The Wizard Priest

by Patty Jansen

  But as people went into the building, they had to go past a table where a man was writing names in a big book.

  A scruffy man was standing at this table, in a heated argument with the guard who stood behind the table. Nellie recognised him. It was old Bert, who used to sleep in Shepherd Adrianus’ church. Mad Bert who had gone completely grey. His face was red and blotched and his coat had seen better days. She wondered how he was doing, living in the poorhouse.

  “Why do you need our names? Why our addresses? Why do you want professions?” he yelled at the guard behind the table.

  The man replied in a dry voice, “We need to make sure that every person in the city who is eligible only gets one lot of supplies.”

  “There are other ways you can do that. You can mark our hands with ink. You don’t need to do the scribbly scribbly scribbly on the paper and write down everything about us. Yes you can have a name, but why do you need people’s professions? Why do you need to know where they live?”

  “The Regent has told us to collect this information.”

  “The Regent wants to know which of us have a trade, so he knows which people to come after in his stupid quest to find magicians. I want my share and I’m not giving you my name or telling you where I live.”

  The guard replied with a straight face, “I suggest you apply for an audience with the Regent, if you want to protest against that. I need your profession and address, otherwise you get no food.”

  “Fine.”

  And Bert turned around and stormed out of the building.

  Several people in the waiting crowd gave him strange looks as he made his way down the street.

  “What was that man saying, mammy?” A little boy asked.

  “Don’t worry about him. He is just Bert, and he’s mad. Everyone knows that.”

  “Is the Regent still going to give us food?”

  “Of course he is. He’s a good man.”

  But it seemed to Nellie that the only thing wrong with Bert was that he didn’t know when to shut up.

  This appeared to be the Regent’s latest venture. The Regent wanted to be king. He needed support from the people. He had sensed that he wasn’t popular in the city, so he opened the city stores—and damn what would happen at the end of winter when they needed the food—and he got the citizens’ professions at the same time. She felt sick at the thought that people would fall for it so easily, but knew once she would have done the same. In fact, she had been grateful for her position at the palace because the palace gave her food.

  Of course, the Regent had been doing the same thing to the nobles for a long time. That was the function of the banquets, so aptly sponsored by Lord Verdonck, and now under threat of having funding withheld by Adalbert.

  So he turned to the common people, because it cost him little to give out food from the city’s stores, since that food was all part of taxes paid to the city anyway.

  Under the guise of giving people food, he was making a register of everyone who lived in the city so he could send his guards around to target any he didn’t like.

  Chapter 21

  * * *

  NELLIE HAD TO WAIT around until it got dark before she could carry out the next part of the plan: to rescue the boy—who she was reasonably sure was Prince Bruno—from the crypts.

  Meanwhile, she helped the others pack up their supplies, ready to be carried to the Guentherite order’s ship.

  During the day, the children, and especially Koby, had kept an eye on whether anyone visited the ship, and had concluded that the monks sometimes came to pick up things or deliver goods that had to go back to the monastery, like a chest full of books, but that no one was permanently at the ship.

  After dark, Floris would come with his rowboat and they would take the supplies across the harbour and heave them on board the ship. They would hide the bags and barrels underneath a sailcloth the women had found in a nearby warehouse.

  Mina and Hilde would stay on board the ship to guard the supplies.

  At dusk, Nellie met Gisele in an alley behind the market square.

  She was dressed as a monk today, with the hood of her habit over her head so it only showed the lower half of her face.

  She asked Nellie, “Have you got everything?”

  Nellie nodded and felt for the key in her pocket.

  She had also taken a handful of carrots and a small bag of beans from the stock, in case they need to bribe someone.

  Gisele gave her a bundle of fabric. Nellie recognised the brown coarse weave of a monk’s habit.

  “Put that on when you get a chance,” Gisele said.

  Nellie took it from her with a heavy heart. She had always respected the monks and didn’t like pretending to be one. Even though she knew some people in the church were not good people, she still didn’t like deceiving them.

  She went onto a porch and pulled the habit over her head.

  The inside of the garment smelled musty, and Nellie was surprised how heavy the fabric was. It was quite long and hid Nellie’s stockings and shoes. The hood went all the way over her eyes and would only stay up far enough to see the ground immediately in front of her.

  “It’s even got pockets,” she said when she rejoined Gisele in the street.

  “Of course it does. Where else do you think the monks put their prayer books and rosary beads?”

  Gisele held her own pocket open. It contained a hammer and a knife in a sheath.

  “Prayer books,” Nellie said, her voice flat.

  “You do have a sense of humour.”

  “You better make sure you don’t accidentally cut the string for the rosary beads, because you won’t be able to strangle someone with them anymore.”

  Gisele gave a broad grin.

  To be honest, the girl frightened Nellie a little. She wasn’t quite sure what Gisele wanted or expected from this expedition.

  But for now, she would be useful, because the monks and the shepherds knew her and trusted her.

  They set off through the streets. It was bitterly cold, the moon was clear, and the first stars were already coming out in the sky. Nellie’s breath steamed in the cold air. There would certainly be frost tonight.

  When they arrived at the church, Gisele went inside first to check if anyone was there, and she came back to say that the church was empty.

  So they went up the church steps and in through the heavy doors.

  It was very dark in the church vestibule. The altar was a pool of golden light at the end of the aisle and seemed to float in a sea of darkness.

  In her mind, Nellie spoke a brief prayer to the Triune, whose terrible statue stood behind the altar, overlooking the church with its contorted faces and water stained bodies. She prayed for forgiveness for what she was about to do.

  Not a single sound disturbed the silence. It was so cold that even the mice and rats had gone quiet.

  Nellie followed Gisele down the aisle to the altar. She kept stepping on the hem of the habit, which was really annoying. When she tried to tie it up higher at the waist, the hood kept falling over her eyes.

  Gisele crossed in front of the altar and opened the door to the crypt.

  The door to the staircase opened into pitch darkness.

  “Urgh. The candles are out. Hang on.” Gisele went back to the altar and lit a torch from one of the giant holy candles that stood on either side.

  Nellie followed her down the steps into that stifling darkness, trying not to trip or be disturbed by the strange shadows of the flapping flame from the torch over the stairwell’s curved walls.

  Down in the crypt room Nellie could almost feel the eyes of all the past kings and queens who were buried here. She was doing this for the good of the city. She was doing this because neither the Regent nor the church should get their hands on objects of power. She was doing this because if people were kept prisoners down here, that was wrong and the Triune would never agree with that.

  They reached the end of the burial room and now it was Ne
llie’s turn to do her part. She dug in her pocket, took out the key and opened the little door in the metal grate.

  “How often have you been here?” she asked Gisele.

  “A few times. The shepherd keeps his supply of good wine in here, and there is also a cabinet full of various other concoctions. He uses both on different occasions. He has a bad stomach sometimes.”

  Nellie remembered the cabinet with the bottles she had seen on the previous visit. Most of those had been extremely dusty.

  They walked along the corridor with the cabinets stuffed full of strange, wonderful and dangerous objects that Nellie still didn’t have the time to look at. She suspected there was more than a lifetime’s worth of study in these cabinets.

  “Look at this,” Gisele said.

  She held up the torch.

  Out of all the splendour she could have chosen to highlight, she focused on a dusty, fire-damaged cabinet. Once it had possessed a glass front, but the pane had been smashed long ago. The bed of velvet inside was empty.

  It was such a dour and dirty thing that Nellie would not have given it any attention during her previous visit, but there was some familiarity to it. She had seen this cabinet before.

  Yes, it used to stand in King Roald’s office—which he never used—and it held the crown and sceptre—which he intensely disliked wearing. The maids would come in once every so often and polish the glass and shake the dust off the velvet.

  “Why is this here?” And then the next question. “Where are the crown and sceptre?”

  “That’s a good question, isn’t it? A rumour goes around that after the chaos where the King and Queen died, somebody came into the king’s office and took the crown and sceptre for safekeeping.”

  “Somebody?”

  “No one knows exactly who it was, but it’s believed to be someone from the King’s Guard.”

  This, Nellie remembered, had been a group of experienced guards whose task it was to make sure that the laws and agreements were obeyed by both citizens and guards. They had ceased to exist when there was no longer a king.

  Gisele continued, “It’s also believed that this person either denied that they had the crown and sceptre or outright refused to hand them to the shepherd when it came to the task of appointing a successor. The law says that in order to be accepted a monarch, the prince or princess must accept the crown and sceptre.”

  Nellie continued, “But because they don’t have the crown and sceptre, they can’t appoint a king.”

  “That’s apparently part of the reason.”

  “The people were told that it’s complicated to find out who has the most right to the throne. It’s even more complicated to make it look as if the people you don’t want to get it don’t have the right.”

  Gisele chuckled. “I’m sure that’s also part of the reason.”

  They continued into the cellar where the casks of wine were lined up. There were not quite as many as before. Evidently, many of them had been taken to the palace for the banquet.

  “The room with all the books and the ruby skull is over there.” Gisele jerked her head to the side.

  Nellie knew about that, too.

  She shuddered at the thought of the books she had seen.

  If there was ever any case for books to be burned, this was definitely it, although she had no doubt that this collection was worth a fortune.

  Gisele led the way across the cellar, over a worn tiled floor that felt gritty and uneven underfoot. Nellie had to watch her step, with the too-long habit getting in her way.

  The wall at the far end of the low-ceilinged room sported a number of doors, all with heavy metal bolts on the outside.

  Gisele handed Nellie the torch. “Here, hold this.”

  Nellie grabbed the wooden handle.

  Gisele went up to the first door. She pushed up the bolt with a squeak of metal on metal. The door was so heavy that she needed both hands and all her weight to open it, and the dark maw beyond was most uninviting. Gisele stepped inside and came back. “This one is empty.”

  She tried the next door which turned out to lead to some sort of pantry with many bottles of strange substances, most of them covered in a thick layer of dust.

  The next door however released a wall of foul air when Gisele opened it. Phew.

  Gisele didn’t step into the cell, but remained at the door. “Is anyone in there?”

  It was too dark to see anything inside except for a small patch inside the door which showed a floor covering of dirty straw.

  Something rustled inside.

  For a moment, Nellie was afraid that some terrible animal would come out. A big, mean black dog that would turn into the fire dog and escape this cell at night.

  But instead, the face of a boy appeared in the opening, like a pale oval in the darkness, his eyes dark, his hair dark and dishevelled. His eyes were wide, and he held his legs bent so that he could run or duck when someone tried to grab him. My, he was filthy.

  “Who are you?” Nellie asked.

  This boy did not look anywhere near the way she remembered Prince Bruno. The boy she knew had olive skin that browned easily in the sun. His hair was sleek and black. He would smile a lot.

  This boy was pale as death, his expression haunted. He was skinny and filthy and didn’t look big enough to be fourteen years old.

  He looked around with frightened eyes, and then he dropped to his knees and moaned.

  “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  But this appeared to be part of an act although Nellie didn’t understand what he was trying to do.

  Gisele pulled his arm. “Come. We’re taking you out. You’re free.”

  First, the boy did not want to get up. Did he even understand her?

  Gisele pulled him up by the shoulders. “Ugh. He stinks.”

  She got him to his feet, but then he would not walk and it was clear why—his legs were shackled with metal bands, which chafed the skin.

  Well, that would complicate matters somewhat.

  “Can you talk?” Nellie asked.

  He looked at her. A deep feeling of dread went through her. If he had been locked up for all those ten years, would he have turned into another mad prince?

  “We don’t have time for this,” Gisele said. She picked the boy up and slung him over her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Gisele led the way out of the crypt, leaving Nellie to carry the light and shut the little metal grate behind them. She almost had to run to follow Gisele through the burial room and up the stairs.

  Nellie was amazed at how strong Gisele was, but she hauled casks of wine and pretended to be a man.

  At the top of the stairs, Gisele stopped so abruptly that Nellie almost crashed into her. She said some words that were most unmonk-like.

  “What’s wrong?” Nellie asked.

  Gisele jerked her head in the direction of the altar.

  Nellie peeked around the corner.

  A man stood at the table behind the altar, turning the pages in a book by the light of flapping candles.

  He had his back to her, but Nellie didn’t need to see his face to know who he was. Out of all people who could have been in the church, Shepherd Wilfridus was the worst.

  He held his hands up and muttered inaudible words as if practicing a sermon.

  By the Triune, what now?

  He hadn’t seen them, so they might have to run. Gisele would have to go first and Nellie would either have to pull the hood right over her head and pretend to be a monk or, better, discard the habit and ask the shepherd some innocent question.

  Nellie went a few steps down to put the torch back in the sconce at the top of the stairs. Then she took off the habit and draped it over the boy who clung onto Gisele’s shoulder, shivering.

  “I’ll go in and talk to the shepherd,” Nellie said. “You run when he’s distracted.”

  If he asked, she could come up with a reason to have been to the crypt, because she used to serve Queen Johanna and
she would have a valid reason to visit her grave. If he asked, she could even make up something about why she visited at this time of the day. But the thought of having to deceive the shepherd struck fear in her heart.

  She stepped into the church. From the corner of her eye, she could see Gisele sneak away in the shadow of the outer gallery.

  Slowly, Nellie walked up to the statue of the Triune, in the same way as when she came here to pray.

  She shivered under her clothes. That habit had been so hot, and now the biting cold air touched the sweaty parts of her skin.

  The shepherd still had not seen her. But he was accompanied by two altar boys who had definitely seen her. Neither of them said anything; they just stood behind the shepherd holding some objects.

  Nellie kneeled and pretended to pray.

  She glanced at the statue and its stained face, remembering how King Roald used to hate this thing so much that he wanted it out of the palace garden. She listened for sounds that Gisele had left the church. How long did she need to sit here? How long did it take someone to run the length of the church? She tried to look over her shoulder, but it was too dark. Maybe she should make a run for it anyway.

  By the Triune, one of the boys was holding a bottle that looked like it contained gin. And the other held a bowl. As she watched, the shepherd snatched the bottle and emptied it into a dish on the table. Then the dipped his hand into bowl held by the other boy. He lifted his hand and let a stream of small things drop from his clenched fist. They looked like dried beans.

  Then a glow of light emanated from the dish.

  And a man’s laughter echoed through the church.

  An evil glow of red light consumed the shepherd’s form. Red flames licked at his robe and his hair.

  The two altar boys retreated, white-faced, until they stood with their backs against the wall. Both covered their mouth with their hands.

  Shepherd Wilfridus dipped his hands into the dish where he had just poured the gin and dropped the beans. He lifted something out and turned around. In his outstretched hands, he held that horrible relic of the ancient church, the ruby skull. Its eye sockets glowed vivid, pulsing red.