Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (33 page)

After rubbing a boot clean, Thal sniffed it.
Faintly the scent of Captain Jan still clung to it, which irritated
him.

In the hall he heard the faint approach of
small feet. A timid little knock at the door sought his
attention.

Thal wanted to command the visitor away with
surly words, but the apprehensive little soul outside sweetened his
mood a little. And Pistol was wagging at the closed door, eager for
a visitor.

“Yes,” Thal said heavily.

The dark shaggy haired head of a pot boy
looked inside. His eyes were wide as he beheld Thal up close.

“Sir, are you the mercenary?” the boy
said.

“I’m a huntsman,” Thal corrected.

Even a little servant boy knew that the
employ of a huntsman in an urban household was a bit
ridiculous.

“Lord Mika wishes to see you,” the boy
said.

“Who’s that?” Thal said, not very interested.
He returned to polishing a boot.

“Lady Carmelita’s son,” the boy said. “He
wants to see your gun.”

When Thal looked up, the boy smiled and
glanced hopefully at the pistol on the table.

Thal decided it might do him some good to
trade brooding in his room for being annoyed by pups.

“All right,” he said and beckoned the pot
boy. “Methinks you might like to see it first.”

The boy grinned and rushed to the table, but
Thal quickly scooped up the gun. He showed the boy its details and
described how it worked. Then under strict orders not to pull the
trigger, he let the boy hold it.

“Thank you, Sir!” the boy beamed when he gave
it back.

Thal slid it into his belt and grabbed his
powder horn. Bending down, he put on a menacing face and said, “If
I find you touching this pistol or any of my things, I will throw
you off the Kamenny Most.”

“I won’t touch it!” the boy insisted and
shook his head dramatically.

“Now take me to the little lord of the
house,” Thal said.

The pot boy led him out of the non-frivolous
servants’ wing and into the polished and painted rooms of the main
residence where intricate tapestries, paintings, and sculptures
adorned every wall and corner.

The big home contained a large inner
courtyard of flowers and trees and even a little pond of fish.
Pistol ran around and marked a few blooming beds and then flushed
out a cat and tore off on his own adventures.

Mika was playing with carved wooden knights.
He bashed and banged them together in a make-believe duel. He had
light brown hair and a friendly face with big eyes. He was about
eight or nine years old just like the pot boy. A governess sat on a
sunny bench, stitching upon fabric in a little hoop.

“Hello!” Mika cried.

“Good afternoon,” Thal said.

“I’m Lord Hrabe,” Mika said, self
importantly.

Thal crossed his arms, refusing to be
impressed. “I’m Thal Lesky.”

“You have to do what I say,” Mika said.

“I would not count on that, boy,” Thal
said.

Mika’s jaw dropped. His governess stopped her
needle in mid air.

“You can’t talk to me like that,” Mika
protested.

“You best use your manners if you want to see
my gun,” Thal said.

Worry crossed the noble brat’s face. The
stranger’s lack of respectful indulgence was entirely off-putting.
The pot boy was bouncing on the balls of his feet and biting his
lip lest he blurt out that he had already got to hold it.

Mika finally roused up a threat. “I’ll tell
my mother to put you in the street.”

Thal shrugged.

Mika wavered. Seeing Thal up close enhanced
his curiosity even more. And his childish intuition told him not to
anger this adult glowering at him with exotic eyes.

Holding up one of his toys, Mika said, “Want
to play?”

“That’s better,” Thal said.

Mika ran a short distance away and set his
knight on a patch of lawn. He scurried back to Thal and said,
“Shoot it! Shoot it, please!”

“I suppose I could use the practice,” Thal
said, rubbing his goatee thoughtfully.

“Please!”

“I suspect this is not the proper place,”
Thal said.

“It is not!” the governess chimed in, coming
to her feet.

“Please! Thal, please! I say it’s good,” Mika
insisted.

Slowly Thal drew his pistol. Both boys
stopped breathing. Looking hard at Mika, Thal said, “Only because
you said please.”

He took aim. Really hoping he did not miss,
he pulled the trigger. The toy burst into chunks that flew in every
direction. The boys shrieked with delight. The governess just
shrieked. Thal blew the smoke out of his face.

“Again!” Mika cried. He tossed his other toy
to the pot boy and told him to set it up.

“Let me show you how to load it,” Thal said.
He took out his horn. He and Mika kneeled and went through the
process of loading. He let Mika help a little. The pot boy ran back
and watched over their shoulders.

The governess stormed up. “You are not
shooting that again,” she said.

“No, Lord Hrabe shall have the next shot,”
Thal said.

“He will not!” she argued.

Thal stood up and looked at her with the full
force of his strong personality. She quailed back a step and then
ran into the house.

Thal cleared his throat. The smoke from the
first shot had irritated his nose. “I don’t think we’ll have much
time,” he said and winked to the boys.

Carefully he helped Mika hold the pistol and
kneeled beside him. He kept a hold of it with the boy and warned
him that the pistol would kick back when they fired. He tried to
help the boy aim and then let him pull the trigger.

Mika missed his toy but a flower pot flew
apart into shards, spraying dirt, leaves, and colorful petals. The
boys laughed and laughed, and their delight helped Thal feel a
little better.

“Who is shooting a gun in my house?!” a
female voice demanded through an open doorway.

Holding a pistol with a bit of smoke still
curling away, Thal made no attempt to conceal his guilt as Lady
Carmelita swept into the courtyard. When she saw the mess, her blue
eyes popped at the audacity.

As she drew in a breath to begin some
maternal tirade, Thal quickly said, “Forgive me, my Lady. I was
indulging Lord Mika’s request to show him how to shoot a
pistol.”

“You let him shoot it?” she cried.

“Mama, it was so amazing. My hand still
hurts! I WANT one,” Mika said.

“Hush.” Her voice cracked her son with the
single word. She grabbed his ear and flung him toward the
governess. “In your room you go!” she commanded. The governess
hauled him away. The lad submitted to his banishment, still
thrilled by the experience.

“Clean up this mess!” Carmelita shouted at
the pot boy, who scrambled out of her reach.

With a huff, Carmelita composed herself and
then regarded Thal. “This was rather juvenile of you,” she
said.

“Yes, my Lady.”

“I really can’t condone you taking such
liberties,” she added.

“I understand.”

She strolled around him. Except for the
evening of his arrival, she had not had another chance to admire
him. His physique and flippant attitude were cooling her temper
considerably.

“You really don’t care if I let you stay or
not,” she said, sounding disappointed.

“My Lady, that’s not true. I have no desire
to offend you. I offer my apologies,” Thal said. She was halfway
behind him now and he looked over his shoulder. His liquid eyes
beamed with regret. Carmelita felt her heart quiver. He was
amazing. Her brother always met the most interesting men. He had
been thoughtful to send Thal to her.

“I’m sure the boy put you up to it,” she
said.

“Still the blame is mine,” Thal said. He had
learned enough about women to recognize her playful attraction to
him.

“No shooting guns in my house. You aren’t at
my brother’s castle anymore,” she said.

“Yes, my Lady.”

“And no more hiding from me. Where have you
been?” she said.

“I did not know my Lady required my
presence,” he said.

“Well, I do require it tonight. I’m having a
party. Afterward, I have some friends who should make your
acquaintance,” she said.

She was a pretty woman. Her dark hair was
almost black. Her skin fair and rosy with health. And the curiosity
in her blue eyes was not something he wanted to encourage.

Thal looked away from her. “Whatever could
your friends want with a simple huntsman?” he said.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Then I shall surely satisfy,” he said.

Chuckling, she sauntered back in front of
Thal and looked up at him so he could not avoid her eyes. His
handsome features invited trust, but his peculiar hair and the
blended colors of his eyes spoke of wild mystery.

“Until tonight,” she said.

“I will be here, my Lady,” he said.

“Good, even with my brother’s recommendation,
you still have to prove your reliability to me,” Carmelita
said.

“I’ve already stopped shooting as you
requested,” he pointed out.

She struggled not to smile and walked away.
Thal watched her go back in the house. Her pale blue dress was
nicely tailored. He noted her straight back and how the draping
fabric did not quite hide the saucy swing of her hips. She seemed
not to be a widow overcome with grief.

Now that his frivolity with the children was
over, his grief returned to darken his mood. He went back to his
room, loaded his gun, put on his hat, and left the house.

The walk across the bridge from the Little
Quarter to Old Town was long. This gave him time to organize his
thoughts. He needed to be methodical. He must not act rashly during
the process of finding those who had tormented his mother.

He slowed his pace the closer he got to Old
Town Square. The knowledge that his mother had died there made his
spirit shake. A haunted unease afflicted his courage. He could
almost hear her voice saying his name. She must have been a
powerful magic worker. The blood in his veins was beginning to burn
from the touch of her spells.

Next to the Town Hall was the Court and near
it along the edge of the square was a row of small platforms with
heavy wooden boards with holes for a person’s head and hands. Two
of the stocks were occupied by unfortunate criminals. Piles of
moldy food were strewn around their feet and splatted against the
stocks. The brownish splash of someone’s slop bucket was sprayed
across one penitent.

Thal pitied the two condemned to the
uncomfortable public humiliation. To see any animal in a trap was
heartbreaking, but he resisted the temptation to free them. He
would only gain unwanted attention. His act of kindness was not
going to change society, and perhaps those two men actually
deserved to be there. Bad behavior was not in short supply.

Thal found a place to loiter in view of the
Court. Pistol wandered off into the loose crowd.

A ragged and barefoot woman with the
appearance of being pregnant approached the stocks with a water
bucket. She gave one man a drink. The other criminal begged for
water and she served him as well.

“Alms for the poor?” a voice said from he
shadows.

Thal looked over his shoulder. A man on a
crutch was coming out of an ally. He had a long beard and a hat
that appeared to be more holes than actual hat. Half healed sores
marred his sagging face. He wagged a wooden bowl toward Thal.

He dug out a few coppers and made a
donation.

“Thank you much, Sir,” the beggar beamed.
“Are ye waiting for someone?”

“No.”

“You’re new here,” the beggar commented,
squinting up at Thal.

His odor was exceedingly unpleasant, but Thal
resisted ordering the beggar away. He might be full of useful
information.

“Where is the jail?” he asked.

“Oh, are you going to bust someone out?” the
beggar asked excitedly.

“Does that happen often?” Thal said.

“No,” the beggar declared.

“Do you know where it is?” Thal pressed.

The man rattled his coppers in the bowl
meaningfully.

“Tell me first,” Thal said.

“It’s in the cellars of that old building
behind the Court,” the beggar said.

Thal obliged him with some more coppers.

“Can’t hardly hear the screaming from down in
there,” the beggar commented.

Thal suppressed a shudder, expecting that his
mother had been put to painful torments in that place.

“Thank you,” he muttered and walked away. He
headed to the jail. Pistol showed up and kept his head low, sensing
his master’s hard mood.

The jail was a nondescript stone hulk.
Heavily barred windows along the foundation allowed a glimpse into
the dank shadowy realm of confinement. The reek of soiled straw and
despair stabbed Thal’s spirit. Bravely he took a deeper whiff of
the building. The mingling of many bodily odors assaulted him and
he had trouble determining any individual signatures.

When the door of the building opened, he
watched a tall man with a bright chain holding his cloak come out
with a grungy associate. Keys jingled on the underling’s belt. They
headed toward the square.

Hatred surged in Thal at the sight of these
jailers. The likelihood that one or both of them had served in the
villainy against his mother was very high.

He was stalking them before he had given it
any thought. He came upon them quickly. The man with the official
medallion whirled at the intrusion. He held his walking stick ready
to defend himself.

“Do you have some business with me, knave?”
the Constable said.

Being close to the man allowed Thal to
confirm his ugly suspicion. He was so overcome that he could not
reply. All of his willpower was needed not to tear out the man’s
throat.

Not yet, Thal told himself.

Pistol lunged at the man’s feet. He sank his
teeth in the top of a boot.