Jesse Bullington - The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart

“That a name where you come from?” asked Hegel.

“Yes,” Ennio said sharply.

“Well damn,” said Hegel.

“And by what do I address you?” Ennio asked.

“I’s Hegel, my brother there’s Manfried, and we’s both Grossbarts.”

“Seeing this truly.” Mustache smiled.

“What’s that supposed to mean, dirt-stache?” Manfried glared at the man, who stared back blankly.

“That is Alphonse,” Ennio said, “and his cousin is Giacomo.”

The cousins stared at the Brothers, the ice thicker than ever.

“Al Ponce?” Manfried grinned at Hegel. “He struck me as a ponce from the moment I laid eyes on him. Ask Hegel, told’em myself.”

“Honesty,” Hegel said, but his mind lay elsewhere.

The Grossbart and the driver advanced on the back door, Ennio pushing it open and thrusting the rushlight into the darkness. Hegel followed, sweating from more than the welcome heat. They went down a tight hallway and discovered several sacks of grain and barrels of turnips at the end. Another latched door opened into the snowy void, and they quickly closed it again. Along the hall three doorways draped with cloth revealed sparse chambers with straw mats and nothing else.

Alphonse and Giacomo noticed the shelf where only a few bottles remained, and each took one back to the fire. Manfried considered murder, then chided himself for not hiding whatever would not fit in his bag. Of the two, Manfried hated Alphonse slightly more, what with his bushy black hair and mustache and dimpled cheeks stupidly contrasting his large frame. Not that Giacomo’s chiseled face and arms and dark complexion failed to grate on him as well. Like most men who are ugly on both sides of their skin, Manfried detested handsome people on general principle.

“Found us a good place to bed down,” Hegel said, stepping back into the room.

“Out here, Grossbarts,” Ennio said firmly.

“What’s that?” Hegel stopped and turned on the man, pick still brandished.

“We five sleep out here, she will sleep in the other rooms,” said Ennio, turning back to the hallway. He added something in his native tongue for Alphonse and Giacomo, and disappeared with his crackling rushlight into the back.

“She?” the Grossbarts echoed.

Giacomo blanched and took a long swig and Alphonse muttered to himself.

“Talk, Ponce,” said Manfried.

“None of yours.” The guard scooted closer to the fire.

Manfried’s boot upended Alphonse’s stool, knocking him to the ground. The man scrambled up but Manfried had casually raised his loaded crossbow, its end pressing against Alphonse’s codpiece. The startled Giacomo’s hand fell to his sword but paused when he realized Hegel’s pick had found its way under his chin, the iron point chill against his Adam’s apple.

“Talk, Ponce.” Manfried smiled.

Alphonse looked at Giacomo, who began shouting at him to do whatever the crazy bandits said. The Grossbarts did not approve of their conversing in an unknown language, so Hegel pressed his tool enough to prick Giacomo’s throat. This quieted him instantly, his eyes burning into his cousin’s. There would be opportunities to dispose of these two foreign bastards later, Alphonse thought, and did as Manfried commanded.

“The woman is the, the woman of Alexius Barousse,” Alphonse said, hoping that would be sufficient. It was not.

“Who’s he?” Manfried prodded verbally and physically, the bolt’s point rising to jab at Alphonse’s doublet.

“A capo, er, sea captain.” Alphonse stammered. “In Venezia. She is his, we retrieve her for him, take her home.”

“What’s she doin up these parts, eh?” Manfried asked.

“She was in…” Alphonse bit his lip, then almost got it correct. “Abbess. She stay in abbess some years in your empire, now we fetch her. Anything happen to us or her, he will hunt you for rest of your lives, and punish-”

“Yeah, I got you.” Manfried lowered his weapon. “Now shut your hole. Both a you’d do to remember you owe us your lives.”

Hegel followed his brother’s lead, wiping the spot of blood off on Giacomo’s shoulder and relooping his pick onto his belt. Giacomo relaxed, touching his neck and launching a barrage at Alphonse, who in turn explained the Brothers were moon-touched and would be dealt with accordingly. If not now, later.

“Gotta nun?” Hegel asked his brother.

“More likely a sweet piece he wanted off-limits til his wife died or some such. Didn’t say daughter or sister or nuthin, but who knows. Poncey’s a little rough on the ears.” Manfried gingerly touched his cropped lobe.

Ennio returned from the rear hallway, pale and shivering. Alphonse and Giacomo both spoke at once, but Manfried cuffed Alphonse in the ear, encouraging him to talk right or not at all. Ennio narrowed his eyes at the Brothers but seemed distracted. He hurried to the door and ensured the slat locked it firmly, and dragged another bench to the fire. All eight eyes waited for his next move. Sighing, he relieved Alphonse of his bottle.

“Go fetch the grain bag and make some porridge,” Ennio said wearily.

Alphonse complained to himself but went into the back.

“Grossbarts,” Ennio said. “Any queries should be given to me instead of my associates, as they will provide you with nothing of substance.”

“Dunno if that’s all true,” Manfried said. “What’s the girl to this captain-kin or kinmaker?”

“None of your concern, be assured,” Ennio said with a frown at the returning Alphonse.

“Maybe yeah, maybe nah,” Manfried said, removing the stew from the fire and setting it on a bench. Hegel wasted no time in setting to, dipping his bowl whenever his brother was not slurping directly from the pot. The three foreigners cooked and ate their porridge in jealous silence.

With their stew gone, the Grossbarts gazed at the porridge. Permission was stated by Hegel rather than requested, and they ate the rest of that, too. Pleasantly bloated, the Brothers sipped their schnapps and reclined by the fire. Even Alphonse and Giacomo appeared to have forgotten the altercation, whispering to each other and smiling drunkenly. In view of the porridge, the Brothers let it slide. Ennio disappeared through the rear hall and soon returned with a fresh bit of frost on his hat. He resumed his seat with a sigh.

“The snow has stopped,” Ennio finally said, “and the moon is near full, you can actually see about.”

“Well, that’s somethin, I guess, or you would a stayed quiet,” Manfried said.

“No lights.” Ennio rolled a bottle from hand to hand. “Not so queer if everyone is here, but they are not.”

“What about that monastery?” Manfried said.

“Black. But it can be seen in the moonlight. Usually some lights at those, especially if they have a feast or festival or other reason why town has gone there.” Ennio sipped on his bottle, Alphonse’s pattern of listening and whispering implying he translated for Giacomo.

Alcohol had blunted Hegel’s anxiety about the town but it still twisted in his brain and heart and he brooded in silence. He knew what came next, and did not want to hear it. Something about the unseen woman in the rear also itched at his nerves. He wanted to lay eyes on her to see if that helped, although he suspected it would not.

“So we go out and look around, bang on some doors to ensure, and hike up to the monastery. Even in snow it is close.” Ennio set his bottle on the floor and stood, looking at the four doubtful men.

Hegel broke the silence with a laugh, surprised his brother did not join in. Regaining himself, he wiped his eyes. “Have fun! Me and Manfried’ll make sure nuthin goes amiss round here.”

“Grossbarts,” Ennio patiently explained. “We must discover where everyone has gone. Their absence is unnatural. Whole towns do not disappear without reason.”