CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Rudi woke slowly. His head was pounding, and every muscle in his body creaked in protest. Something hard lay under his head, and as he lifted it, fighting the sudden surge of nausea that accompanied the motion, the skin of his cheek peeled stickily away from whatever it was.

As his eyes became focussed the rippling brown mass in front of him resolved itself into the woodgrain of the tabletop, still puddled with congealing patches of spilled ale. He blinked, yawned, and levered himself upright, surprised to find that he was still perched on the bench.

Gradually the memory of the evening began to seep its way into his forebrain, apparently carving a path through his skull with the aid of a pickaxe. His temples pounded with every beat of his heart, sending a sharp, stabbing pain through the space behind his eyes. He swallowed convulsively, just in time to quell an incipient rebellion in his stomach.

“Oh. You’re awake.” The landlord glanced up from a table nearby, a stack of plates in his hands. “I was beginning to wonder if I should just get a priest of Morr in for you. I would have done if it wasn’t for the snoring.”

“What…?” Rudi blinked gummy eyes at the man. “Where…?”

“You passed out. Not surprised the way you were sinking them last night. Your friends left at dawn, along with everyone else.”

“Passed out?” A surge of panic galvanised Rudi, and he glanced around for his belongings. How could he have been so stupid? But his pack was where he’d left it, under the table, along with his bundle of furs, the bow, and Hanna’s satchel.

After the initial rush of relief he felt vaguely ashamed of himself. The group of adventurers they’d met the previous night had been a little odd, no doubt, but they’d shown him and Hanna nothing but kindness. That reminded him, Hanna should be…

He glanced down, the barely-perceived weight in his lap turning out to be a blonde head pillowed on his thigh. She was stretched out along the bench, snoring faintly, somehow contriving to look comfortable despite the narrowness of the plank. She looked very trusting and vulnerable, completely different from the self-assured virago he was used to. A sudden rush of protectiveness left him momentarily breathless. He was also abruptly aware of a sharp and insistent pressure in his bladder, which the weight of her skull was doing nothing to alleviate. He reached down a tentative hand to brush the hair away from her face. She stirred.

“Hanna. Hanna, wake up.” For a moment he feared she was going to fall off the bench as she stretched and sat upright, but she retained her balance with an easy grace he quite envied.

“Shallya’s mercy, my head hurts.” She screwed her eyes up against the bright sunlight lancing in through the windows, and bent down to rummage in her pack. After a moment she emerged with some dried leaves, and focussed bleary eyes on the landlord. “Can we have some boiling water please?”

“If you like.” The man shrugged, and called to one of the tavern girls. “Trudi. Hot water for the big spenders.” After a moment the girl ambled over with two mugs of hot water in her hands. She watched curiously as Hanna stirred the herbs into them.

“That’s not weirdroot or anything, is it? Only the road wardens come by here.” She shrugged. “Just so you know.”

“It’s for headaches,” Hanna said shortly, her temper not helped by a raging hangover. The girl nodded.

“That’s all right then.” She ambled away, while Rudi tried to remember if she was the one Bruno had spent most of the evening making calf eyes at.

Fortunately Hanna’s knowledge of herbalism proved as reliable as ever, and as he sipped the aromatic infusion Rudi felt his stomach begin to settle and the pounding behind his eyes recede to a dull ache.

“We should eat something,” Hanna said. Though the notion of food in the abstract made his stomach heave again, like the stream as it dropped through the sinkhole on the moors, logic told him she was right.

“We’ve got bread and cold bacon,” the landlord told them. Rudi soon found himself staring at a slab of pink meat and a couple of chunks of loaf. Fighting the renewed surge of nausea he chewed a hunk of bread and swallowed hastily, half expecting it to come straight back up again, but to his relief it remained where it was. Now he had something back in his stomach he was surprised to find how quickly his appetite returned, and he wolfed down the impromptu breakfast more quickly than he’d expected.

“Feeling better?” he asked Hanna, returning to the table a little slower than he’d left it after a successful search for the privy. The fresh air outside had revived him a little, and he barely staggered at all as he walked now. His stomach still seemed to roll over if he made any sudden movements, but for the most part the nausea had receded to a nagging ache, like the time he’d eaten some apples which hadn’t been quite ripe. She glanced up, her face white, and nodded.

“A little.” She gestured at a pitcher of well water which had appeared on the table in his absence. “You should drink. You’re probably dehydrated from all that ale.” Rudi didn’t have a clue what she meant, but he did have a raging thirst, so he complied eagerly; the water tasted cool and refreshing, and after a second tankard he found his headache was fading a bit.

“We should get going,” he said at last. Hanna lifted her head from the pillow of her arms and glared at him before nodding reluctantly.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She yawned widely, and picked up her satchel. Seeing his last remaining customers getting to their feet the landlord wandered over.

“On your way, then?” he asked, flicking a beer-stained towel over the surface of the table. Rudi nodded, and hefted his pack.

“We’ve wasted enough of the morning, I think.” He dug out his pouch of coins and loosened the drawstring, to the landlord’s evident satisfaction. “How much do we owe you?”

“Seventeen shillings and elevenpence.” The innkeeper grinned conspiratorially. “Those dwarfs can’t half put it away, eh? However much they complain, I’ve never known one who didn’t try to drink the place dry.”

“Eighteen shillings?” Rudi couldn’t believe it. That was a fortune, more than his father earned in a year. “There must be some mistake!”

“There’s no mistake.” The friendly tone had left the landlord’s voice as abruptly as a candle flame being snuffed. “Forty-eight tankards of ale, seven platters of venison, bread, cabbage, turnips and carrots…”

“You can’t expect us to pay for the people we were with!” Hanna exploded. “We only met them last night!”

“And now they’re gone,” the landlord pointed out. “You’re still here, and the bill’s not paid. Who else is going to cover it?”

“But we can’t!” Rudi protested. “I don’t have anything like that kind of money!” He spilled his pathetic collection of coppers across the tabletop. “That’s all we’ve got, I swear!”

“If you think I’m going to settle for that, you’ve got another thing coming lad.” The innkeeper squared up to him, and Rudi became abruptly aware that despite his white hair he was compact and well muscled, probably from a lifetime of carrying beer kegs around. But he was no pushover either, he reminded himself. He’d faced foes more dangerous than most people had ever seen in their lives. He wasn’t going to be intimidated by some puffed-up tavern-keeper…

“Trouble, dad?” The voice came from near the door. Rudi turned, and his heart sank. A trio of young men stood there, the largest bearing a striking resemblance to the landlord, all of them were carrying makeshift weapons in an elaborately casual manner. The one who had spoken had a large pewter candlestick in his hand, the man behind him carried a kitchen knife, and the fellow bringing up the rear had apparently come straight from the stables judging by the pitchfork in his hands and the dung on his boots. For a moment Rudi wondered what had attracted their attention, until the serving girl slipped in through the door behind them. She must have gone for the others the moment he queried the bill. Seeing his eyes on her she smiled, and picked up a crossbow from behind the bar, cocking it with practiced precision.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” The landlord turned his attention to Rudi. “Now, about this money you owe…”

“I’m not responsible for anything more than we used,” Rudi insisted. “If the others didn’t pay what they owed you, take it up with them.”

“Right.” Hanna backed him up, her voice as hard as Rudi had ever heard it. “That’s not our problem.” She took Rudi by the arm, and urged him gently towards the door. He almost followed her, before he remembered that his bow and arrows were still under the bench. He couldn’t leave them, they were all he had left of his father.

“I’m afraid it is your problem, girly.” There was no trace of bonhomie left in the innkeeper’s voice now. “We’ve got laws around here against refusing to pay your debts.”

“Take the furs,” Rudi offered, trying hard to keep an edge of desperation from his voice. The last thing they needed was to come to the attention of the local authorities. “That’s all we’ve got of any value.”

“That won’t put much of a dent in what you owe,” the serving girl chipped in. She sighted the crossbow as though she was eager to use it. The knot of young men moved forwards to hem them in. For a moment Rudi was tempted to fight them all, an insane flush of bravado bursting into his mind from some hidden corner he couldn’t identify, but common sense overrode the impulse. Even if he could take them all on, Hanna might be injured in the scuffle.

“We can’t pay what we haven’t got!” Hanna insisted, her voice thickening with a combination of anger and frustration. “Can’t you get that through your thick skull?”

“Come on.” The landlord and his son grabbed Rudi by his upper arms, one on each side. He tried to shrug them off, but the ostler jabbed him in the stomach with the butt of his pitchfork, none too gently. Rudi doubled over, gasping for breath. “You’re not the first deadbeats we’ve had in here, and you won’t be the last. We know how to deal with the likes of you.”

“Leave him alone!” Hanna jumped on the landlord’s back, trying to wrap an arm around his neck. She gasped as the serving girl rapped her sharply on the forehead with the stock of the crossbow. Hanna fell backwards, tears in her eyes, and her face white with fury.

“Get up.” The serving girl reached down, holding the crossbow casually in one hand. Hanna squirmed away before rising on her own.

“You lay a hand on me, you overly made-up slut, and I’ll snap it off at the wrist and feed it to you!”

The men laughed.

“Got quite a mouth, that sister of yours,” the landlord said. The kitchen hand leaned down to open a trap door in the floor, behind the bar. Before he could fathom what was going on, Rudi was pitched forwards and down.

He landed none too gently on some sacks of what felt like vegetables. He staggered to his feet as an outraged squeal and a thump announced Hanna’s arrival in a similarly precipitate fashion. As she continued to swear, with a volume and proficiency which astonished him, he assumed she’d been unscathed by the fall. He looked up at the faces framing the gap in the ceiling above.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” he yelled. The landlord fixed him with a steely glare.

“Road wardens’ll be coming by this afternoon. They’ll sort you out, you can bet on that.” The slab of timber dropped into its frame with a resonant thud, scattering a thin film of dust on them. It was followed a moment later by the rattle of a bolt. Hanna sneezed, and sat up.

“Are you all right?” Rudi helped her to her feet, aided by the faint shafts of light which fell through the gaps in the floorboards. The cellar was gloomy, but there was just enough illumination for him to be able to make out her silhouette in the darkness.

“What do you think?” Her tone was as waspish as ever, but he knew her well enough by now not to be fooled by it. He ventured a tentative hug before pulling away.

“That you’ve probably felt better.” He took a cautious step forward, and bumped into something. “Blast!”

“Hang on. I’ve got a bit of candle in my bag.” Hanna rummaged around in the darkness, while he tried to identify the object by touch. “Better shield your eyes.” A sudden flare of illumination made him blink. He was glad of her advice. As his vision steadied he found he was looking at a couple of old barrels. They were clearly no longer fit for storing beverages, as the wood had warped with age, but they seemed solid enough to sit on. That was something at least.

“Not very homely, is it?” He tried the experiment carefully, watching as Hanna placed the candle stub in a niche in the wall. It was lined with brick, so they could forget about digging their way out, he thought. The old wood creaked, but held his weight.

“I’ve seen better.” A livid bruise was forming on her forehead, where she’d been struck. A surge of anger coursed through his body. She must have noticed his expression, because she looked at him curiously. “What?”

“Your head. Where that girl hit you…” Hanna raised a tentative hand, touched the spot, and winced.

“Spiteful little bitch.” She took a pot of salve from her bag and rubbed it in, evidently feeling some relief. “What on earth is the matter with these people?”

“We have to get out of here,” Rudi said. The more he considered their plight, the worse it seemed. Road wardens travelled widely, patrolling the main highways. Chances were whoever the landlord turned them over to would have been close enough to Kohlstadt recently to have heard of Gerhard’s arrest warrants. They may even have spoken to the witch hunter himself. Hanna nodded.

“And fast. We’ve got to think of a plan.” She sat on the barrel beside him and lapsed into a silence of profound concentration. Rudi paced the floor, with a furrowed brow, hoping to find something among the detritus that could help them. Unfortunately this particular cellar seemed largely disused. Apart from the vegetables and the decrepit barrels, the only thing he could find was a pile of old sacks.

“Thought of anything?” he ventured after some time. Hanna nodded.

“Yes. Unfortunately it doesn’t help much.”

Rudi smiled encouragingly. “Tell me anyway.”

“I’m thinking,” Hanna said slowly, “that I should have gone to the privy while I had the chance.”

For want of anything else to do they made a thorough inventory of the contents of Hanna’s satchel, finding little there of any immediate help. Most of it was herbs or remedies of some kind, although there were a few personal items: a bright blue hair ribbon, a small sewing kit, a ceramic dove the size of Rudi’s thumbnail which she claimed to carry for luck, and something knotted up in a square of muslin which she grabbed hastily and refused to discuss beyond blushing furiously and mumbling something about it being “a woman’s thing.” Rudi didn’t have much that looked promising either, his belt pouch contained his snare lines and tinderbox, and that was about it.

“There must be something here we can use,” he said for about the thirtieth time. As the hours dragged by, they had discussed and dismissed a number of plans, all of them verging on the suicidal. They had even briefly considered setting fire to the sacks, in the hope that the staff would open the trapdoor to fight the blaze, but concluded they’d probably suffocate from the smoke before anyone came to investigate.

“The only chance we’ve got is to slip the bolt somehow,” Rudi said, examining the underside of the trapdoor for the umpteenth time. It was too stout to force, he’d proven that the hard way, balancing precariously on the barrels and bending his back against it until his muscles cracked.

“Let me see.” Hanna scrambled up beside him, cocking her head to examine the obstacle. The shafts of light through the gaps in the planks had moved perceptibly since their incarceration, and Rudi estimated that noon had been and gone by now. From time to time footsteps echoed on the floor above their heads and the breath would catch in their throats at the thought the road wardens had arrived, but it was only ever the tavern staff going about their business. Each reprieve had only served to remind them of the urgent necessity of escape. Even if the road wardens were delayed, once the inn was full of customers and the space behind the bar was occupied they would have no chance of escaping unhindered. “Ah. That’s interesting.”

“What is?” Rudi craned his neck, trying to see what she had. She pointed to a thin line of shadow bisecting one of the shafts of light.

“The handle of the bolt’s been left lying to one side. It must be over this crack in the planking.”

“I don’t see how that helps us.”

“I’m not surprised.” The old Hanna seemed to be making a comeback. She was being decisive and self-confident. She fished the hair ribbon out of her satchel, and poked the end through the gap between the planks. “If I can just get this over the end…”

“We can pull it back,” Rudi said, realising what she was up to. Hanna nodded grimly.

“Except the ribbon’s too flexible. I can’t get it threaded back down the gap on the other side.” She pulled it back with an irritated sigh, and rubbed absently at the grubby marks that had appeared on it.

“Try this.” Rudi handed her one of his snare lines, and she nodded approvingly.

“That might do it. But just to make sure…” She took a bodkin from her sewing kit and threaded the thin cord through it, securing it in place with a small, neat knot. “Let’s weight the end a little.” She poked the needle through the hole until it had disappeared, and carried on paying out the snareline.

Rudi watched for some time, stilling his breath as best he could, trying not to distract her. The job was exacting and frustrating, he could tell. The needle landed repeatedly on either side of the crack without slipping back down it again. Finally, after what seemed like hours but was probably no more than a handful of minutes, Hanna gave a faint grunt of satisfaction.

“Got it!” A feeble glint of metal was visible in the candlelight, hanging freely from the end of the string. Hanna played out a little more, until she’d got enough on both sides for a comfortable handful. “Here goes nothing…”

She pulled gently on the doubled line, wobbling slightly on her precarious perch. Rudi stepped forwards in case she fell. The snare tautened then began to move. Hanna grinned in triumph.

“Got it!”

“Great!” Rudi watched the slow progress of the line of shadow, straining his ears. The bolt moved with a faint grating sound. He expected one of the tavern staff to come and investigate, but to his relief nobody seemed to be moving around above them. No doubt the everyday bustle of the inn was drowning out the noise of their escape.

“Damn!” Hanna said, emphatically. The line had reached the rim of the trapdoor, and could move no further. “I can’t move it any more than that.”

“It might be enough,” Rudi said encouragingly. If the hasp had been placed far enough along the shaft, most of it might be withdrawn by now. He held out a hand to help Hanna down from the barrels. “Let me try.”

“All right.” She jumped down to make room for him. Rudi clambered up in her place, bracing his back against the rough wood. He took a deep breath and pushed as hard as he could. Ominous creaking sounds came from the barrels beneath his feet, but he ignored them, concentrating only on the trapdoor above his head. Was that a faint tremor of movement?

“I think it’s giving.” He tried again, straining every muscle. Abruptly he found he was standing. He flailed his arms to regain his balance, as the stout wooden frame crashed into the floor behind him. He swarmed out, and reached down to grab Hanna’s hand. “Quickly!” Someone was bound to have heard a noise that loud…

“I’m right behind you!” Hanna clambered up, and they rounded the corner of the bar at a run. His bow and arrows were lying on the counter top, along with his pack, the contents of which had been strewn across the bar, evidently in a futile search for anything of value. He stuffed back what he could, and shouldered it hastily. Then he picked up the weapon. There was no sign of his purse, or the bundle of furs.

“Hey!” The serving girl poked her head around the door to the kitchen, her eyes wide with shock. “They’re getting away!” Her voice was loud and piercing. Rudi cringed. A commotion began in the courtyard outside.

“This way!” Hanna called, turning aside from the main door as the innkeeper and ostler appeared with several other men at their shoulders to block their escape. Rudi debated loosing an arrow at them to keep their heads down, but dismissed the thought at once. Knowing his luck he’d hit someone by accident, and they looked irritated enough as it was. He’d just have to hope they could outrun them all…

Abruptly one of the oil lamps exploded, sending a shower of liquid flame across the table and bench beneath it. Before he could work out what was happening a second loud report echoed around the taproom, and another lamp followed suit. The emergency saw the tavern staff begin to beat out the spreading flames. Their prey was forgotten.

“Fire!” The landlord yelled, and the room became full of shouts, smoke, and running feet, as everyone in the vicinity responded to the call.

“What’s happening?” Rudi asked, as Hanna grabbed his arm.

“Run now, talk later,” she said. Her advice was sound. He followed her as she made a beeline for the door to the kitchen.

“You can’t come in here!” The serving girl made a halfhearted attempt to block them, but she fell back squealing as Hanna punched her hard in the face with every sign of satisfaction. Rudi hurdled the supine obstacle and followed his friend round the heavy wooden table in the centre of the room. It was covered with vegetables in the process of preparation. Some of the carrots looked very like the ones they’d found at the old farmstead, so he grabbed a handful on the way past.

“Out here!” Hanna had found a doorway, and shouldered it open. Rudi followed her outside, into bright afternoon sunshine, and stopped for a moment to get his bearings.

They were in a small courtyard to the rear of the inn, unpaved and rutted with cart tracks. This, no doubt, was where the local carters delivered food and other necessities. The commotion of their escape, and the sudden fortuitous accident with the oil lamps, had evidently interrupted a delivery of some kind. A cart was drawn up outside, and a nervous-looking horse was still in the traces, whickering faintly as it flared its nostrils. Hanna glanced at the pile of barrels beside it, and the few on the bed of the cart. She stopped running.

“Look at this.” She indicated some lettering on the casks. Rudi shrugged, and she looked apologetic for a moment before continuing in an urgent undertone. “It’s a delivery of fish oil for the lamps.”

“Which helps us how, exactly?” Rudi asked. Surely she couldn’t be intending to burn the entire building down… Hanna sighed.

“They’re taking the empties away. How far do you think we’re going to get on foot?”

Rudi considered this. They could try striking out across country again, but they had no landmarks to follow this time, and they could be lost for days. Worse still, by the time they got anywhere the road wardens would have spread their descriptions up and down the entire highway. What Hanna was proposing was a desperate gamble, but it seemed the best chance they had.

“Let’s do it,” he agreed, as he clambered up onto the back of the cart. He half expected the horse to object, but one of his carrots was enough to convince it of his good intentions, and after that it stood perfectly calmly as he hefted the lids off a couple of the barrels. Luck seemed to be on their side at last. “These are empty.”

“Good.” Hanna climbed up beside him, and wrinkled her nose at the smell, but she scrambled inside the cask, and crouched down. She didn’t seem terribly comfortable, but there was enough room for her to tuck her knees up under her chin. She smiled wanly as Rudi put the lid back. “Not quite the way of getting us to Marienburg I’d envisaged, but I suppose it’ll do.”

Marienburg! Rudi hadn’t considered it before, but now she mentioned it, it seemed quite obvious. Where else in the Old World would fish oil come from? It had to be landed at a seaport, after all, and the one at the mouth of the Reik was the greatest ever known.

Despite the smell he found he was smiling too, as he hunkered down in a barrel of his own and carefully pulled the lid into place above his head.