Dave Duncan - Speak to the Devil

He must go. The sooner he went, the sooner he could come back and try to do something about the Wends. They would need some time to muster their forces. So Anton would be all right. Madlenka would survive. He wished he could leave her a present, a token of how he felt, or just a reminder of him until he returned. Or something to ease her burdens? Then the answer was obvious. If his voices could cure Anton, they could surely help her mother’s despair. But how? A countess beset by melancholy would not be left unattended. An unknown young man would never be allowed into her quarters anyway.

“Most holy saints, how can I cure… I mean, how can I Speak for the countess without anyone knowing?”

The Light came.

— There is a way, my son, Helena said. — Go.

He stepped out into the corridor. Corridors in Castle Gallant were on the outside and dim, lit only by the loopholes in the outer wall. The rooms were on the bailey side, so they could have windows.

— Left, Victorinus said. — Upstairs. Right.

The corridor ended in darkness where discarded furniture had been left to molder. Wulf proceeded cautiously through the clutter of broken chairs, dismantled bedframes, and other litter until he reached a blank wall, whose stonework had been left rough and unfinished, a later addition to the original structure.

— Stand in the right-hand corner. The lady’s bed is on the other side of the wall. Now ask.

“Holy saints, is there a curse upon Countess Edita?”

— Yes.

“I beg you to remove that curse and restore her wits.”

The Light faded. Wulf headed back the way he came, wiping off dust and cobwebs. What next? Miracle or witchcraft, he refused to believe that healing people was evil.

He went looking for the seneschal, but the keep must be buzzing with more hunters than hunted, for he was cornered by young Radim. He had shed the wax tablet, but still bore his cane and his worried expression. Perhaps he always did.

“Squire, may I ask a question? I was talking with Dali-Constable Notivova, I mean-as you suggested, and he said that the Wend soldiers seemed to be led by a priest. A schismatic priest, of the Orthodox Rite.”

Not sure what reaction was expected of him, Wulf said only, “Shocking!”

“The constable says he knows him,” Radim added eagerly. “It was Father Vilhelmas, squire! He accompanied Count Vranov when he visited here last month, and he was with Vranov at the gate on Sunday, when the bishop insisted he not be admitted.”

“Yes. If you could lead me to wherever I might find the seneschal, we could talk on the way.”

“Oh. He wanders around a lot. He will most likely be in the counting room, squire. Down here.”

Matching his pace to Radim’s awkward hobble, Wulf said, “So what about Father Vilhelmas?”

“He was at Long Valley this morning! How did he do that?”

“I don’t know the country. How could he do that?”

“Well, he could have doubled back through Castle Gallant, but he wasn’t supposed to be admitted. Or he could ride west to the Hlucny and over Hlucny Pass, but all that rain we had here would be snow up there, and it’s rarely open this late in the year, and it would take him at least three days anyway. At least three days!”

Secretary Radim was a sharp lad, clearly.

“Sunday? This is Tuesday. So it would just be humanly possible if the pass is still open?”

“I meant three days in summer,” Radim said stubbornly. “The constable doesn’t think it’s possible.”

“You’re suggesting that Father Vilhelmas Speaks to the devil?”

They were going downstairs again, Radim moving even more awkwardly. He looked abashed at having his conclusions put into words. “It could be, couldn’t it? Dali thinks so. Would the count want me to put that in his report, squire?”

“I don’t think he would like you talking about it in Gallant. We don’t want people to think there are Speakers around, do we?”

Radim shivered. “Oh, no, squire! The whole town would panic.”

“Exactly! But I do think my brother will want to tell the king this news, so I’m glad you mentioned it. With other enemies, His Majesty would complain to the pope and ask him to excommunicate them for having dealings with the devil; he can’t do that against Duke Wartislaw, because the Wends are already Orthodox heretics. Yes, the king should be told. How long until you’ll have a draft ready for the count to approve?”

“Just a few minutes to write that bit in, squire. The counting room is along there.”

“Excellent,” Wulf said.

The counting room was a cramped and dim little office on the ground floor. Stout bars protected the windows, the door was sturdy, and there was probably a secret fireproof money vault carved into the rock under the rug. The fussy-looking man seated behind a well-littered desk agreed that he was Seneschal Jurbarkas, although he seemed more suited to being Giedre’s grandfather than father. He marked his place in a ledger with one finger and regarded his visitor with distaste, conspicuously not inviting him to be seated.

“Squire! At last! I was looking all over for you to give you… where did I put them? Yes, those… three documents, and a purse of coins for your journey. On the count’s instructions. Make your mark on this paper to attest that you have received them.”

Wulf sat down, took up a pen, and signed Wulfgang Magnus, Esquire in a fair hand, adding the date. He unfolded the thickest of the papers.

“That’s written in Latin,” the old man said impatiently.

“So I see. I’ve known beehives with less wax, too. Hmm… The two gentlemen with the Italian names, on behalf of the Medici Bank of Florence, witness that the aforesaid bank will tender to the gentleman with the German name or his heirs and successors the sum of twelve hundred florins on the return of this document. Signed and sealed. Then he, the first party of the second part, instructs the parties of the first part to tender instead to a gentleman with a French name, and they add two more seals. He’s from Bruges, so I suppose this went north with the spice trade and came back with wool? Then four others. And lastly my dear brother’s seal and signature, witnessed by the bishop, no less, tells the bank to tender the loot to Baron Ottokar Magnus of Dobkov. It gets around, doesn’t it? A harlot of a document!”

He folded it up. “It should have been made out to Baron Emilian of Castle Orel, in Bavaria.”

“The count could not recall that name.”

Typical! Wulf reached for the other two and glanced at them. “This one is for six hundred florins and this one for two hundred. The total must be very close to two thousand florins, mustn’t it?”

Jurbarkas was watching him with some effort to seem amused. “My apologies, squire! I underestimated your talents.”

Wulf grinned. “You were judging me by my brother, perhaps?”

“Certainly not!” But the seneschal turned noticeably pink. “Just by a lifetime of dealing with squires. Is there anything else I can do to assist? Anything you want?”

“There’s one thing you can do,” Wulf said, rising, “but it won’t be easy.”

“Anything!” The seneschal stood up also.

“Find a suitor worthy of that beautiful and charming daughter of yours.” He bowed his farewell. One of Anton’s first jobs should be to find and train a replacement seneschal.

Since he was already down at ground level, he went next to the stable, where he chose a fine chestnut courser named Copper and ordered that he be saddled for a journey. He had no luggage to pack. He browbeat the armorers into giving him a sword, donating the remains of his armor to the Castle Gallant militia in exchange. Realizing then that he was starving, he tracked a scent to the kitchen and told a couple of pretty girls to pack a roast ox for him to take on his journey.