by Cory Barclay
“We won’t forget you.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
HUGO
The following morning Hugo was in Bedburg before the sun rose. Ordered by Heinrich to oversee what was happening in the city, he didn’t much like what he saw.
The townsfolk were on edge. Near the church, a group of citizens—most holding candles—marched alongside a horse-drawn cart carrying the bodies of two men wrapped in white sheets. As the procession made its way down the street, the man leading the procession shouted, “Two more innocents killed by our tyrannical lord!”
Others lined the street to watch the solemn parade, celebrating the lives of their lost comrades while simultaneously displaying their unabashed hatred for Lord Heinrich Franz.
Watching the spectacle, Hugo knew that someone needed to stop it. It was a direct affront to Heinrich’s rule, which, if allowed to go on, would soon poison the entire city.
This was how rebellions were born and rulers deposed.
He stopped to ask a grief-stricken woman how the men had died. She described Heinrich Franz riding through town with his noblemen and picking off innocent townspeople for sport, ruthless savage that he was.
Hugo knew Heinrich was not a good man. But he couldn’t believe he’d been so cavalier, so obvious, as the woman described. Even Heinrich had more nuance than that.
He also knew that the whole reason for that tour with the noblemen had been so Heinrich could simply show them the city, and specifically the villages being exchanged for the marriage.
At the far end of the street Commander Tomas Reiner stood with his hands crossed over his chest. He looked both bitter and sad. Ten soldiers were positioned behind him, stiff and unmoving. When the procession got within yards of him, he stepped forward.
“This march must end now,” Tomas told the leader. “You’ve had your say—and you’re lucky I don’t arrest you all. I hesitate doing so only because you are grieving.”
Members of the procession began shouting for the leader to proceed. Then, realizing the futility of that, they turned the cart around and headed for the church to consecrate the burials.
At the top of the hill, Bishop Balthasar was already waiting in front of the church, watching the procession come his way. When it got about halfway there, the bishop spoke out.
“You can’t bring that cart any further.”
The man leading the group yelled back up to him, “And why is that, Your Grace?”
“Because the cemetery you plan to bury your friends in is a holy site. For Christians, of the True faith. It is not a site for heretical vagabonds.”
The man in front blew out his candle and turned around to his following. “Did you hear that? The bishop says our brothers here are not good enough to be buried in his holy graveyard!”
“Blasphemy!” another man cried out.
“An outrage of the highest order!” a woman shouted.
The leader turned back toward the bishop. “What would God say to you for what you’re doing? You’re supporting a despot and maniac!”
“I’m doing no such thing,” Balthasar said calmly. “But I won’t have this sacred land sullied by the arrival of common vagrants and bandits. You must take your fallen elsewhere.”
“Where will we go?” asked the man.
“There’s a graveyard just past the north gate, outside Bedburg.”
Which brought an even larger rumbling from the crowd.
“He won’t even let us bury our brothers in the city!”
“I can’t believe it!”
By this time, Tomas and his soldiers had closed in behind the procession.
“Believe it,” Tomas shouted. “This fiasco is over, dammit! Disperse from the church or I’ll be forced to take drastic measures.” To emphasize his point, he flicked his wrist and his soldiers instantly loaded their rifles with a flurry.
“They’re going to shoot us if we don’t comply!” the man screamed, trying to rile the crowd. And it was working.
In an instant, Tomas was in the man’s face with his pistol drawn. Speaking in a low, menacing voice, he said, “This is your last warning, Herr Anthony. I won’t ask again.” He cocked the gun. Suddenly the man was not so brave. He gulped, then nodded before leading the procession back down the hill.
As they headed away, Tomas turned to the onlookers still milling about, ordering them to disperse and go about their day. But Hugo could sense that the tense situation, though temporarily disrupted, was far from over. The place was still rife with seething anger, like a dark storm cloud ready to burst.
As Hugo headed for the jailhouse, he could feel trouble in the air.
These people have not given up. In fact, quite the opposite.
Watching from a distance, Hugo observed two men in chains being dragged by five soldiers. The chained prisoners were filthy, as if they’d been rolling around in a sewer. One was a big and broad-shouldered; the other small and jittery with bulging, terrified eyes.
Last among the soldiers was Ulrich.
Hugo approached him as the group proceeded toward the jail. “What’s going on here?”
“We’ve been looking for these two all night,” replied Ulrich, still walking. “Found them in the tunnels underneath the jail.”
“Who are they?”
“The stonemason Heinrich’s been blithering about. And some other strange, beady-eyed little fellow.”
“They were underground you say? Below the jail?”
Ulrich, clearly tired and impatient, stopped to face Hugo. “That’s what I said, Hugo. It seems they had some help—aiming to get to the tunnel entrance at the back of the jailhouse. Little did they know, I patched that up months ago.” With a smirk, he continued walking, catching up to the rest of the group.
“What will you do to them?” Hugo asked, hurrying behind him.
The jailer shrugged. “What I do best, Hugo. If you’d like to review what I taught you those months ago, feel free to join me and watch.”
Hugo’s shoulders slumped. He hated what Ulrich did but realized it was likely the only way to get information in this Godforsaken city. So, reluctantly, he followed Ulrich inside the dark prison.
Jerome Penderwick shrieked in agony, turning away as the thumbscrew tore through the nail of his big toe, blood flowing freely and pooling under his right foot.
Hugo turned away. Standing outside the cell, he’d been watching through the bars. Ulrich chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Hugo asked.
“He doesn’t stutter when he screams. Odd, but amusing.”
Hugo shook his head and closed his eyes.
Pointing at the thumbnail, Ulrich glanced up at Hugo. “You remember how this thing works, don’t you? Care to give it a try?”
Hugo’s eyes caught a glimpse of the bloody floor and he felt like he might be sick. Turning away again, he muttered, “I’m fine, Ulrich, just . . . get on with it, will you?”
Ulrich grinned, causing the evil-looking scar on his face to wiggle. “This is something we don’t want to rush into, son,” the torturer replied, the smile on his face widening. Then he turned back to his prisoner and the smile vanished. “Let’s try this again, Mister P-P-Penderwick,” he said, mimicking the surgeon.
“G-g-go to hell, you animal,” the poor man groaned.
Ulrich slapped him across the face hard, drawing a wince and sharp cry.
“You’ve said that already,” Ulrich told him. “I’m going to need fresh words from you if you want to get out of here alive.” He reached down for the thumbnail, then dramatically paused, asking casually, “When did you come to Bedburg, and whom did you come with? Are you a Protestant spy?”
The interrogation had been going on for nearly an hour, while William Edmond sat in the adjacent cell, waiting his turn. Hugo knew that positioning the other man so close had been intentional. Unnerving him—“vicarious torture”—was how Hugo saw it. Soften the bigger man up a bit before the torturer’s attention turned to him.
Jerome defiantly shook hi
s head. The left side of his face, red and puffy, had already started to form heavy bruising, his left eye swollen almost shut.
“I’m not a Pr-Pro-Protestant,” the man cried out. “I don’t know their p-p-plans, so s-s-stop asking.”
Ulrich turned back to Hugo. “Perhaps I should remove the rest of his teeth. He’s only got about four left anyway.” Ulrich snickered. “Maybe that would stop the stuttering. What do you think?”
Hugo’s stomach knotted. “I think you’re a devil, Ulrich,” he said softly.
Ulrich’s mouth fell open, feigning surprise. “You wound me deeply, Hugo.” Turning back to Jerome, he said, “Answer the first part of the question. When did you come here, and with whom?”
Jerome stayed quiet for a long moment. When Ulrich reached back down toward the thumbscrew, Jerome cleared his throat. “I came here m-m-months ago, aboard the L-L-Lion’s Pride. I came with Rowaine Donnelly, Daxton W-Wallace, and S-Sybil Nicolaus.”
Hearing his sister’s name, Hugo’s heart fluttered. “What did you want with Sybil Nicolaus?” he asked. “Why was she part of that crew?”
“S-she was to be our g-g-guide in Bedburg. R-Rowaine sought to f-f-find her father and her m-mother’s killer.”
Leaving the thumbscrew in place, Ulrich reached instead for his rusty pliers, then tapped them on his chin. “I know Dieter Nicolaus was part of that group as well. Last year, when that skirmish broke out at the inn with Gustav Koehler and his men? I saw Dieter Nicolaus there with the rest of your group. I know the whole lot of you has been operating in secret. Where is he?”
Jerome shrugged. “H-he wouldn’t tell me. He left with t-the s-s-stonemason’s family.”
Hugo heard footsteps coming down the stairs from the jail’s lobby. A moment later Karstan Hase appeared from around the corner. Hugo clenched his jaw and tightened his fists, staring daggers at Karstan. “What are you doing here?” Hugo demanded.
Hugo knew Karstan was responsible for that first raid on Dieter’s group at the Achterberg estate. Karstan had never been loyal to Dieter, but the boy had been loyal to Hugo at a point in time, in fact they’d been best friends. Until Karstan stole Ava away.
He narrowed his eyes on his ex-best friend.
Perhaps he’s jealous that Ava was stolen from him, too. And why he wants to catch her so badly. Revenge.
Karstan pushed past Hugo. “Move, Hue.” He joined Ulrich in the cell. “I see my intelligence was correct,” he said to Ulrich. “You have your men.”
Has Ulrich replaced me as his apprentice with Karstan?
Ulrich frowned at the boy. “Not all of them. You almost have your freedom—but not until you help me round up the rest.”
Karstan sighed, his head drooping.
Now Hugo understood.
Karstan doesn’t want to be here any more than I. He’s helping Ulrich to somehow gain his freedom. But from what?
“Were you the one following my carriage on horseback, Karstan?” Hugo asked.
Karstan turned. “When you were spying on Ava at your childhood estate? Yes, that was me.”
“Why are you helping Ulrich?” Hugo asked, as the jailer looked up and smiled.
“Your sister and her husband got me arrested,” Karstan said. “They separated me from Ava. She tried to pilfer one of their purses and was caught by the red-headed bitch. But it was the pretty boy that accused me of the thievery—Martin. And the guards went along with it. Ava didn’t help me. So once I’ve helped uncover those traitors, Ulrich will let me leave in peace.”
Hugo had no idea what Karstan was talking about. “So you don’t love Ava, then?”
Karstan scoffed. “That cold bitch? Are you insane? Look at the grief she’s caused all of us. No, I don’t love her, Hugo. She’s more trouble than she’s worth, and there are plenty of prettier girls out there.”
Jerome let out a blood-curdling scream as Ulrich cleanly tore off the man’s right thumbnail with the pliers, quickly forcing Hugo and Karstan back to the matter at hand. While the man blubbered, Ulrich slapped him lightly, bending down to examine his face. He shook his head. “This one’s gone,” he said, letting go of the man’s chin as he passed out. Setting the pliers back in his toolbox, Ulrich stood, then walked past Karstan.
“Let’s see what the other one has to say.”
William Edmond was strapped to a chair in the adjoining cell. Hugo was shocked at how calm and collected he appeared to be. No perspiration, no shaking, no trying to escape his bindings. The man clearly knew something, something that somehow kept him sane and in control. And Ulrich saw that too.
“What are you hiding from us, mason?” he asked.
William shrugged. “I have nothing to hide or offer you, punisher. This is all a mistake. I am not a Protestant.”
“But you planned to fight on their behalf and that’s why you’re here, Herr Edmond. Balthasar Schreib said as much. Your confession to the bishop put you here. How does that make you feel?”
William flexed the muscle of his jaw. He hadn’t known the bishop had betrayed his confession, putting him and his family in such danger. But he quickly collected himself. “I’m indifferent to the entire situation. I would expect nothing less from a Jesuit. But I’m not fighting on behalf of the Protestants. That’s where you’re mistaken.”
Ulrich cocked his head. “Then who are you fighting for?”
“I’m not fighting for anyone. Just against oppression and cruelty, like any decent man would. You can break me, but you cannot destroy my spirit. It lives on with my family.”
Ulrich twitched, suddenly realizing something. He muttered under his breath, “And every minute we keep you here, the further your family gets from Bedburg . . .”
William stared ahead, unmoved.
Karstan chimed in. “Should I arrange a search party? I’m sure we could find them.”
Ulrich waved off the young man. “I’m sure that’s exactly what Herr Edmond wants from us—to send troops on a wild chase through the countryside. No, Karstan, they’re far from here by now, and only getting farther.”
“You’re not as stupid as you look,” William shot back.
Hugo bit his lip, expecting an outburst from Ulrich. Instead, the torturer just smirked. “I appreciate that,” he chuckled.
Hugo didn’t know why Ulrich was being so . . . respectful of this prisoner. Nothing like his behavior with the other one. It still amazed Hugo how Ulrich could turn his sadism on and off like a switch—one minute inflicting incredible pain, the next thanking the man for his insult.
“What are you waiting for?” Karstan asked Ulrich. “Should I bring you your tools?”
The torturer shrugged. “I don’t think we’ll learn anything from this one that we won’t learn easier from the one next door.”
“Are you sure?” Karstan asked.
Ulrich turned to William. “Do you know where Dieter Nicolaus is?”
William shook his head.
“Even though he took your family?”
“I forced him to take my family,” William said, shifting in his seat. “And told him not to tell me where they were.”
He’s lying, Hugo thought, noticing the big man’s changed demeanor, how his body tensed. How could Ulrich not see that?
But he saw no reason to give up the man.
Though Karstan did. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “You’re saying you were prepared to never see your family again? That’s not . . .” he turned to Ulrich. “How can that be?”
William answered for the torturer. “You wouldn’t understand, boy. Do you have a family? A man will do the unimaginable to ensure his family’s safety. We had fair warning from Dieter Nicolaus that you were on your way. It was simply a matter of survival. Save me or my family? The choice is . . . no choice at all.”
Ulrich nodded. “Well said, Herr Edmond.”
But Karstan shook his head. “Do something to him, Ulrich. I don’t believe this nonsense.” He jabbed his finger into the man’s thick chest. “This man
knew where he was going. The priest must have planned where they’d meet—don’t you see that? He didn’t go underground to get caught . . . he went there to escape!”
William stared at Karstan’s finger. “Despite these straps, boy, point that finger in my chest again and I’ll bite it off.”
Ulrich chuckled. “Quiet, Karstan. Even if you’re correct, I can’t see myself breaking a determined family man like this. And don’t try to tell me what to do. Remember who holds your freedom . . .”
Karstan grunted and Hugo couldn’t help but smile.
“Besides,” Ulrich added, “like I said, we can find out where they were going through Jerome Penderwick over there.” He nodded at William. “Thank you for your time, Herr Edmond. I’m sorry it had to be this way.”
William nodded. “You’re just doing your job.”
As Ulrich passed Hugo on his way back to Jerome’s cell, Hugo touched his arm and leaned in. “Why were you so . . . kind to him?”
Ulrich sighed. “William Edmond built the walls around Bedburg, son. When the Protestants first attacked years ago, who do you think manned the city’s defense by erecting a makeshift palisade? That man helped defend the city more than any soldier. He also built my house. Do you understand?”
Hugo’s cheeks grew hot. He looked away, then nodded. He understood. And now he felt even worse about himself. Humiliating a hero of the city.
What kind of man have I become?
Looking around at the chipped walls of the jailhouse, the grimy, blood-spattered stones and walls, the swollen misshapen face of Jerome Penderwick, it suddenly hit Hugo.
We are the villains here.
It was the first time he’d seen himself that way. When he’d been running through the streets of Bedburg thieving, he hadn’t seen that as evil, just desperate. When he’d traveled to Trier and Tomas had ordered the deaths of all those people, he’d excused himself as not knowing about it in advance, that he would have tried preventing it if he’d known. Even when he killed Severin, shoving him off the cliff, there’d been good reason: the man had murdered his friend Klemens. And even with that rationalization, he’d still begun feeling tormented about killing him as the months went by. An evil person would never feel that.
