Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

by Tracy Falbe

  “Brother Vito!”

  Vito craned his neck to see over the traffic. Miguel was coming toward him, waving a hand. A slop bucket emptied from a high window splashed into the street and the Jesuit had to dodge the spray. He hustled up to Vito, who read success upon his associate’s satisfied face.

  Miguel fell into step next to his master. “I think you’ll find the Magistrate to be quite personally distressed,” he reported.

  “Excellent. I trust no one saw you in the vicinity of his house,” Vito said.

  “No. I went along the docks this morning and roused up a rabble and told them where to go. They made me buy them beer first, but that only loosened their tempers for the display. I met one fellow who regularly does this sort of thing. He hustled up twenty lowlifes at the shake of a stick. He was most helpful but I had to give up a thaler to him. That and the beer cut into your budget for the sellswords I fear,” Miguel said.

  “It’s their lot for pay to be in arrears. They haven’t done anything but squeeze the bums of wenches and lift steins since we got to Prague anyway,” Vito said.

  The street opened into the Old Town Square. A number of men-at-arms were still shooing away upset citizens.

  “There was quite a mob here too,” Miguel said.

  Vito nodded happily. They wove among the vendors’ scattered carts. Some of the sellers were picking up merchandise that had been knocked over by the throng of people rushing to the Town Hall to complain about the fearsome attacks.

  At the front doors of the Court, a guard said, “By order of the Magistrate, no visitors today.”

  “I am Brother Vito di Tellamoro of the Society of Jesus on a mission sanctioned by the Pope to maintain the Godliness of Bohemia. I have special knowledge concerning the devilry that afflicted your city last night and am here to help. To refuse me is to refuse the Church,” Vito said.

  The guard wavered. The serious looking Jesuits eyed him with judgmental authority backed up by an intolerant reputation. He glanced at his colleague who reflected no desire to hassle the Churchmen.

  “The magic besetting you requires Holy aid. It is beyond the mundane powers of a mere city court,” Miguel added.

  The guard let the Jesuits enter.

  In the gloomy front hall of the Court, the dark wood panels absorbed the sunlight streaming in the upper windows. The doors to the official court chambers were shut, but the energy of many large audiences and dramatic condemnations permeated the building.

  Going down a side hall, they were confronted by the Magistrate’s secretary.

  “No one is supposed to be in here,” the man huffed.

  “I am sure that the Magistrate will be interested in giving us an audience,” Vito declared.

  “We are trained in the detection of heretics,” Miguel added.

  The disgruntled secretary frowned but sought a compromise. “We can arrange an appointment for another day,” he said.

  “To delay hearing our advice would not serve the Magistrate well,” Vito said.

  “He’s not in at the moment,” the secretary said.

  A door in the hall opened and a man poked out his head.

  “Brother Miguel?” he said.

  “Professor Zussek!” Miguel exclaimed.

  Zussek came into the hall and greeted Miguel. Then he took Vito’s hand. The secretary hung back in defeat.

  “You can wait with me,” Zussek said and ushered them into the room. “I’m a personal friend of Magistrate Fridrich. I’ll introduce you. His secretary was correct that he’s out. He had a mob descend on his home.”

  “How very uncalled for,” Vito said sympathetically.

  Miguel suppressed a smile. Ethics aside, he had to admire how Vito handled reality as deftly as a master potter shaped wet clay on the wheel.

  Zussek sat down. A rigid leather case was at his feet. The hem of his black robe was a little wet and soiled.

  “You were certainly correct about werewolves being in the area,” Zussek said.

  “I wish it were not so,” Vito said.

  “With the Church and Empire holding the reins of Bohemia we will set things right,” Miguel added.

  “If only things had not gone so far afoul,” Zussek lamented.

  “Is it still your belief that some witch’s spell has summoned these beasts?” Miguel asked.

  Gravely Zussek nodded. His frizzy beard scratched against his stiff linen collar. “It’s the only reasonable explanation,” he said. Leaning forward, he patted his leather case and added, “I went to the scene of the killing this morning and gathered evidence.”

  “Like what?” Vito asked.

  “As a courtesy we must wait for the Magistrate,” Zussek said.

  Vito restrained himself from nagging for the professor’s news. His patience was a fair exchange for an introduction to the Magistrate.

  Outside the clanging of the Town Hall’s elaborate astrological clock performed the marking of the hour. Not much later the bustling noise of the returning Magistrate was in the hall. His secretary put him on notice that he had visitors.

  Zussek and the Jesuits were already on their feet when the secretary opened the door and ushered them toward Martin’s office.

  Martin was dabbing at his forehead with a cloth as his visitors entered. He had done entirely too much rushing about this morning.

  He welcomed Zussek warmly, and the professor introduced Vito and Miguel as his new acquaintances from the Jesuit Academy. Martin glanced questioningly at his friend. Apparently Zussek was attempting to improve his university’s poor status with ecclesiastical powers.

  After the men took their seats, Zussek said, “Are things well again at home?”

  “Yes. We got Karlova cleared out,” Martin said, not wishing to revisit the annoyance.

  “I took the liberty of visiting the places where the killing was done last night,” Zussek said and lifted his case onto the desk. He started to undo the buckles.

  “You’ve found something?” Martin said.

  The professor opened the case and pulled out a notebook. The case also held two sets of calipers, little bottles, scissors, and a set of glass lenses.

  Turning the notebook for everyone to see, Zussek showed the bloody footprints he had drawn in actual size. His illustrations were startling. Then he described his examination of the bodies.

  “Unfortunately I did not get a proper look at the horses. Damn people had already started butchering the meat, but two dead men were still intact. I measured the bite marks and scratches,” he said.

  “What could make wounds so large?” Martin wondered as he perused the notes.

  Before Zussek could answer, Vito said, “It’s a werewolf.”

  “A werewolf?” Martin said.

  Jumping to the Jesuit’s support, Zussek said, “Brother Vito’s party encountered one recently by Mirotice and there’s increasing tales of them from the south,” he said. Removing a clear glass bottle from the case, he held it up. “And here’s some of its hair.”

  The men leaned close, their eyes glazed with wonder. Zussek explained how he had found the tuft of fur between the fingers of one of the victims.

  They passed around the bottle. The gray and brown strands of fur fleshed out the beast in their imaginations.

  Martin handed back the bottle to his friend and remembered the other bit of hair Zussek had shown him. He decided not to mention that in the presence of the Jesuits.

  Sitting back as was his habit before declaring an opinion, Martin said, “A werewolf might explain why my Constable reported that dogs won’t track this thing.”

  “A sure sign of supernatural influence,” Zussek said, greatly interested by the detail.

  “I’ve arranged for three street patrols tonight to hunt it,” Martin said. “They’ll be armed of course.”

  “Only three patrols?” Vito said.

  Martin regarded the Soldier of Christ, whose presence in Prague was quite new to him. Since two Jesuits from the Clementinum were sitting in
his office, he hoped they were there to do more than complain.

  “The Court’s coffers barely keep pace with the expenses of normal crimes. Organizing hunting parties for beastly servants of the Devil strains my already overburdened resources,” Martin said.

  Vito was unsurprised by the broad hint. Prospecting for gold was bred into the agents of any town hall. Very aptly did Greed dance hourly on the great clock outside. Delicately he said, “Our brothers shall encourage good men to volunteer for the protection of their fellows.” When Martin’s face fell with disappointment, Vito added, “But if you could put into writing a request for assistance, I would take it to my superiors.”

  “It will be done,” Martin said.

  “You show a Godly heart to seek Church assistance,” Vito said. “But I’m here to offer advice as well. I suggest we catch the beast when it’s in the shape of a man.”

  “But how do we know who the man is?” Martin said. “Am I looking for some half naked madman mumbling in a ditch?”

  “He may not be so obviously corrupted of the soul,” Vito said and then related his brief encounter with Thal.

  “And you think this Thal is the werewolf?” Martin said.

  “That or he’s the sorcerer who made the beasts,” Vito said.

  “Everyone must keep in mind that this Thal is likely very powerful,” Zussek interjected. “The incident at Mirotice showed an abnormal power. The beast appeared without a full moon. Commonly this is not believed possible for a werebeast to accomplish, but I could have an explanation.”

  He paused to pull in the attention of the men more fully and continued, “In an eastern text of Muscovy origin I found new information. It took me a while to plow through the mangled Latin, but it told of a sorcerer who possessed an enchanted charm that controlled his shapeshifting. Such a thing would make for an exceptionally powerful beast. One that still possessed the intelligence of a man and all his cunning.”

  “What was the charm?” Martin demanded, not wishing to indulge his friend’s habit of dramatically drawing out details.

  “In this story it was a wolf fur,” Zussek said.

  “So we’re looking for a man with a wolf fur,” Martin said, determined to be practical.

  “I’m quoting from a very old legend. I can’t be sure,” Zussek said.

  “I have some sellswords in my employ who escorted my party from Rome,” Vito said. “They would recognize our man. With your permission Magistrate I can send them to aid your hunting parties.”

  “Gladly I accept,” Martin said. “Have them report to Constable Bekcek at the jail.”

  “Ah, your jail. Is it strong enough to hold a beast? If we catch this man alive, I’d wish for him to have a chance to confess his sins before prosecution.” Vito said.

  “My jail is very secure. No one has ever escaped. We can hold him,” Martin said. He would have preferred a quick kill, especially since the beast was loose in Old Town, but a sensational trial would boost his prestige and hopefully inspire enhanced funding for the Court.

  “Very good. I appreciate your cooperation,” Vito said.

  “I am the servant of the powers that be,” Martin said. Rising, he told his visitors that he had another important appointment and could indulge them no longer. He saw the men to the door. He rubbed the side of his face and noticed that he had not shaved that morning. He made a mental note to spruce himself up before meeting with the Burgomeister.

  Chapter 25. Irresistible Gateway

  Pistol jumped up on Thal’s bed and licked his face. Wincing and groaning, Thal pushed his little dog away. He wanted to nap all day, but Pistol kept prancing up and down his bed.

  Thal got up and let the dog out. Pistol disappeared down the hall. In his room he found a fresh basin of water. He vaguely recalled the pot boy coming and going earlier. After he splashed cool water on his face his stomach growled demandingly. Some hunk of bread was not going to suffice today. He wanted meat.

  He counted his coins and figured he could take his friends out on the town. Since returning to Prague, he had spent too much time alone and transformed. He wanted their cheerful companionship to balance his violent grief. His shock needed to ease so he could avoid acting in blind anger. He had no desire to pay for what his enemies would call crimes.

  While getting dressed he reflected on Rainer’s vicious killing spree that he had interrupted last night. Such erratic slaughtering did not make sense to Thal and he feared for the man’s sanity.

  Before he went out on the town he had some apologizing to do. Thal found the pot boy and told him to come with him. The boy followed, pleased to have Thal’s attention. In the inner garden Thal cut a rose and handed it to the boy.

  “Mind the thorns,” he said.

  The boy stared at the rose. The flower’s yellow petals swirled with perfect symmetry. Its fragrance was addictive and a great contrast to hauling chamber pots.

  “Take that to Lady Carmelita and tell her I beg for her to indulge me with an audience so that I may apologize,” Thal instructed.

  The boy trotted off with the rose held out like it was a fragile vase.

  A maid admitted the boy to the Lady’s private wing where she was enjoying a light lunch with the Condottiere. Smiling with surprise, Carmelita accepted the rose from the boy.

  “It’s beautiful but you’re not supposed to pick these,” she said.

  “Um, Thal sends it. He wishes to apologize. Can he see you?” the boy said.

  Carmelita looked at the stem. “At least he did not shoot it off,” she said.

  “No, Ladyship, he didn’t shoot his gun just like he said he wouldn’t,” the pot boy agreed, advocating for the man.

  “Run fetch him,” she said.

  Carmelita twirled the rose under her nose. She did not allow anyone in the household to pick the precious roses, but she excused Thal’s presumption because he had done it for her.

  “I thought you said that man had no interest in you,” Valentino remarked and bit into a boiled egg.

  “Jealousy does not become you,” she said.

  “The Hell it doesn’t,” he argued.

  Carmelita giggled and took another rosy sniff. The yellow ones smelled the most wonderful. “He had to send me some token to mollify me after the way he ran off last night,” she said.

  Valentino finished his egg and kicked back in his chair. His silk robe slid back from a hard, blackly-haired chest. “I wanted a better chance to converse with your huntsman too, especially before you introduce him to our associates,” he said.

  “Augie wrote me that he’s very strong, deadly even. Our associates will need strong hard men to support them when the time comes,” she said.

  “Deadly?”

  Carmelita leaned over the little table. “Apparently he killed six bandits all by himself,” she whispered.

  The Condottiere raised his eyebrows, duly impressed. He knew that killing was not easy work, at least not at close range. “So the song his musicians sing about him is true?” he said.

  Carmelita nodded silently because Thal’s footsteps were in the hall. The maid let him enter and he bowed to his hostess.

  “Thank you for seeing me, my Lady,” he said.

  “I should really throw you out,” she pouted.

  “If that is your will, I will go,” he said.

  A whirl of the rose under her dainty nose sweetened her temper. “It’s no fun if it upsets you not,” she said.

  “I don’t fear finding my way in the world whether I am your guest or not,” Thal said. “But please allow me to offer my apology for leaving last night when you wished me to stay. I shall attempt to avoid such rudeness in the future.”

  “That’s a comfort,” Carmelita said, unimpressed by his empty words.

  Tired of the exchange, Valentino coughed ceremoniously. “So Huntsman did you find the creature?” he inquired.

  “I did.”

  Jolting with surprise, Carmelita asked, “Did you kill it?”

  “Nay,
my Lady. The thing was very large and that would not be an easy task. It killed at least three horses and two men last night before I found him,” Thal explained.

  “Truly?” Valentino asked. The streets had to be abuzz with the news and his lackadaisical morning had prevented him from hearing any of it. “How did you survive then?” he asked.

  “I can observe a beast without inviting attack, usually,” Thal said.

  “What was it?” Carmelita said.

  “A werewolf.”

  She gasped and pressed her hand against her mouth. She had heard of such things haunting the land, but never in the city.

  “I heard some talk of such things on my trip up here from Milan,” Valentino said.

  “There’s more talk all the time, for obvious reasons,” Thal said.

  “And since you’re such a great huntsman I imagine you’ll be organizing a hunt for it,” Valentino said.

  Thal sensed the challenge in the Condottiere’s words. The man had doubts about him, which irked Thal, but he did not feel overly concerned about impressing him either.

  “Is it her Ladyship’s wish that I hunt it?” Thal asked.

  That her wish could arouse him to action pleased Carmelita. If her man did catch the werewolf terrifying the city, she would gain some fame, but she was not sure if it was the type of attention she craved.

  “I imagine the City Council will offer some bounty. I need not add to that,” she said.

  Thal had not considered that a bounty would be offered for the werewolf’s death, and he worried for Rainer. If the man acted like he did last night, it would only be a matter of time before he got shot.

  Carmelita continued, “I think it best to have you guard this home and my family from this raving werewolf. That would comfort me far more that having you hunting it when many others will surely attend to that task.”

  “Most practical, my Lady. I shall return here by sundown and watch over you,” Thal said.

  “Where are you going?” Valentino said.