Pip Vaughan-Hughes - The Vault of bones

'Sir! My remark was made in jest! Where was this tree? I am overjoyed that you made it alive to stand beneath my roof, for the roads hereabouts are not safe at night. Not safe at all, sir’

'I was molested by nothing worse than ants and mosquitoes’ I said, tipping the last of the wine down my gullet. 'I thought it a friendly country, to tell you the truth’

'That, my dear, exceptionally fortunate young sir, it is not. No, not by any means. Now, if you will not lie down I surely will, from the shock of what you have just told me. Druda!’ He beckoned over the girl who had brought my wine. Take the young master to his room – the good one with the red awning. Bring him more wine, and tell him to drink, and sleep’

I did not, it seemed, have any choice in the matter. Druda, a solid girl with thick brown hair gathered into a purposeful bun, showed me to my room and returned a minute later with a bedewed flagon. She regarded me, a stern look on her freckled face, until I gave up fiddling with my pack and lay down on the pallet.

'Good’ she said, and set the flagon, and a beaker, down next to me. Then, with a final glance to make sure I was obeying orders, she left me. I had to admit the bed – it was a real bed, a massive thing of black oak with four pillars and a canopy of somewhat threadbare red velvet – was comfortable. The hay that filled the mattress was fresh, and the linen smelt of flowers. I obediently drank a beaker of wine, then another, and settled back against the bolster.

The innkeeper had been right. When I opened my eyes again it was pitch dark in the room. Wondering how long I had slept, I sprang up and hurried to the window. It was late: the waxing moon which had kept me company last night was nowhere to be seen, and the stars shone very brightly. But there was still noise drifting up from the town, and I hoped I had not missed dinner. My head was clear, and all the fatigue of the day had drained from me. I stretched happily.

Then I remembered. Horst must be waiting for me. I hurried out into the hall, felt an absence at my waist and, patting myself, realised I had left my knife on the pillow. I buckled it on, along with my purse, which I had also, improvidently, forgotten. Shutting the door, I was surprised to find a large, gnarled key in the lock, so I turned it and tucked it away in my purse. I clattered down the stairs and was met by the raised eyebrows and indulgent smile of the innkeeper. Lamps were flickering from many sconces in the stone walls, and tired-looking servants scurried about.

'So you did sleep, signor!' he said. ‘You have all but missed dinner’ he went on, with a kindly wag of his finger, 'but certainly we can find something tasty for you’

'Oh. That would be wonderful’ I said. 'By the way, did my friend Horst return?'

The innkeeper looked puzzled. Why, no!' he replied. Were you expecting him?' 'Of course. He is lodging here.'

'No. No, sir, he is not. He stayed one night only, then left very early the next day. If I might risk an opinion, he seemed in a mighty hurry.' He frowned. 'I did give you his letter, did I not?'

‘Yes, you did, but I have not.. ‘ I drew it out, and the innkeeper's eyes fell on the unbroken seal. He brightened.

'I knew I had not forgotten! But, signor, I see you are confused. Why not open the letter? Perhaps things will be clearer.'

I was frowning now, and I suddenly did not want to read Horst's message under the eyes of this stranger. But an odd sense of urgency set me to work on the seal, which broke easily. I unfolded the parchment and found it held another folded note, this one on fine white paper. The open letter was signed Horst and was near illegible. I tilted it towards the light of a rush lamp and glanced at the innkeeper, who was obviously burning with curiosity, and who was leaning his fat frame closer. He caught my eye, coughed respectfully and withdrew, reluctantly, behind his table. I peered at Horst's words. They were hastily written with a badly cut quill, and I guessed that Horst was a poor scribe at the best of times. But with a little more light and a deal of squinting, sense began to emerge from the tangle of scratches and inky splatterings. To Pelroc Petrus Zennorius, in haste!!!

I missed you on the road, friend, though I sought you day and night. A letter from Captain de Montalhac found me in Florence: business gone awry, says he. And he bid me turn you from Venice to Ancona, whence M. de Peyrolles awaits with a ship – by God's grace he has not yet found one! I thought I would wait for you here in Spoleto, but cannot wait. I will be two days in Foligno, up the road. If this finds you, meet me there! I am away myself to said Ancona before dawn tomorrow. Follow with as much speed as you can muster. Enclosed a message from the Captain. I have no more news than this. Hurry, friend, and take care, for it is not SAFE for us now. We will await you at the Three Dolphins. HURRY!!

(Sweet Christ, the wenches in this place, and NO TIME) Horst von Tantow ex Cormaranus I folded the letter back around the Captain's note and slipped both inside my tunic. I must have had surprise writ boldly on my face, for the innkeeper was almost fizzing with interest, but I hastily feigned what I hoped looked like bored irritation.

'He could not wait for me, the wretch!' I sighed. 'No matter. Good sir, I will take up your offer of supper, even if it be table scraps, for it seems I must rise at an ungodly hour. My foolish friend believes he missed me here and is hurrying to catch up with me…' I hurriedly racked my brains for Gilles, map, and for the name of the next town on the Ravenna Road. 'Foligno’ I said finally. 'He waits for me in Foligno, now. That is not far, I do not think?'

'A pleasant mornings ride’ said my host, his face showing genuine relief at so easy an explanation to my troubles. ‘You may sleep late and enjoy the day, signor.'

'And yet I must make haste’ I said quickly, echoing Horst's words. 'He is a fool, alas, and will not tarry. I would not have us chase each other all the way to Ultima Thule, so I had best put an end to this nonsense. I will leave at sunrise, although I would greatly prefer to stay and enjoy your excellent hospitality.'

And there was an end to it. I went off to dine on an endless procession of wonderfully savoury dishes which, if they were table scraps, came from the leavings of Mount Olympus. I took care not to drink too deeply of the wines, both white and richly dark, with which the servants were most solicitous. Nevertheless it was with a groaning belly and slightly numb limbs that I at last dragged myself back to my room, having left strict instructions that I was to be woken before dawn. I locked myself in, stretched out on the bed and, remembering Horst's warning, tucked my knife under the bolster. Then I drew out the letters, threw Horst's scrawl to one side, and examined the smaller document.

Even in the weak candlelight I could read the Captain's bold, educated hand. I was about to break the seal when there came a discreet tap at the door.

Sighing, for I was quite full, I rose lazily and unlatched the door, which opened to reveal the freckled face of Druda. I believe I blushed, for during my supper I had been having thoughts of a somewhat speculative nature about this serving-wench, the speculation directed mainly at what she might look like without her very proper clothing. And indeed she lowered her eyes most fetchingly, but then broke the spell by giving me a message from the innkeeper: namely, that my friend had arrived and was waiting for me. Puzzled, I followed her downstairs. There was the innkeeper, somewhat the worse for food and drink at this late hour, scratching his head groggily.

'Ah, my dear sir! Your friend has returned… no, no, that is not it. He has not returned, but sent a message back for you with a gentleman.' 'A gentleman? Is he here?'