Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (29 page)

Miguel guided Vito around the back of a hall.
The first door Miguel tried was locked and then he realized he had
the wrong one.

“It’s the next door down,” he assured
Vito.

That door was open. “Zussek said he would
wait for us until noon,” Miguel said.

They entered a storeroom. Crates were stacked
along dusty shelves stuffed with smaller boxes and bundles. Cob
webs clung to the windows. The men walked around three piles of
rusting metal artifacts that ranged from weapons to astrological
instruments.

“Hello!” a man called from a balcony. “Come
up here.” He spoke Italian for the sake of his guests and the
chance to practice.

A man with a brimless black cap, a frilly
lace color that was dingy, and a black and gray robe greeted the
monks at the top of the stairs. His chin length blonde hair was
streaked with gray as was his frizzy beard.

“Professor Zussek I presume?” Vito said.

“Yes, and you must be Brother Vito,” Zussek
said. He extended a soft hand to Vito. Then he shook hands warmly
with Miguel.

“So very glad to make your acquaintance. I’m
excited by the prospect of the Jesuit Academy reinvigorating the
university community,” Zussek said.

“We are united in our battle against
ignorance,” Vito said. He was trying to get a feel for what the
professor’s motives might be. He was coming across as a bit of a
toady, which Vito found interesting.

“I brought that heretic prosecution manual I
was telling you about,” Miguel said and patted his book bag.

“Excellent. I’m happy to see the latest
publication out of Rome,” Zussek said and invited them toward his
office.

His chamber had the expected clutter of
paper, books, ink bottles, and quills. Printed pamphlets and
various public handbills with tattered corners were stacked on the
professor’s desk. Outside the windows the spreading limbs of a
larch filtered the sunlight. Ivy leaves crept along the corners of
the windows and sparrows pecked at seeds left for them on the
sill.

Vito and Miguel sank into deep cushy chairs.
Zussek took a seat facing them, eschewing the formality of sitting
behind his desk.

“Thank you for meeting with me so quickly,”
Vito said.

“We just finished for the summer, so my
schedule is much less demanding although I intend to catch up on my
writing,” Zussek said.

Miguel unpacked his book and gave it to the
professor who accepted it excitedly. He recognized one of the
author’s names and confirmed him as a reliable scholar. “Oh why
hasn’t this title reached Prague yet?” he lamented as he carefully
paged through the book, scanning the chapter headings. He took a
bit of paper off his desk and dipped a quill.

“The Identification of Heretics, Sorcerers,
and Witches and Methods for Gaining Confession,” he murmured as he
wrote.

“I’ve found this one to have the most precise
research on the lifestyles of Devil worshippers and how their
influence steers innocent populations toward heresy,” Miguel said.
He directed Zussek to some pages deeper in, and they happily
discussed nuances of witchcraft.

When Vito tired of their scholarly chatter,
he said, “I was told that many important families in Prague were
familiar with the witches recently put down.”

Zussek straightened up from the book open
across his knees. “Please don’t think ill of us, Brother. Those
families were victims. These magic workers are capable of great
deceptions, even upon pious minds. We must avoid grouping the
innocent with the evil. The people of Prague honestly welcome the
help of holy men to fight what we’re up against,” he said.

“And what are we up against in Prague?” Vito
said.

Zussek handed the book back to Miguel and got
out of his chair. He folded his hands behind his back and frowned
as if on the verge of making a grim proclamation.

“I fear the whole city is bewitched,” he
said.

“But you just defended your fellows as
pious,” Vito argued.

“I mean that I fear a spell has been cast
that endangers everyone,” Zussek clarified. He sat down again.

“A spell cast by whom?” Miguel asked. He
leafed through his book seeking the section on spells.

Zussek tapped his fingers on the armrest.
Concern clouded his face. “You’ve heard about the witches burned
already this spring,” he said.

“Yes, twelve of them,” Vito said.

“Thirteen,” Zussek corrected dramatically.
“The court condemned twelve of them but then a final woman was
brought in after her acolytes gave up her name. Many tortures were
needed to get that information. Thank Heaven the Empire endorses
torture against these tight-lipped magic workers. She was obviously
their coven leader.”

Miguel nodded and ran a finger along a line
of text he had found. “Each coven has a leader, a diabolical
priestess who mates with the Devil and entices her followers to do
the same. A coven usually numbers thirteen to mock Christ and His
Apostles,” he quoted.

Zussek agreed, “Exactly. And I harbor no
doubt that the thirteenth witch was one such as that. She was hard
to catch. No ordinary old woman could have run so far. I personally
attended her execution. She shrieked at the crowd of the
retribution to come. She said that all who had harmed her would
know brutal death. Her vicious oaths went on well after the fire
reached her body.” Zussek leaned forward and lowered his voice as
if the next detail would be a mortal sin if he said it too loudly.
“The flames burned white around her body. I’ve never seen that
before, and that’s why I believe that she cast some parting magic
upon the city. The minions of the Devil are surely coming to
Prague,” he concluded.

“How long ago did this happen?” Vito
asked.

“Two months ago.”

“I see,” Vito murmured, wondering what he
might do with the information.

Now that Zussek had shared his local tale he
was eager to derive information from the newcomers. “Miguel hinted
this morning that you had heard fresh tales of devilry on your
travels. I collect such information and would appreciate hearing
any news you have. I’m writing my own book on the subject. What was
the incident recently at Mirotice?”

Vito glanced at Miguel, disapproving of the
detail Miguel had apparently let slip when introducing himself to
the professor. Miguel avoided the critical gaze of his leader, and
Vito reluctantly accepted that his associate had been trying to
start a rapport with their new acquaintance. Miguel was sneaky like
that.

“The sellswords in our company described an
encounter with a wild beast of great size,” Miguel said.

“A wolf perhaps?” Zussek suggested.

“I don’t know,” Miguel said.

“A werewolf,” Vito said.

Miguel’s mouth dropped. He had not heard Vito
express that idea before.

Vito continued, “There’s been talk of
werewolves to the south. We encountered a transient in Mirotice.
Something about him did not set well with me and I sent my men to
find him. He had fled the village and then they were attacked by
something on the road at night. We never saw him again.”

Miguel easily recalled Thal and how Vito had
even attempted to recruit him. “You think that man was a werewolf?
But there was no moon that night. A werewolf is always associated
with the full moon,” Miguel insisted.

“Quite right,” Zussek agreed.

“This one must be different,” Vito said. He
could still see Thal in his mind. Those entrancing eyes had looked
back at him from an unknown world. A rare charisma spiced with
mystery had encompassed him, and Vito wondered what it would take
to bring such talent under his control.

After giving the professor and Miguel a
moment to absorb his startling idea, Vito said, “Mirotice is not
particularly far from here. If we encounter a werewolf again, as I
fear we might, do you know any way to contain it?”

Zussek looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. “I
would say that a man who you suspect of being a werewolf should be
held in a windowless cell where the moonlight cannot reach,” he
said.

I’ll be putting that idea to the test soon,
Vito thought to himself and then said, “But what if there is one
that does not need the light of the moon? How could his magic be
subdued? How can he be killed?”

Zussek frowned, clearly disliking the
suggestion that a werewolf was not bound to the full moon. It went
against everything he had read, but as a researcher Zussek
understood that there were always more mysteries to unveil.

“Kill it by attacking it when it is a man,”
Zussek decided. “When it is a man, it is just flesh like us. When
it is a werewolf, the creature may be too powerful to kill. Its
magic is in full effect then. But the great difficulty lies in
striking at the right man. One must be sure of the identity of the
shape-shifter. To wrongly execute would be a sad mistake.”

“Right,” Vito agreed absently. “And have you
ever read of any way to cure a werewolf?”

“Cure it? No. Such victims of sorcery are
irredeemable. I have no doubt,” Zussek said.

“So they are made by sorcerers?” Vito
asked.

“Presumably, but no decent man is sure,”
Zussek said.

“Does the literature suggest any way to
control a werewolf?” Vito asked.

“Clever thought,” Zussek said. “If you can
control it, then you can wait for the moon to go away so the lost
soul will become a man again and you can kill him. Maybe even give
him a chance to confess.”

“Of course,” Vito said.

“Unfortunately I’ve never exactly heard of
controlling such a thing. But I will look into it and get back to
you. I do know, in general, that magic workers are known to control
others by acting upon some intimate possession of the target, like
a head scarf or even a lock of hair.” He looked at Miguel,
obviously considering him the more knowledgeable person, and asked,
“Does not the Church have any rituals or incantations for such a
situation?”

Although Miguel did not want his Church to
appear anything less than omnipotent, he admitted, “Nothing
precisely for werewolves.” He was still getting used to the
possibility and wondered at Vito’s sudden fascination with the
subject.

“Well, you’ve rather got me intrigued. I
think there are some Polish and Russian texts that might address
such beasts in detail. Many legends come from the endless forests
of those lands,” Zussek said.

Vito stood up and extended his hand. “It’s
been a pleasure meeting you. If you learn anything please find me
at the Clementinum,” he said.

Shaking his hand, Zussek rose as well. Then
he shook hands with Miguel, who thanked him for the appointment and
offered to leave his heretic manual there until the end of the
day.

“You honor me,” Zussek said.

“I’d be interested in hearing your expert
opinion on it,” Miguel said.

“That I will most definitely promise to
provide,” Zussek said. He turned to Vito and added, “Brother Vito,
please consider my services at your disposal if anyone else at the
Jesuit Academy would like to consult with me on these subjects. I
personally see no reason that the talent at Charles University
cannot benefit from contact with your brotherhood’s scholars.”

“That is very reasonable,” Vito said, pleased
by the overture. He hoped that building his own network in Prague
would come as easily as this first auspicious meeting.

After some more parting compliments, Zussek
saw out his guests. Tapping a finger thoughtfully against his lips,
he strolled through his storeroom. He was trying to recall where he
had placed his books about magical forest creatures.

Abruptly he stopped. Excitement shot through
him. Vito’s questions had opened a new possibility for the origin
of one of his newest items. Zussek rushed upstairs to his office.
He took a leather-bound box disguised as a book off a shelf and
opened it. From inside he plucked out a key and went to a heavy
wooden cabinet. After unlocking the cabinet, he drew out a small
corroded silver box. He had cleaned the mud and blood off of it but
the chunk of hair matted with old clotted blood clung dirtily to
the inside. He did not touch it but now considered that it was not
the hair off the Devil’s back pulled out during some unholy orgy.
The hair was from a beast and the witch blood had cast a spell to
summon it.

His fingers snapped the box shut. Cold rushed
through his body despite the balmy day. Beyond any doubt he
believed that a werewolf was coming to Prague.

Altea felt conspicuous walking by herself.
Trying to dispel her discomfort, she casually swung her empty
basket and lifted her chin. Carts, riders, and pedestrians passed
her in both directions as she headed to the New Tower gate. Its
immense presence jutted up from the Old Town wall like a knight in
bulky jousting armor.

When she passed beneath the hulking tower,
fresh air greeted her. The scent of green land reminded her that
the odiferous grime of city life was not necessarily desirable.

The innate freedom beyond the city walls
beckoned her. With more confidence she hurried down the lane that
she had traveled with her mother in happier days.

Cottages, taverns, stables, smithies, and
shops sprawled along the roads radiating out from the gate, but
their arrangement was looser than within the walls, and muddy
livestock paddocks and green gardens filled the gaps. She took
several turns on the crisscrossing roads until she was following a
track up a hillside. Dwellings became more infrequent and the
traffic diminished until she was alone on the road.

The empty path ahead was unnerving. She
looked back at the jumble of small holdings clustered on the lower
reaches of the hill. Bushes and mature trees crowded the weedy
track. Boulders bulged out of the vegetation like the weathered
tombstones of giants. If she went around the next bend, she would
be out of sight of the nearby dwellings.