by Podioracket
The two men were bound together, hands and feet chained, sitting on the dirty floor of a Turkish army tent. They had been caught right outside the city walls, with their horse and small carriage in tow, loaded with goods that were strange and foreign to the soldiers laying siege on Wien. Naturally, they assumed that those two strange men, though able to speak to them in their own tongue, must be the enemy.
"Don't you trust me?" Franz asked, his voice completely calm.
"Hmmmm. Let me think. Instead of being back in Neu Meidling with our families, we are sitting in the middle of a war, bound together as prisoners in a Turkish tent. So, NO, I don't trust you anymore."
"I see your point," Franz replied, but his thoughts, voice and look trailed away again.
"Are you even listening to me?"
"Yes, yes. Of course I'm listening to you. I am just trying to think of how we'll convince them that we aren't Austrian. That's all. I will get us out of this. When this is all over and done, we'll go home. Okay?"
"Pf! If only I could believe you!" the Beschützer grunted.
"I told you months ago that you could go back without me."
"Yes, at the same time I told you that I don't think I can go back with your pendant. Nor could I leave you behind without a way to get home."
"I AM home, Dorde!" he insisted quietly.
"It is my duty as a Beschützer to protect you and you know that just as well as I do. If that means sitting, bound together as prisoners in the middle of a war zone on a task that is completely crazy, then so be it."
"This isn't your war. You should've gone home."
"It isn't yours, either! You are Franz Schindler-Kolschitzky, prince of Neu Meidling, brother to the queen. You are a Wächter, a guardian of the secrets of coffee. You are no translator, no soldier and no footman to some king of this world!"
Dorde was angry. He was exhausted. He was too young to be stuck in this world with this guy who had forgotten who he was, just because of a century-old tradition that made him Franz' protector and guard. If only he had his own Pass to travel back and forth. With his own pendant, or whatever it might have been, he could return home without leaving Franz stranded in this world. No matter how practical it was that more than one person, usually Wächter and their Beschützer, could travel together, it was always possible that one could go rogue. It had never been heard of but, as Dorde could see in his own mess, there was always a first time. He didn't blame Franz and he knew it wasn't done with bad intentions. The Wächter was just elsewhere; in heart, body and soul. For what it was worth, he actually admired the older man a little; he wished that one day he too would feel such belonging to a place as Franz did now. It wouldn't be THIS place, of course; he was sure of that. He made a mental note to himself that he would go to his father when he was back in Neu Meidling and ask him to talk to the queen about Beschützer getting their own Passes in the future.
Though it seemed like an eternity sitting on the dirty ground, in the end Franz Kolschitzky turned out to have been right. He was able to convince the Turkish soldiers that he was just a lowly merchant from Belgrade, travelling though and trying to trade his goods in the camps outside the walls of Vienna. Within a few hours, they were sitting together with the Turkish soldiers, chatting, laughing and keeping up their act quite well. The only downside was that Franz ended up having to sell a few of his things before he could leave the camp and continue his journey to the Emperor's army. He managed to get a few pots and pans to brew coffee from the Turks as well, convincing them that back in Belgrade people would surely love coffee and that he was planning on starting a trade in coffee as well. With a wide grin he exclaimed that as soon as they had taken over Wien, the trade would be so much easier for him.
The next day, fully loaded with new goods, Franz and Dorde were able to head off. It didn't take them long to reach the Emperor's Army. There was quite an uproar upon their arrival, because the Emperor's generals couldn't believe how easily the two men had managed to pass through the Turkish camps completely unscathed.
"We will have plenty of time to hear your story in full, Mr Kolschitzky, once we have reclaimed good old Wien."
With the help of the Emperor's army, King Sobiesky's troops were successful in defending Wien and chasing away the Turks. The people of Wien were free once again from the threat outside their city gates. Franz Kolschitzky was a hero. He was the one who saved Wien and the Holy Roman Empire from the Turkish invasion. No-one had doubted that, once they had Wien, they would have tried to take over the rest of Europe as well. Dorde was happy that the war was finally over, in his mind already going through the stories he would tell once he got back to Neu Meidling. It was as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Now, they could finally go back home.
* * *
The Turks had left everything behind, only taking what they could carry as they fled their tents outside Wien. Many treasures were found when the tents were raided. The king was very happy with the spoils he received, so he asked Franz Kolschitzky, the man who had saved the city, to name his price. Franz didn't want much, but he had seen something in the tents that was unknown to the people in Wien: dozens of bags of coffee beans. Not knowing what to do with them, the soldiers were sure to just throw them away.
"My king, I only did it for the people of Wien! All I can ask for are the bags of beans before your soldiers throw them away."
King Sobiesky agreed to his terms. After all, he didn't care much about the bags of bitter tasting beans. So long as the Emperor didn't meddle with his price, it was fine with him. It was part of the deal that Sobiesky would only help the Holy Roman Emperor if he got to lead the army to free Wien. The king had achieved his goal, the victory and honour were his – and this translator only wanted a few bags of beans. This war couldn't have turned out better, he thought, as Kolschitzky and his companion walked away through the mud with the bags of beans loaded on a small cart pulled by their horse.
"The war is over, Franz. Let's go home," Dorde almost implored when they got back to Vienna.
"We never came here to fight a war and you know that as well as I. It's about coffee, it always was. Now we have the opportunity to spread the knowledge about it here in Wien as well. We can't just go back to Neu Meidling, not yet."
"You are kidding, right? What else?? Do you not want to see your kids grow up or spend time with your wife again?"
"Yes, yes I do. Of course," Franz said, while his hand dug deep into the bag of beans, feeling them run up his arm.
He wasn't listening anymore, just feeling the cold beans against his skin, wondering. The picture was already forming in his mind's eye... A small café, like the ones they had in Neu Meidling, but here in the middle of Wien, would be fantastic, he thought. There were no cafés in Wien yet, their work had not yet spread that far. And now, with all these bags and bags of beans he could start bringing coffee to the people of Wien as well. He thought back to the general who, before closing in on Wien and chasing the Turks away, had assured him that he would have plenty of opportunity to tell his story once they got "good old Wien" back.
"Alt Wien," he thought. "That's what I shall call my café."
* * *
During his stay in Turkey, Franz had taught them everything about coffee and they loved it. Strong, dark, bitter. But now, here in Wien, it seemed to be completely different. None of the people really seemed to enjoy coffee and Franz started to get desperate. Though he was still employed as the Emperor's Interpreter, he wanted nothing more than to be able to quit his job and just spend time working with coffee and everything associated with it. Franz simply wanted his small café to be a success.
"It just doesn't work!" Franz exclaimed.
"Maybe it's not yet the right time for Wien."
"How can they not like coffee? That's just ridiculous. Everyone loves coffee!"
"Maybe their taste-buds aren't right for coffee. Maybe they prefer tea."
"Tea? No, not Tea! Never!" the Wächter shouted, sla
mming his hand down hard on the kitchen unit in their café. The force made the shelves shiver, especially the one above where they were brewing coffee. It moved so much, a small pot of sugar fell into the coffee. Dorde and Franz looked at each other, then took a taste of the sweetened coffee.
"Why didn't we think of it sooner?" Franz asked, more to himself than Dorde.
"No idea..."
"Don't those crazy, tea-drinking Brits also put milk in their tea? Why don't we try that too?"
"Milk? In coffee? Now that's just weird..." Dorde mumbled, but Franz was already on his way to get some.
After pouring the milk into the pot of coffee as well, Franz stirred it around, smelling and tasting.
"This tastes really good," he said, sounding just as surprised as Dorde looked.
"Quite the mixture you have there..." Dorde chuckled.
"Hmmmm.... Mixture. What about naming it... Melange?"
"Coffee beans from Turkey, Austrian sugar, the British idea of adding milk and a French name... yes. Fits perfectly," he smiled.
This time, it worked. With milk and sugar added to it, the people in Wien found this new drink much more appealing and soon their small café was bursting with customers. Franz was happy; he had finally managed, after months and months of failing, to bring his beloved coffee closer to the people of his adopted home town of Wien. The day he turned in his resignation as interpreter, the day he became a full-time café owner, was one of the best of his life. Mentally, he told himself off, trying to convince himself it should have been his wedding day or the birth of his kids. He just... loved coffee, and the world here, more. The thought of his obligations and that, one day, he would have to go back to Neu Meidling, made him sigh deeply.
* * *
Their café was finally running well and people were coming from near and far to taste the new hot drink they served. They were also able to employ a few people who would, one day, be able to take over the café once they returned to Neu Meidling. Franz was an old man, and could barely keep up with the daily tasks in the café. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he had ignored the fact that he would age so much quicker in this world. Somehow, he thought he could carry on forever in the way he used to.
"It is time, my friend." Dorde placed a hand on Franz' shoulder and together they stepped through the barrier that separated the worlds and returned to Neu Meidling.
The dark days were over and not only Kolschitzky was celebrating. Back in Wien, the bakeries had started making a new sweet delicacy, fashioned in the shape of the Turkish crescent to celebrate the defeat of the Ottoman Empire; the croissant had been born.
But that is a completely different story.
https://podiobooks.com/title/wiener-blut
Wayward Spirits - A Prelude to The Dawning of Power
Brian Rathbone
Not all journeys begin with a destination; some are launched by ideas alone.
--Aerestes, Captain of the Landfinder
* * *
A hand reached from the darkness and pulled Benjin into a narrow alley. The other hand closed over his mouth, but it was unnecessary, as he already knew the culprit.
"Hush," Wendel said, as he pulled his hand away. The annoyed look on Benjin's face did nothing to stifle his grin. "Just hold tight until the rest have gone by. I don't want any wagging tongues to spoil our fun this time."
Benjin winced. Whenever Wendel referred to "our fun", it generally meant his amusement and Benjin's terror. Though they had been friends since childhood, Benjin wondered how long it would take for Wendel to get them both killed, or just locked up. Though no one could prove it had been them, their recent 'horse manure in Master Edling's chair' prank had everyone looking at them sideways. This, Benjin knew, was no time to be taking more risks.
When Nat Dersinger walked by, mumbling to himself, Benjin felt a moment of compassion. The poor young man seemed to attract unhappiness, and he wore it like a very heavy cloak. Even the way he hung his head and dragged his heels while he walked gave the impression of the universe pressing down on him--having a madman for a father probably had something to do with it. Wendel, on the other hand, looked as if he were ready to explode with energy. There was a gleam in his bluish-green eyes that made the girls blush, and a swagger in his walk that had even older men stepping out of his path. Sometimes Benjin wished he could muster the same courage that seemed to come naturally and unbidden to Wendel.
"They're all in there. Let's go," Wendel said.
"If we don't go to class, they'll make us take it again. You heard what Edling said last time, didn't you?"
"What's Edling going to do? Tell everyone we didn't complete our studies and that they shouldn't hire us? I don't care if he does. I'll be training horses and you'll be working at the mill come fall whether we go listen to Edling ramble on or not. He probably won't even notice we're not there."
Benjin scoffed at that. Master Edling was probably already thinking of ways to punish the boys. Still, the thought of showing up to class late, and bearing the brunt of Edling's ire in person was no more desirable, and they were already late. "I don't suppose one more missed class will hurt anything."
A familiar feeling of tense anticipation filled Benjin's gut.
Wendel just grinned at him. "I've a little coin. Let's get Grumman to get us some sausage breads."
From shadow to shadow, the young men moved as if their lives depended on secrecy; it was part of the game. Baker Hollis swept his front walk, like he did every morning, and the boys waited until his back was turned before dashing across the cobbled-stone avenue to the bushy hedge that ran along the alleyway behind The Watering Hole. Even this early in the day, the stables were a busy place. Benjin and Wendel had to wait until Grumman finally sat down on a bale of hay for a break.
"Psst. Hey Grumman," Benjin half-whispered, half-shouted. "Can you get us some sausage-breads?"
Looking like a knobby gnome, Grumman scrunched up one side of his face and pulled his loose-hanging lips into a frown. "Who's over there a hidin'?"
Wendel stepped out first, as he always did, and Benjin followed. It was a familiar pattern.
"Ain't you two willow rats supposed to be at the academy?"
"Master Edling is hungry and asked us to come get him some sausage breads," Wendel said with an overlarge smile and an air of innocence.
"Uh huh, and that's why you was hidin' in the bushes, was it?" Grumman said, one eyebrow raised and making his expressive face look lopsided.
"We didn't want to get you in trouble or nothing, and you know Miss Olsa don't like us in there," Wendel said.
"Well, you're right about that part at least. She says you're a right pain in the britches, and that ya ain't got no sense, and there's no room for the likes of you in her kitchen. That's what she says." Grumman crossed his arms over his chest and squinted at them.
"Yeah. I know," Wendel said; his smile never faded. A pair of shiny coins appeared in his hand. Benjin was always amazed at what Wendel could accomplish with only a smile and a coin.
Resting in the shadow of the hedge, and licking their fingers after devouring the sausage breads, Benjin had to admit that this was far better than sitting through another boring class.
"When you find 'em, bring 'em my way," Came an angry voice from not far away. "They're not so big that I can't whoop 'em."
"Dad sounds pretty mad. We'd better go."
"Go where?" Benjin asked.
Wendel just shrugged, "I think the fun is about to begin."
Both had played at stealth before, and they must have done an admirable job of it, as they were able to escape town without attracting any further attention. Not wanting to walk along the road where Wendel's father, Marix, would certainly be traveling at some point in the afternoon, they traveled along game trails, along with a few paths known only to them.
"Now we're really going to be in trouble," Benjin said. "Maybe we should just go back."
"Go back? Now? No way. That would just be admit
ting we did something wrong. And isn't that what all this coming-of-age garbage is all about? Aren't we supposed to be taking control of our own destinies? So what if we do that a few weeks early. I say it shows initiative."
Wendel did have a point. The future was coming faster every day, and Benjin wondered what life planned for him.
"Do I look like I want to spend the rest of my life working with a pitch fork and smelling like horse manure? Do you know what it's like to have a girl wrinkle her nose at you and tell you that you stink?"
"No, but she was right. You do stink."
"Stuff a melon in it," Wendel said, taking a half-hearted swing at Benjin, who laughed and dodged it easily.
* * *
With the auburn rays of the afternoon sun came the realization that they would need to return home soon. The uneasy feeling was all too familiar, and also part of why Wendel seemed so ready to rebel. Every time he got into trouble, he felt an even greater need for freedom--for the right to live his own life and make his own mistakes, no matter what they may be. Benjin had always shared some of his friend's feelings, which was why he so often found himself facing discipline, but he did not have the fire that burned in Wendel's eyes. For him, a safe and uneventful existence did not seem like such a bad thing, but it was like asking Wendel to live in a cage.
"We should go," Benjin said.
"Yeah. I suppose we should," Wendel agreed, kicking a nearby stone in frustration.
It was a quiet hike back toward the farmland where they lived, only the sound of their boots on the forest floor accompanying them. Darkness was growing deeper when they moved into a clearing; both knew the place and that they were now not far from the wagon trail. Long shadows bathed the clearing mostly in violet with highlights of orange and blue. Near the center stood a black mass that moved with the wind; the rustle of leaves and the smell of moldy soil filled the air.
"What in the world is that?" Wendel asked, stepping forward, but then he took two steps backward when the dark shape moved, unfolding itself. Before them stood a towering figure in robes of darkness. Within his hood waited a face shaped by pain with sunken eyes surrounded by shadow, and hollow cheeks covered in translucent skin. The burnt orange light made him look all the more unnatural.
