Escape from the Past (22 page)

The men around me didn’t seem to notice and walked on. In front, a couple of riders broke loose and disappeared. The path rose and I had trouble keeping up. My arms felt heavy from the chain, my legs weak from lack of water and rest. I wanted to lie down and sleep. By the time the walls of the strange castle came into view, I was ready to collapse. Still, we walked, past the sentries into the bailey, past the square keep to the base of the tower. My guards stopped and unlocked the chain.

With horror I looked at the wooden board hanging from the stone wall. It had a large opening in the middle and a smaller one on each side. The plank opened lengthwise and I felt my arms being yanked upward. Then the board was closed and locked in place. I stood, neck and wrists stuck inside the torturous wood—an utterly simple and effective tool of misery. The guard who’d opened his chains threw a last glance at me before joining his friends. I was alone.

I thought about my visits to the Hanstein ruins where I’d seen a stock board near the back gate. At the time, I’d been fascinated with it. Now, I was living it. The hole for my neck was large so I could twist my head from side to side. My feet and legs were beyond tired and I tried sitting down. But as soon as I lowered my legs, the chain in the wall yanked me to a stop, my chin hitting the plank.

The buildings were much smaller than Hanstein’s towers and keep. I was sure I hadn’t been here before. I leaned against the wall, taking weight off my feet, but the icy stones in my back made me shiver.

Why hadn’t I stayed in Werner’s castle? I’d been safe and reasonably accepted among the men. I had Bero…and Juliana. I’d
wanted to show off my bravery, impress them. Just like I’d try to impress Jimmy’s dad with my gaming. Ha! I’d been stupid, stupid and more stupid. Now I’d die. This was no game. I’d die a miserable, drawn-out death. I shuddered, imagining what other torture instruments waited for me.

The wind whipped around me and the clouds, heavy and dark with water would soon break open. My cheeks turned cold. I was crying, but so numb that I had no strength to feel embarrassed. Who gave a shit? Despite my misery I nodded off.

The clanking of metal woke me. A hand appeared on the right edge of the board. Somebody was fiddling with the plank behind my back.

“Walk,” the guard from earlier said. “You’re to see His Lordship.”

We entered the building through a stone gate. Unable to see my feet, I stumbled along the bumpy ground. My arms were numb from being locked in the board, the rough wood scraping its way into my neck.

The room was Spartan, the man-sized hearth smoldering with a few logs, not nearly enough to warm the space. In the middle of the flag-stoned floor stood a lone table, occupied by a skinny figure. I thought he looked vaguely familiar, but the two torches along the walls created more shadows than light. A single candle burned on the table.

My eyes widened in surprise when I stopped in front of the desk. The skinny man behind it was the Duke von Schwarzburg. He bent over a stack of vellum scrolls. His hair, stringy with grease, hung curtain-like around a thinning spot on the back of his head. He wore his red velvet and yellow stockings.

With a pang I remembered the plume-wearing soldier. He was the guy with the icy voice I’d seen in the woods on my first day. Bero had called him a henchman. He’d ordered to cut off the peasant’s archer finger. For a split-second I wondered what had happened to the prisoner. But then my attention was drawn to
the man in front of me, and I began to tremble.

Nobody spoke as the beadle studied his papers with his nose inches from the surface. At last he looked up. He stared at me without speaking, his deep-set eyes impossible to read.

“Your name is Max Nerds,” he finally said. He sounded like he was short of breath.

“Yes, My Lord.”

“You’re a spy for Hanstein.”

“No, My Lord,” I stumbled. The beadle raised an arm to cut me off.

“You are involved in treasonous activities against me, Duke von Schwarzburg, and the archbishop of Mainz.”

“I’m no spy,” I tried, but the Duke waved his arm again as if I were a bratty child. The guard slapped me, my right cheek burning with pain.

The beadle leaned back, something like satisfaction on his face. “You will answer my questions, will you not?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Good, then you have nothing to fear.”

Unlikely, I thought.

“How do you know Werner von Hanstein?”

“I met him a few weeks ago when I visited the castle.”

“So you just travel about visiting castles?”

I stared at the beadle. I opened my mouth and closed it. Nothing I could say would satisfy the jerk.

“We’ll come back to that later. What did you do for Hanstein?”

“Nothing, I…”

“Lie!” The Duke straightened his scrawny back and puffed out his chest. “What did you do for him?”

“He helped me get Juliana to safety.”

“Where have I heard that name?” He dunked his quill and scratched something on the parchment.
Juliana.

I shuddered. I was worse than stupid. Now I’d given the beadle reason to snoop into Juliana’s family. I thought of her face,
the brown hair and my favorite, her doe eyes, the way her lips felt on mine.

“…answer.”

“What?”

Another smack on the cheek. “I visited the Lord and he…” I faltered. The Duke’s face was tight now, his lips pressed together and his eyes squinted with impatience.

“What about the harvest festival?”

“What about it?”

“My tolerance is running thin.” His bony fist smashed into the parchment. “What did you do at the festival?”

I thought back. “I went to the Klausenhof and had dinner and a few beers. I got hit over the head by Ott’s men and they took me and Bero to Ott’s manor.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Good question.” It was out before I had time to close my mouth. Darn, I had no experience with interrogation.

The Duke’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’m a fool? I will not be deceived.” He nodded to the guards. “Take him away. I have all the time in the world.”

You look like a sore excuse for a human being I wanted to scream. No wonder Lady Clara got the creeps with you. But I was terrified. The guards led me outside. This time we marched to a low-roofed building near the outer walls. Metal clanked against stone, cold sounds. Inside, it was dark, the only light coming from the opened entry. The guard removed the stock board and shoved me into one of the two cells, throwing shut the iron-reinforced door.

It became dark except for a few needle-fine rays in the roof. I sank to the floor and immediately rose again. The straw was drenched with excrement and urine. As my eyes adjusted to the blackness, I stepped off my prison. Ott’s chicken coop had been a palace compared to this hole. It was a dungeon above ground. I heard rustling as something flittered across my shoes. I kicked
and screamed at the same time. Rats.

I’d lose my mind though I’d probably die of thirst first. My throat had turned to dust as I tried to swallow. My last drink had been last night in Lady Clara’s chamber—a hundred years ago. I had to distract myself.

I walked back and forth to investigate. The place was empty, not even a bucket or a cup. Just straw that had been used as a toilet for the last fifty years. At last, when my thigh muscles wobbled, I slumped to the floor. The straw near the door seemed cleanest as I leaned back and shut my eyes. Exhaustion took over, but my mind refused to shut off and let me escape into sleep.

Werner would come and get me. They’d miss me, and Bero and Juliana would sound the alarm. The Lord and his knights would attack. After all, hadn’t Werner said as much? He was certainly stinking mad over Schwarzburg’s assault on his men and killing Enders’ uncle. I let myself imagine how Werner would charge into the dungeon and tear open the door with his bare hands. Then he’d find Schwarzburg and take him prisoner. I grinned.

But when I thought of last night my smile faded. I’d snuck away without telling anyone about my plans, not even Bero or Juliana. Bero’s mother had seen me leave just fine. The Duke’s guards had grabbed me in the woods. Nobody knew where I was. Why would they think I’d be at the Duke’s castle? And hadn’t I just shown up out of nowhere? They’d expect me to disappear into nowhere.

I cleared my throat. Nobody would come to help me. I was alone.

Still my mind raced on. Even
if
Werner knew. Why would he come to rescue me? We weren’t related, and I’d just been a visitor, neither nobility nor a knight. Werner didn’t owe me anything.

I opened my eyes. The realization that I’d be killed by the beadle seemed too weird. I started to giggle, then laugh out loud. I laughed until my ribs hurt and I panted for breath. I was going
crazy all right.

“What’s your name?” a voice said.

I stopped and listened. Silence. I was imagining things. I barely made out the ceiling and the walls seemed solid stone.

“
Hallo
?” I tried.

“Hello.” The voice filtered through the stone. It seemed to come from above, flutter like a voice from heaven. Was I talking to God? No, God would know my name. I suppressed another giggle. Positively nuts.

“I’m Max.”

“Lippold von Bergen.”

The guy was a lord. “Why are you here?” I asked.

“Duke von Schwarzburg accuses me of stealing taxes.” The guy chuckled as if it were a joke. “Except the two villages have been in my family for generations.”

“How can he do that?”

“He has the backing of the archbishop. Of what crime did he accuse you, Max?”

“He thinks I’m spying for Lord von Hanstein.”

“Ah, Knight Werner—a good man.”

“Have you met him?”

“Only once at an audience for Ludwig III, the Landgrave of Hessen. They’re friends, Werner and the Landgrave.”

I remained silent. All these names made me dizzy. I hadn’t exactly paid attention during history classes.

“His repute is that of a proud and just man. Unlike this one,” Lippold added. “What did you fabricate to arouse the suspicion of Schwarzburg?”

“I didn’t do anything except visit castle Hanstein.”

“Let me advise you, young Max. You are a young man, I gather?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

For a moment it was silent on the other side of the wall as if Lippold had to search for the right words. “You must tell
Schwarzburg what you did. He may show mercy. It is your only chance.”

“But I didn’t do anything.” I sank back into the straw. The wall had turned quiet.

When I woke I couldn’t tell what time or day it was or how long I’d slept. A slot opened in the door. A cup and a chunk of bread were tossed inside. I grabbed them before it turned dark again. I sniffed. The water smelled funny, not exactly dirty, but not clean either. I wondered if it was rainwater. If I drank it, I might get diarrhea or worse. If I didn’t drink it, I’d die of organ failure and my kidneys would shut down. I thought of the TV shows where people had drunk their own urine. Disgusting.

I stuck out my tongue and dipped it into the water. Not seeing anything made things worse. I imagined bugs swimming in the cup or someone adding poison. At last, my thirst was stronger and I drank. Slowly, one tiny sip at a time, I wetted throat and tongue. Nothing else seemed to matter.

I remembered the bread and sniffed it. The sour odor was repulsive and the bread was hard as the walls of my prison. I gnawed and ripped a piece off, chewing slowly. Then another. Mechanically, I chewed, pushing all thought of revulsion from my consciousness. I had to eat for energy.

Then I rolled into a ball and slept.

When I woke again it was completely black. Night. I felt as if I were in a vacuum. All I heard were tiny feet rooting through the straw. My roommates, the rats. My skin itched and no matter how I scratched, I found no relief. I had fleas or lice for sure. I thought of the horrible diseases we’d studied in school. The bubonic plague was transmitted through fleas of rodents.

A hundred years ago, millions of people, one quarter of Europe, had died from the Black Death. What if I picked up something like that. What were the symptoms? My throat already
scratched and made it hard to swallow. I fingered my neck and armpits in search of swollen lymph nodes. So far, they seemed normal.

We’d talked about lepers in school, how they were kept in special houses outside the villages. Chances were good I’d get
something.
A rattling sigh escaped from my chest. I was going to die in this hole.

I lifted my hand to sniff. It reeked and my new clothes were crusted with filth. It seemed easy to let myself go and give up. Or was it? I’d always been competitive, a decent soccer player and a runner. Not like the jocks who built muscle as a hobby. I was way too thin for that. But this was a mental game.

The Duke wanted me weak to force me to admit my crimes. Except I had nothing to say. I’d be unable to explain my appearance in this town from the start. Because I didn’t have a clue how this horrific game worked. All I knew was that I’d traveled through time. And I had no idea how to return. Not even the smallest clue. The hopelessness of the situation made me choke. For a moment I thought I’d stop breathing altogether. Then I heaved, my stomach clenching but nothing coming up except bile. I was going to die here alone and nobody would ever know where I’d gone.

I dozed and woke again, my bowels churning. I squatted in the corner, disgusted with my own bodily functions.

I needed to talk to prove to myself that I was still alive. I knew I was getting weaker. My muscles were turning to mush from lack of use and nutrition. Remembering some of the prison movies, I’d watched, I got up and stretched. My legs and arms felt as if they were filled with rocks. I dragged myself to the wall. With hands outstretched, I walked back and forth.

Every few minutes I had to rest. My lungs wheezed, but I forced myself to get back up. More walking. At last I sank to the ground, back against the wall, utterly exhausted. I wouldn’t be able to go on for long without decent food. All I’d gotten were
moldy stinky chunks of bread. I dozed and woke again. The needle-thin beams of light were back.