The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart (30 page)

“Damn it, where’s his house? Estate or whatnot.” Hegel already regretted being taken in by the beggar, and vowed to Mary if
he led them anywhere but to the Goose’s nest he would throttle him slow.

“Perhaps we will wait out the storm?” The Arab peered around at the torrent obscuring the alley’s mouth just behind them.
“With your persuasion it is beyond the doubts of such as I that those miscreants could be enjoined to quit their fire to better
allow our usage of it.”

Martyn brightened and took a step forward but Hegel stepped in front of the priest, eager to be done with the whole affair.
Shaking his head, which annoyed Manfried even more than it did Martyn, Hegel motioned the rank beggar closer still. Lowering
his voice, he said curtly, “We’s set to get there now-ish if it’s all the same to you, friend.”

“Hold a tic,” Manfried muttered in their code, “warmin fore the fire mightn’t—”

“No sense gettin warm just to get wet and cold again,” Hegel cut him off. “Let’s get to step.”

“If we are away in the wet,” the Arab sighed, “then let us away, for no boats will be found at this late and damp date, and
by foot it is some distance. Back the way you have come, I fear.”

Their guide led them back into the street, pausing beside their thoroughly drenched female companion. Under Manfried’s careful
scrutiny he tarried no further and set off in his strange gait. Passing the dock where they had landed, the Arab led them
only a short distance down the street before turning inland—or so they thought. After winding through several narrow, dripping
alleys they appeared before another canal. This waterway resembled the former enough for the Grossbarts to mutter back and
forth about what they might do if this scoundrel was as honest as he had thus far appeared.

They crossed a bridge, and then more serpentine passages brought them to another canal, and eventually another bridge. They
trudged on, only Manfried noticing that the woman would have outpaced them all if Hegel’s blocky form had not impeded her.
No more smiles or songs were granted him, and he wondered what her fate would be once they delivered her.

The Arab talked incessantly of the necessity of staying quiet due to the temperament and crossbow prowess of the local populace
but not even Martyn could be coaxed into conversing. The priest’s arms felt number than usual, his feet throbbed, his head
might be bleeding from a fall he had suffered on the dock, he had sinned to such an extent that several boatmen might find
themselves at Judgment instead of their beds come morning, and he was now being chatted up by the Infidel. Father Martyn was
in a bad way.

At long last they arrived at the narrowest, darkest passage yet, a tunnel disappearing into the city. After their previous
encounters with those of foreign extraction the Grossbarts were ready for treachery. It struck them as conceivable if not
outright likely that the Arab had led them in circles while his associates prepared an ambush.

“You tryin to get slit?” said Manfried, snatching the Arab’s hair and pressing a dagger to his throat.

The Arab let out another volley of assurances and pledges of loyalty, but he did not seem as frightened as Manfried would
have liked. They continued down the alley, Manfried holding tight to the Arab’s shoulder, and rounding a bend they saw a house
as big as a monastery looming behind a thick wall. The Arab wished another lightning flash would make their arrival even more
impressive but the storm had gone. Manfried released him and whistled, Martyn clucked at the uncharitable display of wealth,
and Hegel farted, trying to conceal his awe.

A large metal gate separated the massive house and its property from the alley, and through the bars they saw two figures
beside a small fire. They must have heard something, quickly pointing crossbows into the darkness where the Grossbarts stood.
Before Manfried could further chastise himself for trusting a known Arab one of the guards shouted, bringing five more stout
individuals running from somewhere inside the walls. These men also carried crossbows, all of which soon pointed into the
alley.

Several of the guards were barking in Italian and Martyn quickly stepped into the light as he responded in their language.
The woman moved forward beside him but Manfried did not notice, busy as he was gripping one of the Arab’s arms while his brother
held the other. In their free hands each held his favored tool, and Manfried put the question to the Arab:

“You in on this?”

“Never. No no no.” The Arab shook his head vigorously.

“Time to test his honesty,” Manfried told his brother and brazenly dragged him into the light. Not about to doubt his brother
now, Hegel stepped in tandem with him, and they emerged from the darkness. The guards became even more agitated at the sight
of two burly men with weapons detaining a very excited beggar and a veiled woman clad in a soaking dress.

“Fine welcome,” Hegel said, more to the men than to his brother.

“Suppose we could take our company to more accommodatin climes,” said Manfried, spitting a clod of phlegm at the guards.

The banter dried in Manfried’s mouth at the realization that, in the event this indeed proved home to the Goose, he might
never see the maiden again. If it got him closer to Gyptland it could not be helped, but to be fleeced of her after all the
trouble they had gone through would not be tolerated. His grip tightened on both his captive and his weapon. The Arab and
Martyn went conspicuously silent but Hegel’s voice rose in direct proportion to those of the men gibbering at him in their
tongue.

“I hear one a yous say
Ennio
? Yeah, I knew the cunt. He’s dead. Dead, you jabberin fucker!” Hegel stood proud while Martyn squatted down until his forehead
and bandaged arms brushed his thighs in mock prayer—out of the line of crossbow fire, he hoped. The Arab squirmed enough that
the Brothers released him of their own accord, and he lamented his folly for not demanding payment in advance.

“You say my brother’s dead?” A new man stepped forward and opened the gate, his clothes clean and colorful. In one hand he
held a thin sword and in the other a bottle.

“Yeah, sad to say, but he died better than he lived,” responded Hegel, put off by the man’s fancy dress but heartened by his
mastery of the proper tongue. They held eye contact for a long time before the man looked away.

“Difficult to believe.” The man took a pull from his bottle, said something unintelligible, and waved his sword in front of
the guards’ crossbows. They lowered their weapons and the man lowered his head, rubbing his brow. “Too much to hope Alphonse
and Giacomo stopped to drink before coming here?”

“Dunno why you’d hope such worthless trash as they’d survive a ordeal what kilt a better man,” said Manfried.

“Worthless?” The man raised his head, glaring at Manfried.

“Can’t speak with equal authority on the other, but old Poncey good as gutted your brother. Al Ponce paid his price, though,
and as the other’s kin a his, no water oughta be leaked on his account, neither.” Manfried crossed his arms.

“He killed Ennio?”

“Had he three blades he would a tried to plant’em in each a our backs,” Hegel explained. “Too weak to do it himself, tried
to make a deal so’s we’d get ours but he wouldn’t get his.”

“Lies,” the man spit.

“Callin us liars?” Manfried stepped forward. “Us? Watch that mouth a yours, grapesipper, or I’ll put it where you can better
mind it.”

With a swish of a sword the crossbows were raised and the Arab stepped behind the distracted Hegel. Ennio’s brother yelled
in his language at them, his face bright red. Finishing, he panted and stared, the only noise the fire guttering in the wind.
Hegel sensed things might worsen if perspective was not reestablished, and, too involved to notice what the Arab was about
behind him, he shouted back at the man:

“Listen! We done what we could for your brother and if it weren’t enough that’s the Virgin’s business! But we did come all
the damn way to deliver this Goose’s property, and that’s what we done, so any pigshit you wanna stir in the mix can wait
til we’s compensated. My hair’s gone, priest’s been shot full a more shafts than a fair-haired whore come harvest, and we’s
in no mood to explain our own righteous fuckin actions at arrowpoint, so calm your dogs! Mecky fuckin gratitude for us what
killed a demon in the name a savin your brother!”

“Then get called fuckin liars for stickin the blame on the mecky sap what let the demon in!” Manfried added, nodding at his
brother.

“Property… you mean…” The man spoke slowly, his burgundy cheeks fading to a pearly yellow as he finally took stock of the
woman standing patiently beside them. “This is her?”

“Course she’s the one, you thick clot,” said Hegel. “Don’t think we wasted weeks comin down here just to get on your teats!”

The man said something in what the Brothers finally realized must be Italian and swayed slightly before shaking himself and
straightening his shoulders. After a pause he again flicked his sword and the crossbows sagged, the men grumbling to one another.
He turned and walked under the gate before sitting heavily on the ground. While he sat there cradling his head in his hands,
the Grossbarts carried on in their private tongue.

“What you make a this?” Hegel asked.

“Bunch a shit.”

“Yeah, but what kind?”

“The worst sort. This one’s more a ponce than his brother,” said Manfried.

“But not so much’s Al Ponce.”

“Never should a come here.”

“Yeah, I bet you’d have other plans for that feedbag.”

“Sure turned out to be a feedbag, alright. Thanks for remindin me whose idea it was to come here!” Manfried elbowed Hegel.

“Keen on, the dandy returns.”

“Tonight you stay here,” the man said. “Clean yourselves and sleep, and tomorrow we determine exactly what you are due. Come
inside with what is yours, I will see the lady to her place. I am Rodrigo, and I will have your names before you enter.” Rodrigo’s
eyes drifting back to the woman, he spit an order at one of the least grungy guards, who in turn hurried around inside the
gate.

“Manfried,” said Manfried.

“Hegel,” said Hegel.

“Grossbart,” they said together.

“Father Martyn,” said the priest, finally reentering the conversation now that it had calmed.

“Al-Gassur Abu-Yateem Thanni ibn Farees,” said the Arab, appearing from behind Hegel and the Grossbart-mounted schnapps cask,
from which he had filched while the debate raged.

“What are you doing back, you miserable sandrat?” Rodrigo demanded, too put out to revert to the lingua Italia. “When we dismissed
you onto the street instead of into a canal it was a boon circumstantial on your not returning.”

“I would never offend you or your master, and will leave as soon as payment is received for my efforts,” Al-Gassur hiccupped.

“Payment?” Hegel turned to the Arab. “You said you’s the Goose’s servant.”

“I serve him by bringing you here, just as you serve him by coming. If I am correct in comprehending your statements, dear
Grossbart, if you request recompense for your toils then is it not only honest that I receive them for mine?”

“A matter to be taken up with the Goose, not us, as we ourselves will do stead a pesterin others in the same predicament,”
observed Manfried.

“Away, Arab, before your presence brings my wine back to the open air.” Rodrigo flicked his fingers at Al-Gassur.

“Course,” Manfried said, “comin into
our
employ wouldn’t be too difficult, say a bottle a fortnight to be our servant?”

“Agreed, oh charitable masters.” Al-Gassur sneered at Rodrigo.

“What game are you at?” said Rodrigo, asking Hegel’s question for him.

Manfried shrugged. “Our business is our own.” When torn between infuriating a ponce and a beggar he would choose the ponce
every time.

“He sleeps with the swine,” said Rodrigo. “The rest of you will meet with me on the morrow. Go with him, now.” Rodrigo gestured
to a gaunt old man who had returned with the guard he had earlier sent off.

“Meanin we’s meetin with you
and
the Goose then,” Hegel clarified for Rodrigo.

“Captain Barousse’s business is his own,” Rodrigo replied. “I will discuss the matter with him. But now a good bath for the
lot of you, excluding the wretched Arab. He will wash in the garden pool under his guard’s supervision.”

“I require neither guard nor bath,” Al-Gassur protested.

“A guard is necessary to protect your odorous person from my feet, and a bath to protect my nose from yours. Now wait with
Marco here.” He motioned to a horse-faced fellow of considerable size.

A nod between the Brothers signaled the end of their journey, and they strode proudly through the gate. Martyn nervously followed,
having understood along with Al-Gassur the words Rodrigo had said to his men that the Grossbarts had not. While Rodrigo had
claimed he would converse with the captain before enacting his plan, both priest and Arab doubted a sea captain of criminal
renown would be averse to torturing his guests to discover the truth as his man suggested. Unlike Al-Gassur, Martyn had faith
that when Barousse’s men came for the Brothers they would find more blood than merely that of the Grossbarts.

The guard who showed them to the door left them with the brawny but aged cook, and she led them through the kitchen and deposited
them with a serving maid. The sharp-nosed girl took them through a rug-dappled hallway riddled with doors into a great open
foyer, across which they saw an identical hall. To the right the massive front doors towered, and to the left an open stairway
rose to midway up the wall, where it split into twin balconies. She led them to the second story, the trio doing what simple
arithmetic they could. Manfried counted six guards in total, Hegel three tapestries and the dust squares where half a dozen
more had hung, and Martyn two shapely calves on the stair above him.

They followed the balcony to where it ended in a hallway above the one they had passed through below. Three partially filled
candelabras lit the way to the first doors on the right and left, which she opened and the Grossbarts claimed. She showed
them in and they ran her off.