by Cory Barclay
“My, my,” Rolf chuckled. “Quite the reunion.”
Sybil turned back to him. “Please, where’s my husband, old man?”
His smile vanished. “Heinrich Franz left with him less than ten minutes ago. In his carriage. I heard them leave.”
Sybil cursed under her breath. “Where?”
“To House Charmagne, of course.” Rolf seemed to shrink from Sybil’s gaze. “I must warn you, my lady . . . I believe your husband is in dire peril.”
Sybil sighed. She heard footsteps coming down the steps from the lobby. Corvin appeared with keys in his hand, presumably taken from Ulrich.
Once Sybil and Corvin had freed Rolf, Ava, and Aellin, they all hurried for the stairs, then out the jailhouse door into the night.
When they reached the gate, they stopped abruptly.
Tomas Reiner and nearly fifty soldiers stood between them and the large mass of tavern patrons and townsfolk, blocking their path. Though the mob of citizens was at least twice the size of Reiner’s group, the soldiers had much deadlier weapons, so the crowd kept their distance.
“I cannot let you pass, I’m afraid,” Tomas declared to everyone. Addressing Sybil’s group trying to leave the jail, he said, “Not you,” then turning to the mob in the street, “nor the rest of you.”
“Shit,” Sybil muttered. She whispered to Corvin, “Do you have anything to say?”
Corvin cleared his throat, the color in his face draining. Carefully eyeing the swords and rifles of Tomas’ men, he slowly stepped forward. “I s-suppose I can think of something . . .” he whispered, trailing off as he reached the front of the group.
Loud, running footsteps interrupted the moment. A town guardsman, out of breath, ran up to Tomas. “C-Commander, we have trouble!” the man cried, thrusting a thumb behind him.
Tomas shot a dangerous look at the man.
“An army’s reached our southern gate,” the messenger told him. “I don’t know how they got there without warning, but they’re there, my lord. Sure as day.”
The soldiers in Tomas’ ranks began mumbling to one another, relaxing their poised weapons. Suddenly there were more important things to worry about than the peasants in the street or these escaping prisoners.
Salvatore came up beside Sybil. “It can’t be the army from Cologne . . . they shouldn’t be here for hours. I saw their masses in the spiritworld, they can’t be here before daybreak, at the least.”
Sybil rolled her eyes. As much as she liked Salvatore, she wasn’t going to rely on his “spiritworld” at the moment.
“Dammit,” Tomas spat. To the messenger, he asked, “Can you tell where they come from?”
The soldier shrugged. “Perhaps from Bergheim, my lord.”
Tomas frowned, then looked long and hard at Sybil. Though she may have imagined it, she thought she saw Tomas give her an almost imperceptible nod, before turning to his soldiers.
“Let’s go, men. Rouse the garrison! We have enemies at our back door!”
And with that, they were gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
HEINRICH
“How long have you been working with Tomas, priest?”
Dieter, sitting across from Heinrich in the carriage, didn’t answer—his face a mask of absolute blankness, no expression, complete indifference, as if he hadn’t heard the question.
Each stared at the other, both of them gently swaying from side to side as the coach bounced along the country roads outside Bedburg. After a long silence, filled in only by the clopping of hooves along the uneven road and Felix’s occasional shouts to the horses, Heinrich finally looked away. He had no idea what was going through the priest’s mind.
He sighed and tried again. “I know that Tomas Reiner, my own garrison commander, is ‘Mord’—the writer of the notes your resistance group has been receiving.”
At that, Dieter flinched slightly, a twitch at the corner of his eye, but enough of a tell to make Heinrich notice.
So he doesn’t know who it is . . .
But even if Dieter didn’t know who had authored the notes, he could still be of value. He was, after all, a recognizable figure in his own right. Some in town even considered him a saint of sorts. A rescuer of the laymen. A Robin Hood figure.
Of course Heinrich didn’t buy any of that. To him, Dieter was just a man thrust into a dangerous situation doing the best he could.
If it were up to him, knowing what he knows now and where it has gotten him, I doubt he would have agreed to become this champion of the weak.
“When did you first receive Tomas’ messages?” Heinrich asked.
This time Dieter answered. “Months ago,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t remember the exact date.”
Not much, but it was something. Heinrich tried to keep him talking. “I also know that the army at Bedburg’s doorstep belongs to Gebhard von Truchsess,” he told Dieter. “Don’t bother denying it.”
“I don’t.”
“You won’t escape from this,” Heinrich said.
Dieter gazed into Heinrich’s eyes. “What do you want with me, Heinrich?”
“Information. I found out from Hedda’s ledger that Gebhard has an army and had been conspiring with Baron Ludwig before his . . . untimely death.” Jarred by a particularly brutal bump, Heinrich shifted in his seat. “And that is where you come in. I associate with Archbishop Ernst, you see—”
“Yes. It is well known that you are the archbishop’s lackey.”
Heinrich smirked. He was getting under Dieter’s skin. That usually brought results. He continued. “Ernst and Gebhard are dire enemies, have been since the Cologne War broke out. But I’m sure you’re aware of that, too.”
Dieter said nothing.
“With Gebhard being a Calvinist leader, and yourself being such a prominent Protestant in Bedburg, I find it hard to believe you weren’t working together. You seek the same ends, after all.”
“I seek to save people from your viciousness and tyranny. That is all. Gebhard seeks a throne of lies.”
“So you claim that you’re not allies?”
“I sought his help once. He refused me.”
“A shame.”
“I thought the same.”
Heinrich rested one leg over the other, trying to act relaxed, though his mind was awash with many thoughts.
If that’s true, then my plan could be foiled before it even begins . . .
No, I doubt this priest would admit to his treason just from my asking.
“I don’t believe you, that you’re not working together,” Heinrich challenged.
But by now, Dieter had guessed Heinrich’s plan. “If you propose to hold me as bait over the former archbishop,” Dieter said, tilting his head to the side, “I’m afraid you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”
“So it wasn’t your idea to confine yourself to my prison in hopes that Gebhard would rescue you once he took Bedburg?”
“Gebhard wants Bedburg so that he can control more territory around Cologne. That’s always been his goal, as you well know. So, yes, it crossed my mind that if he entered Bedburg, the Protestants you jailed might be freed. But me, personally? I’m not that important to him.”
“I doubt you would abandon your son for such a slim hope at freedom, priest.”
Dieter scowled. “Don’t speak of my son, you devil.”
Heinrich smiled. “I think you were given more of a guarantee than you admit. That if Bedburg fell to his army, you’d be freed.”
Dieter shrugged. “Think what you want. I’m telling you, he won’t go out of his way for me.”
“If you mean he won’t travel all the way out to House Charmagne to free you, then, yes, I agree. He has more important things to focus on.”
“Indeed.”
“Well, I grant you that it was a courageous wager on your part—risking your freedom and life for the lives of your friends. I admire you for that. But it won’t succeed.” Heinrich’s gray eyes darkened. “You may have friends
in Bedburg—even in the lowest depths of the dungeons and jails. But where we’re going now, you have no allies.”
Dieter shrugged again, his mask of indifference on again.
And it riled Heinrich. His plan was to scare Dieter into talking, like he’d done to so many others. But this man was a hard nut to crack. Fearless. Impossible to decipher. Someone who could easily be hiding more tricks up his sleeve.
“If you think I’m defenseless against Gebhard’s siege,” Heinrich said, “you are mistaken.”
The carriage began to slow. Dieter leaned toward the coach window and peeled back the curtain, telling Heinrich, “So you plan to fight Gebhard? I am surprised. Here I thought you’d just hand him your seat.”
The sarcasm irritated Heinrich. The man could get under his skin as well. “Archbishop Ernst awarded me an army to fight Gebhard on his behalf,” Heinrich said.
“Congratulations,” Dieter answered, turning away from the window.
Heinrich touched his mustache and thought.
Who will lead my army if not Tomas Reiner? Since I’m certain he is my betrayer, I must see to his end promptly. But who will that leave in command of his garrison? Perhaps I should send messages to Ernst and his allies. Perhaps Ulrich is worthy for the job.
Both of them pitched forward when the carriage came to an abrupt stop. They’d reached Heinrich’s mansion. Felix opened the coach door for his master and offered his hand. Heinrich waved it off, then stepped out on his own. He stretched deeply and took in the night. It was dark and chilly, only a few stars showing.
Dieter followed him through the large front door, the warmth from the interior torchlights instantly soothing his chilled bones. Heinrich rubbed his gloved hands together as he led Dieter down the foyer.
“Where do you want me?” Dieter asked him from behind.
“By my side, priest,” Heinrich replied without turning around. “I won’t have you leaving my sight.”
Dieter must have figured he’d be locked away, so he wasn’t quite sure what to make of this development. But he knew enough about the man to be suspicious, not grateful. When they entered the dining area, Beauregard was preparing the table with plates and silverware.
Heinrich snapped his fingers. “Beauregard!”
The butler stopped, standing ramrod straight.
“Go check on Lady Lucille for me,” Heinrich instructed. “I haven’t heard from her in some time. I’d like to sup with her and my Godly friend here. Perhaps we can come to some mutual agreements.”
“You keep the lady of Bergheim your prisoner?” Dieter asked.
Heinrich frowned. “Prisoner is a harsh word. She’s my … permanent guest,” he smiled, “who happens to be staying in the dungeons. She is my wife, after all, and has little waiting for her back in Bergheim anyway. In truth, the only reason she remains lady of Bergheim, as you put it, is because I’m the baron there.”
He turned, noticing that Beauregard hadn’t moved. The butler’s stiffness was normal, but his darting eyes weren’t.
“What are you doing, Beauregard? Did I not give you an order?”
The butler gulped. “Er, I apologize, my lord, b-but . . .”
“Out with it, man.”
“Lady Engel has escaped, my lord.”
Heinrich sucked in a breath, then stepped back. “Impossible! There is no exit from the cellars. And the door was under lock. Do you mean to tell me you—”
“No, my lord!” Beauregard quickly shook his head. “It was not my doing. It was the young master—”
“Hugo?”
Beauregard nodded. “He went to fetch clean clothes for her, and she somehow fled.”
Without warning, Heinrich began to laugh. Shaking his head, he chuckled, “That young fool!”
Except that meant that now Heinrich would have to find the damnable woman. She certainly was proving to be much higher maintenance than he’d bargained for. Yet still, he couldn’t help laughing at the absurdity of it all. She was as beautiful as Hugo was young and naïve. He’d noticed Hugo’s smitten expression whenever he was around her. So he wasn’t that surprised to learn of the boy’s susceptibility at the hands of a manipulative, wily woman.
Did I not do the same thing with a woman nearly twice my age when I was younger?
Which made him think of Odela, causing him a sharp pang of heartache that he quickly suppressed. Waving off Beauregard, he said, “It’s no matter. Continue setting the table. I will dine with Dieter alone—”
A noise from above cut off his words. Feet creaking on floorboards upstairs. Skewing his brow, Heinrich turned to the butler. “Who else is in the house?”
The butler shifted his feet uncomfortably. “Er, no one else, my lord, to my knowledge.”
Heinrich glanced at Dieter before turning back to Beauregard and squinting. Then, without a word, he stormed out of the dining room, motioning for Dieter to follow. When they reached the stairs, Heinrich began climbing them lightly, making sure not to sound any squeaky floorboards. At the top of the steps he heard the same sound again, this time closer, behind the first closed door. He reached for his knife and crept down the hall, whispering back to Dieter, “Stay here. And don’t let me lose sight of you, or I’ll take off your ear.”
He walked quietly to the closed door, putting his ear against it. He heard a soft conversation.
“. . . that one might be too late . . .” a female voice said. Though definitely not Lady Lucille, it did sound familiar—the nuance and tone—but he couldn’t quite place it.
“. . . I must try . . .” a male voice replied. That one he definitely recognized. He shoved open the door, startling the two inside. The woman was sitting on the edge of the bed and let out a yip before putting her hand to her mouth. Hugo, leaning over the small desk in the room, quickly straightened up when Heinrich burst in.
“You!” Heinrich said, low and menacingly, pointing to Hedda. “What in Jesus’ name are you doing here with my emissary?”
Hedda stammered, but couldn’t speak. She tried adjusting her skewed glasses but with little success.
Hugo held out his hands. “H-Heinrich, I can explain.”
Heinrich’s face was bright red. He yelled at Hugo. “You realize this woman has been fostering the alliance between Gebhard and Baron Ludwig, don’t you?”
The young man turned to Hedda with a look of surprise, as he moved in front of the desk.
“I was just the transcriber, Hugo!” Hedda pleaded. “It’s not true!”
“Before we deal with her,” Heinrich said, sheathing his dagger, “I have more pressing issues. I need your advice on something, Hugo.”
Hugo inched awkwardly forward from the desk. “M-my advice, my lord?” Hugo asked, his expression off somehow.
Heinrich nodded slowly, noticing the young man’s peculiar stance. “Yes, on how to deal with Tomas Reiner. I’ve uncovered the truth about his treachery and . . .” he trailed off, watching Hugo’s confused reaction. “Ah, I’ll explain it all over supper. Come now—and expect retribution for what you did with Lady Lucille, boy.”
Motioning to Hedda, Heinrich said, “We’ll lock this one in here until we’ve feasted. We can decide what to do with her then. Where did you find her, anyway? Ah, it’s no matter.” He waved off his question and turned to leave.
That’s when he noticed that Hedda, too, was acting strangely, glancing repeatedly at Hugo, who was still in front of the desk, unsure and shaky, his hands clasped behind his back.
Scratching his cheek, Heinrich’s eyes swept from Hedda to Hugo, then back again. He walked up to Hugo and stood a foot away, expecting him to glance down or back away. Instead, the young man uncharacteristically stood his ground.
Heinrich’s face twisted into a snarl. He put his hand on Hugo’s shoulder and said, “Get out of the way, boy. What on earth are you doing h—”
He stopped speaking. He stared behind Hugo at the desk, where a small piece of parchment had been scribbled on. Next to it was a jar of ink and a pen.
He reached over and bent down, squinting. He studied the paper, but his eyes weren’t what they used to be so he moved in closer . . .
Then he gasped. His heart sank to his stomach, and every hair on his body began to tingle. He vision blurred, he felt faint. He stared at the unfinished note:
Dieter Nicolaus—
~ Mord
He gently picked up the paper. With his mouth open, unable to speak, he faced Hugo.
I treated him like one of my own!
No! Why couldn’t it have been Tomas?
Hugo wouldn’t meet Heinrich’s eyes. He stared at the ground, clenching his jaw, sucking in his cheeks. Then without a word, Heinrich turned and left the room—dazed, dizzy, heartbroken.
The ultimate betrayal.
Dieter was still waiting at the end of the hall. “What happened?
Heinrich thrust the paper at Dieter. “Congratulations,” he muttered. “It seems you have friends in higher places than I ever imagined . . .”
He limped past Dieter while Dieter took in the note. Shocked, Dieter rushed after Heinrich down the hall, nearly running into him when the man stopped abruptly. Then Dieter saw that familiar, horrible look in Heinrich’s eyes. The beast within.
Ripping out the dagger from behind his back, it all suddenly became clear to Heinrich. The fate he’d planned for Tomas must now be bestowed on Hugo. He had no choice. He marched back down the hallway toward the door he’d just exited, shaking his head, his face a mix of pain, sorrow, and rage.
But this time, Dieter ran after him. “W-wait, Heinrich, think about this!” He grabbed the man’s arm as Heinrich reached for the door. Heinrich spun around and punched Dieter in the face, dropping him to the ground with a bloody nose.
Throwing open the door again, he stepped inside, his dagger raised. Hugo and Hedda were on the bed together, embracing.
“No!” Hedda cried.
Hugo jumped to his feet and pushed Hedda behind him, his eyes steely and dark. He held his breath as Heinrich loomed over him with the dagger, so close that Heinrich could see the dagger’s reflection in the young man’s eyes. As Heinrich prepared to strike, his vision blurred and he paused his attack. He looked at the brave, frightened young man—his protégé—one last time. Then . . . a glimpse of something clicked in his mind.
