblestones. As I watched he spoke to them.
Suddenly one of the boys punched the other in the arm. “Stop telling such tales, Nicolaas! You know such things are forbidden. Do you want the archbishop to set the witch hunter after us?”
I heard Ash reassure the boys that he wouldn’t repeat what they’d told him before trotting back across the street to where I waited.
“It’s the celebration of St. Michael, the archangel. The kids are all excited about it. Says they’ll be having goose for dinner. Then one said his grandfather would use the goose bones to foretell the weather and the other kid punched him in the arm.”
“Yeah, I saw that part.”
“Do you think they really have somebody whose title is ‘witch hunter’?” His smile faded and he shivered. “Is that what happened to those poor people in the square?”
I nodded. “I think so. Speaking of which, we’re going to have to cross the square to get to the tavern. Think you can handle it?”
He straightened his spine and lifted his chin. “Sure. The shock is over, right? I can do it if you can.”
“Good. Let’s go. The sooner we get that damn book, the happier I’ll be to get the hell out of here.”
Chapter Seven
NEITHER OF us spoke as we hurried across the square, although I could hear Ash mumbling under his breath. I couldn’t make out the words, but I’m confident few of them could be said in church. I knew exactly how he felt—I didn’t want to be there either.
Dark was falling, thankfully, making it harder to see. Still, we kept our gazes pinned to the other side, refusing to look right or left, especially at the stakes lining one side of the square or at the still-smoldering remains tied to them.
The smell, though. The darkest of nights couldn’t block it out. I’d almost gotten used to the reek of the city, but I knew I could never grow accustomed to the stench of burning human flesh. It got into my nose and refused to leave, making me gag. I knew I’d remember that smell until the day I died.
The church loomed on the other side of the square. I could appreciate the graceful curve of its stone arches and the artistry of the stained glass windows, although only in passing. I was too busy concentrating on getting the hell away from the square.
We walked briskly past the church and up the street. Two blocks later, we paused, looking around, trying to decide which way to go. The deepening darkness was making it more and more difficult to s
ee.
“Did the mustache guy say which way to turn?”
“No. Just up two streets and over.” I squinted, trying to see through the murky gloom. “I think I see a sign hanging over there. Let’s go check it out.”
We headed right. As we drew closer, I could make out words on the wooden sign hanging in front of one of the buildings. The Stone Sow. “This is it!” I felt strangely glad that we’d found the place, but then realized it was because we could go inside and wouldn’t have to smell the greasy odor of barbeque anymore.
Lanterns were already lit inside, casting a yellow glow over the room. A set of narrow wooden stairs on the right led up to another floor of the building. To the left, a short bar was built into the wall. The rest of the room was taken up by picnic-style tables. A dozen men sat at the tables drinking from mugs of dark ale or eating from trenchers of stew, sopping up gravy with thick slices of bread.
It smelled really, really good, and my stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since lunch with Wilhelm on the road to Trier. It seemed like a million years ago.
Unfortunately, we didn’t have any money, so food and drink were out of the question, but I led Ash up to the bar anyway. We waited quietly for the barkeep to notice us. “Excuse me. Is there a man named Ordulf here?”
The barkeep dried his hands on a dirty towel and nodded. “Yes. That’s Ordulf over there.” He pointed to a beefy man sitting at a table near the fireplace. A pair of huge dark hounds lay quietly at his feet. One of them lifted its great shaggy head and growled softly at us as we approached. Ordulf hushed the dog.
Ordulf was a hulking man whose shoulders seemed barely constrained by the fabric of his tunic. He had two chins and small eyes in a clean-shaven, doughy face. Thick streaks of gray ran through his longish dark hair, which looked every bit as shaggy as his dogs did. “Who are you?”
“I’m Grant, and this is Ash. We’re new here in Trier, and we need work. We were told Baron Meier might hire us.”
Ordulf took a drink from his mug, then wiped the foam from his lips with his sleeve. “From where do you hail? I’m not in the habit of hiring strangers to work in the baron’s household.”
“Um, we’re from Britain.” Not a complete lie. My ancestors were from England, so technically, I was too.
“You don’t sound British.”
“We’ve been traveling a long time.”
Ordulf snorted. “How long is long? My boots look older than you do.”
“We’re older than we look, and we really need to find work. We’re honest and dependable.” Okay, those were two big, fat lies, considering we’d done nothing but lie and steal since we stepped foot in Trier, but it couldn’t be helped.
Ash chimed in—or rather, his stomach did by choosing that moment to growl loudly.
“Yes, I can hear how badly you need work.” Ordulf must’ve thought he was the funniest thing in the history of comedy because he laughed so loud the dogs whimpered. He gestured to the barkeep, holding up two sausage-like fingers. “Well, now. What can you two do? Are you stablemen?”
We looked at each other. I had lots of experience with horses. My family always kept them and insisted I learn about them. Unfortunately, although I could appreciate them, I was afraid of them. I never learned to ride, at least not well. I decided to keep that tidbit of information to myself. “I know horses.”
Ordulf nodded. He looked at Ash. “And you?”
“Oh, I know horses too. Really good. I’m practically a horse myself, I know them so well.”
Ordulf laughed again. “A funny man. I like that. All right. As it’s Michaelmas on the morrow, we can use extra help.”
The barkeep set two trenchers brimming with fragrant stew down in front of Ash and myself, and a serving girl came with two mugs of strong-smelling ale. We looked down at the food and then up at each other.
“Um, thanks, but we’re not hungry.” The words tasted like acid on my tongue. I was starving, and I knew Ash was practically drooling.
Ordulf’s expression went from amused to angry in the blink of an eye. I suddenly realized just how big a man he was and how small the space between us. One of his ham fists could probably knock my head clean off my neck and send it flying across the room. “One thing neither the baron nor I will tolerate is lying. It is a mortal sin.”
I nodded. “We can’t pay. We have no money.”
“I thought as much. I will pay for your meals. Tonight you can sleep in the stables. On the morrow you begin earning your keep.”
Evidently, it wasn’t in the cards for Ash and I to sleep on an actual mattress until we got back home. It felt as if we were on a sleep tour of the stables of medieval Germany. On the other hand, there was hot food and cold beer—well, room temperature beer anyway—and nobody to card us.
Ash and I clinked mugs, took a drink, and dug into the stew with both hands and a slab of bread. I didn’t know what was in it, but it was delicious. Or maybe I was just too hungry to care. Either way, I practically licked the bowl clean.
By the time we were done eating, my eyelids were feeling heavy. Ordulf chuckled and stood up. “Come, you two, before you fall asleep face-first in your trencher.” He picked up a lit lantern and led us out of the tavern.
We stumbled after him, passing the church before coming to a large, ornately built house. In the rear of the home was a wide, beautifully kept garden, and beyond that, the stables. Ordulf brought us inside and explained to the stableboy that we should be allowed to bunk down in one of the empty stalls.
“Heed me, boys. Stay away from those barrels if you want to keep your hides attached to your bones. They’re to be moved day after the morrow, but for now here is all the space we have for storage.”
The barrels looked ordinary, dark wood staves, bright metal hoops. I wondered what they could possibly hold that would make them dangerous. Ordulf answered my unasked question a moment later.
“Damn black powder. Baron Meier is fascinated with the stuff. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t blow us all up someday.” He left, taking his lantern with him, leaving us in the dark.
“Ash, do you know what he’s talking about? Black powder—that’s gunpowder! Holy shit. There must be a dozen barrels there. One false move and Meier could blow up the whole house!”
“Then we should do like Ordulf said and keep away from them. Since neither of us smokes and Ordulf took the lantern, I think we’re safe. Come on, I’m beat. I need to take a piss, then get some sleep.”
The two of us found our way outside and selected a convenient bush to pee on. It was dark, and the best I could hope for was not to pee on Ash. Afterward, we made our way back inside, where the stableboy, a round-cheeked young man who said his name was Bart—or maybe it was Bert—who had his own lantern, showed us to a stall that was filled with fresh hay. Ash and I lay down without bothering to remove anything, not even our shoes.
The smell of horses was familiar to me. It was comforting in a way, since I’d grown up around them, and the hay was fresh cut and smelled of summer. It was warm and soft, and Ash was soon snoring next to me.
Still, I thought I’d never be able to sleep worrying about the dozen barrels of black powder sitting on the other side of the stable, but somehow or other, before I realized I was drifting off, it was morning.
“GET UP, you lazy boys!” A boot nudged me not-so-gently in the side, waking me. Not only did the kick hurt, it pissed me off because I’d been having a really cool dream. Something about me and Grant and Indy 500 race cars.
“Hey!” I sat up and scowled at the source of the kick. “What the hell, man?”
A tall, thin man loomed over us. He didn’t look even halfway surprised to find us sleeping in the hay. “Where did Ordulf find you two?”
Grant sat up next to me and rubbed his hands over his face. “At the Stone Sow.”
“No doubt in his cups again. Well, what am I supposed to do with you?”
“He asked if we had experience with horses. We do.”<
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The man turned his head and spat on the ground. “Bah. I have enough stable hands. Ordulf’s up at the main house. Go to the kitchen and get some breakfast. Then go see him and tell him to assign you elsewhere. I have enough headaches out here without adding two more.” He strode away as if fully expecting to be obeyed.
“This is great!”
I turned and stared at Grant. “Huh? How is that great?”
“We’re being sent up to the main house. If the baron has the book, that’s where it’ll be.”
Oh, yeah. I’d nearly forgotten why we were here in the first place. And I had to admit, breakfast sounded like a pretty good idea. “Okay. Let’s go.”
We found a trough full of reasonably clean water outside and used it to wash up a little before heading up to the main house. My cut was healing—it was scabbed over, and I didn’t need to keep it covered anymore. I tossed the now-dirty piece of cloth Irmla had used to wrap it. Following our noses, we found our way to the kitchens, which were located in a small building separate from the primary one. Inside, Ordulf was having his breakfast. The carcass of a small chicken sat on a platter in front of him, nearly picked clean. He looked up when we walked into the room.
“Ah! The two new stableboys. Come, sit.” He snapped his fingers, and a serving girl hurried to his side. “Fetch food for them.” She hurried off but returned quickly with a loaf of bread and a large wedge of cheese.
We sat down across the table from him. Grant went directly for the cheese, but I snagged a slice of bread from the platter. Between bites, I told him about our less than warm welcome at the stables. . “Um, the man at the stables—I don’t know his name. Tall and thin and kind of grumpy?”
Ordulf nodded. “Heinrich, the stable master. What of him?”
“He told us to tell you he didn’t need us, and that you should assign us someplace else.”
A scowl briefly darkened Ordulf’s features. “Heinrich had best remember his place. It is my duty to put men where I see fit.”
