Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (13 page)

A little sheepishly Thal sighed. That was an
embarrassing side effect of his alternative existence. “I have new
clothes,” he said and pulled his bundle forward. He set his fur
aside and started dressing in Jan’s clothing. The pants were loose,
but the boots fit reasonable well. He was pleased to have the
sturdy foot coverings that denoted a man of some regard. The first
glimmer of daylight thinned the darkness and Andreli saw Thal
clearly for the first time. A nasty horseshoe-shaped bruise was on
his ribs. Thal pulled down the shirt and covered his injury. Then
he reached for the armor.

“Is that Jan’s?” Andreli asked with
alarm.

“Yes.”

“He’ll hunt us down and feed us to hogs,”
Andreli said.

“I told him I’d kill him if he ever troubles
you. So if he does, try to send me word,” Thal said.

“Where are you going?” Andreli wondered.

“Prague to look for my mother,” Thal
said.

“But Jan will spread the word about you…about
what you are,” Andreli said. He shrank away from Thal a little,
overwhelmed by the dark truth about his forest foundling.

“The stories of back country men-at-arms that
got their noses bloodied by a simple vagabond,” Thal countered as
he planned how to discredit the wild tales that would surely billow
from the region like the smoke of a forest fire.

Dressed now, Thal tossed his fur over his
shoulders and tucked his new pistol and powder horn into his pants.
He offered Andreli a hand and said, “We might need to hurry.”

Both men grunted when Thal hauled Andreli to
his feet. The pain in his ribs was growing intense.

They hustled up the road as dawn broke the
horizon. The morning was lovely. Mist curled in the low places and
dew sparkled on the yellow kingcups. Not much time passed before
they heard a rider ahead on the road. They quickly hid behind some
pines, but the dog ran ahead barking happily. Petro appeared.

“Here!” Andreli cried.

Petro swung down to the ground and soon spied
the blood on his leader’s clothes. He had to look twice at Thal,
who was unexpectedly in Jan’s garb.

“What happened?” Petro asked.

Thal deferred to Andreli. “I’ll explain
later. Get me to Emerald,” the Gypsy leader said.

“Christ,” Petro whispered when he looked at
Andreli’s shoulder.

“Got myself shot defending Thal,” Andreli
said. “I’ve been waiting for him to thank me.”

Recalling the steadfast bravery of the Gypsy,
Thal quickly thanked him. “It was my fault,” he told Petro as he
helped push Andreli onto the horse. “Get him out of here. I must
bid you goodbye. Thank you for everything. Tell Emerald I send my
gratitude.”

“Where are you going? What happened to the
castle guards?” Petro asked, mystified.

“I scared them off. I think you’ll have time
to get away in peace,” Thal said.

“Scared them?” Petro said incredulously.

Andreli laughed despite his pain. “He scared
them better than the wrath of God,” he said.

Thal offered Andreli his hand. The man
gripped it. Blood was dried under his finger nails.

“Thank you, Andreli. I’m in your debt for
helping me when I was helpless. But I think that I shall manage
better in the world now. I am remembering myself. But I must go
before I bring more grief upon you,” Thal said.

Wearily Andreli nodded. He appreciated that
Thal cared for him and his people, and he did not regret the
kindness he had shown the stranger.

He gripped Thal’s hand and said, “Thal, you
can’t go about in that armor. The roses on it show you to be a man
of the Rosenbergs. You’ll never get away with wearing it.”

Thal touched his chest. He liked the metal
and the protection and prestige it conferred. He did not want to
give it up but doubted it wise to ignore Andreli’s warning.

Fortunately the Gypsy offered a solution. “Go
downriver. The first town you reach is Budweis. There’s a smith
there named Jakub. He has red hair. Tell him I sent you. He’ll
trade you fairly for that armor and not wag his tongue about its
origin.”

Grateful for the advice, Thal noted the name
Jakub the Smith. “If you have need of me, seek me in Prague,” he
said.

Andreli cracked a smile. He hoped he would
not have need of one such as Thal, but perhaps a man could do well
to have a beast for a friend. Andreli patted Thal’s hand. “You’re a
good man,” he said softly.

The words meant a lot to Thal.

In the distance the monastery bell started
ringing, and it was not marking the hour. “We must go,” Petro
said.

“Farewell,” Thal said and stepped back.

Petro led the horse onward but the dog stayed
behind. Gerling had lost a pet, and Thal bent down to welcome his
new companion. The pain was sharp in his battered ribs, but he
endured it so he could scratch the dog’s ears.

“I’ll call you Pistol,” he decided, and his
dog wagged.

They slipped off the road, careful to leave
scant trail, and started cross country toward the river.

Altea caught hold of the
door trim to stop herself when little Erik smeared jam on Jarmila’s
apron. The new governess patted his head forgivingly. Jealousy
nipped at Altea, but starting today she no longer needed to swoop
in and fix every little thing.

The governess was attending the boys at the
kitchen table for lunch. Jarmila took the jam covered spoon that
Erik had been fumbling with and spread the jam for him. Altea
thought that it was time he learned to do such things himself, but
she admonished herself to stop overseeing the new governess. All
morning she had been hovering as Jarmila learned her way around the
house.

She’ll be glad to see me leave the house,
Altea thought. Cynthia and Esther could handle the new woman’s
questions. Jarmila seemed more at ease speaking with the servants
anyway.

Having the afternoon free shocked Altea now
that the reality had actually happened. Her prodding had kept the
hiring of the governess on schedule with Martin, and now only a
month later Jarmila was officially employed. Altea supposed she
would have to leave her brothers alone in the governess’s care
eventually, and she might as well start on the first day. If
anything egregious happened, the eldest Elias was mature enough to
handle it or at least report it to her.

There were some cloth merchants that Altea
had been intending to visit. She needed fabric worthy of nice
gowns. Dour dresses of mourning were not suitable for catching the
eyes of suitors. A tingle of unfamiliar anticipation startled her
as she imagined being the object of male attention.

“I’m going to the market,” Altea announced
from the doorway.

Cynthia who was sitting at a smaller work
table with her lunch plate between two bowls of rising dough said
she would be ready to go when she finished eating.

“No need. I’ll go by myself,” Altea said.

Elias glanced up as he bit into bread. His
natural protectiveness was aroused at the thought of his sister
going out alone, but Altea was already down the hall.

A little smile brightened her face as she
walked down Karlova Street. She admired the blue sky with perfect
fluffy clouds and made sure not to look at the noxious trickle
flowing along the low point of the street toward the river.

When Altea reached the Knights of the Cross
square, she headed straight for the covered booths in the textiles
section. In the nice weather the cloth sellers set up displays
outside their shops to catch more eyes. Passing by the plain wools
and linens was a pleasure. The exciting colors and textures rolled
up on shelves beckoned her. The man behind the table greeted her
like he understood all her hopes for what the fabric might
bring.

He had some lovely soft weaves of delicately
dyed linen and wool and even silk. Her fingers lingered against the
exotic fabric brought from places beyond any map she had ever seen.
Bright green leaves and vines full of flowers and fruits adorned
the cloth. She imaged all the work that had gone into the weaving
and dyeing. Altea fell in love with a pale blue silk enlivened by
pointy artichoke plants and highlighted with yellow threads. Martin
would surely bark at the price but she ordered it anyway. When he
inevitably complained she planned to remind him that he was not
going to use her to fortify his position if she was cheaply
bedecked.

Her next choice was a fine glossy linen. Deep
burgundy vines and white doves spread across the buff background.
She selected solid burgundy silk to trim the new dress with and
then she envisioned making a little cape out of it too.

After arranging for the delivery and advising
the merchants on how to collect from Magistrate Fridrich, she went
home. She trotted up the front steps on light feet and was pleased
to find her brothers minding their tutor. No disasters had occurred
in her absence and she thanked Jarmila for keeping the boys on
task.

“You’re welcome, Miss Altea,” Jarmila said in
a modest tone even if her expression was a tad smug.

When Martin came home that evening, he was
also pleased that his children had nothing bad to report about the
governess. Altea was relieved as well and appreciated the boys’
cooperation at least on the first day. Having pushed for the
addition of a governess, a miserable start to the arrangement would
have made Altea look bad. Instead she looked mature and capable. To
maintain her stepfather’s good mood, she decided not to mention her
shopping.

After dinner, Jarmila took the youngest three
boys outside to play with other neighborhood children. Elias
wandered off to look for his friends. While Esther cleared the
dishes, Martin asked Altea to stay. She waited patiently in her
chair while Hynek poured her stepfather some wine. His hand shook
while holding the carafe but he did not dribble.

“I’ve arranged for us to attend a Sunday
luncheon at Alderman Feik’s next week. I expect that should please
you. It’ll be a big affair,” Martin said.

Although a Sunday lunch party was not as
exciting as an evening banquet, Altea accepted it as a good start
toward showing herself off. “Wonderful of you to arrange the
invitation, Papa Fridrich,” she complimented.

“Perhaps I must agree that I kept you shut
away too long. The news that you would attend was greeted rather
happily, I am told, by more than a few eligible men of Prague,”
Martin revealed.

“Oh who? Tell me names,” she said.

“Now, girl, we don’t want this game to end in
a day. For now it’s your part to arouse interest, not yourself,” he
advised.

Altea grasped that he wanted to enjoy many
invitations to many important households. She did not resent his
strategy that would give her a chance to make up for lost years of
youthful socializing.

“I understand,” she said.

“Remember not to make anyone hate me with
your sharp tongue,” he admonished.

“A tongue is only sharp to blunt ears,” she
said and headed for the door, not bothering to wait for him to
excuse her.

Martin grumbled into his glass.

Altea spent the rest of the evening planning
a dress design until the light faded. Then she kissed her brothers
good night except for Elias who was still not home and left the
governess with them to say their prayers. Afterward Jarmila retired
to her new room in the attic looking quite exhausted.

After getting a drink of water in the
kitchen, Altea mounted the stairs lost in a daydream about meeting
a handsome alderman’s son or perhaps even an administrator at the
royal castle. The front door bell interrupted her entertainment.
Hynek shuffled into the foyer. Easing herself into the shadows
halfway up the steps, she positioned herself to spy. A rectangle of
light cast by a lantern spilled across the floor when Hynek opened
the door.

“Professor Zussek, please enter. I’ll
announce you to the Master,” Hynek said.

Curiosity pinned Altea in her hiding spot.
She was acquainted with her stepfather’s law professor friend from
Charles University, but she wondered about the late visit.

Martin’s surprised but happy voice welcomed
his friend, and they exchanged pleasant greetings. Hynek lit more
candles. Altea heard the clink of crystal as schnapps was poured in
the study.

She sat down on the dark steps when Martin
dismissed his valet. Hynek walked out of the study slowly and shut
the doors behind him. He headed to the back of the house where he
had a room. Altea crept down the stairs.

Excitement fluttered in her chest. She softly
tiptoed to the study and pressed her ear against the wooden door.
The men were gossiping about the new archbishop. They continued to
talk about the Church’s increased efforts against Protestant
influence until Altea got a little bored. A yawn seized her
face.

When she put her ear back to the door, the
schnapps decanter tinkled against the crystal glasses again and
both men soon sighed with satisfaction.

Zussek resumed their chat. “It’s not just
Protestants to worry us.”

“You’ve something intriguing to tell me don’t
you?” Martin said.

“I’ve been holding something a few weeks. It
should’ve been presented as evidence but it was brought to me
instead,” Zussek admitted.

“Evidence?” Martin said. His tone perked up
considerably.

“It was taken from one of those witches you
processed this spring,” Zussek said.

Altea gasped silently. She heard Zussek set
something on a table.

“Which one? We put down at least a dozen,”
Martin said.

“The last one that was caught,” Zussek said.
Altea covered her mouth. Gretchen had been the last one executed.
The professor continued, “Your constable took this from her. I have
an academic interest in cataloging demonic items, and he knows to
bring me such things when he runs across them,” Zussek
explained.