Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (27 page)

Thal looked around for his beer stein but he
could not spot it. A boy rushed down the steps from the hall
yelling for him.

“What is it?” Thal said.

“Regis says come. He has a song for you,” the
boy said.

“I hope he’s made some improvements,” Thal
muttered as he went inside. At least it gave him a good excuse to
leave Francesca’s vicinity. He meant to avoid anymore dancing.

The better dressed guests of Patercek were
gathered tightly around the musicians and the dance floor. Thal had
expected as much. His friends’ talents never disappointed.

Patercek cried, “There he is!” His face had
gotten rosy from the influence of wine. “You can go ahead with your
new song, Regis,” Patercek said, and everyone agreed heartily.

Regis flexed his fingers that had been
working hard at his harp. “We have compose a new song. Our travels
from Venice have been good and bad. Good because so many people
love to listen to us, but sometimes the roads are dangerous. Lucky
for poor us we have our friend Thal to protect us from
bandits.”

Heads turned to Thal. Men looked at him
quizzically as if seeing a man like no other although they could
not quite mentally accept it. And women’s eyes swept over him with
a measuring curiosity, as if he possessed something they had never
experienced but subconsciously wanted.

Thal nodded modestly. His friends began to
play. Regis took to the deeper notes on his harp and crafted a
rhythm that the zink and lute beautified with melody.

The rhythm suggested the plodding hike of the
open road, and the melody spoke of fair weather. Then Regis began
to sing, using the Czech language. Oddly he had less of an accent
when he sang. Something Thal always wondered at.

Long roads, good people and beer
In Bohemia are always near.
The troubadour’s voice
Brings girls of his choice.
Bohemian forests green and sweet
Cast shade for our weary feet.
All was well in village and farm.
We players never thought of harm.
Then one night the fire went out.
We musicians awoke with a shout.
A plague of men so foul
Came to make players howl.
Hands on the throat to strangle,
With bandits we did wrangle.
I begged for an Angel to save us
But got the Devil instead.
He hit the bandits on the head.
I begged for an Angel to save us
But got the Devil instead.
With his sword they were fed.
I begged for an Angel to save us
But got the Devil instead.
Their souls are in Hell
We players sing on well.
I begged for an Angel to save us.
But got the Devil instead.

The applause was uproarious because of the
excellent music and the scandalous lyrics. People liked to think
about the forces of evil helping them even if such thoughts were
wrong.

Patercek praised the song effusively, and he
received many compliments from his friends for the quality of his
players. Thal eased himself away from the crowd. He did not want to
field any questions about his role in inspiring the song. It was no
secret that he had killed some local lurkers but he hardly wished
to brag about it.

He ventured to the buffet where the bones of
the boar lay in juice and a few leftover vegetables. He picked out
the tail and tossed it to Pistol who retreated happily under a
table with his prize.

******

Thal folded his cards. His luck had been
solid all evening and he figured he had taken enough coin from
Patercek’s guests. His two opponents in this hand of primero
appeared quite relieved that he had relented and they focused on
each other.

One man was an aging knight with a limp and
crooked fingers. Thal had seen him borrow money from his companions
twice. The other man was a lord who Thal had learned owned a
quarry. They placed a few more bets, and the knight actually won a
hand. Thal was happy for him. The man had been making terrible
plays all night.

Thal had not started at this table in
Patercek’s private game room. He had been betting with the
tradesmen and farmers and horse breeders until they tired of his
winning streak. They had all been as easy to read as typeset words.
He would have been content with his modest winnings, but as the
party wound down, Patercek had invited him into the game with his
upper class guests. Thal was pretty sure Patercek did it to show
him off and tell the story of the hunt again. Their shinier coin
had added up nicely, and Thal was feeling quite confident about his
finances. He would be able to finish his journey to Prague and not
have to rely so much on his friends for dinner.

“More wine?” Patercek said. He tilted the
decanter over Thal’s crystal glass.

“Thank you,” Thal said.

Patercek clunked the decanter against the
crystal but it survived the impact. He was getting bleary now that
it was late.

“Well I’m not going to let Gregor win back
any more tonight,” the man who had just lost the hand announced. He
pushed the cards sloppily into the center of the table, refusing
his deal.

“How about you, Patercek?” the old knight
asked.

Patercek looked at Thal. “Do we really want
to give our friendly traveler any more money?” he asked.

Thal glanced down and sipped his wine. “My
luck could sour,” he murmured.

“Oh, to Hell with it. I’m going to bed,”
Gregor decided. “This will have to do. A fine game gentlemen.”

“Orsh can show you to rooms. I do so hope you
rest well,” Patercek said.

After Patercek bid the two men good night,
Thal stood from the table. “I’ll be retiring as well. You were kind
to include me in your game,” he said.

Patercek chuckled. “That’s a mistake we
shan’t make again,” he said.

“If it consoles you at all, my Lord, I do
rather need the money,” Thal said.

Patercek plucked his wine glass off the
table. Being a little drunk, he swept his eyes wistfully up and
down Thal’s body. “Tell me, Thal, you could have won that last hand
couldn’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

“So you were just being merciful,” Patercek
said.

“I did not wish to upset your guests, as a
courtesy to you, Sir,” Thal said.

“Thoughtful of you. Good thing they are
better losers than most men,” Patercek said.

“Indeed,” Thal agreed, knowing too well how
tempers could flare over a lost pile of wagers.

Patercek covered a yawn and then grabbed a
candlestick off a side table. He yipped when drops of wax hit his
wrist. “Shall we go find our musical friends?” he said.

“If you wish,” Thal said.

They found the musicians sitting with people
around a fire in the courtyard. Crackling flames snapped orange
cinders into the starry night framed by the walls. Drunken singing
set the friendly mood. Regis had his arm around a young woman, but
he excused himself from her soft company when Patercek
beckoned.

The men followed their host into the castle.
Not much of an effort had been made to clean up after the banquet
yet. Greasy dishes and empty cups and bowls were strewn across the
tables. Someone was snoring in a dark corner. Brutus and Lucky and
Pistol lolled lazily near the buffet having licked the floor.

Patercek ignored the clutter and took the men
back to his game room.

Regarding them fondly, he said, “Such lovely
music tonight gentlemen. I offer my utmost compliments.”

The musicians thanked him politely. They had
honestly made their best effort on his behalf.

“I will admit that I’d love to keep you all
to myself, but your talent deserves to reach Prague. That exuberant
city will inspire your music. I admire the journey you fellows have
undertaken for the sake of your craft, and I’d like to help you on
your way,” Patercek said. He removed three letters and passed them
out to Regis, Raphael, and Carlo. He patted Carlo’s hand as the
young man received the letter.

“I’m providing you with letters of
introduction to my sister Carmelita Hrabe who resides in Prague.
She’ll appreciate you as much as me and love showing you off to her
friends,” he said.

“Lord Patercek, thank you!” Carlo cried. His
friends added their gratitude and clutched their precious letters
lovingly.

Patercek continued, “Carmelita is recently
widowed and I gather that she is rather enjoying it. She’s likely
throwing lots of affairs and can put musicians to good use.”

Overjoyed, the musicians thanked Patercek
again and again until Regis said, “What of Thal?”

Thal appreciated his friend’s loyalty, but he
did not want to make Patercek uncomfortable about the omission.
Thal understood that he might not be the sort who ever got letters
of recommendation from anyone.

Patercek drew out his fourth letter. “I
haven’t forgotten your beloved bodyguard,” he said.

Thal was surprised by the happiness that
swept away his disappointment. He had meant to take the rejection
stoically and inclusion caught him off guard.

“You’re so kind to me,” he murmured as he
accepted the neatly folded and sealed letter. It seemed as if a
token of civilization was passing into his hands. This was a little
piece of strange magic that could not be found in the forest.

“I’d have a word with Thal alone. Now shoo,
shoo. Go back to that girl Regis,” Patercek said.

He waved them away. Carlo bounded forward and
kissed Patercek’s hand before departing.

Thal turned the letter over in his hands.
“Letters such as these are not lightly given are they?” he
asked.

“Not when I recommend someone to the
household of my sister,” Patercek said.

“I am flattered by your approval, Lord
Patercek. You shan’t find it misplaced,” Thal said earnestly.

“I’d like to have your promise on that,”
Patercek said with great seriousness.

“I’ll bring no harm to Lady Carmelita,” Thal
pledged.

“Thank you. When mother finds out what I’ve
done, I’ll need that promise to placate her,” Patercek
revealed.

“Does Lady Zsazi not like me?” Thal said.

“You bother her woman’s intuition,” Patercek
said.

“It’s not my intention,” Thal said
regretfully.

“I know, but I’m certain Carmelita will adore
you. I decided to send you to her because she might be able to
steer you toward some work that suits your talents. Her in-laws
have radical ambitions. These are prickly times. Frankly I worry
about her, but I’d take some comfort knowing a good man was
watching out for her,” Patercek explained.

Thal absorbed the information. He knew
nothing of the intrigues of the upper social circles of Prague, but
if Patercek asked him to support his sister, then he would.

“I shall help her as best I can,” Thal
said.

“Good, good. But don’t let her push you
around. She’ll try to do that,” Patercek advised.

“I look forward to meeting her,” Thal
said.

“I’m sending a caravan of supplies to her
household. You and your friends can ride with those wagons. I’m
sorry to see you go, but I know that you won’t stay much longer
anyway,” Patercek said.

“I do need to get to Prague,” Thal murmured.
His need for his mother flared again. He was fully healed and
needed to move on.

Brother Vito admired the city. Its
cosmopolitan splendor and numerous construction projects relieved
him after the colloquial tedium of his long journey. Prague was not
a dull place at all, and he intended to further provoke its
passions.

The traffic was bottlenecked where a big
scaffold blocked half the street. Vito and Miguel got pushed
together as they shuffled through the crowd behind a sagging cart
of bricks seemingly hauled by a team of snails.

Vito looked up the scaffold. Workers were on
its four levels plastering and painting and installing statues
along a balcony rail.

“The whole city is being built or rebuilt,”
Miguel remarked.

“You can’t expect the Emperor and the new
archbishop to occupy some tumbled down ruin,” Vito said as if it
were all very normal.

They got past the scaffold and were able to
scoot around the cart. The street opened onto a square.

“Oh, look at that!” Miguel exclaimed at a
palace across the square.

Vito spotted the crosses mounted on the
gables. “That has to be the archbishop’s palace,” he said.

“No vows of poverty there,” Miguel joked.

Vito’s reproachful look was especially
severe. He generally tolerated his colleague’s sarcasm, but not
within sight of the archbishop’s doors.

Although Vito hoped to visit the palace in
the near future, he needed to get across the river and find the new
Jesuit Academy. He had left his group at the city outskirts because
he had wanted to avoid leading his men around a foreign city and
taking them on inevitable wrong turns.

While crossing the square, they looked plain
in their brown robes compared to the rest of the people in their
white linen shirts and head scarves and dyed wool and merrily
embroidered bodices and doublets. Men with boots and silver
encrusted sword handles contrasted extravagantly with the simply
clad Jesuits.

The monks aimed for the bridge tower they
could see over the jumble of roofs. The traffic on the Kamenny Most
was thick. The summer season was nigh and the whole world seemed to
be busily alive. Thick as debris from a severe flood, small boats
and heavier barges clogged the waters of the Vltava.

Once they reached Old Town and the Knights of
the Cross square, jugglers, dancers, and fortune tellers filled the
gaps among vendor’s stalls and carts, and men-at-arms marched
toward the bridge, presumably bound for the Emperor’s castle. Their
battered pikes still glinted in the bright sun.

A nighttime rain had washed the city. The
rainwater still glistened freshly on the cobbled streets and
dripped from the eaves. Vito and Miguel admired the towers and
steeples and statues. The chatter of Czech and German and a little
Spanish and Italian crossed their ears as they moved through the
crowds.