“Not a chance,” he said. “First of all, you girls have never ridden a horse in your lives. Second, the critters always get surly, having to carry me. And Ignace doesn’t see eye to eye with the beasts, either. They take one look at him and figure why should they take orders from this character who isn’t much bigger than a lump of sugar.” (I resented that, even though it was true.) “So we’ll hire a coach. A big one. What the hell? The Abbess said she’d pay the travel expenses.”
A big one, I thought sourly. Translation: expensive.
But I didn’t say anything. Although my tone was probably surly when I said I’d go out and rent one. The one bright spot in the whole thing was that I figured I could hire Oscar and his gang to drive the great thing. Sure, they were all a bunch of kids, who usually hauled people around in their home-built rickshaws. But even at his age—eleven, he was then—Oscar was as good as a professional teamster.
The following day, around lunchtime, I went out looking for Oscar. I found him in the stable where he and his boys usually hang out, not far from The Trough.
And discovered that my “bright spot” had become a conflagration.
I’d always known Hrundig was probably as strong as a bull. But “knowing” in the abstract is one thing. Having your arms clamped to your chest and his iron-bar forearm ready to crush your throat is something else entirely.
I think I may have gurgled. Not sure. My vision was getting blurry and I could barely see anything in the dark interior of the stable. Just enough to see Olga Frissault and her daughters huddling fearfully in one of the stalls. Oscar and his lads were huddling in another. They didn’t look fearful. They looked terrified.
I heard a grunt behind me, and the pressure left my chest and throat. “Sorry, Ignace,” Hrundig muttered. “Didn’t realize it was you.”
I took a couple of steps forward, gasping for breath. “Who’d you think it was?” I complained, massaging my throat. “How many red-headed, freckled footpads are there, less than five feet tall?” I suspect my tone was, ah, peevish.
By now, Hrundig had padded around to stand in front of me. He had that thin, merciless grin on his face.
“None, that I know of. But there’s probably a thousand informers in the city fit your description. Close enough, anyway.”
My eyes flicked back and forth from him to the Frissault women. I didn’t understand anything of what was happening, mind you. But I am:
Not stupid.
2. Pessimistic.
A student of the wise man. Among whose saws, of course, is the classic: “Never try to think of the worst thing that could happen. It’s bound to be worse than that anyway.”
“No,” I groaned. My mind raced like wild horses, trying to think of the worst. “Olga and the girls are Joeist heretics, fleeing from the Inquisition.”
Hrundig grinned. “Dead on the money. But it’s worse than that, Ignace. They were found out and arrested two weeks ago. Judge Jeffreys set their bail at two hundred thousand quid, no doubt on the assumption that nobody could come up with that kind of money. I wracked my brains trying to figure out a way to spring them, but it was impossible. You know what the Durance Pile is like. Take an army to break into it.”
My mind raced like the wind, trying to think of the worst. “Somebody figured out a way to do it. You? Must have robbed the Royal Treasury.”
Hrundig shook his head again. “Worse. Benvenuti came up with the bail money. Got them out yesterday before Jeffreys got wind of what was happening, and turned them over to me.”
My mind raced like a hurricane, trying to think of the worst. “He defrauded a noble client,” I croaked. “The Queen herself.”
Hrundig’s grin widened. “Worse. He defrauded the Church. Cardinal Megatherio in particular, but the whole Church is in a frenzy because he—ah! Never mind the details.”
My mind raced like a meteor, trying to think of the worst. “He’s on the run. All the forces of Church and State are out looking for him. And the Frissaults too.”
The headshake was inevitable. “Worse. They already caught him. He led them a merry chase, but he figured he could draw the pursuit away from me and Olga and the girls long enough for us to find a hiding place. Which he did. But now he’s in the hands of the Inquisition.”
My mind raced like—like—
Hrundig laughed. “Relax, Ignace! You take the wise man too seriously. Benvenuti won’t be spilling his guts yet. He told me he was sure he could hold out for at least a day before he started lying. Another day before they untangled his lies, and another before he’d have to spill the truth. Which gives me two days to figure out a way to get Olga and the girls out of town. I’ll have to leave too, of course. No way to keep my involvement a secret.”