by Tracy Falbe
“I can’t believe that girl was sneaking out with a werewolf,” he said, still amazed. His knuckles hurt from the beating he had given Elias, but eventually the foolish lad had accepted that defending Altea would doom them all.
“It must have been Gretchen’s influence,” Zussek said.
Martin shook his head, disappointed with himself. He had been too dazzled by the loveliness of his late wife to refuse her anything, even her midwife witch. But he could prove his innocence by cleansing the city with the power of his office.
He supposed it was best that Altea had been accused and taken into custody. His lust for her had been becoming unbearable, and he was grateful to be free of her wicked temptations. He would condemn her in the morning and be done with her forever. Brother Vito was right about them needing to act quickly. Her swift execution would demonstrate his commitment to a righteous and orderly society.
Martin recognized the light knock on the door as his secretary.
“Yes.”
The secretary stuck his head in and said, “Your children are safely off to your cousin’s estate.”
“Good,” Martin said and waved him away.
Zussek settled into a chair in front of Martin’s desk. “You should leave the boys in the country for a while. A few months at least. Give them time to get used to their sister’s absence.”
“That would be good,” Martin agreed. He understood that his sons were attached to Altea, but their hearts would move on. She had only been their half sister after all, and only on their mother’s side.
Relaxing back into his chair, he said, “Such strange days. In all the tumult today someone even told me they couldn’t find my gavel. God knows I’ll need it tomorrow.”
The odd detail puzzled Zussek. He imagined that it was a clue that Thal had been looking for the Magistrate during his murder spree.
The secretary returned and admitted Vito and Miguel. The quiet Jesuit with the leather case handed papers to Vito who set them on the Magistrate’s desk.
“Confessions from both witches,” he announced triumphantly.
Martin scooted the paper bearing Altea’s name aside with one finger, and looked at the other sheet. “You got another witch already?” he remarked.
Vito said, “There will be more.”
“By God I really thought we got them all this spring,” Martin said.
“Bohemia has long been a den of heretics,” Vito said with a warning tone that Martin did not miss.
Changing the subject, Martin said, “Do you think you have enough men outside the jail to kill Thal when he comes?” He patted the little silver box in its pocket.
“I do. We’ve brushed their weapons with holy water to help against the beast,” Vito said. “I even spared three to wait at your house. Any chance to kill this thing must be taken.”
“So you’ve given up the hope of catching him?” Zussek asked. He had rather looked forward to the opportunity to examine such a prisoner and testify against him in a public trial.
“I can still hope,” Vito said.
“Wine?” Martin offered tiredly, not really looking forward to his night of waiting in fear.
“Yes thank you,” Miguel accepted before Vito had a chance to decline. He fetched the bottle and poured for everyone.
A commotion down the hall and a voice demanding to see Brother Vito disturbed their drinking. Vito hurried out of the office, greedy for good news from Rainer and his sellswords. They had returned but their bloody and bruised condition was immediately obvious as was the absence of one man and Rainer.
“Did you get him?” Vito asked urgently, ushering the men into a waiting room for privacy.
“NO!” one of the men said as if the thought of success were absurd. “One is dead, and your crazy monk jumped off the bridge we are told.”
Nonplussed, Vito gaped at the bizarre news while the sellsword reported all the details.
“Did Thal push Rainer?” Vito asked.
“I don’t know. We were still picking our teeth up out of the street, but people said your monk jumped. I don’t think anyone would lie about a monk killing himself,” the man said.
Vito clenched his fists and tried to manage his anger. Rainer’s loss was a bad blow. Dominating the perilous creature had added to his power, but he was not a man to focus on his losses.
“Report to Tenzo at the jail. We’ll need you on watch tonight,” Vito said.
The surviving sellswords shuffled their feet and looked to their spokesman, who said, “We’re going back south to fight in normal wars. Not going to see us crossing blades with Devil beasts again.”
“You can’t leave,” Vito argued.
“While I still got two feet I can,” the sellsword said, turning away with his mates.
“God needs good men to stand up,” Vito said.
“God should’ve made more good men then,” the man grumped and departed forthwith.
Left alone in the room, Vito assessed his inability to capture Thal. His dream of possessing him as a powerful servant was slipping away. At least killing the werewolf would still provide him substantial prestige.
When he heard Tenzo yelling, he went out to investigate. His new Constable was waving his hands with disgust in the doorway. The slanting sunlight coming in from the square cast his shadow into the hall. Looking rather disgruntled, he came in with a big man behind him.
Vito intercepted them.
“Those laggards are walking off,” Tenzo complained.
“They told me. It’s just as well. They failed against Thal,” Vito said.
“Thal’s luck will run out soon,” interjected the man beside Tenzo. He had a cut on his cheek and bloody bandage tied around his throat and hand.
“This is Captain Jan Bradcek of House Rosenberg,” Tenzo introduced. “He’s been tracking our werewolf from Budweis.”
“I almost got him today but there are armed forces defending him in the Little Quarter,” Jan complained.
“What?” Vito said, truly astounded.
“He’s got allies everywhere. This whole city’s protecting him,” Jan said. “I’ve come looking to see if anyone in Prague is on the side of the law.”
“Law and Heaven,” Vito said and introduced himself. “We’re expecting him to come here tonight. We’ve captured his lover and my men lie in wait for his appearance.”
Jan approved of the plan. “I’ll stay and help. My Baron has put a reward on him after he molested his folk this spring.”
“I welcome your help and am interested in hearing your tale. And recording it if you don’t mind. A scholar of such beasts is here too. I’m sure he would be fascinated by your accounts of Thal,” Vito said.
“I’ve seen him shift into the beast with my own eyes,” Jan boasted.
The three men joined Martin and Zussek. The Magistrate ordered his secretary to send for food so they could settle in and wait.
Chapter 44. Hunted
Pistol stretched his legs, front and then back. Wagging his tail, he went to his master. Thal was peeking through the chapel door. Dull lavender light faintly lit the stained glass windows. He scanned the garden, confirmed that it was still empty, and slipped out into the dusk.
After wrapping his cloak tightly and tugging his hat low, he emerged onto a street and went to the Condottiere’s house. Without acknowledging the proprietor or servants, he hurried up the stairs to his friend’s suite.
Valentino answered the door with his manservant.
“Are my friends safe?” Thal asked without delay.
Before answering, Valentino told his manservant to go downstairs. The man shrugged and happily abandoned his chores.
Bolting the door, Valentino told Thal that the musicians were recuperating at Carmelita’s. “I was worried that you were caught,” Valentino added.
“An attempt was made,” Thal said. He sat down while Pistol sniffed around the room to see if anything had changed since that morning.
Valentino faced a mirror hanging over a table with
a water basin. He returned to combing his hair and admiring the progress of his grooming. “I was waiting here as long as I could, hoping you would come back,” he said.
Pistol stopped next to a cuirass leaning against the wall. Thal recognized the rose design on the armor and said, “Did you slay Jan Bradcek?”
Valentino set down his comb and fiddled with his earrings. “No, I just took his armor and gun,” he said.
Despite his many upsetting concerns Thal could not resist laughing. “I’ll have to kill him later,” he said.
“I told him to get out of the city. He’ll go,” Valentino said.
“No, not him. Not after he’s come this far,” Thal argued.
Valentino shrugged. He inspected himself in the mirror again and said, “Perhaps you’re right. Men are stupid that way.”
Noting the Condottiere’s clean clothes and fresh face, Thal said, “Meeting her Ladyship?”
“Yes. She has a message for you. She can’t extend hospitality to you anymore. She is sorry,” Valentino said.
“I know.”
“I told her as much. And damn you Thal, but I think she would have it otherwise,” Valentino said.
“She’s not the woman in my heart,” Thal said to ease his friend’s jealousy.
“Ah yes, your complication,” Valentino said. He pulled a chair up next to Thal and continued, “Now, Thal, I know you don’t want to be part of my business but please heed my advice. You need to get out of the city. I can help you with that. We’ll go tomorrow. I’ll set you up with a little command in Pilsen and you can hide out. I know we could go far together with your special powers. I know powerful people who appreciate powerful friends.”
When Thal did not immediately dismiss the proposal, Valentino added gently, “You need a place to take that woman you want.”
Thal had only been half listening. Valentino wanted access to his power, but Thal understood that powers acted upon him. The vengeance for his mother was not complete. Her spell would nag at him until the Magistrate was gone. Or perhaps it was his angry heart that demanded action. Thal decided there was little difference between the two.
He brought out his purse and spilled some coins into his hand. The gold florins sparkled with a greedy gleam. “I’d like to buy that extra set of armor,” he said.
Valentino extended a hand. “You can have it as a token of partnership between us,” he offered.
Instead of shaking hands, Thal stood up and gave a florin to Valentino.
Valentino closed his fingers over the coin but frowned with frustration. “The armor’s worth more than that,” he complained, disappointed not to have struck the deal he wanted.
“You also get my pledge of friendship, Valentino,” Thal said.
The Condottiere understood the distinction and was content. He pocketed the coin. “Stay here tonight. I’ll get you out of the city tomorrow, my friend,” he said.
Thal tossed off his cloak and fur and picked up the armor.
“What are you doing?” Valentino asked suspiciously.
“I intend to finish my business in Old Town tonight. It’ll be dangerous but this armor should help,” Thal said. He looked over the armor, trying to judge how roomy a fit it could offer him.
“Do you need help?” Valentino asked.
Thal shook his head. “You mustn’t involve yourself with me tonight. I will act alone,” he said.
Valentino hesitated to argue. He guessed that Thal was going after a more important person tonight than a constable and some grungy gaolers. Valentino knew to pick his battles wisely – a skill he hoped to impart to Thal someday.
Thal put on the armor. Jan’s scent on it reminded him of his hatred of the man, but his punishment could wait. Thal needed to move against the Magistrate. His hesitation had already increased the danger. The attack that afternoon by men employed by Vito warned him that the Jesuit had more trouble planned for him too.
“How will I find you again?” Valentino asked as Thal finished getting the armor on.
“I’ll find you,” Thal said evasively.
“Well I suppose you’ve had no trouble darkening my door so far,” Valentino remarked.
Thal arranged his fur inside his cloak as he usually did, but paused after swinging the fabric across his chest. His eyes lost focus as he heeded senses other than his eyes. Pistol growled very quietly. Valentino noticed the twitch of Thal’s nostrils.
Despite his unsettled feeling, Thal’s senses delivered no tangible details. He listened to the world outside for a moment longer but heard nothing out of the ordinary. Unhappily he recognized the bothersome sense of being hunted. He had observed many animals in the same state, but having the feeling creep across his nerves was very disquieting.
“I must go,” he whispered and rushed to the window. He lowered himself out and dropped to the ground and ran away. Pistol scratched at the door until Valentino let him out.
Pushing the bolt back in place, Valentino went to the window. “Good luck, my friend,” he whispered.
Accepting that Thal needed to be left to his dark deeds tonight, Valentino got his cape and riding gloves. He anticipated recounting his adventures to Carmelita. The Condottiere held up a candle and checked his appearance in the mirror one more time, but a sudden chill across his back made him forget to look at himself. He whirled and saw the bolt on his door moving on its own accord. The gentle grind of its mechanical motion roared in his ears.
He dropped the candle. It went out and hot wax splashed across the floor boards. He whipped out his rapier as the door swung open. Lunging forward, he meant to attack, but his rapier started shaking. Startled by the inexplicable vibration, he almost dropped his sword.
A man clothed in a long black cloak and dusty boots glided into the room. His hood hid his eyes but a pointy nose and thin lips on a pale face projected from the shadowy cowl.
Valentino yelled and thrust with his rapier, but the blade shook harder. The intruder stepped back on light feet. Only the tinkle of his silver spurs made real his steps. He held up two small black daggers. A toss of his head shook off his hood, and his startling blue topaz eyes confronted Valentino.
“Do not attack!” he commanded and kicked shut the door.
Valentino stepped back but kept his sword ready. His thudding heart powered him for action, but the dreamy appearance of the intruder stymied his aggression. A strange blend of fear and curiosity kept Valentino at bay.
The intruder, content that Valentino was under control, circled the room. He touched the chair where Thal had sat and then went to the open window. Excitement lit his bright eyes.
“He was just here,” the man said.
“Who are you?” Valentino demanded.
The intruder lowered his knives and faced the Condottiere. “Where is Thal going?” he said.
“Who?” Valentino said although he knew he was making a poor effort at lying.
The intruder ignored the evasion. Unblinking, he approached Valentino very slowly. With the point of one of his black knives he eased aside the rapier and looked deeply into Valentino’s eyes.
The Condottiere wanted to look away, but the glittering energy of the soul beaming through those startling eyes made action impossible.
“Where was Thal going?” he asked gently.
“To Old Town to kill people,” Valentino said, shocked at the truth passing his lips.
“Thank you,” the man said, if he was a man.
He moved to the door but stopped before opening it. He looked back at Valentino. “Is this Thal as powerful as the stories say?” he asked.
Valentino nodded.
The confirmation impressed the intruder.
“What do you want of him?” Valentino said.
Surprised by the question, the man focused again more firmly on the Condottiere. “I was not here,” he said and went out. Slowly the bolt edged back into place.
Valentino shook off his confusion. He felt like he had to sneeze. When he lifted his hand to itch
his nose, he was surprised to see that he was gripping his rapier.
Images slipped from his mind as if he were trying to remember a vivid dream that vanished upon waking. Certain that something supernatural had occurred, he yanked open his door and looked up and down the hall. Then he went downstairs and asked his manservant if he had seen anything. The servant looked up from his mug of pilsner and shook his head. His drinking companions also insisted that no one had come or gone.
Unable to act upon his uncanny feelings, Valentino told his manservant to get his horse saddled. He was overdue for his visit to Carmelita. Worry for Thal nagged at him, but a man would be a fool to seek the wolf at night.
Chapter 45. Deserved and Undeserved
Thal rummaged quietly through the boats. He could hear some men playing dice near a fish market shed, but they had not noticed him and Pistol sneaking around the docks.
After causing so much alarm in the city, Thal could not risk paying a boatman to take him to Old Town, and the bridge was surely being watched.
When he found a suitable basket, he stole it along with some rope. Slipping farther away from the men laughing and grumbling over their dice, he took off his armor, clothes, and gear and piled them in the basket. He took care to wrap his guns carefully, hoping to keep them dry.
He tied the rope around his waist and attached it to his basket. Quietly he lowered himself into the river without a splash. The current enveloped him and he swam across it.
Pistol whined and trotted back and forth. The little dog stopped at the edge but failed to work up the courage to jump. He barked.
Thal looked back and treaded water while he flowed along. “Hush! Take the bridge,” he hissed. His dog fussed on the dock for a moment longer and then raced away.
Pistol darted down the street curving along the river bank toward the Kamenny Most. He made barely any more noise than a rat. Armed guards on foot and on horse clogged the entrance to the bridge. Torches blazed and highlighted the thick stone blocks of the bridge. The bright moon watched over the summer night expectantly. Across the flowing blackness of the Vltava, roving clusters of torches were bright on the streets of Old Town.
