Escape from the Past (30 page)

More guests staggered around the area as I remained waiting. My head was freezing now and a shiver was taking over my body. My stomach growled, the aroma of roasted meat wafting across. Most of it would be loaded with spices and colors and impossible to eat. A nice hunk of bread and a glass of wine would’ve been just fine.

Why wasn’t Werner returning? I had noticed how Miranda was gazing into the Lord’s eyes and pressing her roundish hips to him. Was he going to shut her up with sex?

The door squeaked open. “…I am so pleased you could finally visit. It has been too long. We shall become dear friends,” Miranda said. “I have set aside a special vintage—a new wine from France—reserved for you and your men,” she laughed. “Let us toast to Ott.”

Werner joined her laugh. “Most gracious of you,” he said. “I’ll make sure my men learn of your charity.” At the door, he stopped. “Will you excuse me? I must pinch off another time, an aging man’s weakness.”

She crowed, “Hurry back, My Lord, so that we shall be merry once more.” The door banged shut and moments later I heard
footsteps.

“Max Nerds?” Werner whispered as he slipped into the shadows next to me.

“My Lord?”

“My men have been instructed to stop drinking. They only pretend, pouring their wine into the straw. Soon, Miranda will have us toast to Ott with her special wine. That has to be the poisoned one. Once we raise our mugs, we shall become very sleepy. I’ll announce to the Lady that we’re suddenly worn and must rest. My men will put up a show, no doubt, and we’ll go to our sleeping quarters. Then we sneak toward the barn. We must haste.”

“What about Miranda? Won’t she check in on you?”

Werner chuckled. It sounded bitter. “We’ll give her a spectacle. She’ll be convinced we’re sleeping. Go to the barn and alert Enders. Ask him to have the squires ready our horses. Quietly. We’ll have to subdue the guards on our way out, but that will be easy.”

“You want me to go now?”

“Yes, make sure nobody sees you. Especially Ott. And shed the armor. It’ll slow you down.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

I hurried toward the stables, my breast and back plates rattling against the helmet. A few strollers gawked but they were likely too drunk to care. As the stalls came into view, I remembered the berries, my opportunity to teach stinking Ott a lesson.

Instead I was going to hide and run off with Werner. Chances were great I’d never see Ott again. I stopped in my tracks, fingers groping for the cloth packet.

I had to try and smuggle them into Ott’s food or drink. Better yet. What if I gave Miranda the other five? They’d both get sick and would be out of commission—except Miranda looked sober and way too alert to become an easy target. And Ott?

He was suspicious by nature and may work out the strange
knight’s identity anytime. I hesitated. I really wanted to get away fast. I’d never be riding the same speed as the knights anyway. They’d return quickly and protect Hanstein. Nothing else mattered. I would simply arrive later.

The stable doors were open and I peeked inside. A few torches burned, illuminating the rumps of dozens of horses. Outside, more horses stood grazing and waiting for their masters.

“Enders?” I said, wanting nothing more than to rid myself of the silly helmet.

“Sir Dagonet?” Enders appeared out of the gloom.

“Have the Lord’s squires ready the horses,” I whispered. “Knight Werner and his men will be here soon. Not a word to anyone else.”

Enders nodded and turned away.

“Wait,” I said. “Help me take off the helmet and plates first.”

Enders stepped closer and lifted away the armor. “Stay out of sight,” he whispered.

“I’ll be right back,” I said.

What a relief to be able to see and hear without obstruction. The air was cool on my sweaty forehead as I darted toward the great hall. Above it had to be the sleeping quarters. I’d take a quick peek, maybe find a way to plant the berries.

The servant at the entrance nodded and opened the door. The racket inside the hall had turned into a squall of chatting voices, raucous laughter and screams. People lay, sat and stood, hands permanently attached to mugs and the breasts or bottoms of their neighbors. Things were getting wild. I wished I could’ve snapped a few shots of the craziness of medieval partying.

Instead I scanned the room for Ott and his mother. Near the back end, I noticed Miranda speaking to Werner and his men. Ott wasn’t around and I decided to disappear through another door into a staircase.

I climbed to the second floor. Two doors led away from here. The first was a sitting room of sorts with a smoldering fire and a couple chairs. I rushed past and opened the next door, hoping that maids and servants were downstairs helping.

The room was nearly dark except for a single oil lamp on a shelf near a four-poster bed. A couple dresses hung on hooks from a wardrobe—a woman’s room. This had to be Miranda’s chamber.

I returned past the sitting room into the staircase and opened the other door—another sitting room almost identical to the first. I moved on through the gloom. The second door opened with a squeak and I peered inside—another bed, slightly smaller with heavy curtains. This had to be Ott’s place.

I hurried closer to look for a carafe or mug. Maybe I could drop the berries. But then who knew if Ott would eat them. Maybe I should send a drink to Ott via a servant or find the kitchen and plant the berries in a dish. But what if someone else
got them?

I thought of the movies. The scripts were always so clever like
Mrs. Doubtfire
putting pepper on
Pierce Brosnan’s
dish. Real life was nothing like that. Real life. This
was
my life: A ridiculous wannabe knight who was really a fifteen-year-old from the twenty-first century. No more pretend. Jimmy’s dad’s game had transported me six hundred years into the past. For good.

I grabbed the solitary oil lamp and walked around the bed. Something sparkled along the wall. On a shelf stood my sneakers. Next to them, lined up like trophies, were my wallet and the broken watch, the items, Ott had stolen when he’d taken me and Bero prisoner in the chicken coop. I wondered what Ott thought of the watch or the picture ID and Euros in my wallet.

Without a second thought, I slumped on the straw-covered floor and yanked off my straps and boots. I’d had enough dress-up. From now on I’d wear my Nikes no matter what anyone said. Then I stuck the wallet and watch underneath my vest.

I sighed as I walked toward the exit. I’d have to come up with a different plan to poison Ott. Werner and his men would soon show up at the barn. I had to hurry.

A noise made me freeze in my tracks. The outer door opened and Ott’s drunken voice spoke, “Don’t fret, Marianna, just a little kiss. In here, where they can’t see us.”

“But Master Ott, I’m soon to be wedded,” a girl said.

I scooted under the bed nearly upsetting the chamber pot. Disgusted I crawled away, my gaze falling on the boots I’d left sitting in front of the bed. I yanked them underneath just as two pairs of feet appeared.

“Of course, dearest. Not a soul will know. You won’t deny your master a little gift for his name day?” Ott’s voice was dripping with lust. “Sit here with me.”

“I have to help the cooks serve sweet cakes and fruit.”

The bed above me creaked. It sounded like a wrestling match. The girl’s dress was being pushed up and a pair of bare legs
dangled over the edge.

“Please,” the maid urged. “I must return to the kitchen.”

“Just a little kiss,” Ott slurred.

I peeked out. A pewter mug had appeared on the nightstand. Ott had brought his drink. Ever so slowly, I inched toward the edge of the bed. Above me the wrestling continued.

“They have plenty of help. I’ll vouch for you.”

I fished for the cloth packet inside my vest. Now was my chance. The place stunk of moldy straw and other stuff I didn’t want to think about. I struggled to keep my head raised. The light barely reached and I counted out five berries. Then I extended an arm in search of the mug. If Ott was looking at his drink right now he’d see a hand. Quickly, I dropped the berries.

“You will not take my virtue?” the girl whimpered. “My groom will not like it.”

Instead of answering, Ott was panting. “Why don’t you lie still?” He sounded irritated. “Try a taste of the wine. It is delicious.”

I held my breath as the cup disappeared from view.

“I’m forbidden to drink during work,” the girl said.

“Fine then. I’ll finish it.” Gulps echoed, then a burp. “Mmmh, didn’t know this was fruit wine. These berries are sweet.”

The mug slammed on the table.

“Now, where were we?”

“Please, Master Ott. I want to go.”

“Soon.”

I had heard enough and crawled toward the bottom end of the bed. The curtains would hide my escape. Ott was busy anyway.

Ducking low, I tiptoed toward the exit when a scream rang out, followed by a shuffle and Ott cursing. Just as I opened the door, I heard movement behind me. I looked over my shoulder as the maid ran past me, followed by Ott whose hair stood in all directions and who was hastily yanking up his tights.

Our eyes met. Despite the darkness, I saw the flash of
recognition.

“You! I knew you were no knight.” Ott’s voice was full of loathing.

“Better that than a defiler of women,” I shouted. Ott’s eyes narrowed to slits as he jumped forward. Despite his drunkenness he was agile and fast.

I turned and ran, my legs feeling as if they were moving in slow motion. I tugged open the outer door and jumped down the stairs, overtaking the maid. Ott wasn’t far behind. He’d obviously forgotten the girl, his hate for me more important.

I headed past the entrance of the great hall, then outside. My heart pounded in my neck. As I raced toward the stables I remembered Werner and his men. Surely, they’d assembled by now. If I led Ott to them, they’d be found out. Ott would alert his mother who’d send notice to Schwarzburg. Knight Werner would be pissed that I had given them away.

I swiped right toward a series of small outbuildings. Few torches burned and I had trouble seeing the ground. All it took was a fall and I’d be toast. Ott continued to chase. In fact, he was gaining on me because I didn’t know where I was going. Sure enough, there was the outer wall. I was at the opposite side of the main gate now and had to turn back.

Ott’s steps rang loud in my ears. “I got you now.”

I felt myself yanked to a stop, then thrown to the ground. I turned to push Ott away. His rat face was close, his eyes black with rage. He bared his teeth as his hands took hold of my neck and squeezed. I kicked and bucked, but Ott weighed at least fifty pounds more and his heaviness was crushing. The alcohol and the lifelong sword training had given him the strength of a prize-fighter. I saw stars as the oxygen was leaving my lungs.

Time slowed. Ott’s face turned fuzzy around the edges, then blurred. I had no air. The fingers gripped with the precision of death, cold and steely. In a flash of recognition I knew that Ott had done it before.

Then the hands let go. At first, I thought Werner or Enders had come to my rescue, but there was nobody. Ott had grabbed his own throat, sniveling in agony. His eyes rolled as he sucked air.

I lay still, concentrating on the task of breathing, the air cutting painfully through my windpipe. The lack of oxygen in my body was taking its toll. I turned sideways and struggled to stand. My body felt sluggish and refused to follow. I slumped back on my elbows.

In front of me a spectacle unfolded. Ott was trying to kneel, but his legs didn’t obey. He pulled at his neck, then wiped his eyes as if his limbs were being moved by a puppeteer. Then he started to groan. He finally made it upright, only to buckle forward, his hands on his stomach whimpering anguish. I forced myself to sit. I had to leave but I couldn’t.

“I can’t see,” Ott cried. His arms flailed and he stumbled a few feet.

With Ott staggering sideways, I finally came to. I got up just as Ott fell over a second time. He writhed and curled into a ball. Despite the lack of light, I saw Ott’s face glisten with sweat. He was panting. His chest heaved, wheezing sounds like bellows with holes. I turned to leave. I was getting scared. Maybe Luanda had been wrong. Ott looked like he could die. I took off past the outbuildings toward the barn, the last sound behind me a howl of hatred and pain. “I’ll kill you…and your whore.” Then it turned quiet.

I sighed when I saw the barn, Ott’s voice echoing in my ears.

“Where’ve you been?” Enders hissed. “The Lord and his men have gone. You’re late. We must haste.”

“Had to do something,” I mumbled, catching my breath. “Let’s go.”

Enders looked at my feet. “Where are my boots?”

I shrugged. “I’ll get new ones.” I climbed on the horse, a much easier feat without armor. I wanted to feel happy. I’d finally defeated Ott. Instead I felt dread creeping up my spine.

If Ott didn’t die, I had just made a deadly enemy.

It was awesome how Enders dashed through the woods despite the darkness, while still being able to hold the reins of the horse and find his way. Just staying in the saddle was hard enough as tree limbs smacked me in the face and the horse scrambled up and down paths.

At last, Enders slowed. I had no idea how much time had passed because I was reliving Ott’s reaction to the poison, how his eyes had bulged and he’d panted. Luanda had talked about hallucinations and retention of urine and constipation. He’d be one sick jerk for a while. Served him right. I shuddered thinking of Ott’s threat, the hatred in his voice. I had no doubt, he would make good on it if he had a chance.

“Shsh,” Enders murmured. He stopped the horse and we stood listening. I only heard the wind overhead, moving tree limbs with invisible fingers. To my right I noticed a low glow between the trees. Enders leaned closer. “We’ll go around,” he whispered.

We turned back and left the trail. I cowered low in the saddle as we walked into the thick brush, thinking what would happen if Schwarzburg’s men found us. The horse never stopped while Enders sensed his way forward. The ground fell sharply, but the horse never lost its footing. I was amazed when the bulk of castle Hanstein appeared on my left. We’d come from the other end, squeezing close to the rock.