The party was breaking up as Krystyana returned. She was excited about her day's shopping in the big city. As supper was served, she prattled on and on about pins and churches and ribbons and merchants and the outlandish price of dinner. I was in a good mood and said little. I heard every detail of every bargain, and sometimes feminine babble makes a pleasant background noise to relax in. Eventually she wound down.
"That's wonderful, pretty girl. Did you buy anything for yourself?"
"Well, no. I mean, you said . . ."
"Then here's fifty pence to spend tomorrow on things that you want." This was greeted by squeals. "Did you have any luck with dyes or a dyer?"
"I looked at them, but dyes are so complicated, Sir Conrad. A pound of this one can do something, but an ounce of that one can do more and—"
Pounds? Ounces? I'd forgotten the metric conversions. "I understand. Any word about a dyer?"
"I heard of one, but they called him a 'walker' because he walks on the cloth being dyed. People said that they had heard of him, but nobody knew him."
"Well, then you know what to do tomorrow. Keep the serving woman with you from now on. I want you to look into the price of raw woolen cloth, the kind that you make on the loom. See if you can't find a merchant willing to buy, say, a thousand yards at slightly less than the present wholesale price, for delivery next spring." If I had to play the merchant, I thought that I might as well make some gain from it. My hands were already dirty.
"I'll try, Sir Conrad."
"And I know that you'll do a wonderful job. It grows late. What do you say? One more cup of wine and then to bed?"
The next few days were busy. Thom had located a copper merchant who wanted to sell out his entire stock and move to a better—more profitable—place. We could buy copper at half price, along with some calamine, lead, and tin, if we bought his entire stock. I looked it over and paid an additional 3,250 pence. They found an out-of-work wood-carver. I looked at his work in a few churches and swore him in at five hundred pence a year. I told him that he was now a pattern maker.
Clay and wood were coming in slowly, so I told the brothers that they should hire twelve men temporarily and keep the best four on a permanent basis.
Krystyana found her walker, a Florentine who had come north to seek his fortune and had picked up a fair amount of Polish while starving in Cieszyn. He claimed to be a journeyman dyer, but on questioning him I discovered that he had never completed his apprenticeship. He had also been apprenticed as a wool sorter, a comber, a carder, and a warper. He had some experience with linen that he preferred not to discuss.
He was thirty years old and a perpetual misfit. Or maybe a diamond in the rough. I had mixed feelings about the man. "Okay, Angelo Muskarini. It is good that you have finally told me the truth. As my liege lord is about to enter the clothmaking business, it is possible that we can use you. Perhaps you know something that will help him. Look long and hard before you criticize my loom or spinning wheels! Aside from that, if you can improve the quality or quantity of his cloth, you will be very well rewarded. If you do not produce results, we shall transport you back to your garret here at Cieszyn. Understood?" It was.
I swore him in for two years at one hundred pence per year, plus food and lodging. Then I put him up at my expense at the back of the inn for two pence per day. I advanced him three months' pay for beer and such just to see how he'd do. As it turned out, he saved most of it, barring a little he spent for clothes. Sometimes when a man has spent enough time between the hammer and the anvil, he turns into good steel.
Besides explaining to the Krakowski brothers about building patterns for molds, I had to explain about grinding wheels and lathes. It is not enough to cast a bushing. It has to be perfectly round, and that is not possible with casting alone.
The wood-carver, Ivor Korenkov, found himself instructing his new employers, and the days wound on.
Krystyana made the right commercial connection. She found a cloth merchant eager to deal. It was already arranged that he would buy some two thousand square yards—Cieszyn measure—of raw wool cloth for seven-eighths of the current price, twenty-three pence per square yard. We swore the agreement before a notary, who produced three copies: one for each of us and one for himself. We left one thousand pence each with a Templar as surety, and the deal was closed.
Days later, I was still busy at the foundry, but Krystyana had nothing else to do. The story of her rebuffs at the castle had already spread, and she was embarrassed by it.
"Pretty girl, I have one more job for you. Take Angelo and the servant woman—whatever her name is—"
"Zelda."
"Zelda, then. The three of you should go and buy one thousand pence worth of dye or whatever Angelo needs. Then I want you and Angelo to go back toward Okoitz."
"But just he and I alone?"
"I'll be with you as far as Sir Miesko's manor, and that's as far as you're going. We can send Angelo alone to Okoitz."
"Why send him alone, Sir Conrad?"
"Because I'm not sure if I trust him. If I've hired a thief, I'd rather find out sooner than later."
"Why trust him at all? I mean, why take a chance with thousands of pence worth of dye and mules?"
"I have to be able to trust him because he knows things that I don't. He could pull the wool over my eyes, and I wouldn't know it."
"Pull the wool . . ." She couldn't sort that one out. "Then why are we going to Sir Miesko's?"
"Because I want you to stay with Richeza for a few weeks. Remember what I said about her being a truly fine woman? Remember her grace and charm and the way everyone feels comfortable around her? Now, compare her with those 'ladies' at Cieszyn Castle and ask yourself what you want to be like when you grow up." She thought a bit and was suddenly in tears. Her arms went around my neck. "It's okay, pretty girl."
Two days later, we set out at dawn. I was fully armed and on Anna, of course. Krystyana was sidesaddle on her palfrey. Angelo followed on a mule, leading a second mule loaded with roots, bark, herbs, and sea shells.
We arrived at noon. Richeza was charming as always, and if she was offended by my intention to leave in a few hours, she didn't show it. Gossip about our adventures at Cieszyn Castle had already reached her, and she had the insight to invite Krystyana to stay with her before I had a chance to broach the subject.
Still, courtesy forbade my immediate departure, and it was midafternoon before I was on the road again for Cieszyn. "Well, Anna, do you think we can make it before dark?"
Anna nodded her head. She'd always had the disconcerting habit of nodding or shaking her head to questions, as if she actually understood what was said. She probably picked up some clue from my body language, like the famous Clever Hans, but it was still interesting to talk to her.
"Then let's see how fast you can go, but don't strain yourself."
She took off at a full gallop and kept it up for the better part of an hour. Finally, I starting worrying; a good horse will run itself to death if you ask it. I reined her back to a walk. "Easy, girl! You'll hurt yourself."
She shook her head no, took the bit in her teeth, and galloped the rest of the way back to Cieszyn. I dismounted at the city gates to check Anna over. She wasn't even sweating! An amazing horse.
A week later, I got word that Angelo Muskarini had arrived safely at Okoitz with his charge. I was vindicated.
More remained to be done at the brass foundry than I had thought. This business of working in a pit and baking the molds with an open fire was obviously inefficient and wasteful of fuel. We built an oven of clay bricks for drying and baking the clay molds. Eventually we were to build five more.
The lathe had to be huge, and it needed bearings that had to be built before the bushings could be turned. We had to build a small lathe in order to build a big one. The big lathe was too large to be hand-powered, so we built a big barrel cage at the headstock. A man got in this cage and climbed continuously uphill, turning the cage and the part on the lathe.
I was enjoying myself, but it was five weeks before I felt confident enough of the Krakowski brothers to return to Okoitz.
During that time, though I had done the right thing by sending Krystyana to Richeza's "finishing school," I began to suffer for it. When one has had a continuous supply of sex, abstention becomes difficult. I soon discovered that my knightly right to the use of young women did not apply within city limits, and one more visit to Cieszyn Castle convinced me that I wanted nothing there.
Look. I was quite willing to tolerate honest ignorance. Most of the people I had met in the thirteenth century had been brutally poor; they'd had no chance to improve themselves. But those women of the castle had absolutely nothing to do and expended an incredible amount of effort in doing it. They were wrapped up in stupid mind games, courts of love, and "he said that she said that they said . . ." nonsense. They placed an absurdly high value on the virginity of unmarried women and none at all on the chastity of those who were married.
In short, they offended my moral code and were not worth the bother.
There were prostitutes in town, and I tried one. She spend the first half of the evening wheedling me for more money and the second half on the streets after I threw her out.
Mostly, in the evenings I drank a lot. The innkeeper, Tadeusz Wrolawski, became my regular drinking partner. The Krakowski brothers were fine people, you understand, but it is not a good idea to socialize too much with one's subordinates. The role change from drinking buddy to willing worker becomes difficult if one must do it too often. Also, they had their wives to keep content.
"Socialism, Tadeusz!" I explained drunkenly. "This country and this century are in horrible shape because of the lack of socialism!"
"You are absolutely right, Sir Conrad! What is socialism?"
"I am glad that you agree with me, my good friend Tadeusz. All of this business of no work in Cieszyn and too much work in Okoitz and not enough to eat and no sewers and little babies dying can all be cured with a little technology and some organization."
"This sounds marvelous! What is a sewer?"
"All we have to do is to get things organized and apply a little appropriate technology. We have everything else. We have the manpower, and we have the materials. Give us nine years and we'll have things running right and beat the Mongols, besides. Have her bring us some more wine."
"Outstanding! What is a Mongol?"
"Eh? Mongols are little greasy yellow bastards that are going to ride in out of the east and try to kill everybody. They won't do it, though, if we get organized. Blow hell out of them with cannons. Brass cannons, maybe."
"These Mongols are like Tartars?"
"Same bastards. Change their name a lot."
"I have heard some horrible tales from traders from the east. They speak of whole cities put to the sword! Every man, every child, every animal! Not even the women spared for ravishing!"
"Yeah. Those are the bastards. But it's not going to happen here. We'll stop them. It's just a matter of organization. Caring about people. Technology. Socialism."
"You say 'technology.' What is this technology?"
"Why, technology is what I have going at the brass works across the street. New lathes, new ovens, better production processes."
"They certainly are prosperous, Sir Conrad! A month ago they were nothing but three starving men and their families with nothing to do. Now they work from dawn to dusk. Their wives have bought pigs and chickens and new clothes. They have hired a dozen new men!"
"See? Technology triumphant and socialism in action! Another mug of wine?"
"And this technology, it can be applied anywhere? Say, to an inn?"
"Well, of a sort. Technology is mostly sensible thinking about the problems you face. Now, your inn here. You've got a good building. Your rooms are clean. Your food is good, and you make good beer. All you seem to lack are the customers."
"What you say, at least the last part, is true."
"Okay. We agree that the physical plant is adequate. Now, what is the purpose of an inn?"
"Why, to provide food and drink and—"
"Wrong. Your customers could buy wine from a wine seller much cheaper than you sell it. You must buy from the same wine seller and pay your overhead besides. The same goes for food. The markets must be cheaper."
"But for travelers—"
"Transient business is fine, but you are not on a main street. Local business is more important. You must serve the people. There are what? A thousand men of drinking age in town. Maybe another thousand in nearby villages. If you could get a tenth of them to come here regularly, your success would be assured. Once the town's people came here regularly, the travelers would come, too."
"Yes, yes! But how do we do that?"
"Let me think." I didn't know much about managing taverns, but I had been in a great number of them in Poland and America. Some were bad and empty. Some were good and empty. Some were crowded whether they were good or bad. The biggest single factor seemed to be that people went to a given place because people were already there. Getting the first ones there was a matter of advertising—which was impossible in a world without newspapers or radios—and providing something interesting. Something different. I thought of the two or three best places I had found in Massachusetts. A combination of those.
A controls designer lives in a four-dimensional world. When things finally come to me, they come as a working, moving, solid whole. Only later do I string them out in serial fashion.
A vision crystallized in my sodden mind.
"Tadeusz, I know how to do it. You know my arrangement with the Krakowski brothers? Would you like to be socialized as well?"
"That I should be paid thousands of pence and a regular salary besides? Oh, yes my lord!"
"OK. Same deal, but I think your building is worth more than theirs. Say, 3,000p.?"
"Agreed, my lord!"
"Six hundred pence for yourself, yearly, and a twelfth of the surplus, with two hundred pence to your wife?"
"With honor, my lord!"
"Good. We'll swear you in right now."
"But the sun is not up."
"True . . . But there is a full moon and that is more appropriate for an innkeeper. Agreed?"
So, under the moon, with a sleepy chamber maid and the night guard as witnesses, I swore in Tadeusz and his wife. I picked up another pot of wine and we went back to the table. The first order of business was to settle up my present bill, which I did. Then I gave Tadeusz 3,400p.
"Our first rule is that since I own the place, I shall lodge here free. Keep one room open for my own use.
"The second change is the name of the inn. 'The Battle Axe' is entirely too stern. People go to inns because they need to enjoy themselves. We need a light, amusing name. We'll call it the 'Pink Dragon.' I have a wood carver across the street; he'll make a new sign.
"Then, this room is too empty and cavernous. People like crowds. I want some curtains to divide the room in half, another set to divide the front half in half, and a third set so that only the front eighth is exposed. You are to open a set of curtains only when the space before it is so crowded that people are bumping into each other. Understood?"
"Yes, my lord."
"All your present people are to be retained. No firing except for dishonesty."
"Ah. There is the matter of certain salaries being in arrears."
"None of that under socialism. They must be paid. Figure up the amount tomorrow. Oh, yes. We'll need an accounting system. I'll send somebody to keep the books for here and the foundry. You'll think it's a nuisance, but I insist on it. What else? Your pricing! This business of having to haggle over everything has to go. We'll have to work out a reasonable set of prices for everything. Then we post those prices, and they are the same for everybody. No exceptions."
"But what if one is conspicuously wealthy and—"
"No exceptions, not up or down. Then, entertainment. From supper until late, I want some music in here. A single musician at a time will do, and hire them for only a week at a time. See what people like. And waitresses; we'll need half a dozen of them. They must be well paid, since we want the best. Say, four pence a week with another eight pence set aside for their dowries. We'll have a turnover problem. We want the six best-looking maidens available. They must be pretty."
"What! You would turn my inn into a brothel?"
"To the contrary. They must all be virgins and stay that way. See to it yourself."
"My wife would object."
"Then have your wife see to it. Part of her job will be to see to their morality. They must live here at the inn, in some of your back rooms. Customers may look but not touch. See that they are properly barricaded."
"Look?"
"Yes. They'll need some special costumes." With a fingertip and wine, I sketched out what I had in mind on the worn wooden table. "We'll have to get the wood-carver and a leather worker to do the high-heeled shoes. I can show somebody local how to do the stockings, but later they can come from Okoitz."
"You want them dressed as rabbits?"
"The people will like it. Then there is the matter of advertising. It seems that I have considerable notoriety in Cieszyn, or at least my name does. I've been busy at the brass works, and I haven't met very many people here. But in a week or two, once we get this set up, I want you to hire some old women. They are to wander around and tell about how Sir Conrad Stargard, the killer of the Black Eagle, left the ladies of the castle to move into a notorious inn where beautiful women are scantily clothed. That should get some action going."
"It will get good Christians at my door with pikes and torches!"
"Good. Let them in. Sell them some beer. If they are really organized, let the leaders verify the virginity of the waitresses. No problem."
"Uh . . . all this is going to cost money, my lord."
"Right. Here is two thousand pence to cover it. Keep a careful reckoning. Well, it grows late. I bid you good night." I took the half pot of wine to my room. The full moon was halfway to setting. God, it was late.
The next day I overslept dinner and caught a late, cold breakfast in the kitchen. My head hurt, and I had these horrible thoughts about what I had done.
People were cold, people were hungry, the Mongols were coming, and I was wasting valuable resources starting a thirteenth-century bunny club. Oh God, my head hurt.
Thinking drunkenly with my gonads instead of my frontal lobes, I had screwed up again. I tried to leave the inn quietly, hoping to avoid the innkeeper, but no such luck.
"Sir Conrad! At last you are up; I was growing worried! I have followed your orders; already the word is out that I search for the six most beautiful maidens in Cieszyn! I have explained our need to the wood carver, and he will be available tomorrow. But he wishes, of course, to discuss the matter with you."
"Uh . . . Yes . . . I'll talk with him. You realize that for various reasons—our advertising and my relationship with my liege lord—it would be best if my name is not connected with all of this."
"But we must say, in rumors, that you stay here, my lord." Tadeusz really liked having a lord protector.
"Of course. But don't tell anyone that I have any ownership in the place. Swear the witnesses to secrecy."
"As you wish, my lord."
"Hey, the rumor campaign won't work if they know that I own the Pink Dragon."
"As you wish. I have talked with a seamstress. She will have no difficulties with most of the costumes—think; it will be like a continual carnival!—but she wants help with the stockings."
I didn't accomplish much at the foundry that afternoon, and when I got back for supper, the inn was packed. Word had gotten out that the most beautiful maidens in the city would be there. Fully a hundred young males showed up to see what was happening, along with some thirty young hopefuls. I was embarrassed, and the innkeeper expected me to do the choosing.
Stalling for time, I said, "Are you sure that all of them are virgins? Have your wife check it." I ate a meal and drank a pot of wine at the small table that had been reserved for me. I had in mind that his wife should simply ask them, but she felt obligated to actually check for an intact hymen. She passed fourteen of them. How many left because they were embarrassed, I don't know. Apparently, room and board was good wages for a maid. Twelve pence a week on top of that was fabulous.
"And now will you choose the six, my lord?"
Well, one of them was attractive, up to Krystyana's standards. The rest of them were hopeless ducklings, and I felt sorry for them. "No. Let the crowd choose one of them. You talk to them. Have them choose the best five, then the best two, and then a final vote." It seemed the fairest way, and it didn't get me involved.
"But only one?"
"Just do it all again for five more days. Remember what I said about entertainment? Well, this is entertainment."
They took in four hundred pence that night, and afterwards the crowds got bigger.
A week later, as I ate dinner, I got a visit from a local priest, a Father Thomas. I offered him wine, but he refused and immediately got down to business.
"I am worried about your actions, my son, and about your soul."
"But why, Father?"
"You have been responsible for the hiring of young women—virtuous, Christian women from good families—and parading them half naked in a brothel."
"A brothel? By no means, Father! They are waitresses at a good inn, which is the farthest thing from a brothel. They live most virtuous lives, on threat of dismissal! There is no convent that protects its nuns better than we protect our waitresses.
"Aside from the morality of it—and both the innkeeper and I are moral men—aside from it, I say, running a common stews would be bad for business. There are a lot of them in your parish, and they aren't very profitable."
"That others sin is well known. They are not the subject of this conversation."
"But why don't you try to do something about the real fleshpots? Why come to an honest inn?"
"The fleshpots, as you appropriately call them, are sanctioned by their own guild and to a certain extent by the law, if not by the Church. What you are doing is new and is best nipped in the bud."
"Father, we do nothing more than serve food and drink. The waitresses are pretty, but that's the way God made them, and I, for one, appreciate His good work. We do offer lodging, but we do not offer bed partners."
"You dress them in a manner that encourages lechery."
"We dress them in an attractive manner that fully covers their breasts and privy members. Any man wanting to see more may simply go to the public baths, Father."
"The baths have their own guilds and sanctions. The Church will close them down in time. You evade my charge of lechery."
"Father, it is normal for men to appreciate the beauty of women. If looking at pretty girls is a sin, then every normal male in Poland is doomed to hell!
"Please go and inspect the waitresses' rooms. Talk to the girls. Prove to yourself that we are moral."
"I fully intend to make such an inspection," he said, and left.
I was just finishing my meal, washing down my cheese with beer, when the priest returned.
"Sir Conrad, I admit that the situation is much as you described it. If anything, the girls complain of the restrictions placed on them."
"The price of morality, Father." I made a mental note to see just how serious their complaints were. "While you are here, there is another matter that I would like to discuss. One of our waitresses has become fond of a local boy. I have talked with him. His intentions are honorable and his character good. Since she is employed by the inn, it seems fitting that the inn should pay her wedding expenses. Would it be possible for you to perform the ceremony?"
"Why, I suppose that this is quite possible. In fact, I would be delighted."
"Wonderful! I expect that most of our waitresses will soon be married. Virtuous and attractive young ladies don't stay single for long. Perhaps we should discuss group rates." In the next hour, I made an ally of Father Thomas.
As he left, I said, "Father, how did you know that I owned the inn?"
"The Church has its own sources of information, my son."
It was early afternoon, and only one waitress was on duty. Troubled about the waitresses' complaints to the priest, I went back to the girls' dorm, what had been "the ducal suite," even though the duke never slept there. Actually, almost no one had ever slept there since it was priced beyond the means of the usual guest. It made sense to convert it. If it was more magnificent than necessary, well, young girls like that sort of nonsense.
I had arranged inexpensive group rates at a local bathhouse—early afternoons only—for the inn's staff, at the inn's expense. Our people were encouraged to take a daily bath, and the waitresses were required to.
When I called on the girls, the five of them were in various stages of undress, with a preponderance of full nudity. They let me in without bothering to dress. Perhaps their status as untouchables, along with their recent adolescent discovery that men noticed them and that they liked it, was the cause of this display.
I didn't like it. On the one hand, I could hardly break my own rules with regard to their virginity, and, well, a really decent man simply doesn't take a virgin in a casual way. I think that half the world's frigid women are the results of a klutzy male on their first night. Properly done, it takes patience and warmth and a great deal of love. Back in the twentieth century, I'd had two virgins. They'd both left me as wonderful lovers. I was rather proud of my workmanship.
But just then I was horny as hell. I had been three weeks without, and the last thing I needed was five pairs of budding nipples staring at me.
"Put some clothes on, damn it! You'd think we were running a brothel here!" I shouted.
They scurried to cover themselves with towels and blankets. "We were just back from the baths," one of them said. "We were hot."
"Yeah, sure. Fourteen years old and hotter than hell. Now, what are these complaints you've been making about your jobs?"
"Complaints, Sir Conrad? We have no complaints. The pay is wonderful, and the work, I mean, it's like being at a party," the short redhead said.
"Then why were you complaining to the priest who was here today?"
"Oh, that," said a well-endowed blonde, managing to drop her blanket below her belly button. "We were just doing what Mrs. Wrolawski told us to do."
"Cover your breasts. Now, what exactly did the innkeeper's wife tell you to do?"
"She said that if we didn't act as pure as nuns in a convent, the Church would shut down the inn and we'd each be lacking our twelve silver pence per week."
"She also threatened to send us to a nunnery if we weren't convincing," the redhead added.
So Mrs. Wrolawski had eavesdropped on my conversation with the priest and had set things up. Well-a-day. All's well that ends well.
"Okay. But put some clothes on, damn it!"
Most of the waitresses found suitable husbands within six months. The inn paid the wedding expenses, and there was always a "new hiring" the day after. This happened at least once a month and often once a week. For most of our customers, it was their first experience with voting. In my own mind, I could never sort out the morality of it all.
I had no difficulty with the morality of a situation that occurred much later that evening. The inn had closed for the night, but I was up in my room, drinking and doodling with some ideas about a gear-cutting machine. I do much of my best thinking late at night over a bottle. Oh, in the sober light of dawn I throw out three-quarters of it, but the quarter that is left is often very creative.
My room was directly above that used by Tadeusz and his wife. The cooks lived out, the waitresses were fourteen-year-old girls, and it happened that at the time there were no overnight guests. The only men in the inn were Tadeusz, the guard, and myself when the innkeeper's wife screamed. I was shocked sober in an instant.
"Guard!" Tadeusz shouted.
"Shout all you want. Your aging guard has been detained," a sinister, gravelly voice said.
There were more shouts, accusations, and then screams as I flew for the doorway, down the hall, and down the steps. I was wearing the embroidered outfit given me by Count Lambert, and my glove-leather boots made my approach fairly quiet, at least compared with the commotion coming from the innkeeper's room.
A beefy stranger was guarding the doorway. He had a long misericord, and I belatedly realized that I had left my sword belt in my room.
I am not a master of the martial arts, but I had taken the standard military courses in unarmed combat. The important thing is to hit hard and fast. Hesitation can get you killed.
The thug came at me with a clumsy overhand swing. I blocked his dagger with my left forearm and kneed him hard in the groin. He bent over, presenting the back of his head to my clenched fists and his face to my knee.
I took advantage of this opportunity; his nose and teeth gave way with a crunching sound. He fell heavily to the floor, still gripping his knife. I don't like people who pull knives on me in dark hallways, so I stamped hard on his knife hand. Too hard. The bones smashed, and splinters of knuckle bones were driven through the thin soles of my boot, lacerating my foot. Pain shot up my leg.
I picked up the misericord and limped into the room, ducking my head to get through the doorway. "What the hell goes on here?" I inquired.
Two Mafia types were in the room beside the Wrolawskis. The leader of the pair grinned evilly and said, "Just a bit of guild business, stranger. Get out and you'll live longer."
Tadeusz was bleeding from the nose and mouth. His wife's dress was torn, exposing bruised, aging breasts.
"They're from the whoremasters guild!" Tadeusz said, contempt and fear in his voice.
"If your business was honest, you'd come in the daytime," I said. "Now I'm telling you! Get out fast and you'll live."
The leader signaled to his subordinate, and the man came at me with a wide-bladed dagger. He used the same stupid overhand attack as his associate in the hallway.
The misericord is a long, narrow, thrusting weapon designed to pierce chain mail. I blocked the thug's attack as before, but this time at the expense of a slash in the embroidery on my cuff. Gripping him by the shoulder with my left hand, I aimed a gutting thrust at the man's stomach. He pulled his body back, and my knife continued upward, catching him between the chin and neck. The thin blade went entirely through his brain, and a few centimeters of it stuck out from the top of his head.
Over the man's shoulder, I saw the leader hauling back to throw a knife at me. With my hands still on the shoulder and the grip of the knife, I yanked the body upward as a shield. The dead man was much lighter than I had expected, or perhaps the fury of combat increased my strength, but in all events I bashed the thug's head into a low roof beam. The misericord stuck in the wood, and the corpse hung there, the leader's knife in its back.
The leader came at me with his fists, but his sort of hoodlum lives more by fear than by fighting ability. Equally weaponless, I hit him twice, hard, in the stomach.
"Sir Conrad!" Tadeusz shouted.
Suddenly the Mafia type froze, rigid. I was too furious to stop; grabbing him by the shoulder, I chopped viciously with the edge of my right hand, once on each side of the neck, breaking both collar bones.
"Sir Conrad?" the man gasped, his arms hanging unnaturally low.
"Yeah." I was breathing hard.
"The noble knight that killed Sir Rheinburg with a single blow?"
"Among others." I was returning to normal.
"I knew him, sir."
"You look the type."
"We had heard rumors that you were associated with this inn, but the whoremasters guild felt—"
"Well, you felt wrong." The noise had awakened the waitresses, and they were clustered wide-eyed around the doorway. One had a blanket wrapped around her, but the rest were naked.
"Those girls are servants, not whores," I said. "We have nothing to do with the whoremasters guild."
"Yes, sir. That is obviously true, sir."
"So?" I said.
"I may live, sir? I may leave?"
I had to think for a minute. "Yeah. You can live. But you damn well owe us for damages."
"Of course, sir. We always pay our just debts."
"Tadeusz," I said. "What do they owe you for what they've done to your property, for the injury caused to you and your wife?"
"Who can say, Sir Conrad?" the innkeeper said. "But is this wise?"
"Name a number!"
"Perhaps five hundred pence?"
"Good," I said. "Okay, whoremaster. You owe us five hundred pence, not to mention the mess you've made on the floor and the fact that your thugs cut up and bled all over my best outfit. Get out!"
"As you command, Sir Conrad Stargard." He left with as much dignity as he could muster.
"Are you insane, Sir Conrad?" the innkeeper said. "Now they will come back!"
"I doubt it. That kind knows when it's licked."
"But they will! Girls! Quickly! Run to Sir Conrad's room. Bring back his weapons and armor!"
Six naked teenagers scurried off, the one with the blanket having dropped it in the blood pooling under the body that was still stuck to the beam.
"At least bring my wine!" I shouted. I dropped heavily into a chair. The action was over, and I was starting to get the shakes.
I got my wine, but shortly six pretty, nude girls, at Tadeusz's insistence, were stripping off my outer clothes and lacing me into padded leather and chain mail.
"This is stupid. They won't be back," I said, but I was wrong.
Once I was fully armed, we searched out and found the inn's guard. He had a huge knot on the side of his head and was bound, gagged, and furious. He smiled at the corpse stuck to the ceiling, and when the other thug started moaning, he took particular pleasure in tying the man up.
"Yes," the guard said, gripping his sword. "Let them come back."
"Hey," I said. "If you people are that worried, why not send for the count's guardsmen?"
"Certainly, Sir Conrad," the innkeeper said. "But who would dare go out into the night?"
"Oh, hell. I'll do it myself," I said. "And have these girls get some clothes on. They act like this really is a brothel!"
"And leave us defenseless?" one of the girls squealed.
"Shit." I sat down and took a long pull of wine. There was nothing for it but to wait until they all calmed down and went back to bed. Anyway, my injured foot was throbbing.
The girls were passing out knives from the kitchen, which was absolutely stupid. If you don't know how to use a weapon, you are much better off without it.
In their excitement, they had forgotten my instructions to get dressed. Or perhaps running around naked with knives seemed more adventurous to them. Mrs. Wrolawski, who usually kept them in check, was sitting, stunned, on her bed.
She hadn't even made an effort to cover her bruised breasts. Her husband was sitting in the other chair in a blue funk, blood still dripping from his nose. The guard was looking for an excuse to kill somebody, the girls were working out a set of heroic passwords, the body was still stuck to the ceiling, and my foot hurt.
Damn, what a lunatic night! My mother told me I should have gone to the beach.
There was a knock at the door.
Everyone in the room froze. Even the previously murderous guard was suddenly sweating.
"Never mind," I said. "I'll get it."
I limped down the hall to the main door. One more piece of insanity and I was going to scream. I did take the precaution of drawing my sword before opening the door.
"Ah. Sir Conrad Stargard, I believe," said the well-dressed gentleman before me. "Please note that we come unarmed and with goodwill. We wish to make amends for certain unpleasantries that occurred earlier this evening."
There were six of them, two men and four women. They presented Tadeusz with a purse containing five hundred pence, removed the dead and wounded men, and, with buckets of warm, soapy water that they had brought with them, cleaned up the blood on the floor.
"These, of course, are yours by right of combat," the gentleman said, presenting me with the newly cleaned misericord, the wide-bladed knife, and the leader's throwing knife. All three were sheathed. He must have brought the leader's sheath with him.
"Certain other amends will be made at the earliest opportunity. In the interim, I wish you a pleasant sleep and our assurances of our continued goodwill."
And they left.
"That's it, gang. Back to bed," I said, and took a long pull of wine.
A week later, a messenger delivered to me four complete outfits, all beautifully embroidered and one almost an exact duplicate of the one that had been damaged. He also brought a red velvet barding for Anna and a matching surcoat for me, both embroidered with gold thread.
All of it fit perfectly. I never found out how they got the sizes, but I was never again troubled by the underworld.