Escape from the Past (3 page)

I vehemently shook my head. “No, no, I’m just lost and need a place for the night.”

Bero’s mother stepped closer still. She was inches shorter, yet her shoulders were wide and her arms thick and muscled. I shrank back. She’d beat me to a pulp no problem. To my horror she extended an arm to inspect my hair. “What’s a lad like you doing in the Lord’s forest? You look like a stranger. A conjurer perhaps.”

“He said he is from the village,” Bero intercepted. I wished he’d shut up. It was nerve-wracking enough to deal with Bero. The woman was positively frightening—nothing like my mother who was gentle and sweet.

“I’m visiting,” I tried. Maybe it was best to say as little as possible.

Bero’s mother grabbed my T-shirt and rubbed the fabric between thumb and forefinger. “Your clothes are…odd.” Then her eyes fell on my shoes, half hidden in the straw. Obviously not hidden enough. She got on her knees mumbling something. Then she crossed herself again. I stood waiting and hoping my legs wouldn’t tremble. To keep from fidgeting, I stuck my hands in my pockets, my right fingertips making contact with something within.

I’d forgotten about the knife and wristwatch. The band was broken and I’d procrastinated having it fixed. What if she searched me and found my stuff? They’d call me a witch for sure. Wait. Weren’t those female? What was the male equivalent of a witch?

“You cannot stay, it’s devil’s work.” She straightened and crossed her arms.

Bero watched from the bench. “I think he’ll be fine. He’ll work
for me.” I stared back. Was he high? I was going to do no such thing.

“Let him stay,” the girl said, her eyes glowing with curiosity. “He’s thin. He won’t eat much.”

“He’ll be an extra hand,” Bero said.

The mother continued staring and for a moment the room grew silent. At last she stood and poked a forefinger at my chest. “Visiting, hmm?”

“Yes, Mam.”

“All alone? No mother to take care of you then.”

“Yes.” I fought to hold her gaze though I wanted to disappear and go home. Have dinner with my mother.

“It is agreed then. For tonight. Don’t think I won’t be watching you.”

“Thank you,” I stammered. It sounded like a sigh.

“Let’s eat. Adela, fill the bowls.” The mother grabbed a clay flask and filled four stone mugs while Bero patted the seat next to him.

I sagged on the bench. Bero grabbed hold of his wooden spoon, but stopped in midair.

“We pray.” The mother’s eyes flashed a warning before she lowered her head. I watched Bero obediently bend forward and followed suit.

“Unser Vater inn dem himel.

Deine name sey heylig.

Dein reich kome…”

My thoughts drifted. She recited some old-fashioned version of the Lord’s Prayer. I was in the twilight zone and the sick dream continued.

“Amen.”

Snapping awake I surveyed the table. Within a split-second Bero stuffed his mouth, chewing and swallowing loudly. His mother broke a piece off a grayish loaf and offered it to me. I sniffed and took a tiny bite. Bread. Despite the grainy texture it
tasted good. But when I took a spoonful from the bowl, I nearly spat it back. It tasted as it looked: slimy gunk like snot and completely flavorless. I snatched the mug to wash it down. The liquid smelled slightly bitter and I managed to swallow. At least, this stuff didn’t taste too bad. I tried another bite of slime and chased it with the bread. When I looked up from my bowl, I found the girl staring at me. I stared back. Maybe it was my imagination but it sure looked like she turned pink.

“What’s this?” I asked, taking another gulp from the cup. Somehow I felt light-headed and heavy at the same time. The bowl in front of me refused to empty.

“Ale,” Bero said. “I’ll eat your gruel if you don’t.”

“Hush, Bero,” his mother said. “Let him eat in peace.”

I sensed an opportunity to rid myself of the crap in the bowl. “I’m not that hungry. Bero can finish it.” I pushed the gunk sideways.

Without comment Bero gobbled it down in record speed.

My legs felt like rocks, my head filled with air, incapable of clear thought. Maybe the beer was getting to me. Or the stinky air, virtually devoid of oxygen. I ached to lie down, had it not been for my overfilled bladder. Why hadn’t I peed in the woods? I thought of the tiled bathroom my mother kept spotless.

When Bero’s mother and Adela got up, I cleared my throat and whispered toward Bero who was picking a few forgotten bread-crumbs off the table. “Where’s your bathroom?”

Bero wrinkled his forehead. “What’s that?”

“Got to piss.”

“We have an outhouse.” Pride swung in Bero’s voice. “I built it myself last year.” He jumped up and climbed across the bench. “What’re you waiting for?”

I forced my sluggish legs to follow Bero out the door. The sky shimmered white, sprinkled with more stars than I’d ever seen.

Bero pointed toward a shadowy contraption behind the house. “The privy.” A horrific stench floated around it like a
cloud. Where was a tree when you needed one? Holding my breath, I opened the door—pitch-black. I’d seen an outhouse in a museum once. Arms outstretched I felt my way inside. My fingers touched rough wood and something soft, like leaves. My lungs bucked and I drew breath. The stink made me gag. I clamped my mouth shut while struggling to urinate into the hole.

I emerged and gulped more air to get the smell out of my nose.

“My turn,” Bero said, slipping past me. I stumbled toward the hut’s entrance, dreading to sleep among the unwashed people. But what choice did I have?

Bero reappeared and grabbed a ladder, leaning against the side of the house.

“We sleep on top.” I now noticed that the low half of the ceiling formed a sort of loft. Bero climbed with his usual quickness. I followed, trying to ignore the giggles that came from the back corner. Adela was nearly invisible in the shadows, but she couldn’t suppress the bubbly sounds of nervous laughter. Below us, Bero’s mother cleared her throat. It was all that was needed to shut up the girl.

I lay on my side, a coarse straw-filled sack underneath and a slightly softer linen sheet on top. Everything reeked and I wished my nose would quit working. How the heck was I playing a game when I actually ate real food and drank beer? Jimmy’s father had created something monstrous and I had fallen for it. How could I’ve been so anxious to get my hands on the freaking game? I could’ve been in my own clean bed instead of feeling itchy and smelly and dreaming of a nice hot shower.

Look at the bright side, I smirked. At least I’m sleeping inside instead of in the woods with wild animals, rain and nothing to eat. What I knew of peasant life, they were scraping by. They’d shared their food and their beds. I sighed. What game was I playing? Exhaustion finally took over and I fell asleep.

I rolled on my back and listened to the sounds of pots clanging. Breakfast had to be ready. I was hungry for fresh-baked rolls, butter and homemade strawberry jam. But when I opened my eyes, I discovered two greenish beetles a foot from my nose, scampering and taking cover inside the thatch. I jolted sideway as the memories of last night came crashing back.

Beneath me, Adela placed three mugs on the table. She hummed quietly while adjusting a blond curl that had escaped her cap. The first rays of sunlight illuminated a cloud of dust swirling through the room.

“You awake? It’s late.” Bero’s face came into view from below.

I nodded and struggled to sit. Remembering the roof at the last second, I swung my legs over the edge and climbed down the ladder. My throat felt like sawdust. I wanted a nice glass of orange juice followed by a cup of coffee with cream. I’d discovered coffee recently and loved the caffeine jolt—especially when I stayed up late gaming. I sniffed, but nothing smelled remotely like my kitchen at home.

“Let’s eat,” Bero said. “We’ve got work to do.”

Adela smiled at me and filled our mugs from a carafe. Bero had taken hold of the bread from last night and tossed a chunk to me.

“Eat.”

I took a sip from the mug. It was lukewarm and smelled like watered-down sour milk. “What is this?” I said, quickly biting into the bread. I hated milk and this tasted disgusting.

“Whey,” Adela said, her eyes quickly scanning my face. “We get it cheap from the neighbor. They have a cow.”

“Can I just have water?” With the mother absent, I felt a bit braver.

“What would you need water for? People get sick from it,”
Bero said through bulging cheeks.

I decided to let it go. I wasn’t up yet for another argument. Holding my breath, I took another sip and chased it with bread. At this rate I was going to lose serious weight.

“Where’s your mother?”

“Tending the field.” Bero threw a scolding glance at his sister.

Adela jumped from her seat. “I’m going to help her now.” She quickly looked at me before disappearing out the door.

Still chewing, Bero got up. “Hurry, we’ll miss the market.” He poured water into the cups, swirled and hurled the mixture out the front door. Then he took hold of two baskets filled with leeks, carrots and onions.

I stretched my achy shoulders, unsure what I was supposed to do. Here I’d thought things would sort themselves out in the morning. But nothing had changed. I was still in the rotten game and no closer to figuring out what to do. I’d just eaten the lousiest breakfast in history and instead of heading to school for my algebra test I was still standing in a shack.

“What’re you waiting for?” Bero dragged the two baskets outside. “You going with me, or what? I could use the help.”

I hurried after him. What else was I going to do anyway? I could at least check out the village. Lifting the basket I swung it on my shoulder. It weighed a ton. Despite his slender figure, Bero seemed untroubled and rushed ahead. I strained to keep up.

Lath and plaster huts lined the muddy lane, their roofs covered with reed or a patchwork of wood shingles. They were surrounded by an assembly of outbuildings, crooked fences and miniature gardens filled with the remnants of food crops. Chickens clucked, their feathers dusty and shredded. I jumped when someone hurled a bucket of garbage into the street. As we rounded a corner, I stopped. In front of me stood the old
Klausenhof
restaurant and hotel where I used to have lunch with my parents on Sundays. Tourists came from all over to gawk at
the historic architecture, its antique rooms decorated with knights’ armor like silvery ghosts. They came to eat venison and potato dumplings, their heads filled with the romance of the Middle Ages.

But
this
Klausenhof was brand-new, its wooden shutters a warm honey color, its exterior walls crisscrossed by wood beams and covered in fresh plaster. Horses were tied near the stone trough where I’d dunked my hands playing after lunch with my parents. In the cobble-paved courtyard several men occupied long tables. It was a cool morning, but the guests didn’t seem to care. I slowed down and stared. It couldn’t be. This could not be the same place, yet it looked almost exactly the same except newer and…absolutely authentic. My legs began to shake once more. I was definitely in Bornhagen.

A blond man with piercing blue eyes, his chest and back wrapped in armor, gesticulated and spoke loudly while everyone else watched and listened. A maid appeared and lowered her head.

Curtsying in front of the man, she said, “My Lord, the hall is arranged.”

“Thank you, dear,” the man said and patted the girl on the head. She blushed and retreated quickly while he stood up. Everyone jumped to follow as he disappeared inside the building.

“You coming?” Bero stared at me, his eyes narrowed in disapproval. “You want to get us in trouble, gaping like that?”

I shook my head. “Who’s that blond man in the armor?”

“Knight Werner von Hanstein? He’s our Lord. He owns the villages around here. And the castle. Everyone knows that.” Bero frowned and nodded uphill toward his left.

I followed his gaze. Fused into the rock above us stood Castle Hanstein. Except it wasn’t the old ruins I’d visited with my mother and Uncle William during the medieval festival. This castle looked intact to the last stone. I blinked. It couldn’t be. But
then…I was playing a videogame. Anything was possible in a game. Or was it?

Bero stopped in an open field and plunked his basket into the dust. I followed suit. Around us, men and women spread out their goods on the ground and makeshift tables. Cucumbers, rye, cabbages, carrots and mushrooms were piled on burlap, in crude baskets and barrels. Live chickens cackled in wooden cages. Across the way, a man in flour-dusted pants stacked loaves of rye bread on crooked shelves. Customers snaked along the displays as vendors shouted out the merits of their wares: “Fresh cabbages, esteemed lady, just plucked this morning…oats for your gruel, rye…take a look. Don’t be shy…laying hens, an egg a day…”

Bero squatted behind his baskets when a woman with broad hips in a maroon dress stopped in front of him.

“How much?”

I stared at her black hair teased into two horns with reddish trimmings, reminding me of oversized upside-down ice cream cones. A gauzy veil trailed around her neck and shoulders like spider webs. The woman peered at me, her eyes narrowed, so I looked away.

“
Ein Heller
for ten leeks, fifteen carrots or five onions,” Bero said.

“They look old,” the woman said with tight lips.

“Nay, My Lady, they’re fresh as spring…harvested just last night.”

The woman fingered one of the onions, sniffed and threw it back. “Give me thirty leeks.” She removed a black velvet purse from her belt and counted out three silver coins while Bero piled leeks in sets of five in front of her. The woman gestured at a servant girl of maybe fifteen who hurriedly collected the vegetables in a burlap sack.

Bending low, the girl winked at Bero. The lady in the maroon dress began to chat with a woman who’d just arrived. I couldn’t
help but stare. The second lady was a knockout: high cheek bones, cornflower blue eyes and skin like chiseled marble beneath light blond hair, arranged in elaborate braids around her head. I sniffed. Contrary to most people, the blonde smelled sweet as if she’d bathed in rose petals. I looked sideways and noticed that Bero quietly spoke to the girl. Maybe she was his girlfriend.