by Tracy Falbe
“Really?” Valentino said.
“I just heard it this morning,” Otram said. “The handbill even had the name for the beast, but bless my soul I can’t remember it.”
“You’re getting old,” Valentino said.
Otram coughed and spat. “You’re not far behind me, Condottiere,” he warned.
“I’m in my prime!” Valentino protested and smacked his armored chest.
Otram chuckled. Before he could trade more barbs with Valentino his servant arrived with a heavy wooden case. He opened it and unwrapped cloth from three pistols. He had a powder horn and started loading them.
“I only got these three,” Otram said.
“They look well made,” Valentino said. His dark eyes sparkled with appreciation.
“We’re getting better at it all the time,” Otram said proudly. He lifted one out and offered it to Thal. “Have you ever seen work so fine?” he asked.
“Yes I have. On a musket from Nuremberg,” Thal said.
The comment disgruntled the gunsmith. As he handed a weapon to Thal, he said, “This isn’t going to be some kind of credit arrangement.” His emphasis on the word credit advertised his scorn for the concept.
“I understand,” Thal said.
“You can fire each one once and then make your choice,” Otram instructed.
Thal spent time looking over all three pistols and considered how they felt in his hand. The weight of each pistol against his palm excited him. Each pistol possessed an aura of sinister patience.
“Get him some targets,” Otram said. The servant fetched sticks of charcoal and started drawing the outlines of life-sized men on the perforated wall. He drew three and then went back and started adding hair and faces and clothing. After waiting a while, Thal shifted with impatience.
Otram shrugged. “The fellow should’ve been apprenticed to an artist instead of me. I have to show him a little indulgence,” he said.
The servant’s careful sketching brought forth three expressions of surprise, fear, and laughter on the figures. The life-like faces were a little distracting.
“Aim for the chest,” Valentino advised.
“Wouldn’t the head make for a more certain kill?” Thal said while lifting his first pistol.
“You’ll have a better chance of hitting the body,” Valentino said.
Thal took aim at the first figure on the left. He liked the pistol already. It had armed easily and the trigger offered just the right amount of resistance. He did not flinch when he fired. A chunk of mortar exploded off the chest of the target.
Otram smiled.
“Nice hit,” Valentino commented.
Thal tested the other two pistols. He hit the other figures in the chest and the head.
“These all perform well,” he remarked while looking over his options.
He finally selected the first one he had shot. Its oiled metal and gleaming wood were beautiful.
“Forty thalers,” Otram stated without preamble.
“Thirty five,” Thal offered because that was the extent of his personal wealth.
Otram folded his arms. “There’s no bargaining,” he said.
“Then you should offer credit,” Thal argued.
Otram grinned. “This one is full of pepper,” he commented to Valentino.
“You’ve no idea,” Valentino agreed.
Thal wiped the little powder stain from the top of the pistol. The longer he held it the more he wanted it.
“Valentino, I must ask a loan of you,” he said.
Otram was a little surprised that Thal was addressing the Condottiere by first name.
Valentino was more surprised by the request for a loan. Apparently Thal had decided to start a working relationship.
“You already owe me,” he said.
Thal smiled. “Worry not about money. I know where you can easily make twenty florins,” he joked.
“You’d do best not to tempt me,” Valentino said.
“You’re not tempted,” Thal said.
Valentino meant to argue if only to soften Thal’s sudden cockiness, but he realized he was not tempted. He remembered the touch of the werewolf and its hot breath passing by huge teeth. The intense experience had held him in awe, and the feeling was not diminished. Valentino had no wish to reduce Thal’s majesty with imprisonment and execution. Such torments would be a tragic waste.
Reaching for his purse, the Condottiere grumbled that he expected Thal to pay his debts.
The two men pooled their coins. Otram received the funds happily.
“Best wishes on your adventures, gentlemen. I’m sure my pistol will keep you safe,” Otram said.
“And others not so much,” Valentino quipped.
“Not so much,” Otram agreed, laughing. He showed them out of his shop and waved.
Thal kept a hand on his new pistol, enamored with the extra killing power.
“You’re getting to be an expensive friend,” Valentino said.
“I’ll take care of the debt soon,” Thal said.
“Money does not have to be our currency,” Valentino said.
Thal slowed before they reached Valentino’s horse near the main gate. “I don’t want to be in your wars,” he said.
“Perhaps one such as you would not be best for a regular command, but I have been thinking.” Valentino glanced around to make sure no one was close. He deemed the grinding and banging in the workshops sufficient to cover their conversation and continued, “The Protestant revolution will have more to it than basic battles of soldiers. The politics are complicated. Being able to intimidate influential figures will be necessary. With your power you could cause much terror with little effort. You could do special favors for me in this way.”
What Valentino had just said suddenly explained Rainer’s killing spree. In a flash of insight Thal guessed that Vito had used Rainer to cause an uproar so he could exploit the public fear somehow. Maybe Vito wanted to catch him and enslave him to political purposes, much as Valentino did, except Thal liked Valentino better.
“I don’t want to be embroiled in your plots,” Thal said.
“And what plots are so important to you?” Valentino demanded.
“My plots are my own,” Thal said darkly.
“You are an enemy of the Jesuits?” Valentino said.
Thal shrugged. “Not for my part. One of them tried to recruit me. Now I’ve been warned that he’s trying to trap me,” he said.
“The Jesuits could use some intimidating. It seems our plots could cooperate,” Valentino suggested hopefully.
“Perhaps,” Thal said.
Valentino looked around again. “Let us move on. I’ll accompany you to your meeting with Carmelita,” he said.
“You don’t want me alone with her,” Thal surmised.
Valentino’s jealousy was complicated by his new knowledge of Thal’s bestial power. “Would you let your lover meet alone with a werewolf?” he said.
“Perhaps not,” Thal granted, a little sadly.
Upon returning to Lady Carmelita’s house they had to wait in her solar while she finished her afternoon nap. When she finally arrived in a fresh dress for the evening, she scolded Thal for being too early.
“Better than late,” he said.
“I suppose you’re a man who must be indulged more than others,” she conceded and settled onto a chair.
“He does have a way of making others indulgent with him,” Valentino said, feeling the loss of weight in his purse.
Thal waited for Carmelita to speak. She regarded him thoughtfully. His unique eyes could no longer be dismissed as a trick of birth. Some sorcery had altered them.
“I’ve been told something very extraordinary about you,” she said.
“People like talking about me,” Thal said with playful disinterest.
“Can you show me?” Carmelita said.
The request surprised him.
Valentino balked. “My Lady, you cannot imagine how it will effect you. T
he world will cease to be the same. Don’t be so hasty,” he said.
“I want to see,” she insisted.
Thal glanced around the room. “We should move the furniture,” he said.
Carmelita gasped. She had expected him to protest. His quiet acceptance of her request frightened her with oncoming reality.
He tossed aside his cloak and revealed the beautiful wolf fur. He spread it on the table next to Carmelita and closed the drapes.
Valentino jumped up and locked the door and pushed back the chairs and embroidery frame. Carmelita ran her hand over the fur. Despite the empty eye slits and dried nose, she almost expected it to breathe.
Thal flipped over the fur so she could see the blood writing. Valentino leaned over it as well. A thin band of sunlight from a gap in the drapes fell across the skin, making the strange characters glisten as if wet and fresh again.
“I’m trusting you with my secret,” he said.
Carmelita gaped as Thal walked to the clear area and started taking off his clothes. Valentino took her hand and stood close. The scratches and bruises on Thal’s body were revealed when he disrobed. Carmelita leaned back when he approached the table. He had no concern for modesty and his physique filled her eyes with a perfection worthy of Italian sculptors. He grabbed his fur, took a few steps back, and held it around his hips.
“I’m no mad beast. I won’t hurt you,” he said.
She nodded nervously.
When he began to recite the words of the spell, the unknown language provoked all her superstitions. She covered her ears, afraid that each syllable spelled out her damnation. Her curiosity had brought her to this terrifying moment.
She came to her feet when the transformation started. Valentino held her back. Thal’s painful cries made her want to help him, but then his manhood was enveloped by wolfen monstrosity. When it was finished he rose onto his back feet.
The flopping and groaning during his shift had summoned a pair of servants. They were banging on the door, begging to know what was wrong with their mistress. Thal dropped to all fours. He approached Carmelita. His claws clicked on the wood floor until he reached the rug.
“Go away! I’m fine!” Carmelita finally responded to her servants’ pleas. Her voice was shrill, but she cared nothing of what her servants might assume she was doing locked away with two men.
Thal’s huge head reached to her chest even when he was on all fours. His wide nostrils sniffed her. She reached out with a shaking hand. His fur was reddish brown, much like his human hair, except that more streaks of silver and black were in his coat. His animal eyes gleamed with an intelligence perfected during the long ages of Creation.
Gently she ran her fingers up his snout and then along his fluffy cheek. He was equal amounts fearsome and beautiful. He was worthy of the Devil and God all at once.
Valentino touched him too and marveled at this rare privilege that let him glimpse the mysteries of Nature. Thal left them and circled the room. He stopped at the door. Pistol’s little nose was sniffing at the bottom. After reassuring his loyal friend, Thal went back to the clear space and relinquished his power.
“You’re bleeding!” Carmelita blurted when it was done.
Thal felt the many stings where his healing scratches had been torn open during the stretching alteration of his body. He was trembling too. Shifting back so soon had left him edgy and unsatisfied. Slowly he put on some pants and staggered to a chair. He held his fur across his lap and tried to clear his mind.
Overcome, Carmelita collapsed into her chair. Valentino took some cloths from her scrap bin and brought them to Thal so he could dab the fresh blood off his scratches.
Standing over him, Valentino was stricken anew with awe. “You could achieve greatness, Thal,” he finally whispered. “With your power and the right resources you could control powerful people.”
“I don’t want to control anybody,” he said.
“You will always be hunted. You must think on how you will live among us with your power,” Valentino said.
Thal had trouble focusing on his future. His thoughts were consumed by the need to avenge his mother. But Valentino made good points and Thal considered how best to exert his influence.
Carmelita remained silent in her shock. Valentino had been right to warn her. What she had just witnessed segregated her from most of humanity. Miracles were no longer the purview of just the Church or even a reformed one. There were powers beyond the priests and their prayers.
Thal finished dressing. The others’ silence was not unexpected. He had given them much to contemplate. As for himself he felt liberated. He was proud of himself for trusting people. It was a big step for him. He knew it was dangerous, but a man should not live taking no one into his confidence.
Deciding to find out how much influence he had gained over Carmelita and Valentino, he said, “May I suggest something to you, my Lady?”
“What?”
“Plotting war against your enemies is not the only way to promote your cause. You could befriend more important people. The Court and jails are important tools for controlling people. At your next party you should invite someone like the Magistrate. It could not hurt to soften up someone like that with your charms.”
“Oh,” she said and looked to Valentino.
The Condottiere opened his hands permissively. “I say do it. Thal is likely to get arrested any time he walks down the street and he’ll need help getting out of jail alive,” he said, admiring Thal’s forethought.
“Do you think he’ll come?” Carmelita wondered.
“The Court can always use another wealthy patron. The hope of that might tempt him,” Valentino reasoned.
“I could invite the Burgomeister and Aldermen too,” she added, warming to the subject. “At the very least it will confuse everyone who suspects I’m in league with Protestants.”
“It could also encourage those who haven’t yet dared to act upon their misgivings for Church tyranny,” Valentino added, imagining that many sympathizers could be found on the City Council.
“Will you be inviting their families?” Thal said.
Carmelita nodded. “Naturally. I’ve already got a ball planned two weeks hence. It’s just popped into my head to make it a masquerade. I’ll send out revised invitations plus a few new ones. It should be interesting,” she said, anticipating the results of the work she did best.
Chapter 31. The Invitation
“No storming up to your room, you ingrate girl,” Martin thundered.
Altea was already at the stairs as he stomped in the door. A sheen of sweat on his forehead attested to the warm day and the state of his temper.
“Not one more step!” he bellowed, banging a hand on the wall. The meaty slap of his palm on the thick plaster emphasized his point.
Defiantly Altea hopped onto the first step before she stopped. Martin puffed down the hall until he caught up to her. His sons straggled in, hanging back from the volcanic fume of their father’s mood. Elias regarded his half sister with worry, but she knew he could not save her. She could not undo her behavior at the Alderman Bulwic’s garden party nor the bitter words spoken with Martin during their trip home.
“Enough of your lecture. I shan’t marry that toad if Christ himself returned and commanded it,” she said.
Martin gaped at her blasphemy. He swung at her hard. Altea dodged the blow and landed against the wall. Martin seized her wrist and jerked her off the step.
“Father!” Elias cried.
Martin whirled on his eldest son. “You heard her!” he said. Elias wavered, realizing Altea had earned punishment. He could only hope that his tepid intervention had dampened some of his father’s fury.
With Elias under control, Martin shoved Altea. “In my study!” he yelled.
She had little choice but to blunder into his study. She grabbed a chair and yanked it in front of her as she backed up to a window.
Martin shut the door and the ominous privacy squiggled upon Altea’
s nerves like wet worms. She thumped the chair on the wood floor like she was trying to scare an animal.
“Thank God your mother isn’t alive to hear you speak the Lord’s name in vain like that,” he said.
“I’ll never thank God my mother’s not alive,” she snarled.
Martin clutched his forehead. “Enough! This is not an argument. If you ever embarrass me like that again, I’ll ship you off to a convent. You hear me?!” he said.
The threat gutted Altea, but she did not surrender. “That man was older than you!” she screeched.
“Foolish girl, he’s rich and the Alderman’s brother. It would’ve been a grand match,” Martin insisted.
“For you,” Altea said.
“I’m who this is about and you know it,” Martin reminded.
“He had a disease of the skin,” Altea hissed.
Even a lawyer had trouble debating that point, so Martin said, “You could’ve at least hidden your disgust for the sake of politeness.”
“I was civil,” Altea said. “Until he touched me.”
Martin retrieved his schnapps bottle, deciding a drink was better than assaulting his stepdaughter. After taking a gulp of the liquor that sped hotly down his gullet, he wondered how his meek and perfect wife had ever birthed this maenad. Her half-barbaric Kardas blood had to be the source of it.
Altea watched him soothe himself with alcohol. She wrung her hands against the back of the chair, trying to think of what to do, but she was in uncharted territory. She had not meant to be so rude at the party, but when the old wretch had put a hand on her hip from behind, she had reacted with hard words without thinking.
Martin faced his unruly stepdaughter. “At least you showed yourself to be such a shrew, he’ll surely not express any interest in taking you off my hands again,” Martin said. Shaking his head, he mumbled to himself what a pity it was.
She bristled to see how her stepfather thought only of himself. She had not been satisfied with his attempts at matchmaking so far, and today’s social engagement had been a new low. She needed to take better charge of her quest for a husband. Since he had started shopping her around Prague, she had learned that she had no lack of appeal. Young gentlemen often sought her attention at parties. And the envy in the eyes of other women proved that she should be desirable to more than old lechers seeking a good groping session before the grave.