Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (38 page)

She recalled the sorrow on Thal’s face when
she had told him the grim truth about his mother’s demise. How
could she not pity a child’s grief for his mother?

But perhaps her sympathies were leading her
astray. Her doubts about Gretchen’s persecution were twisting her
good sense. Thal had to be dangerous. She reread his list of crimes
and accepted that he really could be a werewolf. It explained the
howling over the city, but why did his song charm her so? Altea had
no answer to explain her feelings. Even fearing that magic was
afflicting her, she could not deny her impulse to protect
Gretchen’s son. She owed the poor old woman that favor.

The reward of gold florins would surely catch
Martin’s eye. She tore the page from the book. She flipped the
leather cover back in place and put the book in its original
position.

The chatter of her brothers in the hall
warned her to hurry. Hastily she folded the parchment. Its
crinkling seemed as loud as canons to her. She stuffed it in a
pocket in her skirt. The gathered folds of fabric would hide it.
Jumping up, she scooted away from Martin’s chair.

Her family entered the office. Erik and Yiri
were blathering about what they had seen. All the boys were visibly
reassured to be near their father, and Altea invisibly envied their
closeness.

Martin grabbed his hat. “Altea, watch the
boys. I’ll send someone for you once our house is protected,” he
said.

She nodded. Martin assumed her silence was
caused by fear and never suspected her guilt. He left quickly to
dodge the pleas of his younger sons to stay.

Yiri pressed against Altea and hugged her
waist. The stolen parchment crackled in her pocket. Its clandestine
presence consumed her attention. She was confused by her desire to
protect the mysterious man. To condemn him was her proper duty, but
she hesitated to take the world’s word that he was evil. Her heart
told her otherwise. Hopefully she would never find out either way
because she feared to enter the unmapped kingdom of the truth.

Vito stopped outside the room where Rainer
was recuperating. Inside a brother was spooning him broth.

“I can tend Brother Rainer now. Go to your
duties,” Vito said.

“He’s been sleepwalking again,” the monk
said.

“I’ll pray with him until he can rest,” Vito
said.

Once they were alone, Vito shut the door and
pulled up a chair next to Rainer’s cot. Fresh straw on the floor
helped brighten the musty room, but the chill of the smelly old
building held the sunny morning at bay.

Rainer pulled his blanket up to his chin and
shuddered.

“Did he come to you?” Vito whispered.

“Yes,” Rainer said guardedly. He was trying
to avoid thinking about how profound his encounter with Thal had
been. For the first time the hideous loneliness of his werewolf
existence had been replaced with kinship, but he resisted the
temptation of such corrupt comfort.

“What did he do?” Vito said, veiling his
excitement poorly.

“He wanted to be with me,” Rainer said.

“Why didn’t he follow you here?” Vito
said.

Rainer looked at the wall. “I don’t know,” he
murmured.

His evasive demeanor tickled Vito with
suspicion. Something had occurred between the beasts that Rainer
did not want to share.

Vito said, “Tonight you must find him and try
again to lure him back here.”

Remembering the horror of being caged during
a transformation, Rainer despised the thought of aiding in Thal’s
capture. He touched the cross hanging around his neck and told
himself to think of his soul. He could never be saved if he sided
with the other werewolf. He must serve Christ.

“Brother Vito, what will you do when you
catch him?” Rainer said.

Assuming Rainer was succumbing to his usual
misplaced compassion, Vito said, “If I can, I will try to save him,
like I do with you. If I could have a proper chance to speak with
him again, maybe he would join us and serve our cause to cleanse
his sins.”

The idea perked up Rainer. “Do you think he
could accept Christ?” he said.

Vito nodded. “Remember his curiosity about us
in Mirotice? He may be seeking God without even understanding.
Perhaps there’s goodness left in his soul and he won’t have to be
executed.”

“There is goodness,” Rainer said.

“Then I will pray that he can be redeemed,
but either way it’s very important you bring him back here. He must
accept Christ or pay for his Devil ways,” Vito said.

Rainer nodded thoughtfully. He wanted to
believe that Thal would join with him in the service of Christ, but
luring him into a trap remained uncomfortable for Rainer. What if
Thal rejected Christ? Rainer did not want to imagine how that would
make him feel.

“So I must seek him tonight,” Rainer
said.

“Yes. And bring him back here,” Vito said
although he now planned to send his sellswords to track Rainer.

“As you say,” Rainer said heavily. He only
needed to get through one more night before the moon waned enough
to release him for a few weeks.

Vito bade him to rest and went out. He meant
to introduce himself to the Magistrate with whom he hoped to begin
a productive relationship. He was well pleased with the mayhem
Rainer had spread last night. The officials of Prague would surely
be ready for holy guidance this morning.

On the streets men looked over their
shoulders at Vito as he walked by. Clusters of women with their
water buckets chattered with urgent vigor, and they snapped at
their little children to stay close. Older wives dispensed opinions
about the events of the night with sage confidence.

“Brother Vito!”

Vito craned his neck to see over the traffic.
Miguel was coming toward him, waving a hand. A slop bucket emptied
from a high window splashed into the street and the Jesuit had to
dodge the spray. He hustled up to Vito, who read success upon his
associate’s satisfied face.

Miguel fell into step next to his master. “I
think you’ll find the Magistrate to be quite personally
distressed,” he reported.

“Excellent. I trust no one saw you in the
vicinity of his house,” Vito said.

“No. I went along the docks this morning and
roused up a rabble and told them where to go. They made me buy them
beer first, but that only loosened their tempers for the display. I
met one fellow who regularly does this sort of thing. He hustled up
twenty lowlifes at the shake of a stick. He was most helpful but I
had to give up a thaler to him. That and the beer cut into your
budget for the sellswords I fear,” Miguel said.

“It’s their lot for pay to be in arrears.
They haven’t done anything but squeeze the bums of wenches and lift
steins since we got to Prague anyway,” Vito said.

The street opened into the Old Town Square. A
number of men-at-arms were still shooing away upset citizens.

“There was quite a mob here too,” Miguel
said.

Vito nodded happily. They wove among the
vendors’ scattered carts. Some of the sellers were picking up
merchandise that had been knocked over by the throng of people
rushing to the Town Hall to complain about the fearsome
attacks.

At the front doors of the Court, a guard
said, “By order of the Magistrate, no visitors today.”

“I am Brother Vito di Tellamoro of the
Society of Jesus on a mission sanctioned by the Pope to maintain
the Godliness of Bohemia. I have special knowledge concerning the
devilry that afflicted your city last night and am here to help. To
refuse me is to refuse the Church,” Vito said.

The guard wavered. The serious looking
Jesuits eyed him with judgmental authority backed up by an
intolerant reputation. He glanced at his colleague who reflected no
desire to hassle the Churchmen.

“The magic besetting you requires Holy aid.
It is beyond the mundane powers of a mere city court,” Miguel
added.

The guard let the Jesuits enter.

In the gloomy front hall of the Court, the
dark wood panels absorbed the sunlight streaming in the upper
windows. The doors to the official court chambers were shut, but
the energy of many large audiences and dramatic condemnations
permeated the building.

Going down a side hall, they were confronted
by the Magistrate’s secretary.

“No one is supposed to be in here,” the man
huffed.

“I am sure that the Magistrate will be
interested in giving us an audience,” Vito declared.

“We are trained in the detection of
heretics,” Miguel added.

The disgruntled secretary frowned but sought
a compromise. “We can arrange an appointment for another day,” he
said.

“To delay hearing our advice would not serve
the Magistrate well,” Vito said.

“He’s not in at the moment,” the secretary
said.

A door in the hall opened and a man poked out
his head.

“Brother Miguel?” he said.

“Professor Zussek!” Miguel exclaimed.

Zussek came into the hall and greeted Miguel.
Then he took Vito’s hand. The secretary hung back in defeat.

“You can wait with me,” Zussek said and
ushered them into the room. “I’m a personal friend of Magistrate
Fridrich. I’ll introduce you. His secretary was correct that he’s
out. He had a mob descend on his home.”

“How very uncalled for,” Vito said
sympathetically.

Miguel suppressed a smile. Ethics aside, he
had to admire how Vito handled reality as deftly as a master potter
shaped wet clay on the wheel.

Zussek sat down. A rigid leather case was at
his feet. The hem of his black robe was a little wet and
soiled.

“You were certainly correct about werewolves
being in the area,” Zussek said.

“I wish it were not so,” Vito said.

“With the Church and Empire holding the reins
of Bohemia we will set things right,” Miguel added.

“If only things had not gone so far afoul,”
Zussek lamented.

“Is it still your belief that some witch’s
spell has summoned these beasts?” Miguel asked.

Gravely Zussek nodded. His frizzy beard
scratched against his stiff linen collar. “It’s the only reasonable
explanation,” he said. Leaning forward, he patted his leather case
and added, “I went to the scene of the killing this morning and
gathered evidence.”

“Like what?” Vito asked.

“As a courtesy we must wait for the
Magistrate,” Zussek said.

Vito restrained himself from nagging for the
professor’s news. His patience was a fair exchange for an
introduction to the Magistrate.

Outside the clanging of the Town Hall’s
elaborate astrological clock performed the marking of the hour. Not
much later the bustling noise of the returning Magistrate was in
the hall. His secretary put him on notice that he had visitors.

Zussek and the Jesuits were already on their
feet when the secretary opened the door and ushered them toward
Martin’s office.

Martin was dabbing at his forehead with a
cloth as his visitors entered. He had done entirely too much
rushing about this morning.

He welcomed Zussek warmly, and the professor
introduced Vito and Miguel as his new acquaintances from the Jesuit
Academy. Martin glanced questioningly at his friend. Apparently
Zussek was attempting to improve his university’s poor status with
ecclesiastical powers.

After the men took their seats, Zussek said,
“Are things well again at home?”

“Yes. We got Karlova cleared out,” Martin
said, not wishing to revisit the annoyance.

“I took the liberty of visiting the places
where the killing was done last night,” Zussek said and lifted his
case onto the desk. He started to undo the buckles.

“You’ve found something?” Martin said.

The professor opened the case and pulled out
a notebook. The case also held two sets of calipers, little
bottles, scissors, and a set of glass lenses.

Turning the notebook for everyone to see,
Zussek showed the bloody footprints he had drawn in actual size.
His illustrations were startling. Then he described his examination
of the bodies.

“Unfortunately I did not get a proper look at
the horses. Damn people had already started butchering the meat,
but two dead men were still intact. I measured the bite marks and
scratches,” he said.

“What could make wounds so large?” Martin
wondered as he perused the notes.

Before Zussek could answer, Vito said, “It’s
a werewolf.”

“A werewolf?” Martin said.

Jumping to the Jesuit’s support, Zussek said,
“Brother Vito’s party encountered one recently by Mirotice and
there’s increasing tales of them from the south,” he said. Removing
a clear glass bottle from the case, he held it up. “And here’s some
of its hair.”

The men leaned close, their eyes glazed with
wonder. Zussek explained how he had found the tuft of fur between
the fingers of one of the victims.

They passed around the bottle. The gray and
brown strands of fur fleshed out the beast in their
imaginations.

Martin handed back the bottle to his friend
and remembered the other bit of hair Zussek had shown him. He
decided not to mention that in the presence of the Jesuits.

Sitting back as was his habit before
declaring an opinion, Martin said, “A werewolf might explain why my
Constable reported that dogs won’t track this thing.”

“A sure sign of supernatural influence,”
Zussek said, greatly interested by the detail.

“I’ve arranged for three street patrols
tonight to hunt it,” Martin said. “They’ll be armed of course.”

“Only three patrols?” Vito said.

Martin regarded the Soldier of Christ, whose
presence in Prague was quite new to him. Since two Jesuits from the
Clementinum were sitting in his office, he hoped they were there to
do more than complain.

“The Court’s coffers barely keep pace with
the expenses of normal crimes. Organizing hunting parties for
beastly servants of the Devil strains my already overburdened
resources,” Martin said.