Werewolf Castle

by Tracy Falbe

  “She likes the attention,” Altea commented.

  “Yes,” Thal murmured, knowing he was guilty of the same thing.

  Lenki widened her eyes dramatically and declared, “My colleague is about to show you a feat that he mastered in...um..” She floundered as she tried to remember the script that Mileko had dictated to her hastily. “Constant-and-noble,” she finally said. “I entreat the parents to make their children turn away.”

  This statement prompted a boy to shout vehemently that he needed to see.

  “Quiet for the Master Magician as he shows you that he is inven-invinisible,” she said and held a dagger sternly across her lips, making up amply with showmanship her blunders on the script.

  Mileko solemnly stepped forth. Slowly he put back his hood. His hair was pulled tightly back in a ponytail. His elegant features radiated otherworldly poise. His gaze looked far beyond his humble audience. Almost blindly, he extended his gloved hands toward Lenki, and she placed the slender weapons in his palms. He put back his head and gently slid the blade down his throat. A few watchers gasped with wonder but others grumbled that it was a common trick.

  “Hush I say!” Lenki insisted, and her hecklers quailed from her murderous glance like students fearing their professor’s cane.

  Mileko released the dagger and left it lodged in his throat for a few heartbeats and then, without his touching it, the dagger rose into his palm. He took it out smoothly and swallowed the other dagger in his other hand. Again he withdrew it without appearing to touch it.

  He had everyone’s hushed attention now. With graceful movements, he put both daggers into his throat. This time he held his hands farther up before trying to lift the daggers. They budged a little and wobbled as he appeared to struggle with his invisible connection. Then they sprang into his hands and he lifted them out with a victorious flourish.

  People clapped and then a fellow cried that the magician must have a string.

  “A string to tie shut your mouth!” Lenki exclaimed, serious about her task of managing the audience.

  Mileko broke his serenely detached character for an eye blink because she genuinely startled him. He waved the daggers and returned them to her.

  Regis struck a chord on his small harp and announced a song. He implored the people to cast a few coppers into the bowl for the magic tricks as his mates joined in with their instruments. Mileko drew Lenki back with a hand on her elbow.

  “That was amazing,” she whispered excitedly.

  “I once had other daggers that worked better,” he lamented.

  “It still looked very impressive,” she insisted, wondering how he performed the feat.

  Thal and Altea came up to them and gave them their cakes.

  “Wonderful!” Lenki declared after taking a bite.

  “Were you trying to start a brawl?” Thal asked her.

  She lifted her eyebrows questioningly while chewing.

  Thal said more gently, “Your tongue was sharp with that stranger. Be wary of starting trouble.”

  She looked down and then admitted, “I feel free of restraint. It makes me speak my heart.”

  “I know. The moon will be full soon. You’re feeling your powers building for it,” he explained. “Where are the others?”

  “Exploring the market and watching for the fext,” she answered.

  “Let that cake sweeten you for your next act,” he suggested and moved off with Altea.

  Once they were out of earshot, Altea said, “How does Mileko make things move like that?”

  “I don’t know,” Thal said, unconcerned about the mystery. “You’re a magistrate’s stepdaughter. Do you see anyone around here who looks like a lawyer?”

  “No, but men like that would mostly send servants to fetch things from the market,” she said.

  “We’ll have to go look on King’s Street,” he said although he accepted the baker’s opinion that the offices would be shuttered for the holidays, but he supposed hopefully that the lawyer’s home or favorite tavern would be in the vicinity of King’s Street.

  “Look there. That pair have the look of literate men if not sober ones,” Thal said as two men in good clothes stopped to listen to the musicians. They were arm in arm, and those hands not occupied with their fraternal embrace carried bottles. In unison, they took liberal drinks.

  “I know this song,” one fellow declared and started to mangle the lyrics, which prompted Regis to sing more loudly.

  The gentleman was not so intoxicated as to miss the hint, and he lowered his voice. When the song ended, the drunken pair shouted with approval, and one made a request.

  Being very well traveled, the musicians recognized the song title. When they started to play the tune, the duo cheered approvingly.

  After that song, one of the men said, “Where have you been hiding? I’ve not seen you in town before.”

  “Just arrived, Sir,” Raphael answered, and his thick accent attested to his exotic potential.

  “Oh, what good luck!” the admirer declared. “You must come play at my house. We’re having a party, and I must have more of this delightful music.”

  Raphael and Regis exchanged a knowing grin, loving the affirmation of their talent. But Regis had also stepped into the snares of exploitation during his travels. “Pray tell us what manner of board do you lay out for players,” he said.

  “Oh we’ve everything. Saint Nicholas’ feast is upon us. Smoked hams and goose, every dried fruit, and sweet breads, and pastries filled with duck. My cooks have prepared a beef roast for tonight and enough beer and wine to tempt a Moslem. Come now. Follow me.”

  “My friends will be with us,” Regis said.

  The man waved his bottle in a circle as if blessing anyone associated with the musicians. “I accept your entourage happily,” he said.

  “Happily!” his associate agreed.

  Regis looked to Thal who had observed the men without their noticing. His subtle nod signaled approval.

  “Grant us a few moments to gather our things, Sir,” Regis said.

  A few people moaned unhappily upon realizing that the show was over.

  The gentleman who had hired the musicians laughed and said, “These fine players are too good to play in the market. Scuttle off you penny-clutchers.”

  The musicians then introduced themselves to the gentlemen and learned that they would be entertaining at the home of Arvin Kramer.

  Thal told Altea that he would gather the others. He slipped away like smoke, and those he passed only caught a little of his movement in the corners of their eyes. When he collected Mitri, Ansel, and Johan, they had nothing disturbing to report.

  The new patron of the musicians beckoned impatiently, and the trio finished packing their instruments. The Venetian men felt their usual mix of trepidation and eagerness as they departed for a new performance venue.

  Sarputeen had noticed that his companions had undertaken some new business and concluded his sermon. He was counting his coins into a pouch when he rejoined his son.

  “I see your preaching was profitable,” Thal commented.

  The older man chuckled as if remembering an old joke. “Admonish people for their greed and they shall seek to buy forgiveness. It’s been a long time since I did such a thing,” he said, obviously pleased that his skill had not rusted like a sword dropped on a field and overgrown with turf. Handing the purse to Thal, he said, “Make sure everyone eats well. The full moon will demand exertions of them.”

  “We’re bound for a party with the musicians,” Thal explained, keeping an eye on his friends who were trying to dawdle for his sake without advertising that he was with the entourage.

  “I’m going to the castle,” Sarputeen announced.

  “I’ll go with you,” Thal said.

  “No, but lend me Johan,” Sarputeen said.

  “Johan?”

  “Yes, he’s literate and can pose as my aid. I’ll look more legitimate if I’m not alone,” the sorcerer explained.


  Thal supposed that his father knew best how to execute his ruse. “Where shall we meet again?” he wondered.

  “I’ll find you,” Sarputeen said.

  A pair of cawing ravens swooped over their heads and landed on the roof of a church overlooking the market. They fluffed their glistening black feathers and surveyed the town.

  “The fext approaches,” Sarputeen murmured.

  “Perhaps we should stay together,” Thal suggested, but his father shook his head.

  “Find that lawyer and learn the location of your friend. But keep a low profile. The fext might have allies in this place. Tekax is a creature of cities and could have connections here,” he said.

  “Here? But he’s with the Ottomans,” Thal said.

  “He had no trouble sending his agents into Christian lands to hunt you,” Sarputeen reminded.

  Thal considered the warning and intended to keep his pack close tonight.

  Sarputeen set a hand on Altea’s arm. “Keep him out of trouble,” he said.

  “That’s no easy task,” she said but intended to do her best to obey his command. As she followed Thal away, she looked back at Sarputeen. He was drawing Johan close and giving him instructions. The boldness of his impersonation of the dead monk impressed her, and she reminded herself that his courage was now part of her.

  She and Thal took several turns on narrow cobbled streets until they reached the residence of Arvin Kramer. Wreaths adorned the white-washed walls of his three-level timber and wattle home, and many people were coming and going.

  Arvin’s friends hailed him as he entered his large main hall, and everyone cheered after he introduced his new musicians. A steward then collected the Venetians and cleared a space for them to set up their performing area.

  The others in their entourage stayed near the walls, where people like valets and other servants of the guests mingled, ate, and drank.

  At a large main table in the center of the hall, where fireplaces crackled on each end, men of the merchant and literate classes sat. The departure and return of their cheerful host had not appeared to disturb their merrymaking.

  Mileko and Lenki entered the hall and reunited with Thal after stabling the horse.

  “Where has Sarputeen gone?” Mileko asked.

  “To the castle with Johan,” Thal said.

  Mileko frowned because the letter of introduction might not work. He wondered if Sarputeen even knew much about current Jesuit teachings, but he supposed such trifling details mattered little to his great master.

  “How long are we going to waste time here?” Mileko complained.

  “The musicians needed a place to settle in,” Altea said.

  “They can take care of themselves,” Mileko said.

  “We must educate ourselves about Pressburg,” Thal said. He gestured at the crowded hall of chattering locals. “Use your talents to learn something useful,” he suggested, and Mileko grudgingly scanned the room for anyone who might look interesting.

  Thal gathered his associates close and warned them that Janfelter would likely enter the city that day.

  “He probably won’t have a clue to look for us here,” Thal said. “So get some food and relax.”

  The order to fill their plates was easy to follow, and the food proved to be exceptional. Meats floated in gravies enriched with organ meats, and crisp pastries encompassed spicy blends of meat, nuts, and fruit. Once the musicians started playing, people cleared away chairs to make room for dancing.

  Thal took a turn with Altea, and they enjoyed a few moments of relative normalcy. When Thal led her to the table where he had left their beer mugs, he said, “Do you think anyone here has the dress of a lawyer?”

  “Those fellows over there,” she said, recognizing the thick lacy collars and dark doublets that were much like the styles she had seen men wear around the court in Prague.

  “How shall I strike up a conversation with them?” he mused.

  “Tell them you’re a notorious heretic in need of legal advice,” she suggested playfully.

  “They probably hear that a lot,” he grumbled.

  “Thal, I wouldn’t trust them to tell you about another lawyer. Who knows if they are Dorn’s friends or rivals,” she said. “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves to our host and ask him. He appears friendly.”

  Thal switched his gaze to Arvin. He had been avoiding the man because of a desire to be inconspicuous within his home, but Altea was right. He was obviously well connected. He might know everybody.

  “How do I look?” Altea said.

  “Beautiful,” he responded easily.

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course you think that, but really how do I look? Do I have dirt on my face?”

  Thal shook his head.

  “I’m sure I need to comb my hair,” she murmured but supposed that she would have to rely on her youthful beauty such as it was.

  She stepped away from Thal and positioned herself in Arvin’s line of sight. His gesticulations accompanied a story that he was telling to two men.

  Altea kept her eyes on him, waiting for her chance. The men laughed when he finished his tale, and when he lifted his drink she caught his eye. She smiled and waved discreetly. His drink paused halfway to his mouth as he struggled to recognize her and failed. She beckoned him with a sly finger, and his confusion turned to curiosity. If he did not know who the lovely and tousled blonde was, then he should go find out. Was this not the ultimate reason for throwing a big party?

  Arvin excused himself from his listeners, and made his way toward Altea. She retreated behind a timber pillar, and he presumed to stand close to her and nearly pin her against the post.

  “Do I know you?” he said pleasantly.

  Altea dipped her head coquettishly. “Do you like the musicians. I sing with them sometimes,” she said.

  “Oh,” he said, encouraged to learn that she was just some wandering entertainer unbound by the rules of polite society. He leaned in a little closer.

  “I’m Altea,” she said.

  “Arvin Kramer.”

  “Hello.”

  “You’ve not heard of me?”

  “I’ve just arrived in Pressburg,” she said.

  “Will I get to hear you sing later?” he asked.

  “Maybe, but I’m actually in town to see a lawyer,” she said.

  Puzzled, he said, “What could a woman do with a lawyer?”

  “Actually, it’s for my husband,” she said and watched his face crumple with disappointment.

  Thal stepped in, and Arvin straightened, taken aback by the appearance of someone who he had not noticed entering his home.

  Thal edged back his cloak with an elbow to discreetly reveal his weapons. Despite Arvin’s lack of sobriety, he did not miss the pistol handles or the falchion before Thal let his cloak drop over them again.

  “How many weapons do you have?” Arvin blurted, but no one else in the boisterous crowd took note of his question.

  “No less than three,” Thal replied.

  “Who are you? I want no trouble in my home,” Arvin said urgently.

  “We were traveling with the musicians and thought we could use a hot meal, for which I thank you,” Thal said.

  “Why would musicians travel with a...a mercenary?” Arvin ventured, trying to judge what exactly Thal was.

  “I’m a huntsman and good at deflecting the attention of bandits. The musicians favor my company for safety,” Thal explained.

  Arvin relaxed a little, hoping that panic had clutched at his heart for no good reason although the undomesticated air about the man troubled him. He glanced at Altea again and realized that a similar quality glowed about her like a holy aura.

  Thal said, “I’m in Pressburg to find a lawyer. Tobias Dorn to be precise.”

  Concern flushed some drunkenness from Arvin’s mind. “He handles criminal cases for the crown,” he said.

  “So you know him?” Thal said.

  “I know all the lawyers. They tend to buy e
xpensive things, which suits me well,” Arvin said.

  “Where could I find him?” Thal asked.

  Arvin smiled a little for the lawyer’s habits exceeded even his taste for debauchery. “I’m not familiar with his residence, but he frequents a brothel called the Dove’s Wings on Star Street,” he said.

  Very pleased with the information, Thal said, “Thank you for your help, Sir. And once again thank you for the hospitality. I don’t intend to trouble you any more except...”

  The pregnant pause gripped Arvin like a birth pang. He felt like he had fallen without warning into a one-sided contract negotiation. His desire to chat with a lovely and mysterious woman had abruptly altered his day devoted to holiday pleasure and generosity.

  Thal continued, “Are you pleased with the music?”

  Arvin glanced at the players and nodded because pleasing the stranger seemed to be the right thing to do.

  “Good. I ask as a personal favor that you give them room and board until spring. I’m sure their talents will satisfy,” Thal said.

  By his nature, Arvin resisted the request. “Look here. I just asked them here for the party. I’ve no desire to keep a passel of foreigners all winter.”

  “I said it would be a favor,” Thal said.

  “I don’t even know you,” Arvin argued.

  “You’d do well to keep it that way,” Thal said.

  As a business man, Arvin knew the value of information and sometimes of ignorance. “What are these musicians to you?” he said.

  Thal shrugged. “Merely companions on the road. I know they’re on their way home to Venice but need shelter for winter. They very much hope to find a patron in Pressburg for the season, and I thought I’d try to aid their fortunes.” Assuming a familiar air, Thal cast an arm around Arvin’s shoulders and steered him toward the musicians and their happy audience. “Imagine how well they might entertain your business guests,” he proposed.