Twelfth Krampus Night (5 page)

Chapter Six

“Whoever you are—or
what
ever you are—you're severely hindering my efforts to rid the world of one its most deviant miscreants.” The old woman lurched out of the forest, this time without her pail and sack. She slashed the air with her two knives, preparing herself. “I suggest you step out where I can see you. That's
my
prize in the castle, and I'll be damned if some, some, I don't know,
werewolf
is going to claim him.”

“Werewolf?” Deep laughter came from the other side of the forest, and what the old lady had first mistaken for twisted tree branches—long, jagged animal horns—rose from a bramble patch, followed by the eight-foot-tall hairy beast from which they jutted.

“Do you see a full moon? I don't,” the thing said. “And since when do werewolves run around on hooves?” The creature, holding its chain and club, lifted one of its hooves to show the woman.

“Ah, I've indeed heard of you,” the woman said. “At least I
think
you're Saint Nicholas's errand boy.”

“Nice to meet you, Frau Perchta.” The beast exaggeratedly bowed. “The master knows this is your territory and your time of year.”

The thing dropped its chain, but not its club, to let its massive barrel slip off its back. It used one hoof to push the barrel off the road while simultaneously stooping to retrieve the long chain. The hag and the beast assessed each other as they began circling clockwise, twenty feet separating them.

“Then what on earth are you doing here
now
?” Perchta said. “You and the saint had your day last month. I'm on my twelfth and final one, and this particular brat is proving a lot more troublesome than I'd anticipated.”

“You cannot seriously believe that I can snatch everybody that my master assigns me in
one
day? Especially when the mark is out of town. Even I need to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner. And the occasional deer snack. And I'm not immune to when nature calls. I suppose I could wait until next year, but some of the wretches do not deserve the luxury of time to commit more of their misdeeds. That's why I'm here, now, with the mark in that castle.”

“That's
my
mark,” Perchta said in a raised voice, and shook one of her knives at the monster. “I've distributed the coins I planned on giving today, and took care of one of the two brats who deserved it. One more to go—or two. I've yet to decide.”

“No. I've been eyeing this kid for months. And I'm not about to let some withered shrew screw it up.”

“Withered? Shrew?” She let the insult linger and looked at her feet, appearing hurt. Then she sprang toward the monster, spinning like a cyclone, her two blades slashing deep gashes into the surprised creature's belly. She landed and kicked the monster onto its back.

The thing whipped its chain around Perchta's right wrist and yanked. Bones cracked and she released the dagger, which twirled into the woods. She shrieked and doubled over in pain as the monster pushed itself off the ground and charged the woman.

Perchta stooped and scurried under the horrendously smelling archway created by the monster's wide stance and used her remaining knife to slash the monster's Achilles tendons.

It howled and fell to its knees just as the woman scooted from beneath it. She rammed her blade into the creature's belly, but it was like skewering rock. She saw her two previous slice marks had begun to congeal and heal. She went to overhand stab the monster, but the thing countered by whipping the chain to divert the knife, and then smacked the woman back with its club.

Perchta withdrew and held the blade tip toward her foe.

“What are you?” she said. “How can you heal so quickly?”

It strained to stand on one wobbly leg and then the next.

“You mean how can I heal just as quickly as your wrist?” It nodded at Perchta's right hand, which otherwise looked straight and healthy, not twisted and broken.

“I know that the people we hunt cannot comprehend what they're up against once confronted,” she said. “So allow me to finally understand what that truly feels like.”

“I feel pain, as you do,” it said. “But nobody's come close to ever stopping or eluding me. And I guarantee you that will never happen. I hear like an owl and have a hawk's vision. My eyesight will
never
fail me.”

“Very well. I suppose we can fight in circles here while daylight wastes, or we can focus on what we both came here to do.” She tucked the blade into her belt and took a neutral stance.

The thing responded by tossing its club and chain near its barrel on the roadside.

“And how do we do that?”

“Simple,” she said. “You're up for a good fight, obviously. You enjoy competition. So here's the fairest way to settle it. First one who grabs the mark gets to punish him. I've got an entire sackful of straw that's destined for that kid's stomach.”

The thing tilted its head, ruminating over the proposition. “The master has given me freedom to do what I wish with the creeps. That is enough motivation for me to snag him first. What are the parameters?”

“Do either of us
look
like we follow rules?” Perchta said.

“I tend to think I adhere to a personal code of conduct and—”

“Listen,
genius
, if you think I'm going to let you just waltz into the castle, you're insane. If I see you climbing a wall, you better expect me to throw something to stop you. You've got your chain over there. Do you think for a second I'd hesitate to use that against you?”

The creature went to answer but—

“No!” she continued. “I fully expect you to whip that thing at me if you see I'm about to be on the boy.”

“I thought we weren't going to fight each other,” it said.

“That's right, we're not. The front of the castle is off-limits. That's a rule I can adhere to. You take your side of the castle and I'll take mine. We'll be too busy trying to scale the walls than to worry about foiling each other.”

“Fair enough. But what about the castle's rear?”

“We split the castle in two—and not literally, genius. You have your side that will wrap halfway around to the castle's rear.”

“And you'll have yours.”

“Riiiiiight.” She drew it out like it had two syllables, enjoying how to plot and win the game of wits and strength ahead of them. “I expect the last thing we want to do is meet in the middle behind the castle.”

“Deal.” The monster nodded, also feeling enlivened by the challenge. “We avoid each other, stay off each other's side. But once we're inside, anything goes.”

“Agreed.” She held out her claw-like right and the monster did likewise. She grabbed the tip of its kielbasa-sized finger and shook. “But don't you go anywhere yet. I need to find my knife.”

“Yeah, my legs need to heal a little more too.” It arched its back to look behind at its calf muscles to see the Achilles wounds mending by themselves.

“You and your hawk eyes could help me look for my knife, you know. It would speed things up considerably.” She stepped one foot into the forest to begin her search. “By the way, what do I call you?”

It walked into the forest, eyeing her, and grunted, “Krampus.”

Chapter Seven

“And you're sure he wasn't missing anything?” Mumfred examined Hans's body, which Otto had placed on the ground near the closed portcullis—and off to its side stood Heinrich, holding Beate against his body to warm her as the sun began to set.

“His crossbow, sword, he even had some coins in his saddlebag—Victor said it was all there when we found him,” Otto said. Lords Wilhelm and Karl added what they could about the attack on the hunting party.

“We should fetch the bodies,” Mumfred said. “If the villagers see dead knights strewn about the road, they might think the baron and his kin weak. Rumors could spread to other towns, and to our enemies. Uprisings have occurred over less.”

Beate, still surrounded by several Vettelberg workers, said nothing. She stared, expressionless, at the vertical gash made down Hans's belly.

“That crone cut straight through Victor's chain mail in one clean swipe,” Otto continued, trying not to let on that he wanted no part in retrieving bodies. “I'm not sure
I
could pull off something like that. This hunchbacked woman, the way she moved. The feeble only move that fast when they drop dead. They don't hop on horses and then disembowel them. And I still don't know what wielded that chain. It couldn't have been the woman. I'm guessing a marauder dressed in multiple furs, wearing war paint. But I'm not even convinced of that.”

Mumfred, taller than everyone except Otto, addressed the young lords. “I believe the baron would impale me if I allowed you two to set foot from this castle until we have a better handle on things. So you're staying here. And the baron must be told.”

Mumfred stood on his tiptoes to scan the crowd of thirty people that had formed a semicircle around Hans and the survivors. “Where's the messenger? James, are you there?”

“I am.” A lean, fit man in his twenties, James wormed his way through the people to Mumfred, who put his hand on James's shoulder.

“Go to the stables, get the fastest horse you can find.” Mumfred glanced at Hans's death wound and then back to James. “Get a weapon. A dagger, something light and easy to wield. I need you to fly posthaste to inform the baron of this. Write down the names of the knights and whatever other details Otto and the lords feel sufficient and then set off. You should be able to reach the mountain's base before it gets too dark, and then it's not far to the port on the Rhine. Take the river until you reach Mannheim and its castle, and inform the baron.”

“With all respect, it's obviously dangerous out there and—”

Mumfred pressed two fingers against James's lips to shush him. The young messenger could not help but constantly glance at Hans's body.

“I realize I'm volunteering you for a suicide mission. All I'm asking is you ride your horse to the port—not the Mannheim castle. You can do it. Stop for nobody. Dress warmly. The sun's setting fast.
Go
!”

James sprinted to his quarters to prepare for the journey while Mumfred stared at the hushed crowd.

“I suggest all of you return to your duties, whatever they may be. If you live in the village—” Mumfred specifically addressed Beate and Heinrich but spoke loud enough so that other villagers could hear, “—then we will find shelter for you tonight.”

“
Really
?” It was Wilhelm.

“Young master,” Mumfred said. “We wouldn't want the rest of the villagers to know that we forced their loved ones to travel dangerous paths while keenly aware that brutal killers lay in wait for them.”

“Just make sure they clean up after themselves,” Wilhelm said. “Now on to more important matters. I'm famished.” He surveyed the crowd and smiled. “Boris, what have you prepared for me?”

The housekeeper, a portly, profusely sweaty man of thirty whose cheeks flushed red, not out of embarrassment but because the kitchen was hot, stood in the gaggle's rear.

“Per Lord Karl's instructions, in honor of his guests, tonight the cooks have prepared roast duck, assorted vegetables and breads. It will be served at your leisure.”

“Splendid.” Mumfred clapped his hands. “My lords, after you.”

“I'll take my meal in my chambers, if you please.” Wilhelm turned to the second gateway leading to the hall.

“I'll sit with
our
guests,” Karl countered.

“
You
invited them. I'll be ready for my fitting once they're done gorging their little bellies.” Wilhelm glanced over his shoulder toward Beate as he walked. “You will thoroughly wash your hands.” And he was gone.

The assemblage of curious castle workers and residents dwindled. Atop his horse, James, the messenger, dressed in a woolen tunic and cloak for warmth, rode from the stables situated at the far side of the outer courtyard.

“Don't leave yet,” Mumfred said and turned to Franco, the castle burgmann, who'd kept quiet but monitored the entire situation. “I want some of your best riders to escort him to the point where the bodies should be. Bring them back. Be on guard.”

“It will take but a minute to prepare.” A white-bearded warrior in his forties who was in charge of castle security turned to Otto, who served as his second-in-command. “I'll take care of the riders. Get some sentries to line the drawbridge when our men leave. I don't want anyone charging his way into this castle.”

Otto nodded and left.

“Beate and Heinrich, please follow me to the great hall.” Mumfred cordially extended his arm.

“What about him?” Beate pointed to Hans, his lifeless eyes still open.

“You need not worry. I don't believe this knight was married, so that certainly saves us the grief of informing a wife. Now come. I do want the lords fitted beginning this evening. And you.” Mumfred addressed Heinrich. “I know you're a skilled blacksmith, and you're quite aware of the opening here. We'll see what you can do tomorrow to perhaps earn you an extended stay. The baron will make the final decision, naturally. But since he's not here, why not try you out?”

Heinrich smiled and looked at Beate, who beamed.

“What would you need, sir?” Heinrich said.

Mumfred waved over two stable boys who were escorting two knights' horses to the front gatehouse. “After the knights leave, find a place to store this poor fellow.” Mumfred motioned to Hans. “Be dignified about it. We'll bury him someplace tomorrow.”

The boys nodded and avoided eye contact.

“Now, as for what we'll need.” Mumfred stroked his chin. “Based on current events, I would say weapons.”