Escape from the Past (13 page)

“Let us take our meal early so we have time to see the juggler and minstrel. You took Juliana to Miranda’s manor?”

Bero and I exchanged a glance. I regretted that we hadn’t really discussed what we wanted to say. It was best to keep quiet.

“Em, yes.” Bero sagged on the bench and sniffed. I thought he couldn’t possibly be hungry, but then Bero would probably never turn down a meal.

“She’s with Miranda,” I said. Technically that was true. I quickly climbed to the sleeping platform. The plastered wall next to my straw mattress had a hole and I stuffed the purse inside. Replacing the straw I rooted around for my new shirt, the grimy tailor had dropped off a couple of days ago I’d wear it tonight, even if it was boring pale white. Better that than my filthy again T-shirt.

“I’m going to wash,” I announced as I descended the ladder. “I’ll skip dinner today.”

“But we have fresh bread.” Adela’s lip quivered. She looked upset.

“Let the lad go,” her mother said.

“I know and thank you. I may have a piece later,” I said to Adela. I patted her on the arm and turned to leave. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bero stuffing his face with soup, chasing it with bread. Where did he put all that food?

I burped. The unaccustomed meat from Werner’s table lay
heavy in my stomach. Besides, I’d have dinner in the tavern. And see Juliana. I felt giddy again, a strange flutter at the bottom of my stomach.

The river flowed unperturbed, the water reflecting the gray above. The sun hadn’t been out in days while each night had been colder than the last. I’d woken up freezing in the early mornings. The few wood coals didn’t warm anything and the coarse blanket was a joke. It was definitely fall, just like at my real home. Except at home I had central heat and a wool comforter, not to mention a clean bed with a soft mattress.

The leaves, vibrant earth tones just a few days earlier, had lost their brilliance. They’d soon drop and winter would be next. I’d have to organize warm clothes and a blanket. Who knew how long I’d be here. The game had turned into a never-ending nightmare of survival with no apparent goal in sight. For a moment I hated Jimmy’s dad for his invention. Never mind that I had strong-armed my best friend to hand over a flawed game. I couldn’t blame anyone but myself.

I scanned the path. Other than the old witch I’d never seen anyone. I stripped quickly and dunked below the surface. Instant goose bumps spread across my body, but the excitement returned when I thought of Juliana. I had money now and soon, I’d get the girl back to a safe place with Lady Clara.

I came up sputtering. How could I have missed this? If Werner freed Lady Clara from the fangs of the Duke, she’d not be safe at her manor. What was her blind husband going to do? He hadn’t protected her in the first place, had obviously not put up much of a fight or gone to the authorities—not that there were any. He hadn’t even bothered to see Knight Werner, his Lord. He was probably drowning his sorrow with wine and too embarrassed for not serving his Lord.

And Juliana would be no safer. Just the opposite. If it were that easy to steal a Lady, it would be child’s play to grab a measly
servant, especially a young girl. Neither would she be safe at Bero’s hut. I thought of Ott, his beady eyes, the large front teeth and the stringy hair. Something had to be done about him. But more importantly, something had to be done for Juliana.

I’d forgotten to ask where Werner planned to take Lady Clara. Wherever she went, Juliana would have to follow. I cursed myself for drinking too much wine. It was making me slow and stupid.

I climbed from the water and wiped down my skin. The new shirt had a round neckline and long sleeves. There were no buttons and I struggled to tie the straps at my wrists. I could’ve used a coat or vest. The wind was chilly and sent piles of leaves down the trail. I brushed my hair with my fingers.

Nobody here had short hair, but my mother always insisted on regular haircuts. In the absence of curls, it stood straight up. At least the color was decent—dark brown. Almost like Juliana’s eyes. Get a grip, I scolded himself.

For a moment I hesitated. Maybe I should head down the path to see the old witch. But she’d be full of warnings and I didn’t want to hear any of them. Instead I climbed uphill toward the village. It had to be sometime in the afternoon and the festival would soon be in full swing.

“Ready?” I said as soon as I entered Bero’s shack.

Bero sat waiting by the fire. “You’re slower than a frozen snail.”

“Let’s rock,” I said, trying not to grin. Bero had washed his hands and wiped his face. There were still a few muddy spots on his cheeks, but it was a start.

“We’ll see you around,” Bero yelled over his shoulder. “What’s rock?”

“Just means, we’re ready to hit the town.”

Bero frowned. “You’re going to get us in trouble with your outlandish speech.”

At the time I didn’t realize how right Bero was going to be, because I was thinking about seeing Juliana and finding a quiet spot to hang out with her.

“Behave yourselves,” Bero’s mother called after us. We ignored her.

As we approached the village center, the path became clogged with revelers. Along the sides of the Klausenhof and the market square where Bero had sold his crops, canvas tents had been set up. The air was filled with smoke from wood fires and assorted roasts. A young boar was being turned on one, another contained piles of chestnuts while a third had a giant cast-iron kettle perched above it. Bero stopped and sniffed the air.

“Beans. Want to get some?”

I shook my head. The guy was impossible. He’d just eaten two meals in a row and was ready for another.

“Let’s eat at the Klausenhof. We’ve got work to do, remember?”

Bero nodded and sauntered after me. “What are we going to have?”

“Anything you want,” I said, scanning the crowd for the
familiar faces of Juliana or the Ladies.

We walked up and down along the displays and finally stopped near the entrance to the Klausenhof. A minstrel sang a ballad, his fingers dancing on a harp.

A crowd had formed around him, the singer dressed in a red, blue and green striped shirt, a short leather vest and tights. His shoes had long tips that curled upward like pointed snakes. He stood on top a barrel and while his fingers moved expertly across the strings…

I shook my head. They sure weren’t holding back. Everything I saw and heard reminded me of the Middle Ages. The way people dressed and talked, their attitudes…Castle Hanstein. It sure looked a lot as if I’d traveled through time. Unless the game had sent me to some make-believe world. But this was just so
authentic. As the crowd stirred and hollered along, their eyes full of excitement, their bodies swaying back and forth, I vowed again to find out what year it was.

When I looked up, Bero had disappeared. Reluctantly, I left the craziness of the mob. What I wouldn’t have given for a phone or camera to take shots of this medieval-looking madness?

I discovered Bero up the road on a grassy patch near the dressmaker’s hut. “Where are you going?”

Bero ignored me and stared at the rectangular space, surrounded by ropes on each side. At the far end, benches and tables sat waiting.

“The squire competition will be here tomorrow,” Bero said. He looked pale and swallowed nervously. “I’m not sure I can do it.”

“Of course you can.” I slapped Bero on the shoulder. “You’ve already eaten at the Lord’s table. I bet nobody else can say that.”

Bero nodded but he looked worried. To the left of the Klausenhof, a quartet of musicians had begun their performance, filling the air with tunes. They easily snuffed out the minstrel who no longer attracted the crowd and climbed off his barrel. Within minutes, couples had found their way to the music and begun a wild dance. They cried and laughed, adding to the ever-louder hum of the throng.

Dusk was setting. Hundreds of torches smoked, throwing their dancing shadows on the crowd. People screamed, sang and hollered. The beer was good and strong. Everyone seemed to have a great time. Once a year, they forgot their misery for a few hours. People were staggering already and I wondered how wild things would get.

The inn’s windows glowed and the noise inside seemed to grow as well. I thought I’d seen the burly knight with the silver cross enter the tavern earlier. Undoubtedly, Werner’s men were spying right now.

I tried deciding whether we should enter the tavern now or
keep making the rounds outside to look for Juliana and Lady Miranda when the mob erupted in whispering. Like a curtain, the revelers moved aside squishing together. I pushed the other way to see who was coming when I recognized Lady Clara and the Duke.

Like this morning, he wore all red, except for a pair of gray tights stretched over thin legs and bony knees. Like a parrot, I thought. The beadle’s hand clawed Lady Clara’s lower arm, his fingers hairy as the legs of a spider. Though I stood in the front row and hoped to catch her attention, the Lady held her head high, her face marble and beautiful but unmoving. She wore a midnight blue dress with gold stitching and a belt of pounded gold. A gauze veil draped across her hair and shoulders—its ends suspended and fluttering in ghostly lightness, a queen floating next to a monster.

Around them, the murmuring increased and I heard cutthroat, rip-off and merciless. The Duke walked unperturbed as if he were king and owned the place.

“I thought, Knight Werner rules this village,” I said to Bero once they had passed. “Looks like the Duke is trying to take over.”

“He’s collecting taxes for the archbishop in Mainz.” Bero’s voice was filled with awe as he crossed himself.

The couple had made their way toward the tavern and the crowd resumed their frenzied tempo of merrymaking.

“Let’s follow them,” I said, thumping Bero in the shoulder. “Find out where they go.”

Without waiting for an answer, I pushed past the thickening crowd. The door to the tavern stood open and I watched the couple move straight ahead toward the stairs. They either went to their bedroom or one of the private dining rooms on the second floor. I shoved harder, but the patio in front of the Klausenhof was crammed with patrons in various states of drunkenness.

By the time, I reached the entrance, they had vanished.

Unsure what to do next, I stopped. To our right, the little tavern room burst with people. All tables and every inch of standing room were occupied and I couldn’t even see the bar. Maybe that was a good thing. I had no desire to see the fat owner. The door to the restaurant on the left stood open. Servers hurried through the aisles, their arms loaded with assorted pewter mugs and earthen platters.

I thought I saw Konrad at the largest table in the middle of the room. The man appeared to be drinking, but I could tell that his gaze followed every movement in the room. For a second, our eyes met, and the knight blinked.

“We can’t stay here,” Bero said. “They’ll boot us out.”

“We’re paying customers, remember,” I said. “Let’s look downstairs first.” We marched to the end of the hall where a staircase led to the basement. The catacomb-like rooms flowed from one area to the next. Long tables and benches were filled with eating and drinking merchants, farmers and knights. These were the ones slightly better off, the dressmakers, bakers and metal smiths, those who had skills and ran their own shops in the nearby villages while the common peasants partied outside.