by Tracy Falbe
Zussek intervened with a hand on Martin’s thick arm. He knew the statement given by the sellsword would carry some weight with the Aldermen, and Martin likely did not yet realize how the disaster last night could brand him as a failure. A tidy accusation of witchcraft would give the City Council a handy method for emptying the Magistrate’s seat.
“Surely, Brother Vito, you can’t believe that Magistrate Fridrich is in league with sorcerers and witches,” Zussek said.
“No,” Vito said.
Martin blinked with surprise. His terror was ready for a reprieve and he listened.
“Of course I don’t want to believe such a thing,” Vito clarified. “Magistrate, you have only to tell me who here is the witch and we will take her. Also, since your jail is woefully understaffed, I can lend my men to help there. I would further require that you install Tenzo as the new Constable. He’s quite capable of the task and certainly interested in a position with regular pay.”
Tenzo smiled placidly, glowing with happiness for his imminent promotion.
Martin understood completely that he had just been manipulated into accepting Vito as his new master. To submit to this seemed a betrayal to the rulers of Prague, but Martin had duties more demanding than keeping foreign influence out of the Court. His sons needed him to survive this calamity. Even so, when he looked at Tenzo, this conquest rankled him deeply.
“Can that man even read?” Martin sneered at the sellsword.
“He listens very well,” Vito said sternly, brooking no negotiation.
Martin turned away. His clothes were sticky with sweat and he needed to have some time alone with a chamber pot.
Staring at the Magistrate’s broad back, Vito prodded him triumphantly. “Decide. Your whole family including yourself publicly accused of witchcraft or tell me who this woman is Tenzo saw.”
“Altea,” Martin whispered.
“Who?!” Vito demanded.
“Altea, my stepdaughter,” Martin said, facing his perilous new master.
“Where is she?” Vito said.
“Upstairs. Sleeping late,” Martin said.
“Sleeping late. Sure sign of Devil worship,” Miguel commented.
Vito signaled to Tenzo, who stalked out to get his men.
“Excellent choice, Magistrate,” Vito praised. “I know this is upsetting for you. If possible it would be best if you could attest to any details that would verify our accusation against this woman. Brother Miguel can take them down for you.”
Martin collapsed into his favorite chair while Miguel sat at the desk and got out writing materials. Seeing the monk at his desk was surreal for Martin. The violation was immensely strange to him, but at least some of his terror was easing away now. He had only to sacrifice Altea and then he could find a way to salvage his career and protect his good boys. The nasty seductress would trouble him no more. Despite that comfort, part of him hated to discard her. He had wanted her for himself, but perhaps that had been the influence of her witchcraft.
“She’s been making lewd advances at me,” he told Miguel. The monk nodded indulgently, not surprised by the information.
Martin went on to describe her inborn lack of respect for authority. He related her shrewish outbursts and rejection of decent suitors. Miguel’s quill scratched across paper as he diligently recorded every word.
The sellswords tromped down the hall and up the stairs. Their boots banged on the wooden floors. Martin winced when Altea’s shriek came from upstairs. Both he and Miguel looked up and listened to the scuffling feet and yelling and screaming. A loud crash likely from a ceramic basin getting knocked over marked the climax of the struggle. Then her cries were muffled and the boots stomped toward the stairs.
The loud protests of the boys filled the hall. Martin rushed out of the study and yelled to his sons to stay back.
“What are they doing?” Elias demanded.
Altea was being carried down the steps by two men. She yanked one foot free and kicked the man holding her legs. Then she grabbed the banister and tried to halt her descent. The sellsword that had an arm around her neck pulled her hand loose and they continued down.
Yiri, Erik, and Patrik wailed for their sister. The servants hung back aghast by the violent removal of their mistress. Elias tried to push one of the men off Altea, but Martin flung him against the wall.
“She’s a witch!” Martin yelled.
“NO!” Elias protested. His sister went to Church. She said her prayers. She had been nothing except sweet and caring his whole life. “It’s not true. Stop!” he yelled and lunged toward the nearest sellsword.
Martin bashed his eldest son across the jaw. Bloody lipped, Elias fell back, astounded by the ferocity from the man he revered.
“Silence all of you,” Martin demanded.
Altea had been dragged to the main floor by now. She twisted her face away from the hand on her mouth.
“Save me! What is happening? Save me!” she screamed before a dirty-nailed hand slapped over her mouth again.
Martin pushed aside his crying boys and issued a scorching demand to the governess to get them away. She tried to push them toward the kitchen but they resisted mightily.
Vito observed the disturbance, relishing the display of his power. He had made all of this happen and it was going to distinguish him to the Church leadership in Prague. Likely the new archbishop would be hearing his name soon. Vito would be the man to speak to when the Church needed the cooperation of the Court in Prague from now on.
Getting his first look at his top priority witch, Vito admired her fine looks. Wearing only her nightgown, she was red faced from her struggle. Her golden hair was in tousled disarray, and her lapis eyes blazed with precious fear. Her beauty would help draw good crowds to her trial and execution. People liked seeing someone better looking than themselves meet a foul end. And the luscious wench would surely draw out his greatest prize. If the werewolf valued her at all, he would come.
“We know that you have been cavorting with the fugitive Thal Lesky. Only a Devil worshipper and wielder of witchcraft would fancy that werewolf. Think well on the sins you must confess,” Vito declared.
Her moaning terror told him that she was guilty.
“This fallen female will taint your home no more,” Vito said.
“Foul treacherous whore,” Martin said and spat at her. He knew he had to make a good display of his disgust to impress Vito. He could not afford any doubt clinging to his reputation. Martin motioned for the sellswords to hold her against the wall. Martin grabbed her throat. Choking, she looked at him with wild eyes full of terror like a helpless drowning animal.
“Pity I did not send you to a convent years ago. It might have saved your soul,” Martin said.
He released her throat. She gasped for air and sobbed. Martin hit her three times across the face, venting all his dark feelings for her.
“Father!” Elias screamed. Tenzo slapped a hand across the boy’s chest to keep him in place. The hard strength of the frightening sellsword froze Elias, who did not know what to do.
“Free us of this witch!” Martin begged and stepped away from her.
The sellswords dragged her kicking and screaming out the door. One of her slippers flew off and was left behind like a piece of unripe fruit blown down in a wind.
Chapter 39. A Cross to Bear
The floor was hard beneath Rainer’s knees. The coarse weave of his robe dug into his skin. Leaning over his little cot, he pressed his hands over the string of beads. The cross dangled from his thumbs.
For days he had been praying fervently and maintaining silence. His brothers did not chide him for slacking. They admired the fervor of his faith.
In the seclusion of his cell, guilt stabbed at him and prevented sleep. Darker craters than usual imprisoned his eyes. His inability to tell Brother Vito where he had found Thal nibbled at his sanity.
In the deep caves of his mind a nasty voice berated him with scathing hate. How could he honor the command o
f Thal? But every time he resolved to confess his lies to Vito, pain flared inside the healing bite wounds. His stomach turned. Only obedience to Thal’s will soothed him.
So his prayers begged his God to release him from the evil chains of werewolf slavery. Countless times he had mouthed his appeals on bent knees, but no relief had come.
Now reduced to an exhausted trance, Rainer stared at his beloved little cross. His mind wandered, seeking to answer the riddle of salvation.
He must find a way beyond the pain. Hopefully the second curse inflicted by Thal’s bites was his final test. If he could surmount that power, then he might gain freedom from all the werewolf magic.
Rainer’s life was not the only one at stake. He knew that Vito and others were intent on a new witch hunt. It helped people feel like they could combat the magic attacking the city. Rainer cringed when he imagined the people on his master’s list facing interrogation and judgment. Their suffering would be his fault because he had not delivered Thal. If Vito could not have his great prize, then he must use some other way to attack devilry.
A terrible thought burst into Rainer’s tortured mind. Will Vito reveal my curse and prosecute me? It chilled him with such fear that he imagined the Devil himself cackling at his predicament.
He would change again soon. How much longer could Vito risk concealing him? Would Vito’s purging of magic workers conclude with his removal?
The awful questions stormed across Rainer’s ravaged mind, washing away trust in his master with floods of doubt.
“No,” Rainer whispered, breaking his silence. The tiny sound of his voice warned him that his curses and sins were diminishing him. Only a dusty shadow of his soul remained.
Terrified that he was no longer worthy of his master’s efforts to save him, he realized there was only one course that he could embrace. He had to give up Thal to Vito. Then his master would have a fine werewolf to execute, and Rainer would finally prove his faith. He had been too weak. That was why all his prayers and good deeds had failed to alleviate his misery.
“I must give him Thal,” Rainer said. He clenched his teeth against the grinding pain that drilled into his neck. His stomach churned but was thankfully empty. Slowly he stood up, fighting the creak in his aching stiff knees. He draped his beaded cross over his head and pressed it against his heart. He imagined Christ lugging his cross to the Calvary, and he valued the privilege of his own trial.
He yanked open his door and startled two of his brothers. Rainer’s moist pasty face worried them.
“Where is Brother Vito?” he asked.
“He went to see the Magistrate,” a brother answered.
Reaching out with a shaky hand, Rainer said, “Can you help me go to him?”
Both monks stood up. One took his hand and gave him support. “Of course,” he said.
******
The crowd outside the jail was so thick it spilled down the street and into the square. The removal of the bodies had made a gruesome sight. The shocking slaughter had people in an uproar, and then the Jesuits had arrived bearing a witch.
Vito’s sellswords were hard pressed to keep back the raving onlookers. He quickly had the Magistrate summon more guards from the Town Hall to assist.
After sending his first witch onward, Vito remained in the square with Miguel. He admired the spectacle of the pretty young woman being hauled through the streets. People’s fear easily shifted to hatred at the sight of her. The folk loved that she was from a Patrician class. Dirt already smeared her silk robe. One of her feet was bare. Her golden locks flew in all directions. Eve ejected from Paradise could not have looked more guilty. Tears streamed from her wide eyes as she faced the rage of a God-fearing populace.
Climbing the Court steps, Vito began to preach. Not often did he take the center stage, preferring to pull levers from behind, but he wanted people to know that it was he and the Jesuits who were restoring order.
“Good people of Prague hear me!” he cried. Miguel and another monk worked to herd people toward him. Once he got a few listeners, more came.
“I have come to rid you of the Devil magic afflicting the city. With the power of Holy Mother Church, we will purge the evil from this place. There will be no more killing in the night. Devil worshippers will be sent to Hell. I call upon the faithful to help us! Tell us of those among you that you suspect of sorcery and witchcraft. Save Prague and save yourselves. We do not have to live with the Godless among us. Tell us of those who work magic in the night. We will hear their confessions and cleanse them in lawful fires.”
He repeated his entreaty as more people gathered. Excited by the beginning of a fresh witch hunt, people yelled with approval.
“What of the werewolf?” yelled a man.
“Bring us the witches and it will flush him out. It is their magic that has summoned him,” Vito declared.
People nodded because he made good sense.
Vito continued to impress upon his audience the need to stay true to the Roman Church. “Heretics pierce the body of society like nails put Christ on the cross, but Christ did not turn from his God and Father,” he said.
After railing about the dangers of encroaching Protestantism, he reiterated his call that people report witches to the authorities. The new Constable was listening.
Eventually Vito yielded his preaching to another brother, who would keep the message going all day. Ducking away with Miguel, Vito headed toward the Court doors. He intended to monitor the Magistrate closely. He expected that he had established a secure hold on the man, but he was likely in shock and would need close guidance.
“Brother Vito!”
The voice came from the bottom of the steps. Vito spotted two of his monks helping Rainer along. He waited for them to catch up. Rainer stumbled forward and clutched Vito’s arm.
Pain was twisting his monk’s face. Vito took Rainer alone into the waiting room for the Magistrate’s office. Rainer collapsed into a chair and held his head. He took a few deep breaths to gather his strength. “I remember where Thal is,” he said and then groaned.
Vito clenched his hands as excitement surged through his body. This morning had already been extraordinarily rewarding. Thal had conveniently removed most of the Magistrate’s staff and given Vito a perfect opportunity to move in, and it seemed the day was going to get even better. He recognized the need to calm himself. He did not want to make any stupid mistakes.
“Did you always know?” Vito asked icily.
Rainer could not look at him. He groaned again, and Vito accepted how much pain he was in. Stepping close, he set a hand on Rainer’s shoulder. “Tell me,” he said.
Rainer rubbed his neck. He wanted to tell Vito that there was magic in the fresh bites and it was controlling him, but he feared to reveal to his master that another force had command of him. Rainer lifted his head, determined to face his agony.
“I will go find him for you. I swear by Christ I won’t fail you this time,” he said and held his cross tightly.
“Should you not wait for the full moon when you will have your beast power,” Vito suggested. Rainer looked too weak to wrestle a mouse.
Rainer shook his head. “I can’t resist him when the moon curse is upon me. But right now I am with Christ.” He held up his cross.
Vito smiled. He was proud of Rainer. He was not even a tenth of the man Thal was but at least he was serving God. Vito started pacing. Details clicked through his head with every step of his feet. At length he returned to Rainer and loomed over him.
“I will get some sellswords to help you. When you find Thal, tell him you want his help because I will no longer harbor you. Gain his confidence. Tell him my sellswords are hunting you and you need his help. You must get close and then grab his fur. Then the sellswords will move in to subdue him, but you must get his fur off him,” Vito instructed.
“Yes, I will,” Rainer said, blinking against the pain. His blood boiled with the demand to cease working against Thal, but he resisted it with a sheer act
of will. He understood better now the great gift of free will that God had given people. It bestowed so much power. The Devil wanted slaves but God loved those who chose Him freely and truly. And he gained strength from each moment he denied the Devil. His faith became more robust and he began to believe that he would transcend his torment.
Chapter 40. Yield or Die
Bruised and bloody, Carlo stumbled into the daylight. His head was pounding and his mouth felt lined with half dry plaster. He looked back at Captain Jan in the stable doorway.
He wagged a finger at Carlo. “Don’t forget how to find your way back,” he said.
Carlo scrambled off down the rutted lane toward a street. People were going about their regular business, unaware of the dreadful drama locked within the derelict stable behind burned out buildings.
He plodded into the traffic. People glanced at him and assumed he had been waylaid by robbers while drunk in the night. Carlo wished it had been so simple.
When he reached a fountain he gratefully flopped over the stone edge. He drank and washed and felt somewhat revived, but he did not know where he was. After asking directions many times, he finally reached Lady Carmelita’s house.
He hoped that Thal would be in his room, sleeping off one of his mysterious nocturnal adventures, but the room was empty. The blanket was spread smooth upon the bed. Thal’s things were gone.
Deflated, Carlo sagged against the door frame. Exhausted and traumatized, he was nearly unable to think but his friends depended on him doing something.
“Are you looking for Thal?”
Carlo jerked his head up. The pot boy stood in the hall hugging a big ceramic pitcher of water.
“Do you know where he is?” Carlo gasped.
The boy shook his head. “He told me goodbye yesterday. Do you really think he’s gone?”
Carlo’s stomach shriveled into a miserable hole. Thal had warned them he would disappear. In retrospect Carlo realized that when he had shaved Thal yesterday he had been trying to say goodbye but Carlo had not wanted to accept it.