Escape from the Past (5 page)

Werner had taken his place in the only chair at the top of the longest table while his friends lined the benches. I stood in the gloom fascinated and at the same time wishing to be invisible. My eyes and nose stung from the smoke. And these men looked like they could squeeze me to pulp, none more than Knight
Werner himself.

Two squires were helping the Lord out of his armored plates while he dunked his hands into a basin of water a servant was holding. More help hurried around the tables, offering water and towels to the men. I sniffed. I hadn’t washed my hands in two days and my armpits reeked. I wondered if I’d picked up lice in Bero’s house. It was certainly possible with all the filth. I scratched my crotch and scalp, vowing to find water to swim. If they’d ever let me leave.

“Max Nerds, come and partake in our nourishment.” Werner gestured toward an open seat at the far end where a maid rushed to fill a beaker. I shuffled closer. I hadn’t come up with any good story idea. Where was I supposed to be from? How could I explain my dress and two-inch hair when everyone had stringy manes like hippies? I tried to remember old maps of Germany. Foggy shreds of forgotten history classes drifted in and out. My head felt light and empty and my stomach growled.

I squeezed between the knights. To my surprise I was just as tall as they were, even if they’d looked huge on their horses. A stream of servants brought platters and cups, poured drinks and cut bread. Bero’s bread had been dark and grainy. This bread was white and fluffy like sweet buns. I swallowed the saliva that flooded my mouth. All I could think of was getting a piece.

More dishes appeared. Roasted meats cut in squares, mashed and shaped like meatloaf, some dishes colored green and red. I had no idea what they were. My neighbor, a burly knight with a leather tunic and a heavy silver cross around his neck, had ripped a hunk of meat from a roast that looked like a huge bird.

“What’s this?” I said.

“Swan.”

I shuddered. Why would anyone want to eat a swan?

“Try it,” the burly knight boomed. “Where’s your knife, lad?” He waved a humongous blade with a carved bone-handle.

My hand moved inside my pocket to touch the Swiss army
knife. Showing it meant the dungeon for sure. When I didn’t answer, the burly knight tore a piece off the roast and tossed it on the flatbread that sat like a plate in front of me. I poked a finger at the bread, unsure whether to take a bite. It felt hard as a rock and reminded me of a Frisbee.

Across the table, a knight held a chunk of meat in his fist, juice dripping down his chin disappearing in his beard. I reached for a piece of the white bread and heaped the meat on top. It smelled heavenly.

But when it hit my tongue, the explosion of spices made me choke. Pepper, salt, cloves and garlic had been added in such quantity that I couldn’t taste the meat. I grabbed hold of the tin cup with the Hanstein crest and drank. The wine was sour but neutralized my mouth a bit.

As more wine flowed, the noise in the hall grew until I thought my skull would burst. I only picked up words and phrases. Thunderous voices told stories and jokes, followed by raucous laughter. Chain-mailed fists smashed onto tables in fits of amusement. I cowered low to stay out of Knight Werner’s sight. I was getting dizzy. I’d chased the few bites of mostly bread with wine when I discovered a bowl of plums and apples.

“Would you pass the apples, please?” I shouted to the burly knight who’d guzzled four cups of wine and paid no attention to me.

“Ah, yes, Max Nerds, you were going to entertain us with a tale of your travels and your
Haus,
” Werner von Hanstein said from the far end. With the exception of a few voices at the neighboring tables, the room immediately turned quiet. “Tell us about your quest. Your home. Who do you serve? And why are you visiting our modest abode?” Chuckles erupted, but Werner raised his arm and it got quiet again. “Most of all, why are you dressed so outlandish? You must’ve come from a strange place, indeed. What say you?”

The tables erupted in more laughter. So they thought
I
looked
funny. I wanted to slide off the bench and hide beneath the table. Instead my burly neighbor slapped me on the back with such force that I lost the remaining bit of air left in my chest.

I set down my mug trying to refill my lungs. Time was up. Except for the crackling fireplace and some faint rustling in the ground straw, the room was silent. Dozens of eyes stared at me. Even the maids and servants stopped what they were doing and watched. I cleared my throat.

“My Lord, first of all thank you for inviting me.” Courtesy never hurt, even if I was somewhere in the Middle Ages. I was supposed to use some sort of third person…
Ihr
and
Euch
whatever. I probably acted rude and why hadn’t I bothered to ask Bero what year it was? Maybe that would help me understand what I was supposed to do.

Werner bowed his head and waved his hand in dismissal. “Carry on, Max Nerds, let us hear your tale.”

“You see, My Lord, I traveled through a tunnel of sorts. I don’t understand it myself. But I got lost. My friend Jimmy and I play vid…games. I borrowed this game last night.”

Werner looked at him in concentration. “Last night? You said you traveled from afar. What kind of game was it?”

“The game is called
EarthRider.
” Might as well get it out, I thought. Maybe the man was in on the whole thing. “I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do, but I thought I’d visit the castle to figure it out.”

Werner’s blond eyebrows wrinkled into a frown. “Is it a tourney? It is not a game I know.” He looked around the room. His knights were shaking their heads. “Are you sure you’re not a jester? This tale of yours makes no sense.” More chuckles echoed around me. I’d land in the dungeon yet. I felt Werner’s eyes—now with a dash of suspicion—as I struggled to keep the trembling in my legs from taking over my body.

At that moment, a man who sort of looked like
Richard Gere
as Lancelot appeared next to Werner. He dragged one foot behind
him as if his knee were rigid. Lancelot whispered into Werner’s ear.

To my surprise Werner abruptly jumped to his feet. “My armor, at once,” he said, his eyes suddenly flashing with anger.

I shrank lower on the bench, but Werner didn’t pay any attention.

“My brother, Lame Hans, just informed me that Lady Clara has been abducted. I just saw her yesterday. Her husband, Knight Hans von Hagen, was one of my loyal vassals until he was blinded in battle. We must come to his aid at once.”

“Who took her?” someone shouted above the mayhem of men donning gear and emptying cups.

“We shall find out,” Werner barked as he marched down the hall, impatiently fastening leather sleeves and sword. Unsure what to do, I got up and watched in fascination as everyone except for the maids and servants scrambled after the Lord.

Quickly I grabbed two apples and stuffed them in my jeans pockets. I felt woozy, the wine hot in my cheeks. Maybe I could slip out now. I’d be faced with more lousy food at Bero’s but I had no other place to go. At least Bero didn’t have man-sized blades and a dungeon. If Bero would take me in. My time was up and we’d argued before I left to check out the castle. I’d ask to stay one more night.

Before I made it to the door, Lame Hans Lancelot stepped into my way. “Who are you?” He leaned on his good leg, making him appear unsteady. “You don’t look like a squire and you certainly don’t look like a knight. Nor a servant…or peasant.” Hans’s eyes lingered on my shirt, jeans, and got stuck on my feet. For the tenth time I wished I wore something less jarring. “Explain yourself.” His voice sounded calm but somehow threatening. I got wobbly all over again, trying to remember what I’d said to Werner earlier. Despite being an invalid, the guy seemed way more dangerous.

“Your brother, Lord Werner, asked me to join him.”

“So it seems.”

I had the distinct feeling that Lame Hans didn’t agree with his brother, the knight. Certainly not when it came to inviting odd-looking strangers into the castle. When I tried to bow and curtsy, I lost my balance. The wine was doing its magic.

Hans clamped down on my shoulder and yanked me to a stand. “Better come with me.” I managed a nod. Even if I’d wanted to, it would’ve been suicide to tear loose and attempt to flee through the maze of gates, inner and outer walls, and the sentries lurking in every corner.

To my surprise, the weather had turned and a hard rain pelted us as soon as we stepped into the courtyard. Hans didn’t seem to notice nor did he pay attention to Werner who’d assembled his knights and gave last minute instructions. I wanted to yell for help, but my throat was tight and nothing came out. Hah, I’d offered to give Bero advice on how to speak up in front of the Lords, when I, Max, was the pathetic one.

Lame Hans led me toward the entrance of one of the towers.

“Let Max Nerds go. I will speak with him later,” Werner said as if it were the most normal thing in the world that everyone listened to him, including his brother. He’d moved his giant horse deeper into the courtyard. “Where’s your quarter, Max Nerds?”

Hans let go of my arm, but he looked angry.

“What?” I asked.

“You lodge at the inn?”

I cleared my throat. “At Bero’s.”

“Pig herder Bero, son of Johann the tanner?”

“Think so.” Except where was Johann? I scolded myself for not asking. I lived without a father and took it for granted that none had shown up at Bero’s house.

“I’ll send for you when we return.” Werner spun around his horse and led the way out the gate.

Hans stared after his brother, still close enough to reclaim my
arm. “Make your leave, sirrah,” he grumbled.

I quickly stepped out of reach and mumbled, “Thanks.” I followed the horses, carefully avoiding the piles of steaming dung. Near the portcullis, two squires sat in a stone alcove. One looked about ten with shoulder-length blond hair was aiming pebbles into a stone jar while the other was the grouchy fellow who’d watched me earlier. He whittled at a piece of wood.

“Can you tell me how one becomes a squire?” I said to the younger one. The boy interrupted his game and stared at me. “I’m Christian, the Lord’s son. I’ll be a squire when I turn fourteen. Enders here would know.” Though the older boy didn’t interrupt his carving, I stepped closer. The rain had intensified and I shivered.

“Why? What concern is it of yours?” Enders said.

“I have a friend who’s interested,” I said, fighting for patience. This jerk sounded worse than Lame Hans.

“Try the harvest festival,” Enders said. “Whoever wins the Lord’s favor will be invited to the castle.”

“When is that? What do you have to do?”

Enders looked at me as if I were a complete idiot. “Last Sunday in September when the villages celebrate the harvest.”

“You win the contest,” Christian said. “That’s what Enders did. You never know what the contest is so nobody can prepare ahead of time. Enders won the fistfight two years ago.” Werner’s son wrinkled his forehead in concentration. “Last year, it was tossing rocks. The squire who won that is no longer here.”

Wonder what happened to him, I thought. They’d surely think I was a bonehead if I asked them what day it was.

“Thanks for the info,” I said aloud.

“What?” The two squires stared at me.

I recognized the same distrust Bero and his mother had shown. That Enders fellow looked positively dangerous. I’d better pick up ideas on what to say. “Thanks for the explanation.” To my relief they nodded.

I passed through the outer walls, the two guards waving me through. In the distance the sky offered a sliver of blue. A single sunray broke through the clouds, coloring the castle walls orange. I decided to see what Bero was up to and smooth things over. Besides, I had to figure what to do next.

I thought of scrawny Bero and his chances of becoming a squire. No way he’d win a boxing match or a stone toss. And here I thought I could help. I didn’t even know what day or month it was except that the leaves were turning and the air had that smoky quality of fall. Had I time traveled to the same month and day? Or was I in some twilight dimension that only existed in Jimmy’s dad’s game? I was clueless and the uncertainty was getting to me. The weather didn’t help either. The rain turned into drizzle, chilling the air. Damn game.

Deflated I headed downhill. When the historic restaurant came into view, I remembered my watch. My father had given it to me the day before he left us. Sort of another guilt present. The time face said 9:47. Then I noticed that the hands didn’t move. The watch had broken, another piece of junk made in China. I stuck it back in my pocket.

Instead of heading to the village, I kept hiking downhill. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was looking for until I recognized the river. When I was younger I’d been at the
Werra
many times hiking with my father. This river looked wilder, the water rushing and gurgling along. The paved road I remembered didn’t exist. A lone footpath meandered away past the hip-high grasses and reeds. Two mallards took off in fright.

I stopped. The sudden stillness was eerie—no car engines, honking horns, no voices, not even birds chirping. With a sigh I stripped off my clothes. I was wet anyway. Might as well take a bath. I climbed through the grass and mud into the open water, rubbed and wiped, ignoring the teeth-chattering cold. Clean skin was more important even if I froze my balls off. I dunked below the surface. All I heard was the swirl of the water in my ears, the
gravel swishing below. I resurfaced and swam back to shore. I had no towel so I mopped off my skin with my hands and waited.

Somehow it felt freeing to be naked. But then nothing got resolved while I stood here. At least the sour stench of my armpits was gone. I picked up my T-shirt, which reeked of sweat. If the game didn’t get finished soon, I’d have to find something else to wear, something that was clean and didn’t stand out. Then I’d return to wash everything.

Refreshed I jogged uphill toward the village, my shirt and pants clinging to my skin. It was quiet as I approached Bero’s hut except for the squeaks and snorts of the pigs. They sounded anxious and upset.