Chapter Text
She came to Rattay with a dog on her heels, a sword lying on the seat next to her, with a letter tangled in a cloth and half-dead man in the cart. Anxiety crept up on her as she passed through the main gate and continued down the city, everyone looking at her, some of them only once, indifferent, the rest of them more than once and with too much attention.
“Cabbage! Onions!” she heard as her gaze slid over a familiar face; that face was talking at her, saying something she didn’t understand, calling her, hope and pleasant surprise in the eyes. She turned her head and continued driving down the hill, carefully, then passed a bathhouse and a few people with buckets going to the river. She should be close now, she always remembered the mill was only a stone’s throw from the baths.
Just the sight of the white hat in the distance wanted to take all the weight of the world and lift it from her shoulders. But she didn’t let it, not completely. She stopped by the dovecote, her palms grazed and sore from clutching the reins too tight.
“Damn,” Peshek sighed as he offered his hands for support, though he knew very well that she didn’t need them to get off the cart. She looked at his hands, then at her uncle, and suddenly tears welled up in her eyes. She jumped down, her knees buckled and almost gave up on her. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, her uncle clumsily pulled her into his arms and her throat tightened, Henry was dying, Mutt was sniffing around the mill and the bodies of her brothers were rotting somewhere in Skalitz...
The first sob is always the hardest. Only after a few minutes of a miserable excuse for crying, which brought her more of a headache than relief, she pushed herself out of the embrace.
“He needs an apothecary,” she said, her voice painfully hoarse. Peshek walked over to look into the cart and asses its load with a critical eye.
“How about a priest?” he suggested callously, his eyes cold and hard.
“He saved my life,” she replied. Peshek didn’t answer right away, he took the limp, battered body of her friend without too much effort, slung it over his shoulder as if it were just a sack of flour. It might as well be. A hysterical laugh threatened to push its way up her throat as she remembered her recent words – was it only yesterday? – that she would rather marry a sack of flour than Zbyshek.
When Henry was in bed and she bandaged his worst wounds, a moment of truth came.
“He won’t get out of this on his own, lass,” Peshek called from the doorway where he was washing his hands in a bathtub. “He is a tough bastard, I’ll give him that, as he’s still alive. But he won’t get through this without help, that goes without saying.”
“We’ll both be indebted to you,” she said, standing in the doorway, watching him. Peshek all but bristled at that. His pale blue eyes pierced her to the core. In the years since she had last seen him, he had grown old. He was left alone and never quite came to terms with it. “Do you think I want to indebt my own niece?” he snapped, voice sour but somehow accepting as if he couldn’t really blame her for thinking so lowly of him. “He’s a stranger to me. He may not survive. The apothecary is a damn expensive business. I’m not saying it can’t be paid for. I just don’t see why I should and why you would even want to. Is he yours?”
That stunned her into silence. Then, “He’s my friend.” She squeezed her old apron with her fingers, still painfully sore from the reins. She should wash the apron. Sew it up. Or burn straight away. No need for trying to wash her brother’s blood from it. She wouldn’t be able to not see it anyway. “Three soldiers pinned me to the door, pa’s helper sacrificed me as an animal and Hal lunged at them even though he is worse with a sword than I am.” She raised her head and finally looked into her uncle’s eyes once more. This time, there was regret. If it was for her or his words, she had no idea. She didn’t care for either of them. “I want him to survive. And I am going to do everything in my power to ensure that he does. Even if I have to pay for all of it in the end. Even if he doesn’t make it after all.”
The last link to her old world would die with him. She went back inside to change the cloth on Henry’s forehead, too warm after only a few seconds. Henry slept restlessly, it was more tossing around in delirium than truly sleeping. The sun was still shining, the birds were still singing. The tanner’s children could be heard screaming in delight. The world was okay here. She could be just visiting. Her hands were trembling and she was still on the verge of tears. They couldn’t fall, they didn’t want to, as if saving themselves for a better opportunity.
“What about that sword in the cart?” Peshek took mercy on her. He followed her into the room, looking for a piece of cloth he could wipe his hands with. “That could be fenced alright,” he added, impressed. “And that piece of rag, I’ll burn that. It’s so bloody, that can’t be saved, really.” She didn’t even turn around, just shrugged at his words. Henry was one big bruise. She had seen what weapon the giant used to beat him and... even if he survived, his head might...
It could take a few minutes, hours, or days. But the sun was still shining and the tanner's children were still laughing. Peshek came back again.
“No kidding, lass, where the hell did you get that? That’s a damn fine job. And to be honest, it’s so fine that I would be afraid to fence it. Did you find it in Skalitz or somewhere on the way? Or did someone give it to you?”
That brought her back.
“Oh god, no!” she blurted, Peshek jumped and turned sharply on his heels. “Don’t even touch it! That’s... ah, I completely...” she had simply picked it up and put in the cart, not thinking twice why Henry clutched it so tightly even so deeply unconscious. “It was a contract. Henry here was working on it with his pa. It was meant for Sir Radzig, they said. I might as well take it to him as I am going there anyway with the...” her breath caught in her throat. This was getting better and better. “I guess that rag you wanted to burn is...”
“What, that belongs to him, too?” Peshek chuckled, carefree, waving his head dismissively. “Only ashes now!”
And with the rag, the letter from Sir Divish as well. Tears welled up in her eyes once more, still not falling. She didn’t want to go anywhere, to speak to anyone, to explain anything. She made her peace with delivering the message and going on her way but... this was so much worse. But she promised.
“I need to find sir Radzig. I saw some people from Skalitz on the streets, is he here with them or did he go somewhere else?” At least she would have an excuse. I did all I could, Sir Divish, but Sir Radzig went to Prague and what is a girl like me supposed to do about that... that I could give that letter to someone else? They didn’t even let me step into the castle, taking me for a beggar...
“Yeah, he’s here somewhere. Unfortunately, they are friends with Hanush. Good enough for our regent lord to have the whole damn city infested and lent him one castle for use. Pirsktein. So-called lower castle, just when you go through the main city gate and turn right... but wrap that thing into something so they don’t think you went crazy and run at them with a sword, okay? I’ll find some empty sack you could use.”
He could’ve offered to arrange it all on her behalf. She frowned at his back, squeezing Henry’s limp hand, the last thread that bound her to the past and yet, kept her present.
***
“Keep an eye on him in the meantime, will you? I’ll stop for some bread... if I find the baker, that is. I’ll visit the apothecary, too,” she explained, wrapping the cloth around the sword. “To ask him to come and see first and then... decide if it’s... worth it.” She lived with Peshek for a few hours and he was already rubbing off on her. A dangerous man, he was. Her uncle only snorted and pierced the helpless figure on the bed with his eyes, daring him to actually start healing and need the care.
“What about that mutt?” he shouted from the window when she was almost out of earshot. She pretended to be already out of earshot and continued walking. The guards at the gate only glanced at her. The weather was hot and the shift long. Some of the faces behind the gate seemed more than vaguely familiar. But she kept her distance, avoiding all those who could recognize her and start asking questions. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She didn’t want to explain what had happened, how had she survived, how had she gotten out of Skalitz, she didn’t want to tell them that, unlike them, she had a roof over her head now.
The yard was buzzing with activity. The maids were hurrying up the stairs with their arms full of bowls and baskets, the stableboy crawling on all fours, obviously looking for something so small that it was impossible to look for it with dignity, and there were two familiar soldiers in Skalitz waffenrocks standing by the wooden steps, arguing.
“It’s driving me mad! We could easily wait for those few seconds it cost him.”
“It was his own fault. I told him it was suicide. What am I now supposed to do with this?” Janek waved with a small bag just under his friend’s nose. “Whenever I see it, I feel sick and I want to go and find a hole to bury myself in, seriously. Don’t you dare blame me.”
“I don’t! It was the captain’s order, most of the people who still had a chance were already inside. Of course, I don’t blame you. It’s just... it’s bugging me.” Jaroslav. She remembered those two very well. Rather nice, polite if they wanted to be, Hal’s friends. Joined at the hip, you never saw one without the other. They were like... hardworking Matthew and Fritz, in her eyes. And where those two ended up?
“That’s right. But the captain got an earful for that,” Janek grumbled under his breath and tossed the little bag back on the stairs. It rattled. “Did you hear our lord speaking to him after he ordered to close the gates? Like, I thought he would eat our good old captain alive. I swear to God I was more afraid of Sir Radzig than Sigismund’s army at that moment.”
“Maybe when it all calms down a bit, we will go back to Skalitz. The money won’t go to waste. We can have a cross built for them if we both add something,” Jaroslav suggested.
“Yeah, that – Theresa?” Janek blurted when she finally reached them. The sword in her hand seemed to get even heavier. “What do you... I... God, I’m glad to see that you’re...” he stammered. Both of them always tended to get rather nervous in her presence, out of fear of her father and respect for Stibor. Her brother once took them both at once in a fight because they were having some stupid remarks about miller’s trade or... she didn’t even know anymore. It didn’t matter. And they were probably right back then.
“Is Sir Radzig here?” she asked. There was no point in beating around the bush, she just wanted this nonsense to be over with. If only she knew what was in the letter. She had no idea what Sir Divish considered so important that he had felt the need to send a note for her lord. Maybe he wanted to inform him about Sigismund’s “visit”, or that he had been looking for him at Talmberg? Robard had mentioned something about it; that they all were saying goodbyes to their lives at that time when the army stood there on the hill, that Sigismund decided to spare them in the end.
“Of course. He’s upstairs with Sir Hanush... in the main hall... but...” Janek still couldn’t pull himself together. Jaroslav sighed.
“The better question is – what’s that to you?”
“I have a letter for him from Sir Divish of Talmberg,” she replied solemnly.
“I don’t see any,” Jaroslav didn’t believe her.
"It's not in the place I normally show for the whole world to see," she said dryly, raising her eyebrows at him. It worked.
“I’d like to be there when you pull it out then,” he couldn’t help but add, “but go on,” and with an exaggerated bow, he cleared the way for her. Finally upstairs, just in the doorway leading to the hallway, she collided with a young cook’s helper.
“Kurva,” the boy hissed, stuffing a wine pitcher into her palm. “Too busy for that shit! Take it to the kitchen!” and he staggered out of the hallway. “It’s for red wine, so don’t pour white there!” he shouted before running down the stairs.
There was nowhere to put the pitcher so she just continued to the main hall with it. The guard at the entrance opened the door gallantly for her and she entered as surely as if the whole castle belonged to her. Only after a few more steps did she stop in her tracks, suddenly lost. The second guard noticed her as well and, unlike his chivalrous colleague, he was focusing on the right hand.
“Stop right there! What’s in that bag!” he shouted, then snatched the pitcher from her hand. “And why did you bring an empty jug? Speak!”
“A sword,” she replied calmly. The soldier’s eyes widened as the single word found its way into his brain, he dodged an imagery blow and drew his weapon.
“Wait!” Sir Radzig finally interjected, jumping out of his chair at the soldier’s quick movement. “I know the girl. She must have come to see me,” he added, yet couldn’t help but add a small question at the end, unsure about the girl’s intentions. “I doubt she would come here to finish Sigismund’s work,” he smiled with as much joy as Theresa felt – none at all. Finally, she could look into the eyes of someone who just understood.
“My lord,” she bowed rather awkwardly, remembering Bianca’s curtsies when Henry had invited her to dance and she had been jokingly playing hard to get before agreeing. “I am the daughter of the Skalitz miller, the niece of Rattay miller. I come... on behalf... of Sir Divish of Talmberg.”
“What, Divish now employs girls?” the nobleman beside Radzig chuckled, a mountain of a man, with a dark beard and smiling eyes. “That doesn’t sound like him. But I’m happy for the change. I’d always rather look at a woman than at Robard,” he laughed at his own words and drank from his cup.
Only now did she notice that Radzig wasn’t taking his eyes off her, not even blinking. There was a small wrinkle on his forehead that hadn’t been there a few seconds ago. He was tense and unmoving, waiting for more, and Theresa felt dread creeping up her neck. So it was an important letter. Sakra.
“He wrote you a letter, my lord, but unfortunately, I lost it by accident. It was hidden in a rag that got tangled in things for burning. I came here to give you an explanation so that I won’t be suspected... of fraud.”
“Suspected of fraud!” shouted someone in the back, a very annoying and young voice, and Theresa’s eye twitched only at the tone. “She comes here like a queen, waving a sword around, not showing a single bit of respect only to say that she burned an important letter!”
And she really needed this jerk to remind her. She looked at Radzig again. He still wasn’t moving. Only after a few long seconds under her scrutinous gaze did he wake up from his trance, so he only nodded at her, accepting her explanation.
“No need to get angry about that, lord Capon,” he said, distracted, barely looking at the young nobleman. “That could happen to anyone. I guess that the... sword, you said, is another part of your message?”
“Yes,” she quickly agreed and gratefully pushed the sword wrapped in the flour sack into his hand. Her whole arm was tingling. Radzig lifted the sword effortlessly, unpacked it, and let the sack fall to the ground. A small cloud of flour rose from the ground and just as Theresa wanted to bend down and take the sack and finally leave, something stopped her. Radzig’s sharp intake of breath, his hand squeezing the sword so hard his knuckles cracked at that movement.
“That’s very nice work,” said the huge man behind him, who, at this point, wasn’t even trying to hide his curiosity. “It would be a shame to lose such a thing,” he added as if trying to divert their attention, as if he were going somewhere with his words.
“Well, it’s not part of the message like that – at least not quite, I mean... Sir Divish didn’t talk about the sword at all, I brought it to you because I found it and I remembered seeing it just before the attack. The blacksmith told me about it when we were waiting for Hal coming back with the nails...” she choked. “I’m sorry, sir, I have no idea what was in the letter. But I don’t think the sword has much to do with it.”
“Maybe it has,” Radzig replied softly, so quietly that he couldn’t even know he spoke out loud. “That... that boy you mentioned...” he paused, not in a meaningful silence but a sincere search for words, and she had no idea what he wanted to hear. She had been here for much longer than she had expected.
“He originally had the sword,” she said. They all hung on her lips as if she were describing the treasure path. She wanted to run out of the castle. Through the window. “We were both in Skalitz... Henry was attacked by a group of bandits... captain Robard arrived with his soldiers, they attacked the bandits and... the sword was laying there and I remembered where had I seen it before. I thought you would be glad, my lord. That at least something...” too much, quiet, quiet! When did it become so stifling here?
Her heart almost dropped to her stomach when she looked up again only to see the whole room unmoving, silent, watching her. She glanced nervously at all of them, even those she had ignored until now. Was it that bad? This was supposed to be a gesture of goodwill, nothing bad or offensive, was it? Going like this, she will get to the baker’s after dark and then she can forget about some good bread. The priest in the right corner frowned at her, the young man in the other corner of the room glared, still visibly offended, the man in armor meanwhile slowly rising from his chair.
“I could go to Talmberg, my lord, if-...” he began but didn’t finish. His lord paid him no attention, staring at Radzig’s back, pain and worry and regret in his eyes. And sir Radzig was still watching the sword in his hands, barely breathing, as pale as the wall behind him, is if it were truly the last thing he had left in the world. She didn’t come here to remind him what he had lost... just...
“I am so sorry about the letter,” she tried once more. Radzig finally looked at her again.
“No. It’s alright. This actually... speaks... for itself,” he faltered at that and Theresa really didn’t feel good about that. “I think I know what was in that letter. I appreciate your effort, lass, and your sincerity. Here’s something for your trouble...”
Theresa backed away.
“You are too kind. But knowing that I am forgiven is enough for me.” Radzig withdrew his hand, though somewhat reluctantly. Peshek would smack her upside the head for that. For some reason, that improved her mood a bit. She mustn’t forget to mention it just by the way and then watch in innocent confusion how he pulls his hair in frustration. Did he still have any hair left? She hadn’t seen him without the hat ever since she was a little girl.
Of course, the thought about some little financial help being needed for Henry’s health was somewhere in the back of her mind, but at the same time, she couldn’t help but want to show the noblemen that even a miller could do something out of goodness of their heart, that not every one of them...
She bowed again, hurriedly, and without thinking too much about the inappropriateness of leaving the lords’ presence without their permission, she slipped out into the hallway. Walking fast toward the stairway, she could still hear some muffled outraged comments, again that incredibly annoying young voice. And then the strong and resonant one – “you are one to talk about good manners!”
No one tried to stop her though, and she hurried to the square unnoticed.