The bed was empty. A faint scent of lavender still hovered like a ghost.
“My Lady,” I mumbled.
I was too late. She had died.
The sudden realization that I’d let her down, abandoned her to fall victim to the medicos again, took the last of my energy. I’d killed Juliana’s mistress, Werner’s lover. She’d been my ally, helping me when I’d needed things—even got me a bed in the main house when I’d been sick in the first game.
I sank to the ground unseeing, tears blurring my vision. I was going to die now. Werner hated my guts and would hang me from the nearest post.
I shook with sadness, rage and disappointment. I’d screwed up thoroughly. And lost everyone except Bero in the process. I might as well be dead.
“Max Nerds?” Lord Werner stood in the doorway. His eyes, the color of steel, pierced my soul.
Chapter 16
“My Lord, I’m so sorry,” I cried. “I didn’t think it through. I…didn’t mean… Everything went wrong.” I leaned forward and crumbled into a heap.
“Your return is much delayed. Did you have another gathering with Schwarzburg? Or was it Lord Ott his time?”
Was that supposed to be funny? I kept hugging myself. How could Werner joke around like this? Why didn’t he just get it over with and cut off my head?
“Or are you taken ill?” Werner continued. He was rummaging inside one of the iron-enforced oak chests. “Aye, here it is.”
I looked up from the straw. Werner was holding a piece of black cloth with gold and red embroidery. What was he doing?
Werner rushed to the door. “Will you join me?”
“Join you?”
“Schwarzburg must have taken your wits.” Werner shook his head. “Go to the barn. I shall summon help as soon as I have taken this to My Lady.” He turned to leave. “A shame,” he mumbled.
“Wait,” I said to Werner’s back.
Werner stopped in the doorframe. “I must haste, My Lady is waiting.”
“What Lady?” I asked with a shaky voice.
“Lady Clara.” Werner’s eyes sparkled.
“I thought she was…”
Understanding flashed across Werner’s face. “You thought you were too late.”
I nodded. I couldn’t speak. Not yet.
“Lady Clara is well. Pray thanks to you. I am afraid I spoke…out of turn last night. The ongoing feud with Schwarzburg is unsettling. Not knowing what had happened and your tale of forsaking her. She was well cared for by her handmaiden. You know her… Juliana.” He frowned. “I remember you had taken a liking to her, did you not?”
I ignored the last comment. “The medicos?”
“Is gone…my first deed this morning,” Werner said. “You may come along if you like.” He waved a hand in invitation.
“Just for a minute,” I said, the relief of having escaped death twice in two days making my legs wobbly all over again. I followed Werner to the courtyard.
Near the entrance to the chapel waited Lady Clara. Her hair was an intricate design of woven braids, gold and white ribbon, hugging her head like a piece of art. Her dress, white with blue trim, revealed a generous neckline showing perfect skin. She was still thin, her cheekbones more pronounced and pale. Like marble. No wonder Werner was smitten.
“I am pleased you are safe.” Lady Clara’s finely shaped lips curled into a half-smile. “I was told your ordeal was long and difficult.”
“I’m glad to see you well,” I said, bowing. I still couldn’t believe how great she looked.
“You will be happy to know that Juliana continued your ministrations and fed me. Without her I would have been lost. Without you I would be dead.”
“And for that we thank you,” Werner said, placing a hand lightly on the Lady’s forearm. She smiled at him and the air sizzled. If I’d ever experience something like this, I’d be the happiest guy alive. “Stop in the kitchen for refreshment. You shall need your strength.”
“Of course.” I took off in a run. Nothing like feeling superfluous.
Had the courtyard been busy before, it was now positively swarming with maids and squires, carrying buckets piled with carrots and onions, wine flagons and kegs of ale. Lame Hans strode across the square as fast as his stiff knee allowed. He ignored me and disappeared in one of the cellars. I decided to find Bero.
But first I wanted something to eat. More servants clogged the halls inside the humongous three-story building. I had had no idea how many people lived on Hanstein. The kitchen glowed with a dozen cook fires. Bread baked, soup simmered and cooks and helpers were cutting vegetables and rubbing meat with herbs and spices. A man was carving up a pig, its grayish snout still stained with muck.
The air, thick with smells, sent my taste buds into overdrive. I was ravenous.
“Lord Werner said I should ask for refreshment,” I said to an older boy whose blue hat marked him an apprentice cook.
“We are awfully busy,” the boy said, without taking his eyes off the mixing bowl. “There is bread and cold rutabagas.” He nodded toward a side table.
I helped myself and stuck a few plums and a pear into my shirt for later. Nobody paid attention. I rushed to the door that swung open and smacked me in the arm. My bread flew to the ground, buckets clattered and a clay jug rolled into the straw.
“Max?” Juliana threw her arms around my neck and hugged me. “I am so glad you are well. I heard… Schwarzburg tried to slay you.”
My mind reeled, Juliana’s body pressing against me brought back all the urges I’d tried to forget. Every time my mind drifted to her while we sat in Schwarzburg’s dungeon, I’d forced my thoughts in a different direction.
Now I felt her hot breath on my neck. My arms closed around her waist and for a brief moment the world retracted as I drank in her scent. But my less than reliable body responded and embarrassed, I unclasped her hands and pushed her away. Thankfully, my pants had plenty of room.
“How did you know?” I said. “I mean that we were with Schwarzburg.”
“The medicos told us. He was full of glee.”
Of course, the medicos had rushed back after the trial gloating that he’d helped put us away. How I would’ve loved to watch the old geezer’s face when Werner told him to leave.
When Juliana bent down to collect her wares, I hurried to help, her nearness making me breathless all over again.
But before I could come up with a cool idea for a meeting place, she said, “I must haste. I’ll see you at the celebration.”
I stared after her. What was Juliana talking about? I absentmindedly wiped off the dust from my bread and ripped off chunks, chewing slowly. I might as well toughen my stomach.
As I made my way toward the barn, shouts and whistles rang out in the distance. Servants, maids and squires ran out the portcullis. I followed.
More hoots, dogs barked. Indignant mooing echoed off the castle walls. Like thick soup, cows poured into the outer bailey urged on by riders and lots of shouts. The herd was much smaller now, but still a hundred or so strong. In their midst walked the prisoners from Heiligenstadt. They no longer appeared arrogant and superior, their velvet shirts crusted with dirt and torn in places, their faces strained with fear and from unaccustomed marching.
“Will you help with the horses?” Bero yelled over the mayhem. He’d exchanged his grungy shirt with a pale linen tunic and washed his hair which hung in wet curls around his head.
We directed an unending string of knights and soldiers toward the great hall, received horses, removed saddles and wiped down slick skin with straw.
By the time we finished, the great hall was in full swing. I’d never seen it this crowded. Every available bench and table was filled with eating and drinking men, laughing and shouting, their faces reddened by wind and wine. Maids and servants rushed to refill platters and mugs. Bero and I found a seat near the door.
Werner sat on his fancy chair at the far end, his eyes bright. He seemed happy, his gaze wandering to the woman on his
right. Lady Clara wore a cherry-red dress with silver ribbons and bits of black fur around the neck and wrists. I noticed how most men along the tables threw glances her way.
Hans sat across with his wife, a woman whose waist-long chestnut hair was hidden under a veil of silky gauze.
Not far from me Enders sat in an obviously new doublet of leather. Juliana was serving, but she stopped by his bench more than necessary. I clenched my jaw. I knew I was jealous, stinking ugly jealous.
Once, our eyes met across the tables. I couldn’t bear it and tried making a point, watching the other girls, some the same age as Juliana: some ugly with crooked teeth and broad necks, others pretty cute.
Still I couldn’t forget. I was raw inside.
A man in frog-green tights and a gold-embroidered tunic and matching cap got up from one of the tables. He wasn’t much older than me, but seemed sure-footed and not the least bit drunk. He took off his hat and swung it in a graceful circle, bowing with an elegant curtsy.
“My Lord,” he said. I was astounded I made out his voice despite all the racket. I’d never heard anything more melodic, smooth and strong, a deep tone that reverberated off the stone walls and easily snuffed out the drunken noise.
When Werner raised his right arm, the hall turned quiet.
“Flinderon, our minstrel, has traveled from afar to entertain us with a ballad. Let us listen.”
A woman dressed in gold and green who looked like Flinderon’s sister, hurried over and handed the singer a harp. His fingers tested the cords. Notes as light and delicate as morning dew on a rose hung suspended.
Hanstein’s great hall turned into a tomb.
“Full many a wonder is told us in stories old,
of heroes worthy of praise, of hardships dire,
of joy and feasting, of weeping and wailing;
of the fighting of bold warriors, now you may hear wonders told,”
…the minstrel sang. It wasn’t singing per se, more like a one-man theatre accompanied by music. His eyes danced. His fingers flew across the strings. And his voice soared toward the men and women listening in awe.
My heart beat in my neck, the melodic sounds burying deep into my soul, making me shiver. That was medieval entertainment pure—without TVs and computers. I recognized this story from class. The minstrel was reciting the most famous poem of German history, the Nibelungen song.
Siegfried, a knightly warrior kills a dragon and bathes in its blood, making him invulnerable except for a spot on his back where a leaf gets stuck and the protective coating doesn’t cover. He falls in love with Kriemhilde, marries her, and is stabbed to death in the very spot, the leaf left open. Kriemhilde takes revenge and is herself executed with a single sword strike. I’d forgotten most of it, a convoluted story of kings and journeys and battles.
I remembered Siegfried wearing some kind of invisibility cloak like Harry Potter. How easy it was in stories to come up with nifty devices. I had nothing to help me. Even the stupid lighter had only caused trouble.
The minstrel was masterful. I picked up enough to follow. Though I didn’t understand many of the old German words—Stuler’s game obviously had missed a few things—I couldn’t look away. It was as if I were under hypnosis, listening to the golden voice, watching the strings vibrate.
There were more than 2,000 verses in the poem. The minstrel knew them all. On he went, telling of Siegfried subduing Brunhilde, the king’s wife, Siegfried’s murder, Kriemhilde’s vows of revenge. Nobody moved except to grab a mug.
When it was over and the last echoes faded, the hall remained silent.
The minstrel bowed, a smile playing on his face. “Your Grace,” was all he said.
As if the hall awoke from a trance, everyone started to clap and shout. The noise was deafening after the harmonious performance. I joined in, clapping and shouting with the others. Where was a smartphone when you needed one?
With everyone’s throat dry, wine splashed and beer flowed. I was glad I could hide in the crowd. For once I wanted to rest and just enjoy the spectacle without serving as entertainment myself.
This was a real medieval party. A young maid, wisps of blond hair escaping her cap, winked nervously at Bero. He whispered something in her ear as she refilled his cup, making her cheeks flush. Still, she gave the tiniest nod before hurrying off.
I grinned. Bero was flirting. I sat back watching my friend who’d grown into a man, his chest broad, his brown eyes warm. No wonder the girls liked him. But there was more to it, a quiet strength and Bero’s ability to make you comfortable…accepted. Unlike me and my modern friends, Bero took the world at face value, without judgment, without high expectations.
Karl!
After nearly being burned alive, the scare about Lady Clara, seeing Juliana and the mayhem of cows and riders, I’d completely forgotten about Karl being stuck in that hellhole of a cell. I fished bread, a roasted leg of some unfortunate bird and a pear from the table and got up.
“You going to pinch off?” Bero was glassy-eyed. “I’ll go, too.” He stood up and slumped back down. “The room twists like a spinner’s wheel.”
I suppressed an insult and snuck outside. I’d tried to go easy on the wine, but the spices made it impossible. My tongue burned with pepper and saffron and I longingly thought of the coke cans that stood waiting in my fridge at home. Better not think about that. Nothing good came from remembering my old life. My real life.
Wait a minute. This was my real life. I’d been here more than two months already.
Long shadows danced in the courtyard. Hanstein was well lit today, helping its visitors find the privy and their straw beds. Most of the men would sleep in the great hall and barns. Just the lords and a few of Werner’s knights had real beds inside the castle.
The keep stood silent. I should’ve asked Werner or one of the squires about Karl. Maybe he was long dead. I reminded myself that was impossible because Karl had returned from the game, albeit half dead.
The wallet pressed against my chest. I’d carried it for a long time. Checking the deserted square, I grabbed a torch from the wall. Cool air, damp with autumn, hit my face. The smell of rot was hard to ignore.
I hurried to the cell door, pounding against it. “Karl?”
Somebody murmured. Straw rustled and I heard movement behind the heavy oak. Karl was awake. I got on my knees and opened the slot door. The shine of the torch lost itself in inky blackness.
“Karl?”
A face appeared in the opening. “Will you help us?” the man whispered.
I was so surprised I jumped back and dropped the torch. Retrieving the light I carefully lifted it toward the gap. The face belonged to the man with the raccoon beard in the courtroom, the one who’d sat on the platform with Schwarzburg. Another face appeared, then another. Werner’s prisoners from Heiligenstadt were squeezed into the holding.
“I’m looking for another man,” I said. “Did you see anyone inside when you arrived? A man named Karl.”
“He is here,” someone said from the darkness. “Has not spoken much.”
“Can you help him to the door?”
“Will you help us?” the man from earlier said again. His face, puffy and infected from a cut in his cheek, was contorted, the eye above the wound a mere slit. I felt sorry for him. He’d done nothing more than be at the wrong place when Werner’s men showed up. It was all Schwarzburg’s fault. The old fury rose, tightening my throat.
“I’ll try,” I said. “Can you get him now?”
In the back rustling ensued. I threw a nervous glance down the hall. Visiting Karl was one thing. Talking to the Lord’s new prisoners was another.
In the dancing shadow of the torch, legs moved sideways, forming a path. I was getting more and more nervous. Why didn’t they hurry?
I shrank back when a bony shape came into view. Karl blinked furiously, his eyes red and matted. “What is it?” he muttered, sinking to the ground in front of the opening. “What is it?” He sounded crazy.
“Karl, it’s Max.”
“Max?” Karl’s eyes tried to focus, but judging by the empty expression he didn’t recognize me.
“Remember me, the guy who played the game. The game, Karl. EarthRider. Remember.”
Karl’s face contorted. First, his lips pressed down. Then he bared his teeth. “I’ll kill him,” he seethed. I pulled back from the hole as the men in the cell exhaled in unison. “He destroyed my life. He told me it was important, I’d be a pioneer. He stole my wife and daughter. My life…everything.” Karl’s voice turned into a moan.
I was shocked. Why did Karl hate me? All I’d done was leave. I’d had no choice. “Karl. Look at me.” I held the torch closer to my head. “I didn’t do this. Dr. Stuler did, remember?”
“Dr. Stuler, yes, yes,” Karl mumbled. Then his eyes focused. “Max.”
“Yeah, Karl. I’ve got food and your wallet.” I retrieved the leather from my shirt and stuck it through the gap with the meat and pear. “If we’re right, you’ll go home.”
“Home.” Ignoring the food, Karl grabbed the wallet with trembling hands, his fingers black and spindly as twigs. Recognition finally made it to Karl’s brain. “You found my wallet, Max. I won’t forget it.”
“Find me when you’re well.”
“The game will…” Karl’s voice, weak and jittery, became garbled as if he were speaking under water. A wave of energy like an invisible wall pushed outward through the slot as his face and body turned ghostly around the edges, then thinning and growing translucent.
Karl was gone.
Chapter 17
Where Karl had huddled, the straw was empty. Behind it crowded the mud-crusted boots of Werner’s prisoners. I jumped back, throwing closed the trap door just as the men inside the cell cried out.
“What happened… Sorcery… Did you see… God almighty… The conjurer… Help us,” they cried.
At Witches' End Page 13