The Enterprise of Death (44 page)

Fuck. Paracelsus? Fuck. Manuel very, very much regretted leaving the inn where Monique no doubt still drank, and he very, very much regretted leaving Bern in the first place. Whatever trouble the old quack had gotten himself into was his own damn fault, and … Manuel sighed, and set to picking his way back to the inn where he had left Monique.

She was gone, and he could not find her in the next few taverns he tried, either. The sun was setting now, bonfires lit along the river, and the festival was growing wilder. Manuel had almost given up hope of finding her at all when she clapped him by the shoulder and spun him around. To his immense relief she was not drunk; on the contrary, she looked remarkably sober.

“Where the fuck’ve you been?” she demanded before he could do the same of her, and without waiting for an answer she whispered, “Let’s get ta some back road, an’ now. We gotta talk.”

Monique led him through several alleys before she would even slow down, let alone speak. They were winding east between the half-timbered houses, and when they hit the wall where Manuel had seen Paracelsus he set his heels and growled, “What’s happened, Mo?”

“She’s here,” said Monique, and then a pack of children went howling past them along the wall, pursued by a straw-covered man with a goat mask.

“What? Who?” Manuel glanced at the darkening hillside beside them, the twilight sky blurring with the treetops.

“Who do ya fuckin think? Awa!”

“Where?! When did you see—”

“Shut it,” said Monique, and suddenly grabbing him in her arms, she crushed him to her chest and brought her mouth a breath from his. Before he could protest, she hissed, “Don’t you ruin this. They’s comin up behind an’ we’d best be lovers lookin for quiet.”

And then she did kiss him, harder than he had ever been kissed, though her tongue stayed on her side of the fence. Half a dozen men passed by, and with the multiple weapons at their waists, their dour faces, and the large swatches of chain and leather armor covering their traveling clothes they did not seem to be on their way to the festival. Even after the last of them had vanished along the now-dark lane Monique continued to grind against Manuel, and when he tried to push her off she grabbed the back of his neck and held him tighter, which was when another man passed them. This fellow made no pretense of ignoring them, and once he had gone a little way up the road he laughed loudly, and then was gone.

“Ever give a thought ta eatin somethin other’n cat turds?” Monique spit as she broke away from him. “That’ll be a franc, son, or two if ya had yourself a moment under that cod of yours.”

“I’m guessing you know those men?” said Manuel, wiping his mouth.

“Not half’s well as we will fore sun-up,” said Monique. “Meant to get ahead of’em but your dirty self had ta slip off for a wank, didn’t ya? Let’s give’em some time fore we go after.”

“Monique,” Manuel said as patiently as he was able. “What’s going on? I saw something, I saw Paracelsus. The doctor from Milan?”

“What?” Now it was Monique’s turn to let her jaw hang. “That fuckin lump?”

“You first, then I’ll tell you what I saw.”

“Not so much seein on my end but I ’eard the whole fuckin thing, didn’t I?” Monique said smugly. “I’m finished with them beers you brought, an’ unlike a proper joint there weren’t no maids bringin more so I push on up ta the bar. Jus’ when I’m bout ta tell the keep three more beers, an’ leave out the water this time, cunt, this slight fucker cuts in front of me, one of them what jus’ passed us.”

Manuel wondered which of the bulky men classified as “slight” to Monique.

“I’m bout ta straighten’em the fuck out when I ’ear’em say ta the keep, loud as fuckin day,
we come ta collect the witch.
Now, I’m thinkin he’s talkin festival talk or somethin, thinkin no fuckin way’s it this easy, an’ the barkeep says back, in fuckin eye-tie ta top it all,
keep it down, they got the witch stowed outta town.
Now I’m gettin real interested in pickin through my purse, aren’t I, an’ the keep an’ this lump jus’ keep yakkin away in eye-tie like nobody knows what they’re sayin, an’ by the cut of those drunk fucks no one else did. But I speak eye-tie, I speak it fuckin bella, don’t I?”

“So they came to pick up Awa? Did they say Awa?” Manuel looked around nervously, the alley dark in the gloaming but the bonfires by the river lighting up little patches of the cross streets a few blocks away.

“Course they didn’t say fuckin Awa, ’ow the fuck they know her name?” Monique shook her head, disappointed by Manuel’s obtuseness. “They said witch, but they also said they’d been followin’er trail through some graveyards up ta this’un, an’ it seems like this lump barkeep was the go-tween with the muscle. Sounds like this Kahlert cunt’s spread ’is net wide, but he’s also been buttonin it down local so all these fuckin hick-bergs know there’s a man in Calw what’ll pay for witches.”

“So Kahlert
is
in Calw,” said Manuel. “Good fucking thing we didn’t try Spain first.”

“That weren’t happenin,” said Monique. “Told ya.”

“But wait,” said Manuel. “If Kahlert’s men, the muscle, were tracking her from some graveyard to here, to Wolfach, how was the barkeep involved, and—”

“In time, in time,” said Monique. “I was almost fuckin there. So barkeep says them locals what got the witch caught’er up an old graveyard they don’t use no more, out the east side of town off a huntin trail. Barkeep says ta go out there ta pick’er up, an’ after gettin the biggest fuckin tip I ever seen the keep finally gets round ta pourin my beer while the muscle goes back ta ’is crew.”

“His crew? He and the rest—”

“Drinkin it up, real fuckin subtle-like, seven big assholes bunched together in one place. So I stagger o’er, not next to’em, understand, but close enough ta catch a word or two as everyone’s shoutin ta be ’eard in that fuckin place.”

Manuel could scarcely believe she could hear anything after a lifetime blasting guns, but her words were starting to create an unhappy image in his mind, though a play might have served the complex story better. A tragedy, with Manuel as the lead, and—he caught himself. “I’m sorry, Mo, what was that?”

“I said three of the big cunts was trackin’er this way, an’ come inta town the same day four of Kahlert’s boys come down from Calw. See, one of these local chumps went up ta let Kahlert know
they’d caught ’is witch, but if that was true Awa couldn’t be muckin bout in them other churchyards the first three was followin’er through. So the muscle, all seven of’em, get inta town today, some from the south an’ some from the north, an’ someone recognizes someone else, they compare stories, an’ what the fuck? Somethin don’t add up, what with it soundin like the witch’s in two spots at once, an’ these boys pissed besides that some fuckin peasants is stealin they glory
and
they bounty.”

“I know what’s going on, Mo, I—” Manuel began, but she cuffed him on the head.

“Shut it til I’m finished. So the south muscle says she’d be up the graveyard tonight or next, seein as they don’t reckon she’s got a horse an’ this oughta be the next potter’s field in line for’er, an’ so they an’ the north muscle says why not go see if the peasants got themelves the witch, an’ if aye, great, kill the fuckers an’ take’er back to Kahlert, an’ if nay, send them peasants packin with an empty purse an’ lay in ta catch the witch if she shows her snout tonight or next. So they all runnin ta the graveyard, and we will, too, once you tell me how you got it all sussed, and what the fuck Doctor P is doin mixed up in it.”

“He’s the first witch!” said Manuel, the pieces fitting together seamlessly. “Maybe Kahlert isn’t specific about what witch he wants, or maybe the locals think, what with him being a fucking witch hunter, that he’ll pay out for any old witch they catch, and who knows, maybe he will. So Paracelsus arrives in town, running his fucking mouth, and some of the locals decide he’s witchy enough.”

“An’ you said you seen’em? Paracelsus?”

“Just down the wall!” And Manuel quickly recounted what he had seen by the fence.

“So Doctor Lump rides in a few days back an’ his fuckin mouth lands’em in witch territory.” Monique nodded slowly. “Barkeep sends word ta Calw tellin Kahlert they caught themelves
a witch down in Wolf. Meantimes, Awa’s cuttin through graveyards for reasons obscure, with three fuckin bounty riders after’er, an’ is headed straight for this shitheap.”

“That’s how it looks from here,” said Manuel. “And that’s a sight better to go on than what either the locals or Kahlert’s muscle is working with.”

“I don’t give half a drunk-fuck what ’appens ta Doctor Lump, but if our girl’s blunderin inta it up the graveyard—”

“Or if we’re wrong about any of the details—”

“That’s enough head start for those assholes,” said Monique, straightening up. “Let’s get ta fuckin work, Manuel.”

They jumped the rough stone wall where they stood, then hurried up the grassy hill toward the treeline. Manuel found himself excited, actually nervous and eager and hungry to stick his sword in some piece of shit that would sell a girl to a witch hunter. A shame, he thought, that he had been unable to conjure such enthusiasm when he was actually a mercenary who stood just as good a chance of living out the battle as anyone else, as opposed to an already winded has-been embarking on a blind charge into a dark forest on an increasingly dark night against unknown odds with only a single ally at his side. He might have laughed but he lacked the air, and then the screams started, shrill but distinctly male, and Monique laughed for him.

“That’s our fuckin girl, like as not! Move, lump, move!” They hit the trail where it entered the forest, and then he was huffing after her, Monique jangling in front of him with all the subtlety of, well, a furious Dutch gunner smashing up a studio. Fuck had no sake here.

The screaming trailed off as lights came into view through the trees, and Monique continued to exercise the restraint that had so surprised and impressed Manuel by slowing to a stop, her hands fluttering over her body to press the bouncing metal silent. Manuel stopped as well, not for the first time admiring her array
of guns and wishing he had learned the skill himself, or at least thought to pick up a crossbow. She must have invested some of her income in new pieces, for the twin pistols she silently drew from scabbards jutting out from under her armpits were unlike any the artist had seen before, the silhouetted barrels long as short swords. Even in the dark he heard her breathing steady as soon as the guns were in hand, and before he could ask how she meant to light the cords without drawing attention she left the trail and darted between the trees.

How someone so big could move so quietly was a question Awa had asked herself recently as well, the necromancer having been taken unawares and bound in iron chain for the second time in her life—no coincidence, that. Merritt was supposed to be on watch to prevent just such a circumstance, but her immediate suspicion that he had sold her out was proven false when she spied two men shoving him into an identical sack just before the hood went over her eyes. Chloé gave a short gasp that was cut off, and Awa could only hope this was the result of a gag similar to the one Awa now wore being put into place. Then she felt herself hoisted up, their captors clearly not keen on dallying beside the churchyard where they had finally captured the witch and her accomplices. She realized that not only was she caught and most likely being delivered to someone who both knew her weaknesses and meant her harm, but this time there was no Niklaus Manuel Deutsch of Bern to save her.

Manuel stumbled in the dark, ashamed of himself for making so much noise as he tripped through the underbrush, but when he glanced up to whisper an apology Monique was gone. The artist stayed very still as he peered around, close enough to the cemetery and its lights to see that he was very much alone in the stand of firs shrugging up against the low stone wall of the old graveyard. Turning his attention there, he did not see a single man, the seven bounty hunters from Wolfach and the five costumed
locals who had kidnapped Paracelsus just as absent as Monique, only a few lanterns balanced on gravestones indicating anyone had been there at all.

There were several stone markers but the only other obvious grave was a hulking barrow that dominated the rear of the cemetery, and with a silent prayer Manuel closed the little ground between him and the wall. Clambering over it he knocked a stone loose, the rock clattering down with all the volume of an angelic choir announcing the presence of the Almighty. Fuck.

Landing in a crouch and drawing his sword, Manuel waited for the mob of bounty hunters and locals, now united in purpose, to charge around the side of the barrow and martyr his sorry ass. Nothing stirred but a breeze that brought the distant drumming of the Fastnacht festivities from Wolfach, where the witches and devils and beauties all danced and danced, celebrating the death of winter. The wind felt chill enough on his neck from where he knelt, and Manuel might have stayed there until Judgment if Monique had not materialized to his right.

She marched in through the gate as if she were a noble lady taking in her gardens, a winning smile on her face as she walked casually forward, only the two pistols jutting out in front of her implying she felt any anxiety at all. Manuel stood slowly, and felt a little piss dribble into his codpiece as both gun barrels suddenly yawned in his direction, Monique’s smile twisting to a frown as she saw who it was, her wrists relaxing. Then she motioned him toward the barrow with a pistol, and he hesitated only long enough to retrieve one of the lanterns from atop a leaning tombstone.