Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (15 page)

Quite won over by the offer, Jakub said, “All
right then.” He plopped his thick body down on a bench and crossed
his arms.

Thal glanced around the shop. The place
smelled of sweat and charcoal and oil. Smoke stained the heavy
timbers of the high ceiling. A rainy breeze wafted in the windows
of the airy shop. Pistol jumped up and balanced on the edge of a
water trough. The dog lapped tentatively at the water, but disliked
it metallic and sooty flavor. Two men went by in the street
chatting quietly, and Thal waited for them to pass before he
started talking. He presumed to shut the double doors of the
workshop.

Holding back a few choice details about his
wolfen transformation, Thal explained the gambling that had
resulted in his final confrontation with Captain Jan Bradcek.

Jakub rubbed his jowls as he digested the
story. He sensed some gaps in the tale, but it had certainly been
entertaining.

The smith chuckled and then slapped his knee
and laughed loudly. After a contented sigh, he said, “You couldn’t
have found a bigger cock more worthy of having his feathers
plucked.”

“You know Jan?” Thal asked.

“By reputation. He graces Budweis with his
presence regularly. Acts like he’s Baron Rosenberg himself,” Jakub
said.

“So you’ll help me?” Thal pressed.

“I can take that metal off your hands at well
below market rate,” the smith offered.

“Andreli said you’d be fair with me,” Thal
said.

“That’s fair.”

Thal truly hated to part with the armor. He
liked the sense of security and power it gave him, but he could not
go about wearing an item so obviously stolen.

“I’d like to trade it for a knife and sword,”
he said.

Jakub’s stomach rumbled. He was on the verge
of being late for dinner. His wife would probably send an
apprentice looking for him soon. She did not like people showing up
late for events within her domain.

“I can’t be sparing you a sword, but I have
some nice knives. My journeyman made them,” Jakub said. He led Thal
deeper into the shop and opened a cabinet. Various butcher knives
and cleavers and saws were arranged on a big rack. Thal selected a
hunting knife. It did not have a handle yet, but Jakub gave him a
ball of leather cord to wrap it with for now.

“Now hand over the armor,” Jakub pressed.

“Two knives at least,” Thal said.

“You’re not in a position to bargain,” Jakub
argued. “Captain Jan is going to have you declared a fugitive far
and wide.”

Thal said please so sweetly Jakub had to
laugh. He wondered why he had such a soft spot for half innocent
rogues. He supposed it was his pining for adventures never
undertaken.

“One more but I get to look over your
pistol,” Jakub said.

“I’m not trading my pistol,” Thal
reminded.

“But I’d like to study its construction. I’m
interested in learning how to make pistols. You have no idea how
hard it is to get plans for such a thing,” the smith said.

Thal handed it trustingly to Jakub and then
he started to take off the armor.

Jakub ran his rough hands over the barrel and
held the wheel lock close to his lantern to examine it closely.
When he cocked back the trigger, Thal warned him it was loaded.

Jakub said, “Aren’t you worried I’ll turn you
in now?”

Thal disliked seeing his prized possession in
the other man’s hands. He looked steadily into the smith’s eyes and
watched the effect of his hidden strength take hold.

“No, I’m not worried,” Thal said.

A shiver scampered down Jakub’s spine like a
squirrel. He had the sense that he was looking down a little used
trail into a hoary old woodland and that he should not tread upon
it.

“I’m not the type to be turning folks in,”
Jakub said. Gently he disarmed the gun and told Thal that he needed
to spend some time making drawings of its mechanical structure.

Thal selected another knife and then set to
work wrapping the handles with the leather. Jakub went to his work
table and lit more candles. His thick fingers were not greatly
suited to drafting fine details but he did a rudimentary job of
making plans for a pistol. A boy came to the shop to inquire after
Jakub, but the smith shooed the apprentice off with a few gruff
words.

When Jakub was finished he returned the
pistol to Thal. “You don’t know me,” he said.

“I was not here,” Thal agreed and happily
returned his pistol to his belt and let his cloak hang over it. His
new knives were in his boots.

“So, I expect you’re off to be a bandit.
Maybe get ambitious and be a mercenary,” Jakub said.

“I hope to do better,” Thal said.

“You’d do best to get out of Budweis,” Jakub
warned. “I suggest you go to the docks and get on a boat, if one
will take you.”

“Thank you for the advice,” Thal said.

With Pistol at his heels he slipped into the
drizzly night.

Jakub picked up the armor and admired the
roses on it. The smith at the castle was getting better, he
noted.

******

The streets of Budweis assaulted Thal’s
senses. The reek of livestock and people and fresh food and rotting
food and burning wood and the grainy mash of breweries surged into
his nostrils. He struggled to make sense of the heady blend of
odors.

The light rain dripped from eaves and flowed
down rainspouts with tinny gurgles. Tall buildings surrounded him
like a surreal forest that offered no shelter. He kept to the
shadows as he moved along with evening traffic with his head down.
He did not want to draw attention to himself, and the crowded town
seemed accepting of his anonymity.

As he approached the river docks, he passed a
busy tavern. Warm lamplight inside revealed the shaggy heads and
hats of men gathered around tables eating and drinking. One group
was singing. A dog in the doorway growled at Pistol. Although
tempted by the scent of roasting meat, Thal kept moving. Tonight
was not a night to be social. Jan’s men could be in town
already.

Storehouses crowded the docks. Dark barges
and boats were tied up for the night. Thal found a deserted shed
stacked with crates and barrels and tucked himself out of the rain.
He hunkered down between two barrels and Pistol curled up beside
him. He stroked the dog gently and was glad for the company.

Reflecting on his visit with the smith, he
decided that it had gone well. He was grateful to Andreli for the
connection. He hoped Andreli had survived and the Gypsies were
fairing well.

Exhausted after his hard cross country trek
to the town, he fell asleep. The scampering of rats roused him
once. Pistol tore off after them. Some snarling and banging soon
resulted. The dog returned a while later with a full belly. Thal
missed the simplicity of getting a meal when one had good jaws and
an undiscriminating palate.

He went back to sleep but woke up again when
the rain stopped. The parting clouds exposed the moon. Thal felt it
illuminating the primordial recesses of his soul. Two days had
passed since his transformation. He had not been able to think
about it too much because he had been in such a dire hurry to get
away from the vicinity of Jan.

Waning now, the circular perfection of the
full moon had been reduced by a thin slice of a smile, but its
eerie energy still beckoned him. Thal stroked the fur hanging over
his back under the cloak. He resisted whispering the words written
upon it. The temptation to change gnawed at him, but he decided
that he should save that power for emergencies.

That the magical fur had not changed him back
to a proper wolf disappointed him. He had become some weird beast
man. The state had been exhilarating though, and he recognized now
that it was at the core of his identity.

He was grateful he could control himself
while transformed and change back to a man. He wondered if he could
figure a way to derive any advantage from it. He had few resources
but certainly possessed a unique power.

A dangerous power, Thal reminded himself. He
could have hurt all those men during his brief battle. He had
wanted to hurt them. If they ever cornered him, he would hurt
them.

He and Pistol tensed at the same moment. The
unstealthy clatter of a small group of men approached the river.
With a single soft command Thal hushed the rumble in Pistol’s
throat.

Thal peeked around a barrel. Three men were
creeping up the street. They were hugging the darkness along the
buildings. Bundles burdened them. One man tripped over a lump of
refuse and cried out in pain.

One of his companions complained but stopped
to help him up. Thal could not make out the words they exchanged.
When the group got moving again, one man was limping.

Another man emerged from a docked boat with a
lantern and hailed the trio. Thal stood up to observe better
because he was keen for a chance to meet a boatman.

“Praise God you’re here,” one of the men in
the street called out in heavily accented Czech.

“Quiet,” snarled the man on the dock. He
covered his lantern.

His admonishment came too late. Farther up
the street, two men rounded a corner and ran toward the dock. A
panic set in among the first group and they quickened their pace,
but the two men chasing them overtook them easily. The man on the
dock fled to his boat apparently unseen.

“You’ll have the master’s wrath for this
prank,” declared the man who cut off the fleeing trio. He raised a
cane and prodded the limping man hard in the chest, making him
stumble back.

“Let us go,” demanded another man. He tried
to defend his friend but got smacked by the second pursuer.

With cane and fists the two men smacked up
the trio who yelled and flailed but seemed more interested in
protecting their packages than themselves.

When one of their tormentors snatched a heavy
case and threatened to toss it in the water, the trio
surrendered.

“That’s better. We’ll have no sneaking off.
The master and his wife adore your music too much,” the man with
the cane said. He started to laugh but then choked on his humor
when a cold metal tube pressed against the back of his neck and he
heard the gut-chilling grind of the wheel lock arming.

“Put that down,” Thal said.

The man tried to turn but Thal jabbed him
with the pistol. Slowly he set down the case and its owner snatched
it back quickly.

Thal hit the man in the back of the head. He
screeched and went to his knees, clutching his skull. His comrade
jumped at Thal, who easily sidestepped him and tripped him.

“Why do these men chase you?” Thal demanded
urgently.

“The Mayor won’t let us leave town,”
explained the man with a limp.

“Why?” Thal wondered.

“Because he never have such good musicians,”
the man replied proudly despite his talent causing his
captivity.

The musicians called out their thanks and
rushed onto the dock. They spared no time to guess at the
motivations of their benefactor and hollered for the boatman that
they were coming.

“I want to come with you!” Thal cried. His
boots banged on the dock. More yelling up the street started when
two more men, presumably in the Mayor’s employ, discovered their
quarry.

The musicians jumped into the boat and made
it rock so vigorously its captain complained that they would sink
him. He yanked his ropes free of the posts as their pursuers raced
onto the dock. Thal jumped into the boat and floundered on bags.
One of the musician’s cases banged his head and someone climbed
over him.

When Thal sat up, he yelled for his dog. The
boat was loose now and the Vltava’s current grabbed it greedily.
Pistol leaped and landed in the boat.

The men stuck on the dock cursed the
musicians and shouted many threats, but the three players laughed
uproariously now that they were escaping.

Thal moved to the back of the boat and
watched the lights of Budweis recede. The shouting faded and he put
away his pistol. The boatman uncovered his lantern and surveyed his
cargo of fugitives.

“Who are you?” he demanded of Thal.

“A wandering knight who protects the weak!”
declared one of the men who then put an arm around Thal.

“I’m just a man in need of transport down
river,” Thal said and then introduced himself.

“I didn’t figure for four. We’ll be low in
the water,” grumbled the boatman.

Thal apologized for his presence and offered
a thaler for passage, which mollified the boatman.

His new companions introduced themselves as
Raphael, Regis, and Carlo. They were from Venice and traveling the
world to perfect their craft and learn new songs. They had been
detained since fall in Budweis after performing for the Mayor who
had decided to enjoy the prestige of his exotic musicians in his
household indefinitely.

Thal found the story rather shocking and was
glad to have aided in their escape. The musicians gushed with
gratitude for his intervention although Regis was the only one
whose Czech Thal could understand.

Regis introduced Thal to the boatman, Mander.
The wiry man with dark hair kept his eyes on the dark water. “I
don’t like being on the water at night,” he explained. He adjusted
the rudder and the full boat veered around some unseen hazard.

“We’ll have to put into shore soon,” Mander
announced.

“Go farther, please,” Regis implored.

Mander mumbled but kept to the middle of the
water. “Somebody get in the front and watch for me,” he said.

Thal took the lantern and shifted to the
prow.

The boat moved along smoothly until scraping
against a submerged limb. “I told you to watch!” the boatman
complained.

“No harm done,” Thal said as the boat glided
onward.

Regis moved up beside Thal. “I not see you
around Budweis,” he commented.

“I only got there today,” Thal said.