Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (55 page)

“Boys, lock the doors,” Zussek said and urged
Martin toward the study.

Dear God, he’s lost so much staff no one’s
made it over to his house yet, Zussek thought.

Martin was puffing in protest as the
professor trundled him across the hall. Zussek slammed the door and
drew shut the window drapes.

“Is another mob coming?” Martin asked,
realizing that some awful occurrence must have upset the
professor.

Zussek caught his breath. Delivering bad news
was never easy. “Martin, you and your family are in grave danger.
Your Constable and every man at the jail except for the idiot were
murdered last night,” he explained.

Gobsmacked, Martin stared at him. This was
more shocking to hear than reports of marauding werewolves. He
finally started asking questions in sputtered half phrases and
Zussek divulged the scant details.

“How can this happen? How many men would it
take to do this?” Martin said.

“Men?” Zussek scoffed. “Have you not heeded
my warnings? That witch Gretchen summoned werewolves before she
died. Her curse is upon all who condemned her. Can’t you see?
You’re next!”

Martin simply could not imagine Bekcek
getting his heart ripped out in the middle of a beer garden. And
how could there be no one left at the jail? Martin had to sit down.
He did his best thinking when he was sitting down.

Zussek patted his shoulder with fraternal
sympathy. “I’m so glad to find you unmolested, but who knows when
those creatures will strike again,” he said.

Martin put a hand on his forehead. It was
clammy. Creeping supernatural terror was squeezing his guts and
making him uncomfortably aware of his breakfast.

“God help me. And we’ve made no progress
finding those damn beasts,” he said.

“You still have allies. Brother Vito is
committed to the hunt,” Zussek said.

“Yes, he’s been supportive but this werewolf
or sorcerer remains on the loose,” Martin said, unwilling to place
any hope in the foreign monks.

“Vito bade me recently to discover a way to
bait this fugitive Thal. My studies gave me no magic trick to lure
him, but I fear that you may be the bait that will draw him out,”
Zussek said.

“Me? Not for my soul will I be bait for a
werewolf,” Martin said, shaking his head vigorously.

Zussek pulled up a chair. “Martin, I know
this is frightening, but I believe with all my heart that he hunts
you anyway,” he said. He drew out a little corroded silver box.
Martin recognized it.

Zussek continued, “This IS the hair of the
original beast that the witch used to cast her spell. It will
protect you. Take it, my friend. I was saving it for myself, but
you must have it.”

Hating his need, Martin reluctantly accepted
the little box. He opened it and saw the darkly crusted tuft of
hair. This awful token laden with black magic tempted him with its
power even if he knew it broke all of God’s laws. But he needed
something. His dependable Bekcek was dead.

“According to everything written, the beast
will not be able to harm you if you possess something of its body,”
Zussek assured him.

Martin clicked shut the little box. He
shuddered when he thought of it in Gretchen’s foul hands. How had
he ever let that old witch tend his wife for so many years? If he
ever married again he would not make the mistake of yielding to his
wife’s wishes on any subject.

“My thanks, Zussek. You’ve shown yourself a
true friend today,” Martin said.

Zussek dipped his head. “You’re welcome,” he
muttered unctuously. He was about to add more words of reassurance,
but pounding on the door startled him.

Martin slid the little box into a pocket.
“That must be someone from the Town Hall finally coming to tell
me,” he said. He cut off Hynek on the way to the door and unbolted
it himself.

Brother Vito was on the top step with Miguel
behind him and a group of sellswords on horses in the street. They
looked at the Magistrate with unsavory intent.

“Magistrate Fridrich, I have urgent business
with you,” Vito declared.

“I’ve heard of the attacks,” Martin said.

“Regretfully that is not the worst of it,”
Vito said and presumed to shoulder his way into the house. Miguel
followed. In the street, Tenzo dismounted and went up the steps
with his hand on his sword. He loitered in the front hall while the
other men retreated into the study. A group of boys and servants
stared at him from down the hall.

In the study, Martin skipped all courtesies
and informed Vito of Zussek’s interpretation of the murders.

“The Professor is quite right,” Vito agreed.
“All of this is the work of witches. I’ve prepared a list of
suspected witches and intend to discuss it with you forthwith.”

“I don’t care about new witches. We need to
get these Devil werewolves that are hunting me,” Martin said,
throwing up his hands.

“And why are you so worried?” Vito
challenged.

Martin’s chin ducked into his cushiony jowls
because he was taken aback by the obtuse question. “Zussek just
said these werewolves are performing a curse upon all who put down
that witch Gretchen. They’re coming for me!” Martin said.

“Why did they not come for you last night?”
Vito said.

“I don’t know!” Martin cried. He was not
accustomed to being plied with questions and was feeling rather off
his game.

Vito exchanged a meaningful look with Miguel
who stood by patiently with a folio of papers. His eyebrows arching
with righteous suspicion, Vito said, “To a Godly man like myself it
seems clear that you possess protection from these accursed
creatures.”

“No, I’m in danger,” Martin insisted and
willfully resisted setting a hand over his pocket that held the
silver box.

Ignoring the denial, Vito said, “Magistrate,
I have come here myself to determine if you are on the side of good
Christians or the Devil.”

“How dare you?” Martin fumed. “I’ve been
putting down witches and heretics since I earned my position. I
have powerful friends. You can’t accuse me!”

“I can, but I’m willing to be precise and
accuse your daughter of witchcraft,” Vito said.

“I have no daughter,” Martin said,
confused.

“Then who is the young witch living in this
house?” Vito demanded.

Martin shook his head and tried to organize
his thoughts. Threats were mounting too rapidly. He had just gone
from fearing a brutal death by raving werewolf to the dreadful
prospect of being accused of Devil worship by Churchmen.

“Tenzo!” Vito called.

The sellsword entered the study. His weapon
banged on the door.

“Tell the Magistrate what you’ve seen,” Vito
said.

Tenzo cleared his throat and reported on his
sighting of Thal and his interaction with a girl that he had
followed back to this house. After he described her in detail,
Martin felt like he was floating. He had never felt so unmanned. He
had the sense to know that these spying Jesuits were after him. The
privileges of his position also brought perils. Rallying his wits,
Martin countered, “Who’s to believe this mercenary? He’s making
things up so you can scare me for some reason I know not what.”

Miguel flipped open his folio and removed a
sheet. Holding up the paper signed by witnesses, including the
Abbot at the Clementinum, he said, “Tenzo has given a sworn
statement before a priest to the veracity of what he saw. He
encountered this shape shifting sorcerer Thal in Mirotice and
possesses the authority to identify him.”

Vito added, “Now, tell me who in this
household matches the description given for the girl consorting
with the werewolf.”

Martin knew it was Altea. His vision was
blotchy red with fury at her, but he still had a natural impulse to
defy this assault on his family. He could not let these Churchmen
barge in here and intimidate him with heretical accusations.

“Get out of my house! I’ll not listen to any
of this nonsense. There’s no witches here!” he said.

“I’ll have to detain the whole household
then,” Vito said.

Aware of the sellswords waiting outside,
Martin panicked. He could not let his poor boys be hauled off like
this. But he still could not grasp how Altea could have been going
about with a fugitive. She was a born liar though, and he realized
that she had ample opportunity to be wicked. And she had known
Gretchen for years. Even if she was guilty, Martin hated the
thought of her actions tainting his family. He had to bury this
threat and find a way to get rid of the monks. Then he would have
his way with Altea. Such a sinful vixen could service his dark
urges and then be shipped off to a convent never to be seen
again.

“I told you to be gone. I’ll defend my family
from this accusation. You can’t come into Bohemia and call good
families ungodly,” Martin said.

He was working his wind up into a good
speech, but Vito cut him with menacing skill. “I’m new to Prague,
but I shan’t have trouble finding a decent man to serve as
Magistrate,” he warned.

Zussek intervened with a hand on Martin’s
thick arm. He knew the statement given by the sellsword would carry
some weight with the Aldermen, and Martin likely did not yet
realize how the disaster last night could brand him as a failure. A
tidy accusation of witchcraft would give the City Council a handy
method for emptying the Magistrate’s seat.

“Surely, Brother Vito, you can’t believe that
Magistrate Fridrich is in league with sorcerers and witches,”
Zussek said.

“No,” Vito said.

Martin blinked with surprise. His terror was
ready for a reprieve and he listened.

“Of course I don’t want to believe such a
thing,” Vito clarified. “Magistrate, you have only to tell me who
here is the witch and we will take her. Also, since your jail is
woefully understaffed, I can lend my men to help there. I would
further require that you install Tenzo as the new Constable. He’s
quite capable of the task and certainly interested in a position
with regular pay.”

Tenzo smiled placidly, glowing with happiness
for his imminent promotion.

Martin understood completely that he had just
been manipulated into accepting Vito as his new master. To submit
to this seemed a betrayal to the rulers of Prague, but Martin had
duties more demanding than keeping foreign influence out of the
Court. His sons needed him to survive this calamity. Even so, when
he looked at Tenzo, this conquest rankled him deeply.

“Can that man even read?” Martin sneered at
the sellsword.

“He listens very well,” Vito said sternly,
brooking no negotiation.

Martin turned away. His clothes were sticky
with sweat and he needed to have some time alone with a chamber
pot.

Staring at the Magistrate’s broad back, Vito
prodded him triumphantly. “Decide. Your whole family including
yourself publicly accused of witchcraft or tell me who this woman
is Tenzo saw.”

“Altea,” Martin whispered.

“Who?!” Vito demanded.

“Altea, my stepdaughter,” Martin said, facing
his perilous new master.

“Where is she?” Vito said.

“Upstairs. Sleeping late,” Martin said.

“Sleeping late. Sure sign of Devil worship,”
Miguel commented.

Vito signaled to Tenzo, who stalked out to
get his men.

“Excellent choice, Magistrate,” Vito praised.
“I know this is upsetting for you. If possible it would be best if
you could attest to any details that would verify our accusation
against this woman. Brother Miguel can take them down for you.”

Martin collapsed into his favorite chair
while Miguel sat at the desk and got out writing materials. Seeing
the monk at his desk was surreal for Martin. The violation was
immensely strange to him, but at least some of his terror was
easing away now. He had only to sacrifice Altea and then he could
find a way to salvage his career and protect his good boys. The
nasty seductress would trouble him no more. Despite that comfort,
part of him hated to discard her. He had wanted her for himself,
but perhaps that had been the influence of her witchcraft.

“She’s been making lewd advances at me,” he
told Miguel. The monk nodded indulgently, not surprised by the
information.

Martin went on to describe her inborn lack of
respect for authority. He related her shrewish outbursts and
rejection of decent suitors. Miguel’s quill scratched across paper
as he diligently recorded every word.

The sellswords tromped down the hall and up
the stairs. Their boots banged on the wooden floors. Martin winced
when Altea’s shriek came from upstairs. Both he and Miguel looked
up and listened to the scuffling feet and yelling and screaming. A
loud crash likely from a ceramic basin getting knocked over marked
the climax of the struggle. Then her cries were muffled and the
boots stomped toward the stairs.

The loud protests of the boys filled the
hall. Martin rushed out of the study and yelled to his sons to stay
back.

“What are they doing?” Elias demanded.

Altea was being carried down the steps by two
men. She yanked one foot free and kicked the man holding her legs.
Then she grabbed the banister and tried to halt her descent. The
sellsword that had an arm around her neck pulled her hand loose and
they continued down.

Yiri, Erik, and Patrik wailed for their
sister. The servants hung back aghast by the violent removal of
their mistress. Elias tried to push one of the men off Altea, but
Martin flung him against the wall.

“She’s a witch!” Martin yelled.

“NO!” Elias protested. His sister went to
Church. She said her prayers. She had been nothing except sweet and
caring his whole life. “It’s not true. Stop!” he yelled and lunged
toward the nearest sellsword.

Martin bashed his eldest son across the jaw.
Bloody lipped, Elias fell back, astounded by the ferocity from the
man he revered.