Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (3 page)

“Enough of this prattle,” Altea declared. The
boys hushed, except for four-year-old Erik who whined and leaned
against Yiri.

“We have strawberries. Now isn’t that better
than a dead bird?” Altea said and everyone trooped back to the
kitchen. They indulged liberally in the fresh berries. The tart
sunshiny juice delighted everyone, and the boys forgot the
bird.

Altea got them cleaned just as their tutor
arrived. She welcomed Master Holub and steered her brothers toward
the room where they took their lessons.

“Why don’t you study with us?” Erik asked,
clinging to his big sister’s hand.

Altea bent and gave him a little kiss on the
cheek. “I finished my studies before you were born. I’m grown up,”
she explained.

He gave her a hug and ran to catch up to his
brothers. His shoes banged on the floor, and Altea recalled how
their mother would have admonished him not to stomp.

She went to the sunny front room to work on
her embroidery. She carefully unfolded the corner of the tablecloth
and resumed stitching the design of vines and acorns that she had
developed. The work was slow but she had almost the entire edge of
this tablecloth finished. She had others in her hope chest along
with dozens of towels, head wraps, handkerchiefs, aprons,
coverlets, and shawls. The lid was getting difficult to shut. Altea
frowned as she considered that she had almost enough linen for two
wives now.

Even so, she enjoyed the work. Her skills had
improved over the years, and she was proud of her designs. She
tried not to copy other women too much, and she had gotten many
compliments on her work.

Her home was still filled with linens from
her mother’s lifetime of creation. All the fabric in the house had
passed through her mother’s hands. The signature of her soul was
upon everything.

Altea set down her little hoop and shut her
eyes. Her mother’s absence was consuming her. She tossed her
embroidery aside and fled to her room. The tears came easily, but
she muffled her sobs. Her brothers did not need to hear. She knew
they cried at night too, and she wanted to be strong for them.

The day grew hotter and the stuffiness of the
house lulled her mercifully into a nap. She awoke to Yiri shaking
her shoulder.

“Papa’s home,” Yiri said.

Rubbing her face, Altea sat up.

“He says he wants you,” the boy added.

He always wanted something. Altea got up and
unraveled her frazzled golden braids. While brushing her hair, she
relished taking so much time to respond to her stepfather’s
summons.

Yiri sat on the edge of her bed watching her.
He was fascinated as her fingers deftly plaited her hair anew.

“Hand me my wrap,” she said.

Glad to be useful, Yiri bounced off the bed
and gave her the white linen headdress she had tossed aside
earlier. She wrapped it around her hair and checked her face in the
mirror. She touched her smooth cheek and was satisfied that she had
a good youthful glow. Witnessing the prolonged demise of her mother
had made her appreciate her vibrant skin.

“You’re pretty,” Yiri commented.

“Thank you,” she said and smiled warmly.

As if embarrassed to have complimented his
sister, Yiri ran off to play. Altea went downstairs and sought her
stepfather in his study. He was in a chair with his feet on a
stool, unwinding from a hard day of acting important while sitting
in another chair.

Martin Fridrich was studying a pamphlet and
frowning. Inky fingerprints smeared the side of the paper facing
Altea. His chin was pillowed by his jowls. He tapped his fingers on
his belly. His brown hair was gray at the temples and retreating
from his pudgy face.

“Altea, why can’t my valet find my slippers?”
Martin demanded.

“Because he’s incompetent,” Altea
suggested.

The pamphlet snapped onto the table by his
chair and he puffed at her reproachfully. “He says he gave them to
you,” Martin said.

“He gave me old slippers to throw out, and I
did,” Altea said.

“And you did not get new ones?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t that be Hynek’s task?” she asked
back.

Martin grumbled. His aging valet was
misplacing and forgetting more and more things, but Martin knew
Altea was not going to accept any blame. His stepdaughter was many
things but meek was not among them.

“At least it’s warm,” he muttered and wiggled
his toes in his stocking feet.

“It may be time to refresh the valet’s
position,” Altea said.

“That’s putting it nicely,” Martin said. “But
I don’t need you to tell me how to employ or not employ my valet.
Hynek’s loyal and honest. Rare things in this city these days.” He
commenced to complain about the rising crime and how it was
bollixing up the jails. “We ought to do like the damnable Turks.
They cut off the hands of thieves and are done with it. That would
surely put an end to all this pick pocketing and highway
banditry.”

“And how would you expect all these
one-handed men to earn livings then?” Altea said.

Martin wrinkled his nose. “That’s why women
have no place thinking about the law,” he said.

Altea rolled her eyes. “I’ll check to see how
dinner’s coming,” she said as a way to excuse herself.

Esther the cook was nearly done preparing the
evening meal. Altea set the table and rounded up the boys.

“Wash your hands and faces,” she said.

“Why?” the youngest two asked in unison.

“How will you be proper gentlemen with dirt
smeared on your faces?” she said. Her stern look reminded them that
she would scrub them herself if they did not comply.

At dinner, Martin presided over the meal from
the head of the table. Altea sat on one side with Yiri and Erik
across from Elias and Patrik. Elias was closest to his father, who
was sharing with him court cases he had presided over and the day’s
gossip. Altea cut meat for Erik and tried not to look at the empty
seat at the foot of the table. She would not presume to fill it
even if she had taken on the bulk of her mother’s duties.

“There’s a new archbishop on the way I hear,”
Martin announced.

Altea looked up. The news was quite shocking.
An archbishop had not been in Prague since the Hussite Wars.

Martin added, “Finally an archbishop again.
It took till 1561 but it’s a sure sign this Protestant madness
won’t get its claws in Bohemia.”

“It’s so heartbreaking to think of whole
kingdoms of people going to Hell,” Altea said. Protestantism had
consumed half the Empire. The German States and the Low Countries
were sick with it. Father Refhold had urged everyone to pray for
the return of Papal guidance to those under the sway of
fanatics.

“Heartbreaking?” Martin humphed
disparagingly. “If this chaos doesn’t get snuffed out there’ll be
war till Judgment Day.”

His dramatic prediction disturbed Altea, but
she could do nothing about it so she put it from her mind.

After dinner she helped the younger boys get
ready for bed. Elias read a book while she tucked in the three
boys. Their soft voices were filled with sadness as they prayed on
behalf of their mother’s soul. Elias set aside his book and blew
out the candle. Dusky light silhouetted him gently against a
window. He would say his prayers later in private.

When they left the younger boys, Altea
noticed that Elias was still dressed.

“Going out?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m old enough. Father does not mind,”
he said.

“Enjoy yourself,” she said.

He told her goodnight and ambled down the
stairs with his long awkward legs. Altea passed her bedroom door
and stopped at the top of the stairs. She listened to Elias and
Martin talk and waited for the door to slam when her brother went
out.

She seized the opportunity to speak to her
stepfather alone. She had put off this conversation long
enough.

He was dozing in his chair when she entered
his study.

“Papa Fridrich, may I ask something of you?”
she said.

He sat up and folded his hands over his
belly. “What is it?” he said as if preparing to hear testimony.

“At Church last Sunday I was speaking with
Mrs. Janleb and learned that she can recommend a very well
referenced governess to us,” she said.

“A governess?” he muttered as if the concept
were quite foreign.

“Yes, of course, Sir. The boys need one. I’m
sure people think it strange that we don’t employ one. A Magistrate
would surely have a governess for his children.”

“Stop trying to embarrass me. I know better
than you what is expected of a Magistrate,” Martin said. “Now, why
this fuss about a governess? You do a splendid job with the boys. I
dare say you’re as good as your mother.”

“No I’m not!” Altea cried.

Martin winced and recalled that he still
needed to be sensitive to her grief. “Now, now, hush girl. We all
miss her. Don’t you realize I thought it better to have you care
for the boys during this difficult time? Imagine them losing their
mother and then me foisting some impoverished old maid on them when
we got home from the funeral. It’s much better that you care for
them.”

“Oh,” Altea whispered, losing some momentum.
She had not considered that Martin might actually have something
akin to a compassionate reason.

“It’s too soon,” he decided.

Sensing that he planned to save the expense
of even a paltry governess’s salary, Altea rallied. “Sir, I’m
nineteen now. My girlfriends are married and you leave me to be an
old maid auntie to care for your sons. I have no time for suitors,
for parties. How will I ever marry?” Altea demanded and felt great
relief to have spoken her piece.

Martin surprised her by rising from his
chair. He walked around her and looked her up and down.

“Suitors? Parties?” he said.

“I trust my dowry still exists,” she
added.

He narrowed his eyes. He did not appreciate
her snide reference to his potential for miserliness. Martin
wandered away to a window. Revelers passed in the street singing.
Altea held her tongue because he actually seemed to be thinking
about her plight.

At last he came back to her. He set his hands
on her shoulders. She tensed a little.

“You’re as lovely as your mother was. She was
a fine catch for me. I didn’t fuss about taking in a young widow,”
he reminisced. “I see that little girl hanging off my bride’s
skirts is all grown up now,” he added and took her chin and tilted
her face one way and then another.

“Your dowry is not much, Altea. That stony
patch of hog pasture was all that was left after your father’s
debts were settled. The fool certainly spent money like he knew he
was going to die young. But the days of your Kardas name being
worth anything are over. Knights don’t get the credit they used to.
The future belongs to more clever men, not proud brutes. Still,
there’s some value in you, if you’ll help me find it,” he said.

“Help you?” Altea whispered, confused.

He let her go and she relaxed a little. His
hot thick hands had been disturbing.

“It’s not by the Grace of God that I’m a
Magistrate. And you’re a fine looking woman capable of conversing
with important men. If it’s a husband you want, then we must try to
get you a good one who’s in a position to advance my status. Do you
understand?” he said.

She nodded.

Scratching the back of his neck, he sat back
down, muttering about parties.

“May I begin looking for a governess?” she
pressed.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said.

Knowing his attendance to the task would be
purposefully lethargic, she quickly rejoined, “It’s best I see to
it, Sir.”

“It’s best?” he challenged.

Stout as the New Tower gate, her attitude
deflected his disapproval. “I know what the boys need when it comes
to their nurturing,” she said.

Martin grumbled but declined to argue. She
took the wave of his hand to mean consent.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said.

“Off to bed with you. Not going to get a
husband with circles under your eyes are you?” he said.

Her step was lighter as she headed for the
stairs. She was proud of herself for confronting Martin, who had
surely meant to leave her in bondage to his sons while her dowry
remained in his care. She was not overly concerned about his desire
to gain influence by marrying her off. It only meant that she might
gain an affluent husband, but most importantly she could move on
with her life and gain her own home and not live as a shadow of her
mother.

The forest was different now that Thal was a
man. He stubbed his toes and seemed to snap every twig. His noisy
blundering alarmed him. He had to learn how to move again.

When he reached a ridge that overlooked
rolling lowlands, he judged that he was far enough away from the
den to prevent polluting the pups. Thal recognized where he was,
but the colors were intense through a man’s eyes. Many shades of
green unfolded before him, revealing shifts in vegetation as the
forest descended from the highlands. Sunlight danced happily on
rushing white waterfalls that glided like living glass down smooth
black steps.

The visual bombardment stimulated his mind in
ways that it had not felt for a long time. Memories colored like
this world flitted through his thoughts but made little sense.

Thal sat in the shadow of a tree, knowing the
patch of darkness would hide him. Habitually he sniffed the air. At
least his nose was responding normally and that was a comfort. No
people were in this remote forest uncrossed by roads.

Idly he stroked the wolf fur that he was
sitting on. Recognizing his name in the letters had opened a door
in his mind. He considered looking inside. Perhaps if he could
remember his past, then he would know why he had so unexpectedly
become a man.