"The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bullington Jesse)

VIII. Enough Distractions

The snow had stopped and the sun had risen. Time passed in silence, Hegel gawking at Nicolette. During her tale she had eaten bowl after bowl of a muddy substance from a bucket beside her chair, but things other than her apparent taste for clay bothered the Grossbart. He shakily stood and cast his bottle into the fire, where it exploded. Drawing his sword, he yelled for his brother.

“On your feet, Manfried!” Hegel kept the blade between himself and the witch.

She clucked softly, not stirring from her chair. Manfried blearily pushed his back against the rear wall and rose halfway to his feet. Perplexed, he looked from Hegel to the seated geriatric. Christ, was she old.

“Calm, calm,” she murmured.

“Calm? You goddamned witch, I’ll have your head!” Hegel’s vision blurred, from fatigue or rage or drink, he could not be sure.

“Witch?” Manfried tried to stand but slid back down the wall. “Is it a witch, brother?”

“You knew what I was when you let me touch up you and your brother,” she said patiently.

“That true?” Manfried shot his brother a withering stare.

“Stay the Hell back!” Hegel moved between Nicolette and Manfried. He intended to hack off her head with a single swipe but was hesitant to approach her. Clearly she possessed dangerous powers.

“Keep your word, Grossbart,” she said, eyes flashing even without a blazing fire to reflect in them.

“She summon up that manticore on us?” Manfried’s head swam, and his weapons were nowhere to be found.

“Damn it all!” Hegel could not stop shouting. “Wasn’t no damn manticore, it’s a damn garou, just like I told you!”

“That’s French for wolf,” Nicolette offered. “Don’t think it really applies to Magnus, save metaphorical-like.”

“Shut it!” Hegel’s temples pounded. “Just be quiet!”

All three were silent. Manfried managed to edge up the wall to his feet, knees wobbling. Nicolette remained seated, staring at Hegel, who stumbled back, gripping his brother’s shoulder.

“What’s happened?” Manfried hissed in their tongue of two.

“Witch,” Hegel hissed back in kind.

“I managed that, what the Hell we doin in its house?”

“You was ill, I dragged you here. She healed you up.”

“Don’t mean to second-guess, but that sounds awful honest.” Manfried peered around Hegel for a better look.

“I paid.” Hegel shuddered. “Nuthin honest bout it.”

Nicolette had watched them intently during their discourse, head tilted like a curious pet. Now she smiled and leaned back in her chair. It had taken her a moment, but she had it.

“So she’s a witch, what you waitin for? Get’er quick fore we’s hexed!” Manfried shook his head in an effort to rattle out the sleep-mist.

“What are you waiting for, Hegel?” she asked in the same unique cant.

Both stared in shock, their code never before cracked.

“Maybe, Manfried, your brother is a man of his word?” Her smile widened.

“Dunno what word my brother gave, but any words we give’s ours to take back when we want, and don’t apply to heretics and witches no-way,” Manfried fired back, dropping any pretenses at secrecy. “Stab her, Hegel!”

Hegel took a step forward despite the ringing in his ears and the chills lancing through every other part of his body that cautioned against such an act.

“You break your word, Hegel, and I break mine.” She leaned forward in her chair.

Hegel paused, like a child working up the nerve to plunge into frigid water. Manfried held his breath, not understanding his brother’s hesitation. Perhaps he had already fallen under some charm.

“Why’d you heal us, if that thing out there’s your husband?” Hegel asked.

“Husband!?” Manfried slid back to the floor.

“Everything that happens to me or him is Her Will,” she said softly.

“Very enlightened,” Manfried croaked from the floor. “Least she respects the Virgin proper.”

Nicolette’s laughter hurt their ears. “Hekate’s Will, Grossbarts. The only lady of true quality.”

“Heresy,” Manfried groaned, the stress taxing his consciousness. “Quick, brother, quick!”

“Hekate?” The name struck Hegel as familiar.

“I’d heard Her Name whispered in my youth, in my dreams. I learned Her Ways mostly myself, but twenty years ago a traveler came to our house, a traveler even Magnus feared. He taught me what I didn’t intuit, which I assure you can and does fill volumes.” She had the same pleasant tone as when she told her earlier tale, nostalgia bringing a joyous glaze to her eyes.

“The Devil,” Manfried managed, lights bursting in his vision. “She met with the Devil!” He passed out again.

Hegel could not move, and while he would later attribute it to some spell, in truth he was too frightened to do anything but gawp at her.

“Not the Devil,” she sighed. “Or even a devil. A man of letters, a scholar of sorts. He spent a winter with us. I knew how to farm a bit, and Magnus hunted, naturally, but times are always lean when one’s appetite is so pronounced. In addition to the unusual seeds from the East, he showed me how to make my own food, as well as auger and curse and all the other goodness the Church warns against.”

“We.” Hegel swallowed. “We should be-”

“You leave when I say. I lied. I healed you not for Her Will but my own. You will die eventually, Grossbarts, and it will be hideous.”

Manfried caught that much, breaking back into consciousness and conversation as though his participation in both had been unfailing. “Yeah, everyone dies, witch, and then we’s gonna ascend. Might take us a while, but there’ll be no escapin your fate. You’s gonna be burnin for all time, long after we’s paid any penance we owe.”

“Neither here nor there, I certainly don’t intend to debate theology with two such learned and pious Marionites as yourselves. If I was to slay you now, no matter how painful or drawn out, you fools would cling to your faith, and cheat me of my reward.”

“Damn right we would,” Manfried snorted, trying to keep the lights at bay.

“Take that sack down, Hegel,” she said wearily, motioning to a high shelf.

He obeyed, telling himself his action was born only of curiosity. It felt heavy and lumpy, full of gravel. He held it out to her, the sword quaking in his other hand.

Shaking her head, she squinted at him. “Look inside.”

Unknotting the top, Hegel peered in. His brow knitted, and he looked closer. Manfried laboriously got back up and also had a gander.

“What’s this?” Hegel whispered, paler than milk.

“Teeth?” Manfried pulled out a handful.

“My children’s.” She sighed.

Manfried hurled the teeth away, wiping his hand on his shirt. “Cut’er!” he yelled but fell on his brother, who dropped the bag and supported him.

“Lean times.” Her eyes might have been misty, the room too dim for the Brothers to be sure. “Early spring sowing, to make sure they arrived before the snow. Then I’d have milk to last us through the winter, and some meat as well.”

Hegel’s sword swayed in his fingertips, its tip brushing the teeth on the floor. Manfried dug his thumb into his brother’s shoulder, using all his strength to stay upright. Nicolette cracked her knuckles and yawned.

“First few litters kept us well, but hard times more oft get worse before they’re better. After the first couple broods I stopped producing regular, and it’s a wonder we survived those years until he arrived. He taught me, yes, bake the bread far faster with a bit of effort, and they grow and plumpen far faster as well. The taste is one to be savored, surely, and I’d not begrudge Magnus anything, and yet… pure instinct, I suppose. Mothers want babes, all there is to it. To raise, I mean, not that. So if Magnus had caught you proper we’d have et real well this winter, but now I can have what he denied me through no fault of his own.”

“Eh.” Hegel’s tongue flopped stupidly around his mouth. Manfried’s however, worked just fine. It was the rest of his body that failed him. With a string of vile curses directed at the baby-eating, devil-worshipping whore of a witch, he slipped down his brother’s side, continuing his volley from the floor.

Hegel stared at Nicolette’s enormous gut, which had not been a fraction of that size when she had begun her story the night before. The beast must have put it in there, he thought, magic or no, it must have been the beast. Mary have mercy.

“Growing fast, growing strong.” She winked at Hegel, making his knees soften. He leaned against the wall, his brother out of breath from his diatribe. “Vengeance will be wrought not with my hands but by what grows. You’ll lose everything, Grossbarts, and you’ll know I played a hand in every misery that befalls you. Every dog that bites and every assassin that stalks, every man and woman who turns against you, I will see it in the hoarfrost and the flight of birds and my dreams. My eyes will watch your souls blacken and your bodies fail, and any aid I may offer your enemies will be freely given. I could have slaughtered you when you first came but I held back, and I’m glad I did, for your undoing will become legend.”

The Brothers Grossbart knew a curse when they heard one. Hegel, never breaking her gaze, helped his brother to his feet. Manfried no longer pressed his brother, instead snatching a log from beside the dead fire. Righteous indignation gave him strength, and, nudging Hegel, he raised his weapon.

“Given us little choice,” Manfried barked. “I kilt plenty, but you’s gonna be the best.” He took a step toward her but Hegel held him back.

“No, brother, she’s dangerous,” said Hegel.

“What’s a witch do but curse someone? She already done that, and I think I reckon I know a way to break that curse.” As he shook his brother off, Nicolette leaned back in her chair and muttered something.

Manfried swung his log but the bag of teeth jumped from the floor, smacking him in the jaw. Knocked off balance, he sprawled on the ground beside the chair. As he looked up what he at first took to be the lights presaging unconsciousness revealed themselves to be hundreds of loose teeth spinning in the air. A single tiny tooth separated from the tempest and slammed into the ground beside his face, embedding in the earthen floor. He covered his eyes with his arms and prayed loudly until he heard them clatter back down where they belonged. Hegel had become dizzy, frozen in place, and no sooner had the teeth returned to the floor than he vomited on the dead coals of the hearth.

“Now get out of my house before I turn your skin inside out.” She settled back into her chair.

“Mary preserve us,” Hegel whispered, sheathing his sword. Manfried peeked over his elbow, still convinced the end had come. Hegel helped him up, and they groped about the floor, trying to gather their equipment without looking away from Nicolette.

Manfried shook scattered teeth off his bag and slipped it over his shoulder. Everything hurt, ax and mace far heavier than usual. Unsure what had transpired since he had gone to sleep several days before, he had no choice but to trust his brother knew what was going on.

Hegel did not, but he suspected staying in Nicolette’s company any longer would drive him mad. Helping his swaying brother to the door, he gave her a final glare. The ways of witches were clearly inscrutable. Hunger overrode his fear, and he turned in the doorway.

“About our meat-” Hegel began.

“Out,” she said wearily.

“Or some a that hooch-”

“Out!” She stood, her bloated stomach jutting accusatorily at them.

“We’s doin just that,” Hegel groused, unlatching the door.

“Fore we do, though…” Manfried turned and spit.

“Damn it all.” Hegel began shoving his brother out but Manfried stood tall.

“You listen sharp, witch,” Manfried spluttered, wrestling his brother in the doorway. “You might a cursed us but we curse you, too. We killed your warlock-beast husband, and you’s dyin in this shithole. And we’s gonna die, as every man a faith does, but not fore you’s pulled down into the pit, the souls a your babes bawlin in your ears, and one way or another the last thing you’s gonna see will be us laughin. Too late to turn, you’s bound to burn, and when we’s done with the Arabs we’s comin back to piss on your bones, you nasty-”

Hegel shoved him outside, slamming the door just in time to intercept the dozens of teeth launched at them.

“Let’s burn it!” Manfried made back for the hut but his brother knocked him down, wide-eyed and panting.

“You damn fool, you’s gonna bring the Devil down on us!” Hegel exploded.

“You reckon your soul’s pure enough to suffer a witch to live?” Manfried got to his feet, staring his brother down.

“We’s gonna be back for vengeance, I swear it! For now, we gotta move fore she grows some wits and tries to fix us good at present.”

Looking around, Manfried nodded. He had almost passed out again, and the witch definitely had her wiles. Floating teeth might be the least of their worries.

They stood in a roughly tilled field on the edge of the forest, and to either side mountains shot up, the hut leaning against a cliff that stretched between the two slopes at the end of the valley. Hegel made for one of the rises, picking his way among the sparse trees.

“Shouldn’t we go back to Horse, get some meat?” Manfried queried, following Hegel away from the wood and the shack.

“Nah, even if it ain’t been picked clean we’d have a time findin it again. Forest ’s too big.”

“What we gonna eat, then?”

“Put some meat in our bags before. Lost most of it though, that horseskin came loose when I was haulin you through the wood and the rest’s in that hut. Full waterskins, though.” Hegel began scrambling up the rise.

Manfried followed slowly, his unstrung crossbow bouncing on his back. Hegel periodically waited for Manfried to catch up. An hour later they reached the top, the ridge boxing in the forest behind them and stretching up to a peak ahead. They both looked down on the valley and spit.

Silently plodding down the other side, they took in the unbroken range. More trees speckled the scenery but nothing as thick as the wood of the witch. Manfried slipped several times, lying on the rocks and staring at the gray sky until Hegel helped him up. He felt faint, and even with numerous breaks in their hike he collapsed hours before dark, incapable of continuing.

They were climbing a ridge spotted with boulders and what small patches of snow the sharp wind permitted. Hegel helped his brother to a hollow between two of the monstrous stones and they made camp. Manfried wheezed and coughed, Hegel draping him with their blanket and foraging enough wood to last the night from the nearby trees. Hegel then used rocks to shore up the gap between the boulders in what proved to be an ineffectual attempt at keeping the wind out.

Cooking meat and collecting snow, Hegel crafted a decent stew as the sun set. Manfried slept most of the night, necessity forcing Hegel under the blanket with him. Many times that night Hegel longed for the warmth and windlessness of their past night’s shelter, but always came the image of the witch squatting atop him, and he fought back tears.

The morning brought a thick frost to their beards, and within an hour of setting out snow fluttered on them. Both ruminated on their encounter with the witch, Manfried staring at his brother’s back and wondering what had transpired during his fever. Hegel focused on the terrain around them in an attempt to free himself from the memory of her foulness.

“Knew she was a witch and still let her touch me?” Manfried demanded while they ate looking down at the morning’s ascent.

“Little choice,” Hegel replied.

“Could a had faith I’d get better, put your trust in Mary and not some heretic.”

“Yeah? You was turnin colors and wouldn’t a lasted the night.”

“So you risked my soul to save my flesh, that it?”

“Only one riskin their soul was me, so how’s bout a bit a gratitude, you thankless cunt?” Hegel bit into his half-raw horse meat.

“Look, brother,” Manfried said, adopting a paternal tone. “I ain’t mad at you, I’s just sayin you need to exercise a touch more discretion, particularly in who you’s associatin with. I know your intentions was right, and this time we lucked out as we’s both still drawin breath, but next time-”

“Next time I’ll leave you to the crow’s mercy!” Hegel barked. “You got no concept a what I done for you, and you act like I shit in your beard. Some brother!”

“You got us cursed, Hegel!”

“So? Scared we can’t break it? Won’t be the first time someone wished us death.”

“Yeah, but it’s different comin from a witch. Why’d she heal us in the first place? You know that get-us-later meck don’t wash.”

Hegel grew pale and put his lunch away. “Time we got movin.”

“What was the price?” Manfried lowered his voice. “Wasn’t your soul, was it?”

“Dunno,” Hegel whispered, his voice cracking. “Hope not. Just remember you’d be dead if I didn’t do what I done.” He marched off, Manfried quickly stowing his things and rushing after.

Catching up, Manfried clapped his brother’s shoulder. “I won’t forget. Just gotta be careful now that we got a hex on us. We’ll be cleansed a any taint by our own righteousness.”

“Yeah. Careful.” Hegel had his doubts if anyone shy of the Virgin could clean his sin. He remembered her warmth, and how in his passion he had called her Mary and given his devotion. The knot in his gut tightened every time he thought of it, the only act in his wretched life he actually regretted.

The wind dried their sweat but the chill remained, their teeth chattering whenever they paused to survey the terrain. Hours later they found themselves on a mountainside identical to the last several they had crossed, but Manfried had faith his brother was not leading them in circles. Hegel did not share this certainty, nervously chewing his beard until they crested a pass and he gained proof they were not backtracking-the ridge they traversed fell away sharply into a ravine. On the next mount, directly level with where they stood, snaked a worn road. Hegel shook with happiness, and Manfried showed his improved health by cutting a jig on the scree.

The road stretched on forever but, unlike the first leg of their journey south, the following week on a marked path filled them with expectations of continued good fortune. The road, though poorly maintained, exceeded the one on which they had started their journey in both size and smoothness. They lamented their loss of Horse and cart but tactfully avoided the topic of their dwindling provisions. Even Manfried had to admit that their encounter with the witch and her husband had been a turning point.

“Proves we’s doin right in Her Eyes,” Manfried said on the eighth day. “We keep up with the righteousness, we’ll be sackin them Arab crypt-castles come Easter.”

“You think?” asked Hegel. “How far’s it to Gyptland anyway?”

“Dunno, and don’t care neither. If we’s doin what She wills, we’s gonna get there by the by, and probably be rich fore we even arrive.”

“Suppose so,” Hegel concurred.

“We’d burned that witch like I said, we’d probably found some prime ponies loaded with truffles long the way.”

“Still might.” The idea of succulent mushrooms reminded Hegel they would soon be out of horse meat. Another few days, at best.

“Husband? So you say she told it was a man fore a monster?” Manfried still could not comprehend that their enemy in the wood was anything but a manticore.

“Yeah. Queer tale she told. Mind I drowsed a bit at the slowness, but soon enough got proper strange.”

“Kind a wish I’d heard it.”

“Nah, you don’t. Sad stuff. She used to be a right pretty girl, and honest too, and loved Mary with all’er heart. Kind a woman make a decent wife.”

“Now how you know that?”

“She told me.”

Manfried snorted. “Yeah, go ahead and believe everythin a witch tells you.”

“Didn’t say I believed it all.”

“But you think she was fit? Ever? Imagine it young and it’d still be all tainted with heresy. No such thing as a pretty witch.”

During the intervening days Hegel had often tried to separate one portion of a certain memory from the other aspects. He silently ruminated. He almost had it, but every time his brother would say something like-

“No sir. That witch done fucked that animal-man-thing, fucked’em often, too. And et the babes what come out. Imagine that crusty crone spread-”

Hegel leaned over and vomited so hard his sphincter twitched. Manfried jumped back from the spray, laughing heartily. Hegel shot him an evil glare through spew-teared eyes.

“That horse not agreein with you?”

“It’s that vile tongue a yours. Who’d wanna think a thing like that?” Hegel spit but could not dispel the taste-memory of her.

“Just sayin.”

“Well, don’t.”

“What’s that?”

“Eh?” Hegel wiped his mouth and looked where his brother did. The road stretched off around the bend, appearing intermittently down the long ridge, but behind them on the last mountain they had traversed the highway came back into view, and here a large black shape moved. It went quickly, and Hegel could make out both the wagon and the team of horses making good time.

Manfried squinted. “I can’t-”

“It’s a damn ride, is what it is!” Hegel slapped his brother with his wide-brimmed hat.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“What they doin comin through the mountains in dead winter?”

“What we doin here? Same as them. Now get to task.” Hegel rushed ahead to where a boulder jutted out of the roadside.

“Good lookin out,” Manfried said, jumping into action.

They each worked a side of the slab, Manfried with his ax, Hegel with his pick. Every few minutes they would pause and set to, but it still would not budge. Desperation took over, but the more they dug the deeper into the mountainside the boulder went.

“Look,” Hegel panted. “We oughta haul that dead tree back a ways over here and wedge it in, try to pry this out.”

“What’s that?”

“That dead tree was on the upper slope, a little ways back. We hurry, we can get it back here fore-” Hegel paused, seeing the look in Manfried’s eyes, and altered his intent: “Or we could just lay that log across the trail stead a this boulder.” Manfried nodded slowly, scowling at his brother.

No sooner had they backtracked to the log, scrambled up the roadside, and rolled it back down than they heard the horses approach. They stretched it across the road and waited, and when Hegel caught sight of the wagon rounding the bend they leaned down, acting as though dried, crumbling wood possessed enormous weight. The wagon slowed to a stop and two men jumped from the rear, exchanging words with the driver before advancing on the Grossbarts with crossbows in hand. Seeing this, the Brothers retrieved their own notched crossbows from behind the log.

“Hold, now!” Hegel called when the men came into range.

“Why this?” the bigger of the two demanded.

“Seen yous comin, decided to lend a hand, get this out the road for you,” Manfried yelled.

“Why the bows?” the man said.

“Why’ve you got yours?” Hegel returned.

“What?” The man cocked his ear.

“Come on over,” Manfried said, “can’t hear you neither.”

The men advanced warily on the grinning Grossbarts. When they were close enough to make out their bearded countenances the men stopped. The driver called something from behind but none of the four paid him heed.

“What you doing out here?” the first man asked. He possessed a stringy black mustache that matched both the hair on his head and that of his fellow’s.

“Same’s you,” Hegel shot back.

“Seeing this,” Mustache said, “so you move that wood and stand clear and we be on ours, and you be on yours.”

“Well, now,” Manfried said, “that don’t seem fair.”

“Why this?” Mustache asked.

“We go through the trouble a movin it and you don’t even offer two weary travelers a ride?” said Hegel.

The second man said something to Mustache in a language the Brothers could not understand. Mustache responded in the same, and the second man raised his bow at Hegel. The Grossbarts cradled their crossbows lazily, but each had his weapon trained on one of the men.

“Move back,” Mustache said, “and we move it ourselves, and you have no reasons to gripe.”

“Fair’s fair,” Hegel said, immediately regretting the use of Nicolette’s phrase.

The Brothers stepped back and the two men advanced. They paused, glancing down at the log. Rotten though it was, they could not move it without setting down their weapons. The Grossbarts beamed at them. The men exchanged more indecipherable words, glaring at the Brothers.

“You win,” Mustache said, smiling himself now, “you move, and we give passage.”

“What’s stoppin you from shootin us when we set down our bows?” Manfried inquired.

“Same as stopping you from shooting we if we do the same,” Mustache snapped.

“Righteous Christian morals?” Hegel asked, but made no move to lower his weapon.

“Yes,” said Mustache.

“Ain’t cut it,” Manfried said. “We’s pious pilgrims, as shown by our Virgins.” He shook his head, the necklace bouncing on his tunic. “Where’s your proof?”

“Seeing this,” Mustache said, “it is not my wagon or we gladly grant you a ride. So sad, it is not. We are paid exactly so no one gets on wagon. We are paid to move logs. Seeing this, the log must go and you with it.”

“Move it, then,” Hegel said.

Mustache’s smile faded, and he exchanged more words with his compatriot. They began walking backward, away from the Brothers.

“We discuss with the driver,” Mustache called.

“You do that!” Hegel yelled, sitting down on the log.

“Should a shot those infidels where they lied,” Manfried said.

“How you know they’re infidels?”

“You see that one’s mustache? And the other’s definitely foreign. Finally, when asked for proof a faith they failed to produce.”

“None a that means nuthin. You’s thinkin too hard, as usual,” Hegel sighed.

“Why else they don’t give us a ride?”

“Probably cause we didn’t offer’em anythin.”

“Holy men don’t need to pay. Least not to any fellow Christian.”

“So you’s a holy man now?” Hegel snorted.

“Both a us is. Killed us a devil.”

“Wasn’t a devil, was a damn man what turned into one.”

“Same thing,” said Manfried.

“Hell it is.”

“Watch that blasphemy.”

Hegel perked up. “They’s comin back.”

Better still, the wagon followed. The second man sat on the bench beside the driver. Mustache walked ahead, smiling broadly but still training his bow on Hegel.

“You win,” Mustache said. “Move the log and give some coin and we all be on ours, but you off at the next town. Seeing this?”

Hegel began to answer but Manfried elbowed him, taking charge. “Right equitable. We’ll give you all the money we got soon’s we arrive.”

“Coin now.” Mustache sounded immovable.

“No security you’s honest, we pay upon delivery,” said Hegel.

“No proof you either. Coin now,” Mustache said.

“Hey you,” Manfried called to the driver. “We’ll give you all when we get to a town and not fore, deal?”

“See-” Mustache began, but the driver interrupted with a harsh string of those foreign words, then he looked to the Grossbarts. He appeared their age, with oily black hair and a thinner mustache, and finer clothes than anyone else present.

“No highwaying on this highway, yes?” the driver asked in a clipped accent.

“That’s right.” Hegel smiled.

“So you have my Christian word on a safe passage. If you will swear the same, we may progress.” The driver forced a smile.

“Given,” the Brothers said in unison.

“Then move that, and any other obstructions we chance upon, and no further payment will be necessary.” The driver smoothed the scalloped edge of his chaperon hat.

The two guards walked to the rear of the wagon, casting foul glances at the Brothers. Manfried kept his arbalest in hand while Hegel lifted one end of the dead log and rolled it to the side, then he picked up his weapon and they both set their feet on it, pushing it over the edge. Watching it pick up speed and finally blast apart on a boulder down the mountainside, they both ruminated on how they might approach a traveling wagon in the future in light of the difficulty in securing passage on this one.

They moved to enter the wagon but all three yipped at them to get on the bench and stay clear of the interior. Jamming their odorous bags under the hanging tarp behind their seat, they were off. A Grossbart sat on either end with the driver and the other foreign guard between them, Mustache presumably inside or on a rear seat.

The rocking wagon provided them with unobstructed views of the cliffs falling away from the road, and as the day lengthened so did the precipices. The highway wound up into the mountains, the snow and wind and hazy sky chilling the Brothers’ bones. Whenever a rockslide or other debris blocked the road they would climb down and move it, but these breaks were infrequent. They moved slowly but still managed a great distance more than the Grossbarts would have on foot before sundown. They stopped in a lightly wooded meadow presiding above the day’s road.

The Grossbarts made their own fire farther up the road lest their new friends attempt to flee in the dark. They took shifts, and when Hegel felt his ears itch he ensured that he made a lot of noise loading his crossbow. He heard footsteps retreat back to the foreigners’ fire and he returned to his horse-marrow stew.

The next day passed in similar fashion, as did the one after that-except the Grossbarts’ rations shrank with each meal. During their nocturnal vigils nothing braved the firelight, so their stomachs remained the only things growling. The third morning never fully came, the flurries replaced by heavy snow blotting out everything but the road in front of the horses. The Brothers debated, in their sibling language, the benefits of abandoning the wagon, reckoning they would make the same time and not have to worry about tumbling over the edge if the horses stepped wrong in the drifts.

They moved through a white fog of snow, steam pouring off the horses, snot freezing in the Brothers’ beards. Only the cliffs jutting up on one side and falling away on the other told them they kept the road. Any banter the men had provided over the previous days had frozen on their lips. They traveled slowly, and Hegel sensed something foreboding in the snow, something sinister waiting up the road. He told his brother, who nodded and readied his crossbow. The attack Hegel knew would come never did, and several hours later the foreigners shouted in triumph.

Mustache jumped from the rear and ran beside the slowing wagon, the other guard hopping down as the horses stopped. Hegel felt sick, sweat-ice on his brow and lips. They had to get away but their only option was the void stretching out on all sides, the cliffs having faded away without their noticing. Instead Hegel prayed, begging Mary to take away his frantic disquiet.

“Open up!” Mustache yelled, and his ally yelled presumably the same in his alien tongue.

The Brothers made out a high shadow through the windblown snow, and from the rattling sound a barn or other door lay ahead. They kept shouting for several minutes but got no response, and after a quick word with the shivering driver, they both vanished into the snow. The Brothers shifted closer to the driver, crossbows ready.

“Where’d they go?” Manfried asked.

“To open the gate,” the driver chattered, his tan skin implying such weather did not suit him.

“Where we at?” said Manfried.

“Rouseberg,” the driver replied. “Passed through a few weeks ago, so they should be expecting us.”

“Ill name for a town,” Manfried decided.

Hegel paid no mind to their conversation. His eyes darted everywhere, futilely trying to spot the source of the danger he knew lurked just beyond his vision. He could not be sure if it was the witch, her husband returned, or something worse.

A groaning came from ahead, and Mustache reappeared, calling out: “Lend us a hand!”

Manfried hurried forward while Hegel refused to budge, trying to warn his brother but unable to speak. Manfried saw a large wooden gate the two men heaved against, snowdrifts keeping it from opening more than a crack. The three kicked and shoved and got soaking wet before it opened wide enough to fit the wagon through.

The driver urged the horses in, Hegel squinting to catch a glimpse of the town. Only a few sagging roofs and shadows of buildings came through the snow, no sounds emanating from the blanketed hamlet. Manfried climbed back onto the bench while the guards closed the gate and secured the supports, locking them into the village.