Chapter 23
This time, the hike to the village was easy. I marveled at how good my feet felt in my new boots. I even saw the path in the shine of a half moon. Miniature clouds raced across the sky and the wind gripped me as soon as I left the protection of the walls. My ears ached from the harsh air. I needed to find a hat if this game didn’t come to an end soon. Normally I would’ve sat in my room playing a game or hanging out with Jimmy.
Muted lights filtered through the windows of the Klausenhof. Not much went on at this hour—whatever hour that was—and the middle of the week. Most villagers didn’t have the means to buy drinks or eat out.
I made my way down the trail, past the dressmaker’s house, the market square on my left and the dozens of shacks. I heard an occasional shout, a few whispers and a dog barking. But the path was deserted. People went to bed after dark. They were probably dead tired and even if they’d wanted to stay up, what would they’ve done? Watch TV, read a book, search the Internet? Ha, very funny.
Bero’s hut was dark and I climbed across the fence into the yard. The air stunk worse than putrid, probably the pig blood decomposing. I’d better hurry, get in, take inventory and rush back to the castle.
I knocked on the door, wishing I had a flashlight. Nothing.
Pushing open the door I called into the darkness. “Adela? Mother?” I sniffed and sighed in relief when I saw the glimmering coals of a wood fire. “It’s Max.”
A suppressed scream came from the loft and somebody scrambled in the back corner.
“Max?”
I recognized Bero’s mother lighting a tallow lamp. She’d aged since the last time I saw her, the lines around her mouth deeper, her hair standing in all directions. Adela hustled down the ladder.
“Where’s Bero? Juliana?” the mother said.
“At the castle. Lord Werner has taken them in.”
“Thank Gott.” Bero’s mother crossed herself. “Why didn’t he come with you?”
“Bero’s been ill. He’s fine, but it isn’t safe. He was—”
“His sows are dead,” Adela interrupted.
“I know. I found them. Bero got attacked.” I explained how I’d taken Bero to Luanda’s cabin and we’d found shelter at Hanstein.
Bero’s mother sank on what was left of the bench. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“I’m going back now. We didn’t know if you were hurt—if Ott took you away.”
“He just broke everything we owned,” the mother said. “He asked for Juliana. What’s he going to do with an old woman?” she cackled.
You still have a young daughter, I thought. Aloud I said, “Maybe I can help.”
“He didn’t believe that we didn’t know,” Adela said. “He asked about you, too.”
I pulled out my moneybag and handed several silver pieces to Bero’s mother. “From His Lordship, Werner von Hanstein.”
“Thank Gott,” she said again, crossing herself. “I worried we’d starve through the winter.” Looking at the coins on her palm she slapped a hand on her mouth. “It is a fortune.”
She grabbed my arm. “Please thank His Lordship. He has truly saved us.” Then she turned. “Will you have a refreshment? Adela, fetch the Bier.”
I licked my lips. I was thirsty, but then I remembered the horrible drinks I’d endured here.
“No, thanks.” I was suddenly anxious to leave. A weird pressure built in my stomach and crawled through my arms and legs, making them weak. “I’ll tell them you’re fine.”
“Be careful,” Adela whispered. Her brown eyes reminded me of Juliana.
The feeling of doom got stronger as I left the hut. Nothing moved on the path except for the scattering feet of rats and mice. I’d never get used to the disgusting filth of this place.
I rushed past the Klausenhof whose lights had been extinguished on the main floor. The ground soon got steep and I kept my eyes low. Clouds swept past the moon, creating soft edges and inky blackness.
My ears were doing overtime, listening for suspicious sounds. The wind had picked up and all I heard were the rustling leaves of the giant oaks. Ahead came the last curve, before I turned right toward Rimbach and the Hanstein gate. I sighed with relief, excited about telling Bero and Juliana that their mother and sister were fine, that I’d given them money to survive the winter.
Without warning, I crashed to the ground choking. An arm snaked around my neck, its metal scales like a thousand nails biting my skin until I thought I’d pass out. Not a word had been uttered, but my ears rang with the rushing of my own blood. Stars exploded as my vision became clouded, my legs flailing across the muddy ground. I gasped for air, the rattling of my own throat scarier than the attack. I’d be gone in a minute. My chest heaved with the effort of breathing. The weight on my neck remained. I felt my mind fading.
Without warning the choke hold released and I was yanked upright. I sucked air to refill my lungs, struggling to ignore the stinging pain in my throat. Armored men surrounded me. They pushed and shoved, seemingly taking pleasure to dig their ironclad hands into my flesh. I wanted to shout for help. Maybe they’d hear me at the castle. But my mouth was dry and no sound came out.
“We got him,” someone said in the dark.
“Bind his arms and take him away.” I thought it sounded familiar, but I couldn’t think why. In the darkness, the voices were detached like ghosts, but the cruel grip was real enough.
“Who are you?” I whispered. My throat ached, my voice scratchy and foreign.
Instead of an answer, my arms were yanked backwards until I thought they’d dislocate my shoulders. Stinging pain throbbed through my chest and back. I suppressed a scream. Metal clinked and I felt the weight of a chain pull down my hands. Somebody shoved me in the kidneys and I stumbled forward. I was going downhill again, but left, away from Hanstein and Bornhagen toward the outskirts of Rimbach.
Unable to see the ground, I fell, landing on my ribs and face. New pain joined my aching shoulders as I was heaved vertical and pushed on. I lost my footing again, but before I crashed, an arm roughly pulled me straight. They were walking fast as if trying to get away from the prying eyes of the castle. I listened for other sounds, a possible pursuit from Werner’s men, but all I heard was my rattling breath, heavy footsteps and jingling chains. I wondered if anyone had heard the attack. I hadn’t been close enough to the gate and chances were good that the Hanstein guards were inside their shelter. Even if they’d heard something, it was inky black now, the moon hidden behind a layer of clouds. Worse, I’d disappeared into one of the thick forests.
I was thoroughly screwed.
Chapter 24
Ahead I made out dancing lights. Torches had been stuck into the ground of a clearing. Men sat, lounged and stood around a handful of campfires, their armor reflecting orange and yellow. The crackling of damp wood mixed with the sizzle of roasting meat and the snorts of horses. I looked for Ott’s rat face, but nobody looked familiar. The rat was letting others do his dirty work while he chased another helpless maid.
“We got the spy,” the voice from earlier said, now with a hint of pride. We had stopped in front of a broad-shouldered knight with a yellow and blue plume on his helmet. His visor stood open, but his face lay in shadow.
“Bind him. Two guards,” the plume said. His voice sounded definitely familiar, but my brain refused to function. “We’ll march at first light.”
I was dragged toward a tree where leather ropes were tied across my chest and legs. Standing pressed against the trunk I couldn’t move a muscle. With my arrival, the chatter of voices had risen. Now that their prize was secure, it died back down. Meat and flasks of wine were more important. I wondered what they wanted from me, why they called me a spy. I stared across the camp in a daze. Most men wore armor, some leather vests and chainmail. All of them looked rough and dirty like thugs, long and greasy hair matching their beards.
If this was a videogame, I was the pope. Terror spread through my legs, turning them to jelly. I
would’ve crumpled into a heap, had I not been bound.
I woke to whistles and the neighing of horses. A deep chill had crawled into my bones and made me tremble. My hands felt numb and when I tried wiggling my toes, I couldn’t tell where they were. The memory of the march and my imprisonment returned with a vengeance. I scanned the bushes and trees in search of Werner’s men. The bushes stood silently. I was on my own.
Smoke rose from the dying fires as the men kicked mud to douse them. A guard untied my ropes and I’d have sunk to the ground except for the grip on my arms. I shook my feet, which felt like lumps, and raised my legs to awaken the frozen muscles. My bladder ached and my throat was scratchy with thirst.
“Got to piss,” I mumbled.
“Yonder,” the guard said, pointing to a shrub. I turned sideways. How was I supposed to pee if I didn’t have an arm free? To my relief, the man untied my chain.
“Can you tie my arms in front?” I said after I finished. The sentry looked around, obviously unsure about this important decision. Everyone seemed busy, picking up camp. He finally nodded and I watched as the man relocked the chain in front.
“Thanks.”
A second guard appeared and shoved me in the side. “March.”
I stumbled forward to follow the soldiers and riders down the path. Nothing looked familiar. I tried to determine what direction we were headed, but the sun was stubbornly hidden behind a layer of clouds, the path covered in fall leaves. We kept walking. Once in a while, the forest was interrupted by pastures and fields. In the distance peasants worked with backs bent low. They ignored the trek of armored men, me, the prisoner in their midst.
The path meandered through more fields and patches of woods. A low-rising mountain, I noticed in the distance, came steadily closer. I spotted a tower and a large square building like a short keep. It didn’t look like anything I remembered from Ott’s place. The rat hadn’t owned a castle, just a country manor. And we’d been walking a long time.
The huts of another village appeared. Where Bornhagen had been poor, this place looked worse. The road passed by a market, a patch of mud and dying grass now occupied by vendors and assorted peasants in ragged clothes. Most of them were barefoot, their eyes dull and tired. Rats rooted among the filth, their noses twitching. I tried to take shallow breaths, but the stench made my stomach heave. Bile rose and my mouth turned bitter.
The men around me didn’t seem to notice and walked on. In front, a couple of riders broke loose and disappeared. The path rose and I had trouble keeping up. My arms felt heavy from the chain, my legs weak from lack of water and rest. I wanted to lie down and sleep. By the time the walls of the strange castle came into view, I was ready to collapse. Still, we walked, past the sentries into the bailey, past the square keep to the base of the tower. My guards stopped and unlocked the chain.
With horror I looked at the wooden board hanging from the stone wall. It had a large opening in the middle and a smaller one on each side. The plank opened lengthwise and I felt my arms being yanked upward. Then the board was closed and locked in place. I stood, neck and wrists stuck inside the torturous wood—an utterly simple and effective tool of misery. The guard who’d opened his chains threw a last glance at me before joining his friends. I was alone.
I thought about my visits to the Hanstein ruins where I’d seen a stock board near the back gate. At the time, I’d been fascinated with it. Now, I was living it. The hole for my neck was large so I could twist my head from side to side. My feet and legs were beyond tired and I tried sitting down. But as soon as I lowered my legs, the chain in the wall yanked me to a stop, my chin hitting the plank.
The buildings were much smaller than Hanstein’s towers and keep. I was sure I hadn’t been here before. I leaned against the wall, taking weight off my feet, but the icy stones in my back made me shiver.
Why hadn’t I stayed in Werner’s castle? I’d been safe and reasonably accepted among the men. I had Bero…and Juliana. I’d wanted to show off my bravery, impress them. Just like I’d try to impress Jimmy’s dad with my gaming. Ha! I’d been stupid, stupid and more stupid. Now I’d die. This was no game. I’d die a miserable, drawn-out death. I shuddered, imagining what other torture instruments waited for me.
The wind whipped around me and the clouds, heavy and dark with water would soon break open. My cheeks turned cold. I was crying, but so numb that I had no strength to feel embarrassed. Who gave a shit? Despite my misery I nodded off.
The clanking of metal woke me. A hand appeared on the right edge of the board. Somebody was fiddling with the plank behind my back.
“Walk,” the guard from earlier said. “You’re to see His Lordship.”
We entered the building through a stone gate. Unable to see my feet, I stumbled along the bumpy ground. My arms were numb from being locked in the board, the rough wood scraping its way into my neck.
The room was Spartan, the man-sized hearth smoldering with a few logs, not nearly enough to warm the space. In the middle of the flag-stoned floor stood a lone table, occupied by a skinny figure. I thought he looked vaguely familiar, but the two torches along the walls created more shadows than light. A single candle burned on the table.
My eyes widened in surprise when I stopped in front of the desk. The skinny man behind it was the Duke von Schwarzburg. He bent over a stack of vellum scrolls. His hair, stringy with grease, hung curtain-like around a thinning spot on the back of his head. He wore his red velvet and yellow stockings.
With a pang I remembered the plume-wearing soldier. He was the guy with the icy voice I’d seen in the woods on my first day. Bero had called him a henchman. He’d ordered to cut off the peasant’s archer finger. For a split-second I wondered what had happened to the prisoner. But then my attention was drawn to the man in front of me, and I began to tremble.
Nobody spoke as the beadle studied his papers with his nose inches from the surface. At last he looked up. He stared at me without speaking, his deep-set eyes impossible to read.
“Your name is Max Nerds,” he finally said. He sounded like he was short of breath.
“Yes, My Lord.”
“You’re a spy for Hanstein.”
“No, My Lord,” I stumbled. The beadle raised an arm to cut me off.
“You are involved in treasonous activities against me, Duke von Schwarzburg, and the archbishop of Mainz.”
“I’m no spy,” I tried, but the Duke waved his arm again as if I were a bratty child. The guard slapped me, my right cheek burning with pain.
The beadle leaned back, something like satisfaction on his face. “You will answer my questions, will you not?”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“Good, then you have nothing to fear.”
Unlikely, I thought.
“How do you know Werner von Hanstein?”
“I met him a few weeks ago when I visited the castle.”
“So you just travel about visiting castles?”
I stared at the beadle. I opened my mouth and closed it. Nothing I could say would satisfy the jerk.
“We’ll come back to that later. What did you do for Hanstein?”
“Nothing, I…”
“Lie!” The Duke straightened his scrawny back and puffed out his chest. “What did you do for him?”
“He helped me get Juliana to safety.”
“Where have I heard that name?” He dunked his quill and scratched something on the parchment. Juliana.
I shuddered. I was worse than stupid. Now I’d given the beadle reason to snoop into Juliana’s family. I thought of her face, the brown hair and my favorite, her doe eyes, the way her lips felt on mine.
“…answer.”
“What?”
Another smack on the cheek. “I visited the Lord and he…” I faltered. The Duke’s face was tight now, his lips pressed together and his eyes squinted with impatience.
“What about the harvest festival?”
“What about it?”
“My tolerance is ru
nning thin.” His bony fist smashed into the parchment. “What did you do at the festival?”
I thought back. “I went to the Klausenhof and had dinner and a few beers. I got hit over the head by Ott’s men and they took me and Bero to Ott’s manor.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Good question.” It was out before I had time to close my mouth. Darn, I had no experience with interrogation.
The Duke’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’m a fool? I will not be deceived.” He nodded to the guards. “Take him away. I have all the time in the world.”
You look like a sore excuse for a human being I wanted to scream. No wonder Lady Clara got the creeps with you. But I was terrified. The guards led me outside. This time we marched to a low-roofed building near the outer walls. Metal clanked against stone, cold sounds. Inside, it was dark, the only light coming from the opened entry. The guard removed the stock board and shoved me into one of the two cells, throwing shut the iron-reinforced door.
It became dark except for a few needle-fine rays in the roof. I sank to the floor and immediately rose again. The straw was drenched with excrement and urine. As my eyes adjusted to the blackness, I stepped off my prison. Ott’s chicken coop had been a palace compared to this hole. It was a dungeon above ground. I heard rustling as something flittered across my shoes. I kicked and screamed at the same time. Rats.
I’d lose my mind though I’d probably die of thirst first. My throat had turned to dust as I tried to swallow. My last drink had been last night in Lady Clara’s chamber—a hundred years ago. I had to distract myself.
I walked back and forth to investigate. The place was empty, not even a bucket or a cup. Just straw that had been used as a toilet for the last fifty years. At last, when my thigh muscles wobbled, I slumped to the floor. The straw near the door seemed cleanest as I leaned back and shut my eyes. Exhaustion took over, but my mind refused to shut off and let me escape into sleep.
Werner would come and get me. They’d miss me, and Bero and Juliana would sound the alarm. The Lord and his knights would attack. After all, hadn’t Werner said as much? He was certainly stinking mad over Schwarzburg’s assault on his men and killing Enders’ uncle. I let myself imagine how Werner would charge into the dungeon and tear open the door with his bare hands. Then he’d find Schwarzburg and take him prisoner. I grinned.
Escape from the Past Page 17