by Dakota Chase
She used her fingers to dig a glob of the brownish sludge out of the mortar and slathered it on the wound. Ash sucked air in through his teeth. From the look on his face, I’d say it stung like he’d just stuck his hand in a hornet’s nest. Then she wrapped his hand with the rest of the strips of fabric and tucked the end under so it would hold.
Ash frowned as he cradled his newly bandaged hand with the uninjured one. “What about the needle and thread?”
Irmla shrugged and reached under the bed to pull out a wicker basket full of odd pieces of clothing. “What of it? I have darning to do before bedtime prayers.”
The girls cleared the supper dishes away, and Ash followed me outside where we could speak privately. The sun was down, but even without electric lights, the darkness wasn’t complete. A big, fat silvery moon shone against the black sky, and a million stars glittered as brightly as any lightbulb could ever hope to glow. I could see the two Bauer boys herding the goats into a small pen next to the pigsty and hear the soft grunts of the sow as her piglets squealed and fought for a place at their mama’s built-in supper table. The chickens were silent and probably already asleep in the darkness of their ramshackle coop. I wondered where the rooster was and figured he was already sleeping as well, since he was due up at dawn. At least that was the life of every rooster I’d ever seen in movies and on television. In truth, I was a city boy and knew jack shit about farm life.
It was still impressive to sit on the ground outside the house and look up at a sky full of stars that seemed so close you could reach up and touch them. It was also a little sad to think there were so few places left on earth that still had such a view because of all the city lights and air pollution.
“So, where do we go from here?” Ash whispered, and considering what I knew we were going to talk about, it was probably for the best. Sound seemed to travel more easily at night here, probably because there were no cars or sirens or televisions or radios making background noise. “We can’t just come out and ask about the book. Not to Irmla and Wilhelm, anyway. Especially not Wilhelm. Did you see his face when Irmla was talking about the plants and healing? He looked terrified. He really went off when she started talking about the priests, though. How bad can it really be here? I thought priests were supposed to be good guys.”
“I’m not sure how good they were in this time period, Ash. I mean, most of them probably thought they were good, but the stuff they did was pretty much the exact opposite. And it’s not just here in Germany—it’s happening all over Europe. They didn’t call it the Grand Inquisition for nothing, you know.”
“So, what do you think we should do?”
“I say we go into town. Keep our heads down but our ears and eyes open. Maybe we can pick up some information about the book and who has it.” I fell silent for a moment. “You know, Irmla mentioned the archbishop and how she thought he was a devil.”
“Satan. She said he was Satan. That does not sound like someone I want to meet, Grant.”
“I know, but I bet if anyone has a book like the Malleus Maleficarum, he would.”
“Maybe. Look, I can’t think anymore. All I want to do is sleep. I’m exhausted.”
“No doubt. Me too. Brida said we can bunk down in the barn.”
His jaw dropped and his eyes flashed open wide. “The barn? Like, with the cows?”
“They’re oxen, not cows, and yes. There’s hay there. When I was a kid, I used to lie down on the hay in the stable where we kept our horses. It’ll be soft enough. We can’t stay in the house. The Bauers barely have room for themselves in there.”
“I know, it’s just that…. Jeez, Grant, your family was so rich the stables probably had gold-plated shovels and crap. The stuff you laid in was probably gourmet hay from some swanky greenhouse. In this place there’s probably mice and bugs and mice-and-bug poop in that hay!”
I laughed. “Yeah, I guess it’s not going to be a suite at the Four Seasons, but something tells me it won’t be the worst experience we have here either, Ash. If I can suck it up, so can you.”
“You’re such an ass.”
“So you’ve said before. Now, let’s get a move on.”
He got up slowly, seeming to be in no hurry to try to sleep on a mound of moldy old possibly poopy hay when, speaking of poop, a familiar urge must’ve hit him. “Hey, Grant? Where’s the bathroom?”
“Seriously? Did you see running water anywhere in the house? They don’t even have an outhouse, Ash.”
“So, what do we do?”
“I guess we just need to find a nice bush and let ’er rip.”
“Oh my God! Gross. What about toilet paper?”
“The bushes have leaves, don’t they?”
“Ew!”
“Told you sleeping in hay wasn’t going to be the worst experience we have here.” I’m pretty sure it was too dark for him to see the smirk on my face.
“You’re such an ass.”
“Keep saying it. Maybe you’ll even start to believe it.”
Chapter Four
I DIDN’T sleep well, and I was willing to bet Grant didn’t either. Besides the crawling sensations on my skin that I was pretty sure—or at least hoped—were the product of my imagination, the hay smelled like the bottom of an old shoe, and the oxen snored and farted all damn night long.
It’d been chilly out in the barn with no heat source too, although I can’t complain about the way Grant spooned me to “conserve body heat.” I liked having his arms around me. It almost made sleeping in a pile of crusty dried-up grass worth it.
We weren’t dating. Not at all. We’d kissed a little during a trip back to ancient Egypt, but that was about it. Not that I wouldn’t be open to more. I just wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up. Grant had money, looks, and a killer smile. All I had was my pride, and I wasn’t about to let it get dented if he didn’t want more too.
Morning sun shone brightly into the barn through the gaping cracks in the wooden slats that made up the door and walls. Birds chirped outside, and we could hear the chatter of the younger children as they went about their early morning chores.
Life started at dawn on a farm, and Grant and I had overslept, even with the smelly hay and farting oxen and probably obnoxiously crowing rooster.
We hurried from the barn, brushing pieces of hay from our hair and clothing, and ran to a thicket of greenery behind the structure to do our morning business. Let me tell you, peeing on a bush all the while wondering if I was about to be attacked by a pissed-on, pissed-off raccoon or squirrel is not the nicest way to start out a morning.
“Good morning!” Brida called out to us as we walked back around the side of the barn. She held a pail and was throwing feed to the chickens. They clucked and pecked at the ground all around her. We waved to her and headed in her direction. “You are such sleepyheads. It’s late. Hurry and wash at the well—Mother will have breakfast ready soon.”
We followed her suggestion and hauled a bucket of water up from the well. The water was so cold that by the time I’d washed my hand—I kept the bandaged hand dry—and face my skin felt tingly from it, like I’d been outside too long on a bitter winter day. It sure woke me up, though.
There was more food at breakfast than there’d been at supper the night before. Lots more. Irmla outdid herself, although no one else seemed surprised at the quantity of food she laid out. She and the girls set the table with platters of fat sausages, hard-boiled eggs, a slab of thick-cut bacon, freshly baked bread, and a crock of creamy white butter. We each had a mug of fresh milk too. I tried not to think about the piglets out in the sty when I helped myself to a sausage and a couple of slices of bacon.
Everyone seemed hungry and dug into the food. For a while, the only sounds were the clink of spoons and eating knives on plates, the noises of chewing and swallowing, and a few not-so-subtle burps of satisfaction.
After he’d scraped the last bit of sausage from his plate, Wilhelm sat back and patted his stomach. “A good breakfast will stea
dy a man for the rest of the day’s labor. Plenty of work to do today, boys. Make sure the hogs are fed, and then help your mother and the girls in the field. There are cabbages and cucumbers ready to pick.”
The two older boys nodded at once. “Yes, Father.”
“Will there be pickles, Father?” Katrey’s smile was ringed with white from her milk.
Wilhelm smiled. “Not today, little one, unless your mother has some left from last season. But this winter we’ll have plenty. It’s a good crop coming in.”
Irmla put her hand on Katrey’s thin shoulder. “I think there may be a jar left in the cupboard. We’ll see, and if there is, we’ll have pickles with lunch.”
Wilhelm stood up and arched his back, stretching. “I’ll be taking the oxen into Trier for the accounting. Don’t expect to be back before dark, Irmla. Don’t hold supper.”
Irmla nodded and began to gather the dishes from the table, helped by Brida and the girls. Christoff and Emrich left together, the door banging closed after them.
Grant and I exchanged a look. “Would you mind giving us a ride into Trier, Mr. Bauer?”
“Is that where you boys are headed? Best be careful there. The city is a dangerous place.” Wilhelm grabbed his broad-brimmed hat and set it on his head. “But yes, you can ride with me.”
“Thank you.” Grant turned up the wattage on his smile and let it shine on Irmla, Brida, and the girls. Not one of them could help smiling back at him. I knew exactly how they felt too. Nobody was immune to Grant’s dimpled smile. “And thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Bauer. You too, Brida. We appreciate it.”
Irmla blushed and quickly turned away. She picked up a covered basket from near the fireplace and brought it to Wilhelm. “Here. Go on, hurry now. It’s a long trip to Trier. You won’t get there until well after the noon meal. I put up enough food for the three of you and three more besides. None of you will be hungry on the trip.”
I tried smiling at Irmla too, but my grin didn’t seem to hold the same magic as Grant’s. “Thanks for taking care of my hand.”
All I got from Irmla in return was a small, stern nod. “Keep it clean and bandaged. If it swells, seek out the physician in Trier.”
Wilhelm grunted and left, and we followed close behind him. The boys had been busily harnessing the pair of oxen into their wagon yokes. It didn’t take long, under Wilhelm’s direction, to finish the job. Wilhelm climbed onto the hard plank driver’s seat, while Grant and I heaved ourselves up into the back of the wagon. There was no padding back there, and when Wilhelm clucked to the oxen, flicked the reins, and the beasts stepped off, I realized this was going to be one long, bumpy, ass-busting trip. It was as if I could feel every rock the wagon ran over. My butt was getting sore already, and we’d only just started out.
Grant rose to his knees and spoke to Wilhelm. “How long do you think it’ll take us to get to Trier, Mr. Bauer?”
“We’ll be there early afternoon. We’ll have lunch near the river so I can water and rest the oxen. It won’t be much longer after that.”
The wagon hit a particularly nasty rut and jolted Grant back onto his butt.
“I could’ve told you that. Irmla said we wouldn’t get there until this afternoon. How fast do you think oxen walk, anyway?” I leaned over the side of the wagon, looking forward at the bovines, which plodded slowly forward.
“Not very would be my guess.” Grant shifted his weight as if trying to find a more comfortable position. He could’ve spared himself the effort. Finding comfort in the back of that wagon was an impossible dream in my opinion. I figured we’d both be black and blue before we got to Trier.
I was sore and grumpy and felt the need to complain. “Why didn’t Merlin just put us down in town? Why plop us down out here in the sticks? Doesn’t his magic have GPS?”
“Magic? What magic?” Wilhelm’s sharp ears had heard me, even over the sound of the wagon’s creaking. “Such talk will draw the ear of the archbishop, boy. Do you want to be accused of witchcraft?” He pulled the oxen to a halt and turned around in his seat. “Are you witches? Have you brought evil to my house?”
“What? No, no! We’re not witches! You must’ve misunderstood me.” I scrambled for an explanation. “I didn’t say magic—you misunderstood. We were just talking about a man we both know, name of Merlin. That’s all. Jeepers.”
“Jeepers?” Wilhelm narrowed his eyes at me.
“It’s an expression from where we come from. It means, um, good heavens.”
He looked hard at us for another moment, then turned back and flicked the reins. The wagon lurched forward again. “Take a care with what you say, boys. Archbishop Johann von Schönenberg holds no pity for witches. He has seen men burned for lesser crimes than a few ill-spoken words.”
We sat back and looked at each other. Burned?
The trip suddenly felt like it wasn’t going to take long enough. I found myself in no particular hurry to get to Trier.
SITTING ON a mound of soft grass near the river felt like an incredible luxury after spending hours bouncing along in the wagon. I was sure I had bruises on my bruises by then. My spine ached, my head hurt, and I’d bitten my tongue once hard enough to draw blood when we jolted over a deep rut in the road.
Grant seemed as happy as I was to get out of the wagon from hell. He arched his back, stretching out the kinks, then settled on the grass next to me.
Wilhelm unyoked the oxen and set them to drink and graze for a while. He picked up the big covered basket Irmla had packed that morning and spread out our lunch—fat links of cold sausage, thick slices of bread, and a stone jug brimming with cool milk.
Don’t get me wrong—I was grateful for the food, but I couldn’t help but wish I had a Big Mac or a burrito, or even a bucket of fried chicken and a triple-thick chocolate shake. I was getting a little tired of eating sausage and drinking goat milk.
Not that it stopped me from stuffing myself. Who knew when we’d eat next? We didn’t have any money and had no idea how long it would take to find and steal—er, reacquire—the Malleus Maleficarum. It might be a good long while before our next meal. For all we knew, we might not eat again until we went back home.
Long before either Grant or I was ready to climb back into the Wagon o’ Torture, Wilhelm led the oxen back and harnessed them in their heavy wooden yokes. We sighed and clambered into the back of the wagon to endure the rest of the jolting trip to Trier. I was slightly appeased knowing it was a strictly one-way trip. Once we grabbed the book, Merlin’s magic would whisk us home, sparing my buttocks the bruises of a return trip to the farm.
Time ticked by, and as the miles passed, we began to notice some traffic on the road. By traffic I mean we saw a man with a walking staff and a dog hiking along the side of the road, and another riding on a donkey. Both called out greetings to Wilhelm, who nodded and wished them a good day.
They even nodded to me and Grant, and I waved at them.
“Your young friend has injured himself, Wilhelm?”
It was then I realized I’d waved with my bandaged hand.
Wilhelm shrugged. “Just a scratch. You know boys—always rushing, always careless.”
One of the men shook his head. “You should take him to the priests in Trier. If it swells with pus, he could lose it. It’s what happened to the Schneider boy last year.” His companion nodded in agreement.
I offered them a smile. “That’s okay. I’m fine. Irmla took care of it.”
Wilhelm gasped audibly and clucked to the oxen. “Have a good day, friends.”
After we’d left them behind, Wilhelm turned to me. “Have you not a brain in that fair head of yours? Speak not of my wife’s healing. Should the wrong ears hear, the inquisitors may come and accuse her of witchery!”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t think—”
“No, you did not, but you’d better start.” Wilhelm turned back around and didn’t speak again until we reached Trier.
We finally broached the rise of a small hill, and
before us, nestled in a valley, sat the city of Trier. It was actually much more of a city than I’d anticipated. I’d been picturing some sort of mud hut village, a ramshackle collection of houses like the one the Bauers lived in, perhaps with a clapboard church complete with a needle-sharp steeple at the center.
Instead, I saw a brick wall curving along the perimeter of a sprawling metropolis. There were hundreds of sharply pitched, colorful roofs and beautiful stone buildings, including a large church at the center of town. Several spires on buildings throughout the town poked high up into the air, all of them elegant and graceful.
We left the dirt road we’d traveled on for one paved with cobblestones. Unfortunately, the ride wasn’t any smoother—in fact, it was bumpier than ever. We grabbed the sides of the wagon and gritted our teeth against the bump of the wheels against the stones.
The road led us to a stone bridge spanning a wide, placid river. Boats, some with billowing sails, floated beneath the bridge and docked at one of several wharfs. As we crossed the bridge, I could see men stretching fishing nets and others unloading their catches of silver and gray fish into crates. Not all of the boats seemed to be fishing boats, though. Some were unloading different cargo—I spotted bolts of cloth among the boxes and barrels being unpacked.
Wilhelm drove the wagon from the bridge onto a road that cut through town to a barnlike shop. A man wearing a leather apron greeted him. He had a luxurious, long mustache and a short beard.
“Wilhelm, welcome. Is it reckoning time for you already?”
“Good day, Schmidt. Yes. I have brought the baron’s oxen in to be counted and examined.”
“Who are the boys? They are not your sons.”
Wilhelm glanced at us over his shoulder. “No, Christoff and Emrich needed to remain on the farm. There was work needed doing. These are strangers, travelers in need of a ride. That is Ash, and this one is Grant.”
I noticed it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the entire truth either. Maybe the less said the better in this town. I’d need to keep that in mind.