King Stakh's Wild Hunt (28 page)

“Dubatowk is to blame – it’s all his doings,” he said sullenly. “Yanovsky’s castle was to have been inherited by Haraburda, but he was greatly in debt to Dubatowk. Nobody, except us, Dubatowk’s people, knew about that. We drank at his place and he gave us money, while himself he dreamed of the castle. He did not want to sell anything from that place, although the castle cost a lot of money. Varona said that if all the things in the castle were sold to museums, a large fortune could be raised. A chance event brought them together. At first Varona did not want to kill Yanovsky even though she had refused to marry him. But after Svetsilovich’s appearance, he agreed. The tale about King Stakh’s Wild Hunt came into Dubatowk’s head three years ago. Dubatowk had stashed money somewhere, although he seems to be living poorly. In general he is a liar, very sly and secretive. He can twist the cleverest man round his little finger, he can pretend to be such a bear you’d be at a loss what to think. And so he went to the best of stud farms owned by a lord who had become impoverished in recent years, and bought all his
dr
y
gants
.
Then he brought them to the Yanovsky Reserve where we built a hide out for ourselves and a stable. Our ability to tear along through the quagmire, where nobody can even walk, surprised everybody. But nobody knows how long we crept along the Giant’s Gap in search of secret paths. And we found them. And studied them. And taught the horses. And then we dashed through places where the paths were up to the elbow in the quagmire, but at the sides all it was an impassable marsh land. And the horses are a miracle! They rush to Dubatowk’s call as dogs do. They sense the quagmire, and when a path breaks off, they can make enormous leaps. And we always went on the hunt only at night, when fog creeps over the land. And that’s why everyone considered us phantoms. And we always kept silent. It was risky. But what could we do: die of hunger on a tiny piece of land? And Dubatowk paid. And we were not only driving Yanovsky to madness or death, but we even put the fear of God into those impudent serfs and taught them not to have too high an opinion of themselves. It was Dubatowk who got Haraburda to force Kulsha to invite the little girl, because he knew that her father would be anxious about her. And we intercepted Roman on the way and seized him. Oh! And what a chase it was! Ran away like the devil... But his horse broke a leg.”

“We know that,” I observed caustically. “By the way, Roman did give you away precisely after his death, although you didn’t believe his cries. And some days ago you still didn’t believe it when you were speaking with Patsuk after Bierman’s murder.”

Stakhievich was so surprised his jaw fell. I ordered him to continue relating.

“We inspired fear everywhere in the region. The farm hands agreed to the price the owners gave. Our life improved. And we led Nadzeya Yanovsky to despair. Then you appeared. Dubatowk’s bringing the portrait of Roman the Old was no accident. If not for you, she would have gone mad within a week. Dubatowk saw that he had made a mistake. She was merry and carefree. You were dancing with her all the time; Dubatowk especially invited you when the guardian’s report on affairs was to be made, and his guardianship handed over, so that you should become convinced she was poor. He conducted the estate well – it was, you see, to be his future estate. But Yanovsky’s poverty had no effect on you, and then they decided to get you out of the way.”

“Speaking of which...” I said, “I never had any intention of marrying her.”

Stakhievich was totally surprised.

“Well, never mind. All the same you interfered with us. With you there, she was revived. To be just, I must say that Dubatowk really loved little Yanovsky. He did not want to kill her, and if he could have got along without doing that, he would have willingly agreed. He respected you. He always said to us that you were a real man, only it was a pity that you didn’t agree to join us. In short, things became too complicated. We had to get rid of you and of Svetsilovich who had the right to the inheritance and loved Yanovsky. Dubatowk invited you to his place, where Varona was to challenge you to a duel. He played his part so well that no one even suspected that it was Dubatowk, not Varona, who was the instigator, and we in the meantime studied you closely, because we had to remember your face.”

“Go on,” I said.

Stakhievich hesitated, but Michal poked him with the pitchfork at the place from which our legs grow. Mark looked around sullenly.

“The affair with the duel turned out stupidly. Dubatowk made you drink a lot, but you didn’t get drunk. And you even turned out to be so smart that you put Varona to bed for five whole days.”

“But how could you then be in the house and chase after me at one and the same time?”

Stakhievich continued reluctantly:

“Behind Dubatowk’s farmstead others were waiting, novices as they were. At first we thought of sending them after Svetsilovich, in case you were killed, but Svetsilovich sat with us till the morning, while Varona was wounded. We set them off after you instead. Dubatowk still cannot forgive himself for setting these snivellers on your track. You’d never have escaped from
us,
the real Hunt. Then we thought you’d take the roadway, but you went over the waste land, and you even forced the Hunt to waste a whole hour in front of the swamp. By the time the dogs fell on the scent, it was already too late. We cannot, even now, understand how you had managed to escape from us then, you dodged us so well. But take my word for this – had we caught you, you’d have been out of luck.”

“But why did the horn blow from the side? And where are the novices now?”

Stakhievich forced himself to speak:

“One of us played the hunting horn, he rode nearby. And the novices – here they are, lying on the ground. Previously we were fewer in number and took scarecrows with us on spare horses. We supposed that only you and Ryhor were lying in ambush. But we did not think there’d be a whole army with you. And look how we paid for our assumptions. Here they all are, Patsuk, Jan Styrovich, Pawluk Babayed. And even Varona. You aren’t worth even a finger nail of his. A clever man was Varona, but he, too, has not escaped God’s judgement.”

“Why did you throw me that note saying that King Stakh’s Wild Hunt comes at night?”

“What are you saying? Phantoms don’t throw notes. We wouldn’t have done such a stupid thing.”

“Bierman must have done it,” I thought, but said:

“But it was the note that convinced me you were not phantoms, at the very moment when I had begun to believe you were. Be thankful to the unknown well wisher, for hardly would I have been brave enough to fight with phantoms.”

Stakhievich turned pale and hardly moving his lips uttered:

“We’d dealt with that person, had torn him to pieces. As for you, I hate you in spite of the fact that it is beyond my power to do anything. And now I’ll keep silent.”

Michal’s hand grabbed the prisoner by the scruff of his neck and squeezed hard.

“Speak. Otherwise you’ll be dealt with too...”

“The deuce take it, you’re the powerful ones... You can be satisfied, you serfs... But we taught you a lesson, too. Let anyone try to learn what became of those who complained most in the village of Jarki and whom Antos wiped off the face of the Earth. You can ask anyone you like. It’s a pity that Dubatowk didn’t order to ambush you in the daytime and shoot you. For that would’ve been easy to do, especially when you were on the way to the Kulsha’s, Belaretsky. I saw you. Even then we realized you had prepared the noose for us. Kulsha, the old woman, even though mad, could still have blurted out something. She had begun to guess that she was a tool in our hands the day of Roman’s murder. And we only had to threaten her once with the appearance of the Wild Hunt. Her head was weak, and she immediately went balmy.”

The abomination this man was telling us about made my blood boil. It was only now that my eyes were opened to what depths the gentry had fallen. And within me I agreed with Ryhor that it was necessary to destroy this kind of people, who raised a stink across the whole world shaming the spirit of nobility.

“Go on, you skunk!”

“When we learned that Ryhor had agreed to carry out the search together with you, we realized that things would be tough for us. For the first time I saw Dubatowk frightened. His face even turned yellow. We had to stop, and not for the sake of wealth, but in order to save our own hides. And we showed up at the castle.”

“Who was it that yelled then?” I asked severely.

“He who yelled is no more. Here he lies... Patsuk...”

Stakhievich was frankly amusing himself in relating everything arrogantly, with such a display of courage, as if he were about to begin to wail at any moment, alternately lowering and raising his voice. I heard the howling of the Wild Hunt for the last time, inhuman, frightening, demonic.

“Roman!” he sobbed and wailed. “Roman! Revenge! We’ll come, Roman of the last generation, we’ll come for you!”

On and on rolled his voice across the Giant’s Gap somewhere into the distance, his voice and its echo shouting to one another, completely filling the air. It made my flesh creep.

But Stakhievich laughed.

“You didn’t come out then, Belaretsky. No matter. Anyone else in your place would have died of fright. At first we thought that you got frightened, but the next day something occurred that couldn’t be remedied. Svetsilovich ran up against Varona who was on his way to recruit new men for the Hunt and he was late. And Svetsilovich was just near to the paths that lead to the Reserve where our hiding place was. And afterwards, spying on him, we saw that he met you in the forest, Belaretsky. Although at that time he didn’t tell you anything as that was clear from your behaviour, we realised that he could crack any minute and we had to put an end to him. Dubatowk sent Svetsilovich a letter to lure him out of the house. Half of our people were directed to the three pines. The other half – three old hunters and the newcomers – rode off to Marsh Firs. Dubatowk himself hurried over to you, sneaking from behind. But you had already managed to make a couple of shots, and our raw fellows, unused to shooting, took to their heels. And yet another surprising thing – Dubatowk got such a hard beating from you that he can’t ride a horse as of yet and he is staying in the house. And he is at home today, so you, fellows, beware. But you, Belaretsky, he fooled nicely. No sooner had you come to yourself, than you were already helping him to mount his horse. We got lucky with Svetsilovich. Varona was waiting for him, and when he appeared, said to him: “You’ve exposed the Wild Hunt, have you?” He spit at Varona. Varona shot him. And at that moment you appeared, shot at us and hit one fellow in the hand. And then you beat up a district police officer, and you were summoned, not without our help, to the district centre. You probably don’t know that you were to be arrested and put an end to. But you, you devil, were lucky, you turned out to be too clever, and the governor’s letter made the judge refuse us his help. On his knees he begged Dubatowk to hurry up and shoot you. By the way, when Varona shot Svetsilovich, he applied such a ruse that you’ll never guess.”

“But why do you think so?” I said with indifference. “Dubatowk had torn out several pages from a journal at Yanovsky’s, and he made wads from them. You thought that if I managed to escape alive from your paws, I’d suspect Bierman.”

Stakhievich was scratching away at his chest, his crooked fingers resembling claws.

“You devil!” he cried hoarsely, choking. “We shouldn’t have had anything to do with you. But who could have thought of that? Here they are, those who didn’t think, lying here like sacks of excrement.”

Then he went on:

“And yet another mistake of ours. We kept a watch on you, but not on the serfs and Ryhor. While they found us out, got to our hide out, our secret paths... And even at Roman’s cross you were in luck – we killed a chick, letting you escape from our grip. We killed on the run, without stopping. And only later we returned to check. And even here we ran up against you like a bunch of fools. Then Haraburda disappeared, and we decided not to return home tonight until we caught you. So, here we have found you...”

“That’ll do,” I said. “It’s disgusting to hear you. And although you deserve the noose, we won’t kill you. We’ve given our word. Later we’ll investigate, and if you are very much to blame, we’ll hand you over to the provincial court and if not – we’ll let you go free.”

Hardly had I finished, when Stakhievich suddenly pushed two of the muzhyks away, tore off, and with exceptional swiftness made for the horses. With his foot he kicked in the belly the muzhyk guarding the horses, threw himself into the saddle and started to gallop at full speed. He turned about on the way and shouted in a scathing tone:

“Just you wait for the trial in the provincial court! I’m off to Dubatowk’s, he’ll have the gentry of the whole region rise against you, you skunks, and we’ll put an end to all of you. And you, you cad from the capital, there’ll be no life for you and that loose woman of yours. But you, you stupid Michal, let it be known to you that it was me who trampled your brother to death, and you’ll get the same.”

Michal turned the muzzle of his long gun and without taking aim pulled the trigger. Stakhievich silently turned a somersault out of the saddle, rolled over several times on the ground and fell silent.

Michal came up to him, took the horse by the bit, shot Stakhievich straight in the forehead. Then said severely to me:

“Go ahead, Chief. Your kindness to them was a bit too early. Away with kindness! The gypsy wedding will get along without marzipans. Go on, we’ll catch up with you. Take the road to the Cold Hollow. And don’t turn back to take a look.”

I left... And indeed, what right had I to be sentimental? If this bandit got to Dubatowk – they would overflow the whole region with blood. And Dubatowk must be captured all the sooner. Today, this very night, we must take him.

From behind I heard moaning and groaning. The wounded there were being finished off. I wanted to turn back, but couldn’t. My throat was parched. But wouldn’t they have done even worse with us?