Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 19

Archie


The eighth hour of the night sounded, and I roused from where I had rolled up in Otto’s old cloak to sleep in the straw of Cortana’s stall. I lay there for a moment, gathering my thoughts, until I heard Otto’s soft steps moving toward me.

“That’s eight of the clock, Master Gottesfreund.” His voice was low, as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear him. I agreed with that—I did not particularly want anyone else hearing us as well.

I rolled to one knee, then rose, pushing on Cortana’s hindquarters to shift him out of my way. He swatted me with his tail in response. I straightened my clothes and the cloak, and stepped out of the stall, smacking my lips. “Got anything to drink out here, Otto?”

He waved at a couple of buckets. “Some water for the horses.” I tilted my head down a bit and stared out at him from under lowered eyebrows, saying nothing. The smile playing around the corners of his mouth wriggled free and creased his face. “Or I have a half bottle of red wine well on its way to becoming vinegar and I have a small bottle of genever I was just about to open.”

“I’ll take a sip or two of the genever, if I may,” I responded. “Just enough to fuel the fire and clear the thoughts, mind you.”

He stepped over to a small cabinet and pulled a small ceramic bottle from the top shelf from behind some other stuff. “I keep it hidden,” he said, “to keep the boys from finding it.” He twisted the cap from the bottle, took a swig of his own genever, and then passed me the bottle.

I took one small sip, just to try it. It was strong, but not as raw as I’d been afraid it would be. Genever can be as smooth as silk, or it can be so harsh that it claws its way down your throat. This was somewhere around the median of the two. I took a larger sip and held it in my mouth as I passed the bottle back to Otto. He took another sip, said, “Smooth, isn’t it?” before he turned to put the bottle back in the cabinet. I swallowed and decided that my understanding of smoothness differed somewhat from Otto’s.

I reached over and took from the peg on the outside wall of the stall the narrow-brimmed tall-crowned hat that Otto had loaned me along with the cloak, and settled it on my head. It was just enough too small that I had to force the band down and around my skull, leaving a feeling as if a giant had his hands wrapped around my head and was squeezing. I was thankful he wasn’t squeezing with all his strength, and I had a feeling I would be glad enough for that taste of genever before I got back to the stable.

Otto raised his eyebrows in the lantern light, and I nodded. “Time to be about it,” I said.

“I’ll have this fine fellow ready for you when you return,” Otto said.

“Thanks. Bear in mind I may be in a bit of a hurry when I do.” With that, I slipped out the door of the stable, closing it behind me, then moved around the side of the inn and out into the street.

One of the reasons I had left so much before the time I had set for the meeting was to give my eyes time to readjust to the dark. Oh, there were occasional torches flickering in the night breeze, but not many, and the moon hadn’t risen above the city walls yet, so it was almost as dark as the inside of a miner’s heart. The light of the stable lantern had fair dazzled my sight, and I needed time to get my night vision back. Colonel Farquhar’s company had never really done night maneuvers, but sneaking back into camp after hours when I’d had a bit too much to drink, or even worse, not enough, had given me more experience in the art of stealth than riding a braw great horse ever would have.

‘Twasn’t long before I was nestled among three elm trees standing cheek by jowl perhaps three or four rods from the corner of the Dom. With no moon I was just another trunk standing under leaf and dark in the shadows. I heard the clock strike the half hour and leaned back against the trunk of the tree I stood before. It might be a half hour before my guests arrived, but I’d have wagered even Master Titus’ silver on them arriving some time before that. I would have, in their place. I suppressed a snort when it dawned on me that I had already done exactly that.

I had learned the knack of standing watch silently and still among the Scots. Not that they were masters of it, mind you—perish that thought, unruly lot that they are, my own kin included. But there was an old sergeant among Colonel Farquhar’s men that took a shine to me for some mysterious reason who explained to me in the pithiest of terms that sentries in the field who made noise tended to not come back to camp, or at least not in one piece. After seeing the truth of that one night in Flanders and having to help bury the result, I took his lessons to my bosom. It’s not all that difficult once you learn the tricks of tensing alternate muscles between legs and arms to keep loose and warm, and learn to breath slowly through your nose.

As the quarter-hour sounded, I saw two shadows round the corner of the Dom and stand facing generally south. I heard murmurs of conversation, but very low, so that I heard naught of what was said. After a moment, they separated. One remained where he was, standing out from the building, and the other faded around the corner to stand with his back against the Dom’s western wall.

Some few minutes passed, and the visible man began to slowly pace one direction then back again, three paces to a length. I suppressed the head shake I wanted to give. No patience, this lad. A surprising flaw in a Jesuit priest.

I slowly slipped my hands into my jerkin pockets and slid my fingers into the brass knuckles, pulling them out to hang at the end of my arms weighting them down straight. A moment later, the hour struck. At the ninth peal, I straightened. Right. Time to do this.

As soon as I stepped out of the shadow of the trees, the fellow stopped his pacing and turned to face me. Four rods is thirty paces, or near enough. I stopped about eight paces away and put my fists on my hips under the cloak.

“You the fellows looking for word about Archie Gottesfreund?” I pitched my voice to the sound of Jena, mocking the tone of Heinrich as I did so.

“Who’s asking?” The fellow facing me had a smooth tenor voice, much like I would expect a priest to have.

“The fellow who sent word to the two men asking about Archie, is who. Now, are you them, or aren’t you?” After a beat, before he could respond, I added, “And tell your friend to come out from behind the corner. He’s not fooling anyone playing the lurker.”

He looked back over his shoulder, and after a moment the other fellow came around the corner and joined his friend. They were pretty much of a size, largish, thick bodies from the look of it, and standing square on their feet. The thought crossed my mind these might not be priests.

“So, you them or not?” I said, dropping my hands and moving a step or so closer1.

“Well, if you’re the man with the word, then, ja, we’re the fellows looking for the word.” That was the second man. His voice was likewise a tenor, but it had a sound of a wood rasp running across a knot on a beam—coarse and annoying, it was. Made me want to shake my head, it did.

“Oh, I have more than one word,” I said with a chuckle following. “Which one is it you want, and what’s in it for me?” I leaned forward a bit and slid another step closer.

“A simple word, actually,” the first fellow replied, “with perhaps a couple of good silver guilders to buy your beer with tomorrow night.”

I gave a big snort. “Friend, two guilders wouldn’t buy the name of my horse, much less a good word about Gottesfreund.” I started to turn away.

“Wait!” That was the second fellow. I paused, then turned back, advancing another step as I did so. “Two guilders to start, and six if the word is good.”

I shook my head. “You lot are worse than the usurious Jews. I expected better out of Jesuits.”

They looked at each other. “Who…” the second began, only to stop when the other put a hand on his arm.

“What do you want?” the smooth tenor said.

“Five now, ten more when you see the worth of my word.” I let a bit of avarice bleed into my voice.

They looked at each other, then back to me. “Done.”

“Show me the coin.”

The first one pulled a purse from his belt and counted out coin slowly into his friend’s hand. “One…two…three…four…five.” I edged forward another step and a half as he did so. He closed the purse and tucked it back inside his belt. “See, we’re dealing honest with you. Five you said, five you’ll have.”

I took one more step and stood easily. “That’s good, lads. That’s right good. But you made one mistake.”

They both tensed, and the smooth-voiced one tilted his head. “Mistake? In what way?”

My brass-knuckled hands burst up in short hard punches that took them both just below the breastbone. The smooth one’s mouth locked open but no sound came forth before he dropped to his knees, hands going to his chest as if his heart had stopped.

The other fellow wasn’t hit as solidly, and he wobbled back a step trying to raise his hands. I followed and buried my right hand in his belly. He gave an agonized grunt as he dropped to his knees. I brought the ham of my fist down on the back of his neck, and he sprawled on the paving stones.

Turning back to the first one, I pulled him to his feet and pushed his left side against the wall, after which I hammered him half-a-dozen times in that big muscle at the top of the arm. I knew from experience just how much deep bruising the brass knuckles could give. My goal was to punish, not severely injure. Enough to keep them in town for at least a couple of days was what I wanted.

A quick glance over my shoulder to make sure the other one wasn’t up yet—he wasn’t—and I spun the first man to face the wall and then hammered his left arse with another half-a-dozen blows. With a sore shoulder and an aching hip, he’d not be riding anywhere for a while, and he’d doubtless have colorful skin for some time after.

I let him slide down the wall while I stepped over to collect the harsh-voiced one who was trying to regain his feet. He’d almost accomplished that feat—attaining his feet, that is—when I grabbed him by the collar and threw him against the wall, where I proceeded to give him the same deserts that his friend and brother had taken.

At the end, I crouched on my hams before where they lay crumpled, forearms resting on my knees. I could tell from the occasional moan and their breathing that they were aware.

“Sorry, lads, but I couldn’t have you traipsing along after me. A mite inconvenient that would be.” I was back to my normal voice. “You’ll be sore for a few days, and doubtless you won’t be sitting a saddle with comfort for a while, but take some heart…if I’d been seriously irked at the two of you, you’d both be dead at this moment.”

“You’re…Gottesfreund?” That was from the harsh-voiced fellow. He lay slumped against the wall, breathing hard, but I could tell his eyes were fixed on me.

“Aye, I am God’s friend, and while I may not be a friend to Jesuits, I have no great enmity for them—or you in particular—either. I suggest you lot—all of you—not make me rethink that.” A thought recurred to me. “Hang on—you lads aren’t priests, are you? Lay brothers, the two of you?”

Neither spoke, but I could see them glance at each other. I chuckled, then said, “You might ask your superiors for more training in spy craft. A bit clumsy about it, you were.”

I stood and turned to go.

“What…” husked the smooth voiced one, “what mistake?”

I turned back to face them. “A simple one, one that a very child would know better than to make.”

“What?” His voice almost broke.

“Lad,” I said gently, “you let me get too close.”

And with that, I was gone.

***

I slipped into the stable, but the door hinge squeaked a bit and Otto roused from where he was drowsing atop a barrel that I had seen contained grain for the stable’s inhabitants. I tossed the cloak and hat at him, pulled my buff coat from the peg in the wall where it hung and pulled it on, letting its weight settle on my shoulders like the arms of a familiar old friend, then took my wide-brimmed hat from the adjacent peg and donned it as well.

By then Otto was leading Cortana out of his erstwhile stall. He turned his head and nosed my hat as I checked his girths. Unless you’re fleeing for your life—and maybe especially then—always check your girths. It’s a sickening feeling to have your saddle start shifting under you.

I took another purse from my belt. “I’ve paid Master Tobias for Maus’ upkeep, but for your help tonight, and for the promise of caring for Maus until I either return or send for him, this is yours. Another ten guilders. Oh, and be sure Georg gets the last of his payment.”

Otto said nothing, just nodded and took the purse and made it disappear into his jerkin. I led Cortana out into the stable court and mounted, then looked down at Otto and touched my hand to the brim of my hat before nudging Cortana with my heels.

There were two guards at the north gate that night. Justus was true to Otto’s word. When I asked for him, he stepped forward. When I held up two guilders, he grinned and opened the small gate-within-the gate. I had to dismount to lead Cortana through, dropping the coins in Justus’ hand as I did so. Once outside the closed gate, I mounted again, looked up to where the partial moon was starting to rise, and nudged Cortana into motion. He wasn’t happy at walking in the dark, and neither was I, but I didn’t plan to ride far—just enough to get beyond sight of the walls and leave a bit of a quandary for those who might take it in their heads to try and follow me on the morrow. Bad cess to them as might try it.



Back | Next
Framed