“You’re quiet,” I say. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles distractedly. He looks up and tosses his hair, uncovering dark blue eyes. He opens his mouth to explain, then thinks better of it and closes it again.
The walk to his house is short. To my great relief, he asks me to wait outside for a moment. I am sure Greta is still displeased with me and shan’t be happy that I am staying with them tonight. And if I know Greta, she won’t hesitate in telling me so.
“Where have you been all afternoon? Where’s your father? He better not be getting into any more trouble,” Greta complains.
The sweet scent of pea porridge wafts through the evening air, perfectly cooked. My mouth waters and my stomach rumbles.
“The men are meeting at the Gilded Gopher,” I hear Ivo tell her.
“Hmph, they’d better be figuring a way out of this mess. Sara told me the Archbishop has ordered everyone back to church.”
“Yeah.”
“Come here,” Greta pleads.
“Mother…” Ivo protests.
“I was worried about you, my son,” she complains. Ivo’s footsteps shuffle across the floor and Greta sighs. I can hear her kiss him on the cheek a half-dozen times.
“I’m all right,” Ivo sighs.
“Hmph, you’re lucky,” she replies, clapping something off of her hands.
“Did you still want me to go into the manor and pull the weeds from the beds…?” Ivo ask, changing the subject.
“Mmm hmm,” she replies. “After that, you’re in for the rest of the night.”
“Father wants me to meet him at the Gopher and… Ansel wants Addie to stay here.” I assume Greta gives him a dirty look because he breaks into defense. “I swear it. Ask him in the morning.”
Greta sighs, “Ivo, I don’t want either of you walking around tonight.”
“Yes, Mother,” he replies quickly.
“…But if your father orders it, you had better go.”
A father’s orders always trump a mother’s.
The door swings open and Ivo grabs my hand. We storm through the house and out the back door into the DeBelle manor yards where we are to pull weeds from the garden beds. I am weary with hunger. Ivo sighs with frustration at my turtle-like pace. Before I can even bend to pluck one small dandelion, Ivo’s thrown two piles of weeds behind him. My stomach roars embarrassingly loudly.
“Hungry?” he inquires, tossing two more handfuls of weeds behind him.
“So you heard that?” I grunt, tugging on a massive weed.
“Yeah,” he says with a grunt. The weed I’ve been pulling snaps at the bottom and I fall back into the dirt. Ivo laughs and offers me a hand. He bends in front of me, sticking his fingers into the dirt like a trowel and uproots the weed I had worked so hard on. “Well, she’s almost done making supper.”
The clanging of a wooden spoon on metal rings through the cooling air. Ivo looks up and brushes the dirt off his hands. “Supper’s ready.”
***
Four bowls are clumsily set across the table. Levi’s large eyes and tiny nose perch behind his bowl as his fingers dance anxiously in place. Ivo sits, a foot taller, next to his little brother.
“How is Addie getting home?” Greta inquires as she spoons porridge into Ivo’s bowl, her eyes darting between us.
“I guess her Father’ll get her in the morning,” Ivo replies around a mouthful of food.
“So she’s to stay the night?”
“I think so, unless they leave the Gopher early,” Ivo replies, and Greta purses her lips with dissatisfaction.
“Well, if she’s staying the night, she’ll get your bed, boys, and you’ll be in with me.”
Levi’s eyes light up and he flashes a smile full of green porridge. “We get to sleep in Mother’s bed!” he cheers. Ivo chuckles at his brother and shakes his head.
***
Levi has heavy eyelids before he even finishes his supper and Greta looks weary too. They must go to sleep early every night for they rise at dawn during the week to head for the fields. I have to admit, I’m tired too, but I’m anxious to make my way to the Gilded Gopher. I want to know what they discuss. I want to know what shall happen next Sunday. We make our way to bed and I pity Ivo who doesn’t look the least bit sleepy. It is so boring to lay sleepless in bed. I wonder why he doesn’t just leave for the Gopher as his father ordered.
A loud snort wakes me and I nearly jump from Ivo’s bed. It takes me a moment to remember where I am and as soon as I do I am cursing myself for falling asleep. If it is past two in the morning, the men at the Gilded Gopher shall be beyond drunk and beyond important discussions. Half of them shall be taking advantage of the whores and it is hardly worth going. But I haven’t the slightest idea what time it is really. The bed is so warm and soft. It calls me to lie back down. You are probably too late, better just to get a good night’s rest.
I shake the thoughts from my head and throw on my cloak. I must go to the tavern. It is the only way I shall hear the truth.
***
I walk along the houses and the wall quietly so I am not noticed. The full moon lights the streets. The brilliance shall make me easy to spot if I am not careful to stay among the shadows and hide the fog of my shallow breaths. Cologne is a cold, blue world on this cold March night, the sky a bright indigo dotted with innumerable stars, the trees a near-black navy, the buildings a shade in between. It is quiet and beautiful, but I am not used to the silence and it scares me.
Swish-swash-swish What was that, I think.Fear overwhelms me for a moment. Someone follows me. My heart beats violently against the bones in my chest and I press myself into the shadows between two row houses, looking around for some evil, wanton man who plans to rob me or worse.
Swish-Swash-Swish I whip around quickly, my eyes darting in all directions. Fear has me frozen in place as I watch for my attacker. I slide to the ground, feeling around desperately for any kind of weapon. I’m blinded by the heavy fog of my rapid breath. I envision a vagabond, stalking lowly in the shadows, waiting to pounce.
SWISH-SWASH-SWISH It’s getting closer, I shriek inside my head. Frantically, my hands sweep through the dirt searching for anything I can use to defend myself. My fingers stumble across a smooth, hard surface. A cobblestone. I wrap my fingers around it and pull it from the dirt. Thank God, it is as big as a fist. I hope it’s enough to save me.
The shuffle is loud, only a few paces away. Still low to the ground, I spin around quickly, but it’s too late. I feel the breeze as my attacker pounces. Long bony fingers muffle my screams. A strong arm ensnares me, but I fight and we both fall to the ground. The stone slips from my grasp and rolls a few feet away. I squirm toward it, but he has me by the legs and is working his way to my waist. The cobble is just within my grasp. Just one more inch and I’ll have it. With a grunt, I fight his pull with all my strength and grab it, clutching it firmly. I sit up quick and swing it down onto the side of his face. A second before I hear the crack, my attacker speaks in a desperate, familiar whisper.
“It’s me.”
“Ivo!” I cry, slithering backward through the dirt. “Ivo?”
He moans and I hear him spit something out. A tooth lands next to my foot. “I woke up and you were gone.” He groans again.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” He sits back, cradling his cheek and I lunge toward him. “Let me see.”
I peel his hand from his face and press my cold fingers lightly to his cheek, tracing his red and swollen jaw line. He stares through me coldly. His hair shines silver in the moonlight and his pale skin is creamy white. Even hunched over with a missing molar and a quickly swelling face, he looks angelic. I cock my head to the side and stare at him with pity. I contemplate pressing the cold cobblestone to his face to cool the burn, but that would probably make him angrier.
“I didn’t know…” I explain apologetically.
“Well, I’d hope not,” he replies bitterly.
“You should have said it wa
s you before—” I begin, but his scowl silences me mid-sentence.
“Before you hit me with the rock. I didn’t know you had a rock,” he says slowly and thickly.
“I’m sorry.”
He nods as though he accepts my apology, stands, and brushes himself off. I stare up at him remorsefully and he smirks with the good side of his face. He extends his hand and pulls me up. My hand stays in the niche of his arm as we creep through the streets of Cologne to the Gilded Gopher. I make a hundred apologies as we make our way there.
He is about to knock on the door but I pull him back. “How do I get in?”
He furrows his brow in thought. His eyes widen for a moment and then he shakes his head.
I can tell he has an idea, but doesn’t want to share it. “I’ll walk you back.” He suggests. “This is no place for girls. I’ll tell you everything in the morning. I promise.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Addie….” He urges.
“I’m not leaving so either help me in or I’ll find my own way.”
“Fine,” he huffs, and shakes his head at my stubbornness. “Take out your braid and cover your face with your hair.”
He helps me shake my hair into my face and it is the first time he has ever run his fingers through my hair. “You still look like you,” he scowls. “Here, wear my cloak over yours.” I look up at him through my hair with the two cloaks on.
“Keep your eyes on the ground,” he orders. “And don’t smile. Hunch your back.” He reaches down and smears dirt across my face. “Try to look…ugly,” he says and I smile because it means even though I am hunched over and covered in cloaks and dirt, he still thinks I’m pretty.
“That’s not ugly, Addie.” I squint an eye and scowl. Ivo takes two handfuls of dirt, rubs it through my hair and brushes it upon my coat.
“It’s quite dark in there. I doubt anyone shall recognize me.”
“No, but we want you to be ugly and dirty so no one shall try to buy you.”
I nod as I realize the only way for me to get into the Gilded Gopher is if I pretend to be a whore. “What if a man asks me anyways?” I ask.
He’s silent for a moment.
“Say no and if he persists or asks you to do other things, then get me.”
What else might a man ask me to do, I wonder, but do not dare ask. “I’ll just try to be as ugly and mean and invisible as I can,” I say.
“Good.”
I knock on the door, just as Ivo has told me to do. He stands around the corner and shall knock once I have entered or come to my aid if I need it.
A large man opens the door and I don’t say anything hoping he’ll let me in, but he stands in my way. “What do you want?” he barks.
“What do you think?” I snap in a hoarse voice. He steps aside. I add a limp for good measure. I descend the stairs into the tavern, purchase ale, and find a seat in the far corner. I look around for familiar faces. Upon Ivo’s entry the men ring out a cheer and I can see Erik, but not Father.
Dozens of conversations hum throughout the house, ranging from boisterous laughter, to devious whispers, to heated arguments.
My eyes adjust to the flickering candles and strange silhouettes become familiar faces. I listen intently to several conversations, overhearing many things I shouldn’t hear, things I do not want to know.
Otto brags to Gregor about his many affairs. He says he courted Sal many years ago before Paul married her and he swears that she was sullied before he’d even gotten to her. He says she knew things that would make a whore blush, that he used to wish he’d married her for that reason alone, but seeing how ugly she’s gotten and that she has not birthed a single son, the hog says he’s glad he didn’t.
Otto isn’t any happier with his present wife though and says he should have never married her either since the barren witch never gave him a child who lived past two winters. Then, he describes his poor wife’s body unkindly and in the vilest detail. I have to put my hands in my lap to keep from throwing my mug at his head and bite my tongue to keep from accusing him of being a dirty braggart undeserving of a wife or sons.
The boasting continues and Otto mustn’t recognize the discomfort in Gregor’s face for he continues with his tales. Otto says when he isn’t spending his money on the whores here, he lies with Ivan’s sister, Ilsa, who he says has the face of a horse so he has to take her from behind. I have no idea what that means, but it sounds dreadful.
Otto describes the affair vividly to Gregor, Severin’s gatekeeper, who works with Ivan. Poor Gregor is stunned into silence at first by Otto’s disgusting boasts, and tries unsuccessfully to change the subject each time Otto takes a drink. After hearing one too many vulgar descriptions of Ilsa, I realize these two aren’t likely to discuss serious matters so I find another seat. There must be someone here who discusses the Archbishop’s demands.
For over an hour, I hear nothing but confessions from a bunch of drunkards. It makes me wish I had stayed in bed. I nearly give up hope until I hear Elias, the only sober man in the house, discussing important matters.
“That’s heresy,” slurs a drunk whose voice I don’t recognize.
“How do you know it’s heresy?” Elias replies.
“A priest said so,” the drunkard slurs back.
“And how do you know he speaks the truth?” Elias asks as the drunkard guzzles his ale.
“I don’t know.” the drunkard stumbles.
“That’s right. You don’t know because it’s all in Latin,” Elias speaks with childlike enthusiasm. “But I have a Bible in German!” he whispers with even more excitement.
“Pftt,” the drunkard scoffs as though it were more likely Elias had the Holy Grail.
“I do have a Bible in German. Do you want to see it?”
The drunkard’s eyes widen. “No! Elias, you must watch you say. They’ll burn you at the stake!” The drunkard’s speech sobers up as he whispers the warning to Elias.
“Some things are worth burning for,” Elias says with disappointment. “You should read it.”
“I don’t know how to read!” the man laughs. “Besides, who’ll care for my children if I’m burned at the stake?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Elias sighs. “But know this. It says in here that it is harder for a rich man to get into heaven than a camel to fit through the eye of a needle.”
“What’s a camel?”
“It’s like a horse,” Elias replies matter-of-factly.
“Oh. So?”
“So? A camel is too big to get through the eye of a needle. The point is that rich men don’t easily get into Heaven.” Elias sounds exasperated from explaining to his very dim listener. There is a long pause and a frustrated sigh from Elias. “The priests are richer than the richest men in town. They eat, when we starve. While we’re dying of fever, they throw feasts and take bribes to perform funerals—”
“Hey, don’t bring Ansel into this.” The man interrupts. “He did right by his wife. Well, at least he tried to. If I’d had the money to bury my Johanna, I would have. To Johanna!” The drunkard’s beer sloshes for a short moment as he raises the mug in toast to his dead wife.
“You misunderstand me, friend. If I were Ansel, I would have done the same. The point is, God would not charge for a funeral or a decent burial. And neither should these so-called men of God!”
“Yeah,” the drunkard replies after some time. Is he afraid of what Elias is telling him or just unable to understand it?
“If you ever change your mind…” Elias extends with a hopeless tinge to his voice.
“Sure. Sure.” The drunkard feigns appreciation and gives an exaggerated yawn.
“It’s too bad a unanimous decision was not reached today.”
“Yeah…”
“I believe it best if everyone boycotts the church. Divided, we are far less strong. What shall happen to those of us who continue the boycott without the support of the rest of Airsbach?” Elias presses.
“It’s g
etting late. I think I’m going to go,” he yawns again dramatically.
“Yeah, I should too. I hope you change your mind.”
“If you’d asked me ten years ago, I’d be right there with you, but I have children to care for. I like Ansel’s idea. I think we should all just go to the other church,” the drunkard says.
“Yeah,” Elias sighs. “I cannot help but wonder if they’re any better.”
“Only one way to find out.” The man slaps Elias on the back, picks up his cloak, and leaves.
Ivo walks by me and stops. He kneels down and whispers, “I’m going to get one more drink and then I’ll leave. Wait a few moments and follow me out.” He heads to the bar, takes his drink back to the table, finishes it, and walks out the door. I wait a moment and then follow him, heading out into the cold street.
I wrap his cloak around him and shake the dirt from my hair. I quickly braid it back and wipe the dirt from my face. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and briskly rubs my freezing arms as we walk back to his house.
“Did you hear anything about next Sunday?” I ask.
“No. You?”
“Not much.” I relay what I heard from Elias’s conversation. “It sounds like everyone likes your idea. The people of Airsbach might find another church,” I conclude and Ivo nods.
“I’ll never go back to St. Laurentius, Ivo… ever. I’ll never listen to another word that godless bastard has to say.” I add. Ivo is silent and I am sure we are thinking the same thing. We hope we shan’t be forced to.
“Speaking of things we heard tonight at the Gilded Gopher, what does it mean to take a woman from behind?” I ask. Ivo’s face turns an unnatural shade of white.
“Did someone ask you to do that? I told you to come get me if someone was bothering you!”
The Fairytale Keeper: Avenging the Queen Page 11