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

XVIII. Beards of a Feather

The Grossbarts slept without taking watches in their respective rooms, each starting awake several times from the comfort of his bed. Martyn had stayed in several monasteries that were far more luxurious but he had also spent months sleeping in ditches and barns, and he slept even better than the Brothers, for he had no doubts that whatever befell them he would probably go free. Stumbling to answer the rapping at his door that morning, the priest saw not a serving girl but the Brothers outfitted for battle. Hegel held a cocked crossbow in one arm and his pick in the other, Manfried the same with his mace.

“Rodrigo has sent for us?” Martyn asked.

Hegel grinned. “Nah, we’s gonna find him.”

“Is that wise?”

“Wiser than sittin in the pot til they set us on the fire.” Manfried yawned.

“You wanna hold on to a weapon?” asked Hegel.

“What?! No, of course not.”

“Yeah, can’t you see his hands are bound up?” Manfried chided Hegel.

Rodrigo cleared his throat behind them in the hall. “Sleep well?”

Wondering why he had not felt the goosechills at Rodrigo’s approach, Hegel overcompensated by thrusting his crossbow in the man’s face. Manfried raised his mace and Martyn jumped back into his room and kicked the door shut. Rodrigo blinked at them and extended his open palms.

“What’s this, then?” Rodrigo asked.

“Come to torture us, you craven crumb?” Manfried demanded.

“If that’s your purpose you should a brought more muscle,” said Hegel.

“I wondered if the father spoke properly. Now I have my answer.” Rodrigo sighed. “The captain sends for you to dine with him this morning. If you value your pelts I would advise against such hostility, as beating the truth from you was entirely my idea, although the future feasibility of such an option is reliant on how you comport yourselves at his board. Now shall we bring the priest?”

“Nah.” Hegel hung his pick and unstrung his bow. “We gotta have a word on private ground.”

“Which means no flowery twats in high boots,” said Manfried.

“I would like a word in private with you as well, Master Grossbart, but first the captain will have his,” Rodrigo growled, turning on his heel and leading them to the stairs.

“Wager you would,” Manfried rejoined. “Though you’d be disappointed to find your head fallin to the floor stead a my breeches.”

Rodrigo shuddered at the mental image but held his tongue. These bastards were merely tightening nooses around their necks, and Rodrigo knew if they rubbed him off-ways the captain might kill them himself before breakfast. They seemed too proud to deny murdering his brother Ennio, if indeed they had, but already he wanted to see them die simply to watch the sneers fade from their narrow lips.

They went down the stairs and across the foyer to the hallway opposite the wing leading to the kitchen. Two men in chain mail haubergeons slouched against the wall, dipping their heads at Rodrigo. The hallway terminated in an ebon door that Rodrigo gave a series of knocks upon, each Grossbart committing the sequence to memory. Rodrigo then opened the door and motioned them to enter before him. Hegel went in first while Manfried backed into the room behind him to keep an eye on Rodrigo, who followed them in and closed the door.

A massive table laden with plates, platters, and pitchers filled the room, and behind this sat the captain. A light red beard spilled down his shirt and disappeared under the table, instantly warming the Grossbarts to him. His advanced age was shown by his bald pate and ears that sagged with the weight of heavy gold hoops, his muscular frame drooping from lethargy. Blue eyes and a large nose and mouth jutted out from his slightly tanned face, his voluminous hands holding the largest crossbow the Brothers had ever seen. This the captain pointed vaguely between them, and when he spoke he enunciated each syllable so his meaning was not blurred by his thick accent.

“You are the Grossbarts.” Not a question.

“Yeah.” Hegel lamented unstringing his bow.

“And you’s the Captain Bar Goose,” said Manfried, his palm on his mace pommel.

“Alexius Barousse.” The captain smiled, showing a mouthful of broken teeth.

Rodrigo said something to the captain in Italian that clouded Barousse’s face with anger, his nose swelling and his eyes narrowing. Moments before the Grossbarts jumped upon the table to battle the man he bellowed, “I will not have guests worry they are plotted against! In their presence you will speak so they can understand or not at all!”

“Right proper,” Hegel agreed, not trying to mask his pleasure.

“Only honest.” Manfried beamed. “Chance we could speak without the sneak?”

“Captain-” Rodrigo began.

“You are no longer needed,” Barousse snarled, his chest heaving.

“But-”

“I know what you’re about.” Barousse slumped back in his throne-like chair. “So I’ll settle that in your presence. Your names.”

“Huh? Oh, Hegel Grossbart.”

“Manfried Grossbart.”

“Have you come on any other business than returning my property?”

“Nah, but now that we’s here there’s other business could be discussed,” Manfried answered.

“Are you assassins?” The business end of Barousse’s crossbow stayed trained on whoever spoke.

“We’s never killed none but them what done us wrong,” said Hegel.

“Or those what would, given the chance,” clarified Manfried.

“Have you brought poison to my table?”

“Yeah, I got some in my bag,” said Hegel.

“Only cause we didn’t trust our things to be left in our rooms,” Manfried added, giving Rodrigo the stink-eye.

“Do you mean to kill me?” Barousse asked in the same manner in which he would offer them wine.

“Not unless you give us cause,” said Hegel, and Manfried nodded.

“And you’re in nobody’s employ but your own?”

“And Mary’s,” said Hegel.

“Meanin the Virgin,” explained Manfried.

“Satisfied?” Barousse looked to Rodrigo.

“How can you trust them?” Rodrigo spluttered.

“How can they trust a man who speaks about them in code in their very presence? They can’t, and I can’t trust a man who distrusts me or my company. So out.” Barousse set the crossbow down on the table and poured himself a drink, dismissing the dumbstruck Rodrigo with a wave of his fingers. Rodrigo bowed and left without looking at the Grossbarts, slamming the door behind him.

“Lock the door,” Barousse commanded, which Hegel did while Manfried approached the table. “Sit and eat. He’s lost a brother and you’re the ones who were there, so that sits sorely with him.”

“Never would a pegged Ennis for the smart one.” Manfried fell upon a roast gull.

“Rodrigo’s proved himself superior to Ennio in all matters save cart driving, which is why he went and Rodrigo stayed.” Barousse drank between words.

“Ennio weren’t so bad in the end,” said Hegel.

“But it’s the beginning that concerns me,” Barousse said. “My enemies are legion, hence Rodrigo’s protective nature. The green-eared lad fails to recognize that a man who can’t defend his own table isn’t fit to sit at it. Besides, you have brought back to me what Ennio failed…” Barousse lowered his voice and stared at his plate.

After several mouthfuls of silence, Hegel guzzled some wine and cleared his throat. “We was in the mountains, headin south when we seen your ride comin towards us,” he began, and whenever he needed another bite or drink Manfried would take up the reins and continue the tale. They omitted nothing but Manfried’s fascination with the woman, even including their debate with Ennio on the ethics of their business in the churchyard. The food grew cold but still they ate and talked, and before they were finished the captain had to retrieve another bottle from the mantel to fill their glasses.

Barousse’s hearty laughter when they told of slaying the Road Popes and burning the town endeared him to the Grossbarts, here at long last an honest man. “Many might doubt your tale,” he finally said.

“Many oughta get hit,” Hegel observed.

“And you say the priest pursued the same demon?”

“Claimed to,” said Manfried, “accordin to him the man what had it in’em was a devil worshipper, meanin we kilt us a demon and a witch.”

“And so you did kill Ennio,” Barousse mused.

“Well, yeah,” said Manfried.

“Better than gettin a demon in’em,” said Hegel.

“Hmm,” said the captain, then shook his head. “Demons prowl the wilds. I know this, and I believe you. I will tell Rodrigo what you have told me, and his mood shall change or I will change it for him. Now what kind of reward do you seek for your impressive service?”

“Gyptland,” they said together.

“What?!”

“Passage, rather,” amended Manfried.

“Once we’s landed we can get it ourselves,” said Hegel.

“Passage?”

“You’s a captain, so that means you got a ship,” Manfried said.

“And you want me to take you to the desert?” The captain’s face wrinkled.

“Yeah,” belched Hegel.

“Ridiculous,” said Barousse.

“How’s that?” Manfried dropped a duck leg on the floor and stared at the captain.

“I don’t sail.” The captain stared past them at the door, his fists tightening on the table until they went milky, then managed through clenched teeth: “You may stay in my home until you secure your own passage, that is your reward. We will discuss specifics later.”

“What kind a captain don’t sail?” Manfried sneered, unprepared for the short shrift this man suggested.

“Leave me. Now.” His florid face swelled, and that too began turning white, starting at the tip of his nose and spreading inward.

“We can talk more later,” Hegel offered, standing and backing toward the door. The captain had made him go all cold and sober-without letting on in his face, Hegel realized that at some point the captain had picked the loaded crossbow back up.

“Yeah, let the prospect simmer twixt your ears fore givin a final response,” Manfried agreed, knocking his chair back and following his brother.

The captain stared wrathfully at them until Hegel unlocked the door and stepped out, Manfried backing out behind him. Pulling the door closed, they exchanged nasty looks and strode back to their rooms. Rodrigo approached them on the way to the stair but thought better of it and diverted his path down the captain’s hall. Neither brother spoke until they bolted the door in Hegel’s room.

“You like that much’s me?” Manfried asked.

“Mecky as it gets,” said Hegel.

“Think he can dismiss us like that?”

“Man’ll think a lot a things less someone shows’em his error.”

“Only sometimes. Oft Mary’s guidance’s the only thing set one straight.”

“Seemed a decent sort til the end there,” Hegel ruminated.

“If he holds decent he’ll see his crime and make amends,” said Manfried, removing his boots.

“And that Arab? We really mean to waste even a bottle on that wretch?”

“First I was thinkin no, just get on Rodrigo’s ass a touch, but recent epiphanies got me shifted a different direction.”

“How’s that?”

“Know how Ponce ’s cousin and others we seen don’t speak proper? And how we can speak like we’s always done in the real proper way and even that sow what birthed us couldn’t comprehend a word?”

“Yeah, so different folk speak different. That’s what goes under the term proper fuckin knowledge. You just figure that out?” Hegel grinned and dodged a thrown boot. Over the run of their brotherhood they had both developed an almost supernatural knack for dodging expected and surprise attacks alike.

“Don’t try actin the abbot with me! Ever think there might be a higher purpose to keepin our swarthy servant about?”

“If you got an example I’ll hear it stead a you playin the bishop,” Hegel said.

“So we speak our way, others don’t, and we also speak the other that men do up north in the Germania or empire or what they call it any given day. But we don’t speak what they do down here.”

“Agreed.”

“But that priest speaks up-there tongue and down-here tongue, just like Ponce and Ellis, and just like that Arab.”

“Enni-Oh!” Hegel finally caught on. “But wait, if you’s suggestin we use that Arab to tell us what foreigners’ sayin, why not use the priest? He ain’t the Infidel.”

“Fine and good for dealin with the rabble round here, but where’s we headed?”

“Gyptland.”

“And who lives in Gyptland?”

“The dead?”

“What!?”

“Er… gold. And sand.”

“Lives, muttonhead, lives!”

Hegel’s brow furrowed as he labored to remember their uncle’s teachings and other hearsay. “Deadly beasts and monsters?”

“Arabs, you simple slit, Arabs!” Manfried launched another boot, then ducked when it was caught returned.

“Once again, proper fuckin knowledge,” Hegel complained. “I thought you meant other than them.”

“Now how do you suppose Arabs speak?”

“With their-No, put it down, no call for that.” Hegel stared hard at the knife his brother brandished. “You mean how’s them what live there sound when they speak, like we’s doin now, or when we’s with others don’t understand the way the two a us do?”

“Yeah,” Manfried said.

“I dunno, how do they speak?”

“I dunno either.”

“Oh.”

“But I bet that Arab does.”

“Oh! That’s brilliant!”

“Yeah, I know it.” Manfried imitated his brother: “With their mouths. Ignorance ain’t a sin but it oughta be.”

To Rodrigo, Martyn, and anyone else unfortunate enough to hear them speak the Brothers’ voices sounded identical, but to each other subtle differences were noted but ignored except when they mocked each other. They wrestled for the better part of an hour, such commonplace scrapes the source of their prowess in combat with others less Grossbart than themselves. A knocking on the door disturbed their fracas.

“Enter!” shouted Manfried, which set off another row as they occupied Hegel’s room.

“Excuse me,” Father Martyn said, then louder to break up the melee, “Grossbarts!”

“What?” Blood oozed from Hegel’s cavernous nostrils.

“Who?” Manfried’s cropped ear had reopened, matting his chin and neck.

“I go to church,” Martyn said, unable to keep his head from rocking from side to side at the sight of them. “Perhaps you would care to join me?”

Hegel gave Manfried a concerned look but he need not have worried.

“Nah.” Manfried stained Hegel’s pillow with his face. “Nuthin for us there.”

“But how else will you confess?”

“Confess what?” Hegel asked.

“We ain’t sinned,” said Manfried, opening a bottle.

“Every man sins, Manfried,” replied Martyn.

“Nah, he’s right,” Hegel agreed.

“Thank you, Hegel.” Martyn smiled.

“I mean my brother’s right.” Hegel sniffled blood into his beard. “We ain’t done nuthin might displease Her.”

“Nevertheless-” Martyn began but Manfried swelled before him.

“Neverthemore, Priest, will you accuse us a sinnin! Think killin demons’ a sin? What bout witches? Hackin up heretics require us to lick your ears, that it?”

“Hegel.” Martyn looked to the apparently less volatile Grossbart. “I meant no disrespect, to you or your brother, only that we all sin in our weakness.”

“Tell him that.” Hegel reclined on the broken bed. “Stead a disrespectin us both by talkin to me.”

“What was it you said, Priest?” demanded Manfried.

“I,” Martyn swallowed pride and spit, “I apologize, Master Grossbart, for implying you had a stained soul.”

“I acknowledge your apology.” Manfried nodded. “And remind you that any sinnin and weakness on your part don’t reflect on us. We ain’t no beggars nor beg-hairs nor any other breed a blasphemer. We’s Grossbarts, and you’d do well to recollect that.”

Disgusted with them and himself, Martyn turned to the door. “I will pray for you, Grossbarts, I hope this is not an imposition?”

“Nah, it ain’t nuthin to us.” Hegel held a cool glass to his cheek.

“When I give an account of your deeds to my superiors I will do so justly, and I am pleased our paths crossed for even a brief time. Farewell.”

“You think bout gettin what’s due your way from the captain fore you leave?” Manfried asked. “Cause we ain’t savin you a share if you ain’t there to claim it.”

“Take my share for yourselves.” Martyn shut the door on the Grossbarts and strode away, head held high.

Rodrigo intercepted him on the stair and escorted him off the grounds. Certain questions were posed to and honestly answered by the priest, who looked a sight better for his bath. They parted at the gate when Rodrigo caught wind of Al-Gassur skulking in the overgrown garden surrounding the main building. Martyn stepped out into the street and made his way back through the wondrous city toward a reunion with his fold.

Al-Gassur had set traps in the bushes and one yielded a plump pigeon, which he roasted in a dry, ivy-throttled fountain. Hearing Rodrigo approach, he grabbed his bottle and bird but before he could hop away Rodrigo snatched his cloak and spun him around.

“A poacher too, eh?” Rodrigo raised his fist.

“Please speak properly, sir,” Al-Gassur pleaded in German.

“What’s this shift in tone?” Rodrigo asked, obliging the beggar.

“To please my revered employers, I will only speak so that they too will always comprehend.” Al-Gassur batted his gooey eyes at Rodrigo.

“Those ignoble Grossbarts?” Rodrigo scowled, seizing Al-Gassur’s earlobe.

“Present,” said Hegel.

“And accountable,” added Manfried.

“What you doin with our Arab?” Hegel stepped around the shrubbery.

“Merely inquiring as to his presence outside his prescribed chambers.” Rodrigo relinquished the ear with a pinch.

“Honorable Hegel. Magnificent Manfried.” Al-Gassur awkwardly bowed, concealing the pigeon in his tunic. “I spied you through the boughs approaching, and wondered what purpose such masters as yourselves would find in such a low state as that which I presently inhabit?”

“Eh? Shut it.” Manfried looked back to Rodrigo. “Got any more jabber or can we speak to our property in peace?”

“Pardons, pardons.” Rodrigo raised his palms and backed away, his immaculate clothes catching in the brambles and spoiling his aristocratic posturing. “I leave you to yourselves. Tonight you will dine in your chambers and I shall trouble you no more until the morrow.”

“See that you can keep a promise that simple,” Hegel said dismissively. “Now then, Arab.”

“Yes?”

“Speak,” Manfried commanded.

“Speak what?”

“The words a your people.” Manfried gave the sniggering Hegel the hardest eye yet given.

“You mean such words as caliph, ambrosia, and camel?” Al-Gassur could not understand their reasoning.

“Yeah, like them.” Manfried’s fingers beckoned. “More, and without the proper speech.”

“Ah, you wish to hear me speak as I would to a countryman?” Enlightenment brightened Al-Gassur’s face.

“Yeah, tell my brother to get stuffed like he was yours stead a mine,” quipped Hegel.

“Do it and see what happens,” said Manfried. “Say somethin simple, like the grave’s full a gold for those what brave the mold.”

“Immediately, illustrious owner.” Al-Gassur bowed, and let out a long string of gibberish-and gibberish proper, as opposed to the language of those who dwell in the sandy lands of the south. Al-Gassur had neither heard nor spoken a word of Arabic since his youth, the bulk of the intervening years spent learning the tongues of those he sought to fleece. The random sounds his mouth produced pleased the Grossbarts, however, who grinned and nodded at his nonsense.

“Told you!” Manfried hooted. “What’s that mean, then?”

“The grave holds no gold save for yellow mold.” Al-Gassur bowed again, hoping he had remembered the poem properly. He had not, but this did not displease his audience.

“Too oft the truth.” Hegel nodded. “He’ll do as well as any other.”

“Cept there ain’t any other,” said Manfried.

“Begging more pardons than I am deserving.” Al-Gassur’s leaden eyes glimmered. “What will I do for?”

“For whatever pleases us,” said Manfried.

“Which ain’t much presently, so stay unseen and unheard lest you face our judgment,” elaborated Hegel.

“The matter of an instant.” Al-Gassur bowed even lower, almost losing his pigeon. “I shall be at your disposal day and night, either here or in the porcine quarters.”

“How’s that?” Manfried looked around.

“The barn.” Al-Gassur’s retrieved his crutch and slunk away, mulling over his recent employment.

The Grossbarts ambled down the overgrown paths of the garden, clever horticulture making the grounds seem far more spacious than they actually were. Neither would admit how awed he was by their current situation, Barousse’s stinginess notwithstanding. When dusk came they invaded the kitchen and made obnoxious demands of the cook and her scrawny husband. They ate two meals there before retiring to bathe, with instructions for the next meal to be delivered directly to the tub.

The Grossbarts basked in the opulent house and slept deeply, awaking the following morning to Rodrigo banging on their doors. He waited with them until food and wine arrived, and when they did not offer him any of theirs he sent for his own. Well fed and tipsy, the Grossbarts finally acknowledged his presence.

“What’s the order a the day, then?” asked Manfried.

“You will accompany me to be outfitted for your journey.” Rodrigo handed his plate to the hovering servant girl, flashing her an awkward smile. “Thank you, Marguerite. Shall we be off?”

“Wanna talk with the captain,” Hegel belched.

“You may request an audience later this evening, but until then, there is the matter of equipping you.”

“With a boat?” Manfried elbowed his brother, nodding enthusiastically.

“What? No. With new clothes, and armor and weapons if you require them, as well as any other items you may find essential to your voyage.”

“He told you where we’s headed, then?” Hegel scowled, displeased the captain would reveal their destination.

“Yes, not that it is any matter to me.” Rodrigo stiffened. “There are much more pressing matters facing the captain, and your presence only serves as a distraction to the upcoming trials awaiting our attention.”

“Ours as in you and us?” Manfried pinned on his cloak.

“As in myself and the captain.” Rodrigo led them out.

The Grossbarts insisted they retrieve cheese and bread from the kitchen before embarking into the city. The thronged roads passed around and often through buildings far grander than Barousse’s, even the narrowest of the bridges they crossed gilded with ornate carvings. Rodrigo suggested they hire one of the small boats bobbing beside them in the canals to carry them on their rounds but the Grossbarts refused, and their displeasure became compounded when their guide informed them the chief cemetery lay on an island inaccessible by foot.

Winding through the narrow streets they spent the better part of the day purchasing chain mail shirts, shields, new boots, clothes, satchels, and anything else they could think of when it became apparent Rodrigo paid for everything they wanted. Their guide drew the line at a supposed Arab device wraught of iron and glass that not even the peddler could guess the purpose of yet still demanded a small fortune to part with. Several stops at alehouses were made, and by mid-afternoon all three were drunk. Rodrigo stumbled onto a quay, and here the Brothers were afforded their first glimpse of the sea.

“Thought it’d be bigger,” Hegel lied, having envisioned a body of water no larger than the lake outside Bad Endorf.

“Course you can’t see it all from here,” Manfried explained, mistaking cloudbanks on the horizon for the opposite shore. “Said that pond off the Danube weren’t big as you’d thought and it still took us forever and a day to get round.”

“My brother hated the ocean,” Rodrigo murmured, “said it could not be trusted. Seems the road cannot be trusted, either.”

“Fall off a wagon, get up and walk.” Hegel swayed, staring down the quay. “Off a boat, you can’t do nuthin but die.”

“Know how to swim?” asked Rodrigo.

“You callin us witches?” Manfried shoved his beard in Rodrigo’s face.

“Any man who gets on a boat had best know what to do if he goes over its side.” Rodrigo recoiled from Manfried’s foul breath.

“Swimmin’s for fish same as flyin’s for birds,” said Hegel.

“Yes, but-”

“But nuthin. Tryin to trick us into drownin?” Manfried squinted in the twilight to see the lie in Rodrigo’s eyes.

“I meant to advise you, as any good Christian advises another, and nothing more.” Rodrigo haughtily drew away. “By Marco’s mighty morals, I meant no trickery!”

“Marco’s that ox what minded our Arab when we showed up, yeah?” asked Hegel.

“What?” said Rodrigo. “No! Ah, yes, he is named such as well, I forget, but I meant a different Marco. The saint who guards our city.”

“You heard a him?” Hegel asked his brother.

“Course I have,” Manfried lied.

“He rests in the basilica I pointed out earlier.” Rodrigo clumsily motioned back they way they had come.

“What’s he buried with?” Manfried followed Rodrigo’s gaze.

“Nothing,” Rodrigo said quickly, appalled at what he correctly assumed was the line of thought Manfried had embarked upon. “Back to the manse, then.”

They arrived after dark, the tolling of church bells reminding the Grossbarts of Father Martyn. He had appeared an exceptionally unheretical priest to the Brothers, and his donating any share of the loot they might extort from Barousse raised him in their esteem even further. They stumbled through the kitchen, scalding their fingers when they snatched food from the pans. The cook shooed them out, which almost provoked Manfried to strike the woman.

Gaining the opposite hallway, they let Rodrigo take the lead and unlock the captain’s door. Barousse stood before the fire, his back to them while they took places across the table. Servants followed them in, cluttering the massive board with steaming platters and bowls. Only when their lessers had retreated and Rodrigo latched the door did Barousse turn to face them.

Alexius Barousse’s eyes were rough, purple craters staring out of his craggy face but in their depths lurked no sorrow, only a greedy glimmer to match that of the Grossbarts. He bade them eat and drink, which they did with gusto until heads reeled and guts bulged. Rodrigo nodded in his chair but sobered up when the captain finally addressed them.

“I have sent word for my maiden to be repaired and taken out of dry dock, and as Rodrigo has prepared you, all we need do is wait until she is ready and then we sail south.” The captain raised his glass. “We will retake what was lost, and gain what never was!”

In better circumstances Rodrigo would have responded with something more solid than spraying wine from his nose.

“Glad you came around.” Manfried hoisted his glass, drunkenness nullifying any surprise he might otherwise have harbored.

“Sensible,” Hegel slurred, raising a bottle.

“What?” Rodrigo coughed.

“Too long have I sat mired by a tide that fills my boots but stirs not my soul.” Barousse stood and stalked along the table, wagging a finger at the assembled. “Cowardice has haunted me alongside my family.”

“What’s that mean?” Hegel kicked his brother, who shrugged and repeated the question to the captain.

“Gone!” Barousse thundered. “Taken by Triton or God or whatever dark thing sought a price for my transgression! Gone! Swallowed up, like it swallows up everything from boat to man to mountain! Gone!”

“Leave him alone,” Rodrigo hissed, then had wine splashed in his face by the raging captain.

“They will speak! And I will answer! Secrets are for thieves and the dead, and we are neither!”

“True words.” Manfried handed a fresh bottle to the captain.

“Over a decade I have cowered and been coward, thousands of nights tossing in my horrors, thousands of days begging forgiveness, all in vain, in vain! I knew when I sent her away, I knew that first night my woes would not end through such a route! When one spends their life on her back they cannot expect to ride off it. Not without price!”

The Grossbarts loved shouting, and Hegel fired back in turn, “How and why?!”

“My sons! Taken on a skiff not a league out, a day’s fishing turned black with their mother’s grief and red with their blood! A wave out of nowhere, a maelstrom from the calm!”

“My father with them,” Rodrigo muttered, but no one cared.

“And your wife?!” Manfried bellowed.

“Slipped from a gondola into the lagoon, where sea-vines snatched and pulled! So they say, so they say! Not one body given back for their last rites, not one spared an eternity crashing into each other and a million more of the damned, that coldest Hell below the surface!”

“Except you!” exclaimed Hegel.

“Through and to my shame! Watching my fortunes dwindle, my name muddied, my ship eaten by dryrot, my nerve softened, all for a song! Would that I could undo my error, would that I could send her back! But I will! Now, Grossbarts, I will!”

“Who?” Manfried asked, his suspicions cheating him of a forceful yell.

“The Nix! The Siren! She whom I caught! She whom I sent away, but not before she cursed us all! She whom you have brought back! She who took Luchese and Umberto, and dearest Mathilde, who loved me even when I brought a succubus into our home! She who took Italo, and a decade later his son, your brother, my godchild! Ennio, poor, honest Ennio!”

“Come on then!” Hegel toppled his chair gaining his feet. “Let’s put’er to the blade!”

“Never!” The captain’s cutlass appeared in his hand and sliced the air in front of Hegel. “I would sooner put it to your throat or mine! I have failed enough! No masonry will blot out the sound, not stone nor wood nor crashing coast will silence her! Over the peaks it haunted my dreams, and before I banished her I cut out her tongue with these ten finger bones of mine, all for naught! No scars, no blemishes, just a fat red tongue! Even time fears her and touches her not! If only-” Barousse fell back in his chair, sword clattering on the floor and face in his hands.

“We’s experienced in the ways a witches,” Manfried murmured after a brief lull.

“Got your paramour, er palomar, uh, best interest in mind,” agreed Hegel.

“Erp,” Rodrigo managed, every rumor he had heard growing up in the house of Barousse confirmed in a storm of shouting. In his years of service to the captain he had become accustomed to the wild mood swings and tantrums but never had he seen any, himself included, taken into Barousse’s confidence so fully. Perhaps the old man had finally cracked, he thought, the strain of the woman’s reappearance too much for his injured soul.

“Leave me,” Barousse muttered through meshed fingers, and this time the Grossbarts departed without snatching the last word.