The Hunter's Haunt

by Dave Duncan

  Only his opponent chose not to see the joke. He snarled and lunged. Muny parried the rapier with the hilt in his hand and whirled the cord like a whip. It snarled the man's rapier; Muny jerked it out of his grasp. I wouldn't have believed it possible had he been stone sober; he must have practiced for days. Then he planted a fist on the man's chin and laid him cold on the floor. He sat down and picked up his cards without a word.

  That was when he was about sixteen.

  On my first day in Gilderburg, I wandered into the Margrave's Arms, the most expensive, most respectable establishment in the city. Nowhere are necks stiffer or brows higher. The hall was hushed, a sanctuary of thick carpet and polished paneling. The Margrave's Arms is the sort of place that leaves brass spittoons around, and if you miss one, then a servant rushes forward to clean up—very classy, but somewhat stultifying for my taste. I normally avoid luxury on that scale, but I was weary from my long hike. Having a few thalers in my pocket, I fancied a heated bath and a gourmet meal.

  A liveried flunky eyed me scathingly and strolled forward to inquire my needs.

  A voice from the top of the stairs bellowed, "Omar!" Muny leaped over the banisters, bounced both feet on a thickly padded sofa, and landed in front of me, steady as a house. The elderly lady who had been sitting on the other end of the sofa was still going up and down in shock. Muny threw his arms around me like a long-lost debtor.

  After that, of course, I was perfectly acceptable to the management. Any friend of the margrave's brother was a friend of theirs. Even if Muny later left without paying, his family would cover for him. I was surprised to discover that they had allowed him back across the border but they had. He ordered the best available room for me, chattered cheerfully at my side all the way there, and demanded wine so we could drink while I soaked in the copper tub.

  Later he summoned his current mistress to meet me, sending word that she was to bring along some of his spare clothes. Wrapped in a towel, I was presented to one of the loveliest, most gracious ladies imaginable. I was not surprised. He always had the best. She was being represented as his wife, because the Arms guards its reputation avidly. Even Muny had to observe the proprieties to some extent if he wished to remain there.

  Life at once became very hectic for me. I was anxious to track down the missing heir, but Muny's companionship leaves little time for anything else.

  About the third day, I came weaving back to my room from an evening's inquiries in haunts of considerably lower reputation. It was just short of dawn. I was still hauling my clothes off when in floated Muny—fresh-shaven, impeccable, grinning as always.

  "Omar!" he proclaimed. "Glad to see you're up already! The river's in spate! I've hired a couple of leaky old tubs for a boat race."

  I dived into bed, clutching the covers as he tried to haul them off me. "I have work to do!" I protested.

  He smirked. "Then why spend the night carousing?"

  "Not carousing. Telling stories, asking questions, listening. Investigating."

  "Bah! You're starting at the wrong end! You should speak with priests and nobles, not squelch around in the dregs. Get to them later, if all else fails, if you must. Start with the civic fathers and work down."

  "In my experience, the dregs are not only more interesting and better informed, but much more likely to be of assistance. The civic fathers won't give me the polish off their boots." Not without a lot of preparatory work, anyway.

  Muny said, "Bah!" again. A familiar and worrying glint shone in his eye. "They will listen to me! If I arrange a meeting with the town notables, will you come along on my boat race?"

  I consented, agreeable to anything that would gain me a little peace and quiet. It could not have been two hours later when he tipped a carafe of water over my head and announced that it was time to go, everyone was waiting on me.

  We smashed one boat in the first rapids—the one I was in, of course. No one drowned, amazingly enough, although most of us were severely bruised. Muny crammed us all into the other and carried on. That one lasted as far as Thunder Falls. We built a fire to dry out, but the horses arrived earlier than expected. We returned to the Margrave's Arms at a spirited gallop.

  I barely had time to make myself presentable. The civic fathers had begun arriving—merchants, nobles, and priests, led by the burgomaster himself. At least thirty men and a few great ladies assembled in the main hall, sat down, and waited to hear their host's pleasure. It does help to be somebody's brother! The hotel staff were jumping around like frogs.

  Muny introduced me and left me to it. Feeling as if I had been beaten by professional torturers for forty days and forty nights without respite, I began to recount the tale of the oracle.

  Muny had heard it before, so he wandered off to the side. He was probably itching for some devilment to occupy him for the next hour. If that was his intention, he succeeded admirably. Now I must rely on his own account, told to me later.

  An elderly matron came tottering in, carrying an obviously heavy bag. The entire staff, as I said, had been thrown into a panic by the invasion of wealth and power—not a porter in sight.

  Drawn by an infallible instinct for trouble, Muny bowed and said, "May I be of assistance, ma'am?"

  The old lady hesitated, looked around helplessly, and then muttered something about finding someone to carry her baggage up to her room.

  Muny took it from her without a word and offered his arm.

  They went up the stairs together.

  When they reached her door, she unlocked it and said, "Just lay it on the bed, if you would be so kind, young man."

  As Muny was depositing the bundle on the bed, he heard the bolt click. He turned around to see the woman stripping off her clothes. She was then revealed, he assured me, as being at least fifty years younger than he would have thought possible, and a very striking example of nubile female into the bargain.

  Ever willing, he bowed. "Is there any other service I may perform for you, lady?"

  She was still in front of the door. "I am about to scream," she said calmly. "You forced your way in here and attempted to rape me."

  "I don't remember having that intention, ma'am, but now that you suggest it, I will admit that the idea has merit."

  Knowing Muny, I am certain he remained quite calm, and I expect that his calmness disconcerted her. She must have known he was a member of a powerful and highly respected family. She must have known that all the civic dignitaries of Gilderburg were assembled downstairs—but she had not carried her research far enough. Scandal was never one of the Waldgrave's worries.

  "I shall scream!" she repeated. "Your wife—"

  "What wife?" Muny must be one of the fastest men alive. He threw a pillow at her. She deflected it, of course, but then he was on her, muffling her face with another pillow. He dragged her over to the bed and tied her up with strips torn from the sheets. Don't ask me how two hands can achieve that without the victim letting rip. Muny is Muny. Even for him, it must have been quite a tussle.

  Whether he did actually carry on and rape her then, he never told me and I did not ask. It would have been no more than her due, but underneath his deviltry, Muny has a curious streak of gallantry. He is wild and violent, but not sadistic. It would have spoiled the joke not to, though, so who knows?

  I do know that, down in the hall, I had just reached the climax of my story when Waldgrave Munster came trotting down the stairs with a naked girl over his shoulder, bound and gagged. Lean, elegant, and untroubled, he carried her across the hall to the door, set her down gently on the steps outside, and came back in, wiping his hands.

  The assembly of civic notables broke up in a near riot. Muny and his mistress and I were run out of town. It was weeks before I dared sneak back into Gilderburg to pursue my inquiries in the taverns and brothels.

  The last time I saw Waldgrave Munster, he was heading off home to some big family reunion, accompanied by a pet ape he had stolen from a circus.

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  30: The Last Judgment

  "What are you implying?" the merchant roared. His face had darkened to about the color of ripe grapes, his knuckles showed white on the arms of his chair. He looked ready to leap at me.

  "I'm not implying anything, Your Honor. I report facts and leave implications to my listeners' imaginations. Oh, by the way, Gwill. You mentioned earlier that you were lured into an alley in Gilderburg …"

  Gwill had already thought of that. He was staring very hard at the actress. By now everyone was, of course, but his stare held dangerous overtones.

  Marla was a paradigm of composure, hands crossed demurely on her lap. She endured our suspicion with the bravado of the professional she was. One has to admire brass when it is well polished.

  "Your voice!" Gwill said. "Your voice! I wondered where I had heard it before! And not just in the Velvet Stable, either!"

  "I have no idea what you're talking about, any of you," Marla said sedately. She turned to her husband. "Can we go to bed now, dearest?"

  "So there wasn't a gang!" Gwill shouted. "Just you! You had a cane! My father's lute!"

  The merchant roared, drowning him out. "You are talking about Gilderburg, not Schlosbelsh, both of you! We don't tolerate women like that in my city!"

  "Oh?" I said. "Did I mention that the imposter was run out of town at the same time Muny and I were?"

  "Lies and slanders!" He was half out of his chair now, crouched like a human bullfrog about to strike with its killer tongue.

  "I admit I didn't get a good look at her face, Your Honor. But I would certainly recognize her tattoos again. I saw them first in the Velvet—"

  Johein's face went from purple to pale and then settled into a sickly greenish tinge—an artifact of the candlelight, I suppose. He turned to the actress in sick dismay. "Tattoos?"

  She shrugged. "I was saving them for a surprise."

  "You were Sister Zauch? But the heraldry?"

  "I looked it up where Tickenpepper did, I expect—in the town-hall library below your office. You really ought to read more, Johein."

  Action! He flailed an arm at her, toppling her back over the bench. She hung on, hauling him with her, chair and all. They hit the floor together in a resounding crash, with roars and screams all round. Vague scraps of insult drifted up from the melee, but I can't recall any that I should care to repeat—Volkslanderian is rich in invective. Marla was certainly winning that part of the battle. Would a burgomaster even know what such words meant? Johein stopped cursing and began screaming.

  It took both Captain Tiger and Fritz to separate the loving couple, lifting Johein bodily. Marla climbed to her feet under her own power, looking furious and rubbing her throat. The merchant was in much worse shape, as if she had used a well-placed knee on him in the tussle. She was a pro; Johein was not Muny.

  Gwill set the chair upright, Fritz dumped Johein back into it, where he remained, all curled up and whimpering. Marla glanced around to see what the rest of us were planning. Her look at me almost set my hair on fire.

  "My father's lute!" Gwill demanded, moving closer.

  Marla simpered. "Sue us. Johein's responsible for all my debts. Isn't he, Ticklepopper baby?"

  Tickenpepper looked little pleased, doubtless contemplating the loss of an important client. He licked his lips and said nothing.

  The actress shrugged. "Besides, minstrel, I gave you a 'specially' good time later, didn't I?"

  The notary shuddered. Gwill blushed scarlet and turned away.

  Johein moaned. I could not feel sorry for him. Whatever he said, I would never believe that his proposal to the sweet little postulant nun had occurred before he received Tickenpepper's report. He had tried to steal a throne and walked straight into a cesspool.

  "Well!" the dowager said, conveying volumes. "Very neatly unmasked, Master Omar! Is it dawn, innkeeper?"

  Fritz had moved around behind me and now he slammed up the bar on a shutter. It flew open with a blaze of sunlight and a rush of cold morning air—they do have window glass in the Volkslander, but there is no way to convey it to a place like the Hunters' Haunt. Ferns skittered across the floor. The fire's embers smoked, then flamed into life.

  The night was over, the tales were told.

  Back to reality.

  Fritz chuckled throatily. "It is morning! Now I get to settle with Master Omar."

  Now I would have to settle with Fritz. I confess I really hated the prospect, milords, but I could see no other way out. I addressed my first remarks to Master Tickenpepper, very respectfully.

  "You mentioned wergild last night, Counsellor. The sum of fifty thalers was quoted. Is it necessary to pay in coin, or am I permitted to tender something of equal, or even greater, value?"

  He blinked his little rodenty eyes at me. "If the injured party is willing to accept payment in kind, a court will not normally object, subject of course to the sovereign power being able to exercise its right to assess a royalty on such settlements, in jurisdictions where such provision applies."

  I decided that meant maybe.

  One of Fritz's great paws closed around my neck. His voice rumbled like an approaching avalanche, if an avalanche can sound skeptical. "What exactly are you planning to tender, vagrant?"

  As little as possible; as much as needed.

  There was no use appealing to the merchant or his wife. Gwill was well disposed, but penniless. Frieda obviously knew better than to intervene.

  "Captain Tiger," I said, speaking a little faster, "are you going to stand by and let this overgrown savage indulge his bestial instinct for violence?"

  The soldier had remained on his feet by the fire, standing guard over the merchant. He shrugged. "He has justice on his side. You brought your troubles on yourself."

  Fritz began to lift. Vertebrae creaked. I grabbed the bench with both hands.

  "Lady Rose-dawn! I have performed many not-inconsiderable services for your family over the years. I now find myself temporarily short of ready cash and therefore presume to cast myself—"

  "Take him outside, landlord," the old hag croaked. "The sight of blood upsets me. Especially first thing in the morning." She did not even look around. Such ingratitude!

  The strain on my neck suggested that Fritz was about to lift me and the bench and Master Tickenpepper all together. I had run out of alternatives.

  "Verl!" I squeaked. "Help!"

  The pressure eased slightly—or at least stopped increasing—and even the dowager leaned around to peer in my direction.

  "You appeal to Rosie's icon?" the soldier growled. "I thought you had discredited that?"

  "I appeal to the genuine Verl." I spoke with deep conviction, a full octave lower than my normal tones—I suppose because my neck was significantly longer than usual. "My lady, if I deliver your daughter's god to you, will you buy off this homicidal barbarian?"

  Fritz snarled and hoisted me clear into the air, tearing my grip from the bench.

  "Wait a minute!" Captain Tiger said. "He has more delays than a child at bedtime! You know where the genuine Verl can be found?"

  "Mmm, yeth," I whispered, having trouble being audible. Fritz was now squeezing.

  "In a vault in some far-off city, of course? Many months away?"

  I tried to shake my head and wriggled like a fish.

  The soldier frowned in disbelief. "This is positively your last chance, Omar! Produce the idol. Her ladyship will judge whether it is genuine. If it is, then we shall settle your debt for you. If not, then I shall hold our host's doublet for him."

  I croaked and flailed my arms.

  "Put him down a moment, Fritz."

  My toes touched the floor and I could breathe. "If you will just look behind you, Captain. On that shelf, presently hidden behind the hourglass? You will find a small white clay dove—not very lifelike or beautiful, just a pottery image of a bird. One eye … Yes, that one. Blow the dust off. Now if you will just show it to her lady—"

  Doglike, Fritz snarled and shook
me. "That has been there for as long as—" He fell silent. Frieda had risen and was staring at both of us. Her fair cheeks were considerably paler than usual.

  "It is!" the dowager cried, holding the figurine almost at the end of her nose. "Holy Verl!"

  Fritz released me and I flopped like a dropped chemise.

  "Fifty thalers for your trinket, landlord?" Captain Tiger inquired dryly.

  "Captain …" Fritz stepped around the bench and went to Frieda, but whether to comfort her, or to be comforted, I could not tell. "It is only an old family keepsake. Of no value at all. Take it and welcome. I don't know what trickery this ragpicker is up to now—"

  Alas! I should have left the matter there, but I always take offense at being called a ragpicker.

  "It is the genuine Verl, you bone-brained lummox. It proves that Sweet-rose passed this way. Beyond the Grimm Ranges, the oracle said, and this is confirmation. I wish I had known about it this summer, or about the birthmark—"

  "Birthmark?" Frieda snapped. "What birthmark?"

  Both she and Fritz had been out of the room when that was mentioned. "Heidi has one, but I presume not the correct shape, Captain?"

  "No, and totally the wrong location, I understand." The soldier smiled.

  "Well, that concludes the night's business," I said cheerfully. "As I am now officially a guest, my good man, you may bring me the breakfast menu right away."

  "What birthmark?" Frieda demanded again.

  "Also, my own clothes should be dry by now …"

  Captain Tiger frowned suspiciously in my direction. "Sweet-rose bore a birthmark in the shape of a rose, over her heart."

  Oh, how I wished he hadn't mentioned that!

  More hindered than helped by his sister's hasty efforts to assist him, Fritz was already unbuttoning his doublet.

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  31: The Innkeeper's Tale

  "It's not as if he was a foundling or something!" Frieda was sitting next to me, apparently unconcerned by my arm around her. "It doesn't make any sense!"