by Cory Barclay
“Where’s Aellin?” Dieter called out.
“Gone for the day, priest,” the barkeep replied. Dieter wondered why the man had called him “priest.” He certainly wasn’t dressed like one. Taking a closer look at the man, he realized he knew him. His name was Cristoff. He’d taken over for the last bartender, Lars, who’d been a secret Protestant rebel, killed fighting Heinrich Franz and his men during the hunt for the Werewolf of Bedburg.
But Dieter wasn’t sure where this man’s allegiances lay. Was he also a Protestant like Lars? Or an upstanding Catholic, advocating the interests of Heinrich Franz?
Dieter chuckled at the thought. No one was an advocate of Heinrich Franz.
“What can I help you with?” Cristoff asked. “If you aren’t ordering something, I’ve work to do.”
Dieter decided to grease the man a bit. “I’ll take an ale,” he told him.
As Cristoff delivered the drink, Dieter reached out and grabbed his hand.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
Dieter leaned forward. “I’m begging for your help, Herr Cristoff. Please tell me if you recognize these names.” He let go of him and pulled out the note.
Cristoff read it, then sighed and nodded. “Of course I do. I see William Edmond at Mass every Sunday.”
“Do you know where they live?”
“Why? Are they in trouble?”
Dieter thought for a moment.
Do I trust him? Will he betray me the minute I walk out that door?
He decided he’d have to take the chance. “I’m afraid they are,” he said. “Can you help them?”
“What kind of trouble?”
“It’s better you don’t know, my friend. You don’t want to be involved.”
Cristoff thought for a moment. “You’re right about that.” Then he thrust his thumb over his shoulder. “They live not more than half a mile down the road, near the eastern gate.”
Dieter nodded, paid for his ale, then got up to leave.
“You didn’t touch your ale!”
Dieter smiled. “Too early for me. But don’t let it go to waste.”
“My husband is working on a house,” the woman said frantically, shocked to hear her husband was in danger. Mary Edmond was plump but sturdy. She also hadn’t denied being associated with the Protestants.
“Who would want to harm us?” her son asked. Wilhem was a tall, lean young man with sharp eyes and a flat face, perhaps Martin’s age.
Dieter shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it seems your father said the wrong things to the wrong people.”
Wilhelm hugged his mother. “I can retrieve him.”
“Where is this house he’s working on?” Dieter asked.
“West, near one of the slaughterhouses,” Wilhelm said, suddenly looking ashamed. “I was supposed to help him. But I find no joy in stonework . . .”
Mary grabbed her son’s chin. “There’s no time for that, boy. Can’t you see? Go fetch your father, with haste!”
“No,” Dieter replied. “I have two associates who are in that part of town. They’ll find him faster. I know it. It would be best if we all go to the tavern, to wait for them.”
After talking quietly to each other for a moment, Mary and Wilhelm grabbed a few personal belongings, then left with Dieter. During the entire walk to the tavern Mary eyed Dieter with suspicion since the poor woman didn’t know whom to trust. But apparently sensing Dieter’s innate goodness she chose to believe him. As soon as they got to the tavern, Mary saw her husband walking toward them from the opposite direction with Martin and Ava close behind. Immediately erupting with a happy shriek, she raced to him.
Once the six of them had gathered in front of the tavern, Dieter said, “We can discuss the matter more when we reach our hideaway. But until then let us stay silent and alert.” William, though understandably nervous, nodded, his arm wrapped tightly around his wife. He was tall and broad, with dusty brown hair and a bristly face.
They exited the area out the west gate—not the one they’d entered from—so as not to draw attention from the guards Ava had distracted earlier.
And before nightfall they’d made it to the Griswold estate.
It was then that Dieter realized there was barely enough room to house all of them. And he’d already vowed to himself not to turn anyone away. So what would they do if more came? He needed another plan.
“There is somewhere I must go,” Dieter announced.
Martin looked incredulous. “Again? What are we to do with these people?”
“Make sure they stay safe. I will be back in less than a week.”
“A week!” Ava cried. “No one is going to stay cooped up here for a week! I demand you tell us where you’re heading!”
Dieter sighed. “You’re right. We’re running out of room. I’m going to seek help from the only man I know who might be able to aid us.”
“Who?” Martin asked.
“His name is Gebhard Truchsess. He used to be the archbishop of Cologne before being deposed by Archbishop Ernst.”
Martin and Ava’s eyes widened, as did all three of the Edmond’s. Everyone knew who Gebhard Truchsess was. He was the single main reason for the Cologne War—which had ravaged the principality for five long years.
“What makes you think a man like that would help us?” Martin asked.
Dieter shrugged. “I’ve heard he’s in Bonn,” Dieter said. “And with him that close, I must at least try. He could be our only hope for saving these poor souls.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HUGO
Hugo returned from Bergheim feeling depressed. His mission with the noblemen had been to propose a wedding between Heinrich Franz and Lucille Engel. And he’d laid it out as best he could.
Yet he’d left with no definitive answer.
Heinrich would surely be disappointed. And angry. Hugo could only hope he’d understand, and wouldn’t react as he usually did when things didn’t go his way. At best, Heinrich’s wrath was painful. At worst, fatal.
So, fearful of having to present his less-than-positive report to Heinrich in House Charmagne, Hugo’s plan was to sneak into Bedburg and stay low for a few days. That would at least give him time to hear how the lord’s trip to Bedburg had gone. He’d also gauge his mood by speaking to his friend Tomas, and possibly Ulrich.
As the carriage made its way toward the western gate, Hugo suddenly froze, his heart pounding. He slammed his fist into the carriage roof and popped his head out the window.
“Felix!” he yelled. “Stop the carriage!”
It was twilight, the sky pale and pink from the setting sun. He blinked several times to make sure the play of light wasn’t affecting his vision. But when he looked again, the vision was still there: a half dozen men and women hurrying out the west gate.
And two of the six he knew well.
Even with a hood covering much of his head he could see the man leading the group was Dieter Nicolaus. And the woman bringing up the rear was Ava Hahn—his first love and member of his old gang. She was holding hands with another man whose face he couldn’t see.
The other three in the group, walking between Dieter and Ava—two tall men and a woman—he didn’t recognize.
As he thought of Ava Hahn, his ears grew hot. He’d spent many nights thinking of running his hand through her luscious hair. But there she was, holding another man’s hand! Jealous rage quickly smothered his lust. Gritting his teeth, he jumped out of the carriage.
Felix looked confused. “My lord? The town gate is still a ways off.”
Hugo waved him on. “Go ahead, Felix. Take the carriage into Bedburg, to the inn. I will see you there later tonight.”
“Are you certain, my lord?” Felix asked.
But Hugo was already walking toward the group, out of earshot. Not to confront them, just to follow. Staying in the shadows, he trailed them first south, then east. They kept to the outskirts of town, away from the view of the watchtowers. After a while, he watched them continue dow
n a well-traveled road, finally disappearing into a small house.
Which dumbfounded him.
Because the house was his house. At least the one he and his sister Sybil used to live in.
He shook his head and squinted, making sure he was seeing things accurately. But the moon was now bright and there was no mistaking it.
They’d entered the abandoned Griswold house, his childhood home.
Days earlier, when Hugo had last followed Dieter from Bedburg—after the Town Fair hangings—Dieter had gone to the old Achterberg estate.
And now, the old Griswold house.
The two places had only one thing in common: both were abandoned . . .
His brother-in-law and his first love were both hiding. In his own home. With at least four others.
But what are they scheming? And why did Dieter leave the Achterberg’s so quickly? Why is Ava there? Should I stop them?
Too many questions. Hugo realized he needed to talk to someone. Someone who could help him figure out what was going on and what to do about it. But who? Certainly not Heinrich. If he told him, soldiers would be sent, everyone imprisoned or worse, and the house destroyed. Is that what he wanted?
No.
But if not Heinrich . . .
Hugo left the area and headed into Bedburg, more confused than ever.
Tomas Reiner had just left the garrison, on his way home. As he sauntered down the road, a figure suddenly appeared, a dozen paces away, facing him.
Hugo. A thin smile on his face.
Tomas hadn’t seen the young man in a while.
Hugo wondered if Tomas was still angry with him for killing his nephew, Severin, months earlier during their journey to Trier.
“Tomas,” Hugo greeted him with a tight nod.
Tomas hid his surprise, replying calmly. “What brings you to the garrison, Hugo? I would think Heinrich Franz would have more important things for a man of your stature to do.” Though he likely hoped his sarcastic tone would sting a bit, he got no reaction.
Then he noticed the boy was distraught, his eyes darting about, furtively checking over his shoulder.
“What are you scared of, boy?”
Hugo shook his head. “Nothing,” he said defiantly. “I came to hear your report.”
“My report?”
“Yes, what’s been going on in Bedburg since my absence?”
“Your absence?” Tomas said, as if he hadn’t noticed he’d been gone.
Hugo said nothing, just kept staring.
Finally, Tomas sighed. “You’re becoming more and more like Heinrich Franz every day.”
“That’s not true. He’s a murderer.”
Tomas cocked his head. “As I said . . .” then trailed off, not needing to say more.
Hugo growled. “Just tell me what’s happened in Bedburg.”
Tomas thought for a moment. “Protestants are everywhere. Heinrich wants them dead. Same old business.”
“Does Heinrich have a plan?”
Tomas snorted. “Yes, to use me, to capture and try said Protestants.”
“Did you agree?”
“I told him it’s not my jurisdiction to arrest people.”
“And who are the latest names on his list?”
Tomas raised his eyebrows. “You know about the list?”
Hugo cleared his throat. “I know everything Heinrich tells me. He said there’s a list of Protestant sympathizers making the rounds in Bedburg’s gossip circles.”
“That much is true,” said Tomas. “This time it was the Edmond family: William, Mary, and their son Wilhelm. A family of stonemasons. Ulrich was placed in charge of arresting them but someone got to them first.”
They must have been the three other people with Dieter and Ava . . .
But Hugo said nothing. He thanked Tomas for the information, gave him a curt nod, then headed down the road to the jailhouse to talk to Ulrich.
He saw the scar-faced torturer standing in front of the jail, speaking with a younger man. Though he had lost some weight, he recognized the man. Karstan Hase, another of Hugo’s old thieving friends.
First Ava, now Karstan? People from his past seemed to suddenly be popping up all around him.
Hugo wondered what Karstan could possibly be talking to Ulrich about. But as he approached, he found out.
“I don’t know where they’ve gone,” Karstan was saying, then turned and spotted Hugo.
“Hugo!” he called out. “What brings you here?”
“I could ask you the same, Kars.”
“We were just discussing Dieter Nicolaus and the Protestant uprising.”
Hugo’s heart began pounding. How could they have located them so quickly?
“We aren’t sure where they went,” Karstan finished.
Hugo quietly sighed in relief.
“Although we know where they were. But someone must have tipped them off and they’re gone now. Poof—into the wind.”
Ulrich eyed Hugo disapprovingly.
Hugo worried Ulrich could somehow tell that he knew where Dieter and the others were.
But how does he and Karstan know Dieter had been staying at the Achterberg’s abandoned estate?
Trying to divert attention from the subject, Hugo asked, “Do you think Dieter poses a threat to Bedburg?”
“Likely not,” Karstan said, “but we know that a few days ago he was talking about saving Protestants.”
“Heinrich wouldn’t like that,” Ulrich added.
“So you’ve seen them?” Hugo asked Karstan. “When?”
The man nodded, his chins wobbling. “I stayed at their hideaway for a night, to speak with Ava . . .” With a taunting tone, he added, “Oh yes, Hugo. Ava is alive and staying with the priest!”
Hugo kept his expression blank. “I don’t believe you,” he said.
Karstan nodded again. “They were staying at the Achterberg’s and were in possession of a note with Protestant names on it. The names of the people—”
“The two Ulrich killed at the Town Fair,” Hugo finished.
So Karstan spied on Dieter and Ava, then betrayed them to Ulrich, had their hideout raided, and got two people killed the next day. Quite the busy man. Perhaps I’ve underestimated my old friend.
Hugo had learned enough. He couldn’t fake ignorance much longer. They’d see through it.
The problem was, he didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. He couldn’t interpret his own feelings about what was happening.
All he knew was he had to get away from these people.
So he bid Ulrich and Karstan good night and left.
By the time he returned to Felix and the carriage, and arrived at House Charmagne, it was nearly dawn. He hoped Heinrich was still sleeping. He had much to think about before speaking with him.
When he walked in, Rolf was waiting. The old man smiled. “How did things go in Bergheim?” he asked, as they both proceeded down the hall.
“I’m not sure,” Hugo answered. “I think I did all right. But I’ve gotten no firm answer.”
“That’s the way of the nobility, my boy. Indecisiveness. They can’t seem to butter their own bread without help from a friend.” Rolf chuckled, clasping his hands behind his back, adding, “Promise me you won’t be like that when you’re a lord.”
When I’m a lord? The very idea caught Hugo off guard.
Rolf had always been kind to him, calm and respectful, and Hugo had always appreciated that. In fact, as far as Hugo was concerned Rolf was the only honest person around. He hoped to be like Rolf when he got older—wise yet wily, and fatherly and understanding when appropriate. Clearly that was how Rolf had survived as long as he had around so many unscrupulous and vicious characters. More than just a trusted friend, Rolf had become a father figure to Hugo, replacing the father he’d lost. The sudden thought of his own father, Peter, caused Hugo’s shoulders to slump.
“What’s the matter, boy?” Rolf asked, instantly picking up Hugo’s discomfort.
Hugo shoo
k his head. “Nothing.”
“I’m sure you handled the nobles just fine,” Rolf assured him, misinterpreting his sadness. “After all, you made it back here, didn’t you?”
Hugo tilted his head. “Should I not have?”
Rolf smiled and shrugged but said nothing. They came to the master’s chamber and Hugo heard coughing on the other side of the door. With a sigh, he knocked.
A raspy, angry voice answered. “What?”
“It’s Hugo, my lord.”
The tone changed quickly. “Ah! Hugo, my boy. Come in, come in. Rolf, you old dog, why didn’t you tell me he’d returned?”
Hugo pushed open the door. His eyes widened as he saw Heinrich in bed, blankets pulled up to his neck, sweating profusely, his skin waxy yellow.
“My God,” Hugo said. “What in Christ’s name happened to you?”
Heinrich chuckled, then broke into a coughing fit. “I’m a bit sickly. That’s all. Come, come. And close the window, will you? I’m freezing.”
Hugo nodded to Rolf, who left his side and shuffled back down the hallway to his room. Hugo walked to the window and, before closing it, peered outside to admire the rowed trees in the courtyard.
“Come here, boy. Let me take a look at you,” Heinrich said, waving at Hugo with a bony hand.
Hugo walked to the bed.
“How did your trip to Bergheim fare? Were you successful in conveying my request?”
Hugo nodded. “I think it went favorably.” He didn’t want to disappoint Heinrich in his current state. “They are discussing the proposal as we speak. I believe they’ll say—”
Heinrich raised his hand. “Let’s discuss this when I feel better, yes?”
Hugo stopped talking and nodded.
