Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

by Tracy Falbe

  “I shall help her as best I can,” Thal said.

  “Good, good. But don’t let her push you around. She’ll try to do that,” Patercek advised.

  “I look forward to meeting her,” Thal said.

  “I’m sending a caravan of supplies to her household. You and your friends can ride with those wagons. I’m sorry to see you go, but I know that you won’t stay much longer anyway,” Patercek said.

  “I do need to get to Prague,” Thal murmured. His need for his mother flared again. He was fully healed and needed to move on.

  Chapter 17. The Thirteenth Witch

  Brother Vito admired the city. Its cosmopolitan splendor and numerous construction projects relieved him after the colloquial tedium of his long journey. Prague was not a dull place at all, and he intended to further provoke its passions.

  The traffic was bottlenecked where a big scaffold blocked half the street. Vito and Miguel got pushed together as they shuffled through the crowd behind a sagging cart of bricks seemingly hauled by a team of snails.

  Vito looked up the scaffold. Workers were on its four levels plastering and painting and installing statues along a balcony rail.

  “The whole city is being built or rebuilt,” Miguel remarked.

  “You can’t expect the Emperor and the new archbishop to occupy some tumbled down ruin,” Vito said as if it were all very normal.

  They got past the scaffold and were able to scoot around the cart. The street opened onto a square.

  “Oh, look at that!” Miguel exclaimed at a palace across the square.

  Vito spotted the crosses mounted on the gables. “That has to be the archbishop’s palace,” he said.

  “No vows of poverty there,” Miguel joked.

  Vito’s reproachful look was especially severe. He generally tolerated his colleague’s sarcasm, but not within sight of the archbishop’s doors.

  Although Vito hoped to visit the palace in the near future, he needed to get across the river and find the new Jesuit Academy. He had left his group at the city outskirts because he had wanted to avoid leading his men around a foreign city and taking them on inevitable wrong turns.

  While crossing the square, they looked plain in their brown robes compared to the rest of the people in their white linen shirts and head scarves and dyed wool and merrily embroidered bodices and doublets. Men with boots and silver encrusted sword handles contrasted extravagantly with the simply clad Jesuits.

  The monks aimed for the bridge tower they could see over the jumble of roofs. The traffic on the Kamenny Most was thick. The summer season was nigh and the whole world seemed to be busily alive. Thick as debris from a severe flood, small boats and heavier barges clogged the waters of the Vltava.

  Once they reached Old Town and the Knights of the Cross square, jugglers, dancers, and fortune tellers filled the gaps among vendor’s stalls and carts, and men-at-arms marched toward the bridge, presumably bound for the Emperor’s castle. Their battered pikes still glinted in the bright sun.

  A nighttime rain had washed the city. The rainwater still glistened freshly on the cobbled streets and dripped from the eaves. Vito and Miguel admired the towers and steeples and statues. The chatter of Czech and German and a little Spanish and Italian crossed their ears as they moved through the crowds.

  Vito had Miguel ask a pedestrian for directions to the Jesuit Academy at the Clementinum. The local man easily pointed down the correct street. The old monastery at Saint Clement’s chapel was a well known spot. When Vito reached the place, he found disheveled buildings and much activity. Servants were scrubbing the steps and a pair of men was repairing a hinge on one of the priory doors.

  Inside, cloths were draped over benches and tables, and workers were polishing freshly installed wood panels. Farther in, the monks entered a long hall. Artists were working on a mural and a scaffold filled half the room as men installed a new ceiling.

  Vito scanned the bustling mess and spotted the dark clean robe of a monk. He had trouble getting the man’s attention. The man was complaining to the workers on the scaffold. A white-haired tradesman of some sort was at his heels toting rolls of paper.

  They argued briefly and then consulted the plans until finally the monk was satisfied that the directions were being followed.

  The monk looked back at Vito and Miguel. His visible disappointment showed that he had been hoping the two new monks would have found their own way by now.

  “My apologies. You can see I’m quite busy. Who are you?” the monk said.

  Vito introduced himself and Miguel.

  “There’s only the two of you?” the monk said.

  “I’ve recruited a dozen new brothers plus I have sellswords in my company,” Vito said.

  A little more satisfied, the monk said, “A decent start. The more men to defend against the accursed Protestants the better. Where are you from?”

  “Rome. I have letters of introduction. The Papacy has condoned my mission,” Vito said.

  “Very good. We’re expecting more brothers from Rome. It’s so pleasing to see Prague a priority. The Emperor has done the right thing in drawing a line against those German heretics. God knows Bohemians have had their lapses in faith,” the monk said, shaking his head at the locally libertine attitude.

  Irritated that the man had not introduced himself, Vito pointedly asked for his name.

  “I am Brother Alanse.”

  “Can you direct me to Abbott Krunek?” Vito pressed, recalling the name of the local administrator on record.

  “I serve as his secretary. I doubt he needs to be bothered with your arrival. His hands are quite full with the academy and helping prepare the city for the arrival of the new archbishop. We hear he’ll be underway from Vienna any time now,” Alanse said. “Here, show me your letter.”

  Frowning, Vito opened his leather sack and retrieved the small bundle of folded and sealed parchment. With the lovely Papal seal showing brightly on the top, he extended the letter but did not let go when the man took it.

  “We intend to actively reinforce love of Mother Church among the good people of Prague,” Vito explained.

  Alanse tugged the letter free. Every new man from Rome thought he was going to personally lead the battle against heresy. Alanse worked to make sure the influx of new brothers understood that the Jesuits in Prague already had leaders.

  He held the wax seal to the dusty light streaming from a high window to confirm its Papal origin. Satisfied, he cracked the wax and read the letter carefully. The monks shifted on their feet impatiently.

  “This seems to be in order,” Alanse said. Folding the letter sloppily he shoved it back to Vito. “Find the steward. His name is Otto. He’ll get you the lodging you require,” Alanse said. When he turned away, Vito intervened. He disliked the man’s dismissive attitude.

  “Brother Alanse, I would appreciate it if you showed us the way,” Vito said.

  Alanse glanced around the hectic scene and decided his temper would benefit from leaving it for a while. “Very well. Come this way,” he said.

  Once they were out of the noisy work area, Alanse asked, “What talents do you have to offer the academy?”

  “My mission is to focus on recruitment. Brother Miguel hopes to earn a teaching position. My new brothers are not scholarly but can serve well preaching and attracting the young to our school. Over time that will reinforce the people’s love of the Church. Let not the next generation be guided into literacy by the rantings of those Devil-begotten Protestants,” Vito said.

  “Your help is badly needed,” Alanse said. “People seem willing to believe anything these days. All sense of right or wrong is being lost. We had to burn a dozen witches earlier this spring,” Alanse said.

  “Really?” Miguel said.

  “Dreadful scandal,” Alanse said, warming to the gossip with the newcomers. “Many important households were mixed up with those Hell brides, but they’re all acting like nothing happened now.”

  “This is exactly
why His Holiness has made Prague a priority,” Vito said. “The Jesuits will never tire in the battle to save the people from wickedness.”

  “You’ll need much fortitude. Our prayers alone can’t wish away the sins released by that accursed Luther,” Alanse said.

  “Indeed action is needed,” Vito agreed, pleased to be overcoming the monk’s initial annoyance with him.

  Nodding absently, Alanse stopped at a door and looked into a room. It was empty and he continued down the hall and said, “You should look up Professor Zussek at Charles University. Although that disgraced institution is still on probation after the mess Huss made of things, Zussek is a scholar with rare accomplishments. He trained in the law, and he’s our local expert on witchcraft and Devil worshippers. He’d enjoy telling you about our local issues.”

  “My thanks for the recommendation,” Vito said. He exchanged a look with Miguel who had noted the professor’s name. A chance to meet with a scholar was always welcome.

  Alanse turned down a narrow little hall. They went down some steep steps and out a door into an alley alongside the priory. A wagon was unloading barrels of supplies, and Alanse found the steward counting bundles of firewood as workers stacked the fuel.

  He explained the lodging needs of the newly arrived group and rushed back inside. Vito found Otto the steward equally harried. Eventually the steward dispatched another servant to show Vito where his men could stay. The Dominican monastery that had been transferred to the Jesuits for the purpose of opening their academy was in a borderline decrepit state. And the building presented to Vito was perhaps the worst of the situation. The dank and nearly windowless north-facing stone building looked like it had been built before the Crusades. Moss was creeping inside at the few windows. The front door did not latch. The rushes on the floor were desiccated twigs, and the rooms in back smelled of cat urine.

  The servant departed swiftly. Vito and Miguel looked around. Circling back to the front door, Vito put his hands on his hips and tried to decide if the place showed any potential as a base for his schemes.

  “There is plenty of room for everybody,” Miguel declared hopefully.

  “That’s one good thing. Come now, Brother, we must fetch the others and have them clean the place up,” Vito said.

  ******

  The monks that Vito had recruited complained not at all about their accommodations. They understood that they must focus on their spirits instead of physical comforts, but the sellswords were much less enthused. After crossing a lively city burgeoning with a variety of entertainments and stylish homes, they had been hoping for something better.

  Vito ignored their grumbling.

  He claimed two private rooms at the end of the building that had not been a den of cats. That night on a bed of fresh straw he stared at candlelight flickering on the ceiling. He was excited to finally be in Prague, closer to the front lines of heresy. He whispered prayers thanking God for his safe arrival. At some point he fell asleep, but a creaking old door and footsteps on the upper story woke him.

  Glancing at the blue moonlight glowing through the little window, Vito guessed that Rainer was up. Although babysitting the troubled man was often tiresome, he could not neglect that duty.

  His exhausted Brothers were all sleeping, and Vito crept by them toward the attic ladder. In the attic the gaping remnants of a rotting dormer window led to a broad stone ledge. Poking his head outside, Vito saw Rainer standing on the edge. The light from the fattening gibbous moon was entrancingly colorless upon his light hair, but his troubled face harbored shadowed eyes. The breeze toyed with the edges of Rainer’s ragged robe. The prayer beads dangling from the man’s fingers trembled in his shaking grip. Rainer’s furtive prayers whispered of miserable longing.

  “Rainer,” Vito said and stepped out on the ledge.

  The monk snapped out of his prayers. When he looked at his leader, a bestial gleam sparked inside his eyes. This sign of Rainer’s power excited Vito.

  “Brother Vito, I cannot stay in this place,” Rainer said urgently.

  Vito looked around. Distant watch fires dotted the castle walls on the ridge overlooking the city. Moonlight reflected off the waters of the Vltava, pierced and poked by docks and bridges. Lanterns and torches winked in and out of sight among the narrow streets. Dreamy sprays of clouds sculpted like wind-blown snow surrounded the moon.

  He sat on the ledge. Taking in the view, he invited Rainer to sit. Reluctantly the monk joined him.

  Shutting his eyes, he said, “Please take me back into the country. I should’ve never agreed to come to Prague.”

  “But here we can root out the most heretics. Only through good deeds can you redeem your soul,” Vito said.

  Rainer sighed and gripped his beads. “But when the moon is full, the beast will take me. There’s too many people here. I’ll hurt someone,” he said. The excruciating guilt of past deeds tightened his aching chest.

  Since meeting Rainer in Austria when he had enticed the bewitched man into his service with the promise of salvation, Vito had made sure to be between towns during a full moon. Then Rainer had run loose in the night and come back in the morning. Now the problem of concealing Rainer’s werewolf power in an urban setting confronted Vito. He must not lose his precious servant just when he could exploit him the most.

  Finally he said, “Rainer, we will secure you in the cellar.”

  Rainer clasped his face. The thought of being an animal was made worse by the prospect of being a caged animal.

  “Do you think that will work?” he asked.

  “Of course it will. I promised I would help you get past your troubles and do God’s work,” Vito said.

  Rainer rubbed his face and kissed the little cross on his beads. “I’m not sure I can do this here. I thought I could. I want to, but what if I break loose?” he worried.

  “I won’t let it happen,” Vito said firmly.

  Rainer slumped. “Why did this happen to me? My sins have been venal. I always tried to be good,” he whispered.

  “You’re a victim of evil magic. You did not deserve this. I see what a good and pious man you are. That’s why I’m trying to help you. Maybe if you do enough service in the cause of Christ and Church, our prayers will be answered and you will be released from this wicked magic. Also…” Vito paused and leaned closer. He set a brotherly hand on Rainer’s back and continued, “As we defeat the Devil-worshippers we shall learn of their secrets. Perhaps we’ll learn a way to undo what was done to you. Just today I learned the name of a scholar here in Prague whose expertise is witchcraft. I will go to him. Mayhap he knows of something that can help.”

  Rainer perked up. He was so grateful for Vito’s compassion. “Do you think he will have such knowledge?” he asked eagerly.

  “I don’t know, but I will never stop seeking your redemption. But you must also never stop working toward it. By defending the Church and saving the souls of Her children you can earn God’s intervention with the Devil,” Vito said.

  “I’ll do anything I can,” Rainer said earnestly.

  “I know you will,” Vito said. “Now go to your rest. I order it.”

  ******

  Vito brushed some dirt from his sleeve and untwisted the crucifix chain on his chest. He had dispatched his monks to wander the city in pairs to preach and hopefully attract pupils to the academy. Miguel had gone first thing in the morning to find Professor Zussek and had rushed back to announce they had an open invitation. Charles University was close to the Clementinum, and Vito saw no reason to delay. Getting to know influential men around Prague was a priority.

  With a book bag over his shoulder, Miguel tapped on Vito’s door. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  As they crossed the monastery complex, they met new brothers. Vito took note of their names and was invigorated to be among so many with a shared purpose.

  Leaving the Clementinum they entered the secular world of citizens on the streets. Strolling groups of young me
n were common near Charles University. Some were begging on the busier intersections. Others sat in groups, talking and sharing books. A row of booksellers had their doors open to the warm day. The stacks of books visible inside beckoned Miguel. His steps strayed toward a shop door.

  “Later,” Vito said, and Miguel corrected his course.

  At the campus, a smattering of professors in their dark and voluminous robes moved among the buildings, their heads bent together in conversation. One man was giving an impromptu lecture on the steps of a ponderous old stone building to a half dozen men.

  “If only the whole world could be like this place,” Miguel said.

  “Not everyone has the wit to learn of higher things,” Vito said cynically.

  He scanned the area with a purpose beyond stimulating the mind. This seemed a ripe venue for recruiting. Literate young men looking for a chance to lead influential lives would make for useful brothers. The Jesuit Society would gain more from them than the half literate landless sons he had managed to ensnare to his program so far.

  Miguel guided Vito around the back of a hall. The first door Miguel tried was locked and then he realized he had the wrong one.

  “It’s the next door down,” he assured Vito.

  That door was open. “Zussek said he would wait for us until noon,” Miguel said.

  They entered a storeroom. Crates were stacked along dusty shelves stuffed with smaller boxes and bundles. Cob webs clung to the windows. The men walked around three piles of rusting metal artifacts that ranged from weapons to astrological instruments.

  “Hello!” a man called from a balcony. “Come up here.” He spoke Italian for the sake of his guests and the chance to practice.

  A man with a brimless black cap, a frilly lace color that was dingy, and a black and gray robe greeted the monks at the top of the stairs. His chin length blonde hair was streaked with gray as was his frizzy beard.

  “Professor Zussek I presume?” Vito said.

  “Yes, and you must be Brother Vito,” Zussek said. He extended a soft hand to Vito. Then he shook hands warmly with Miguel.