“Yea. Just like that!”
A sonorous clap of small palms. On the board there remain only two pieces. Two lonely pawns. A red one and a black one. Martzin fixes his eyes on the hourglass, the sand once again starts running up – and suddenly the pale face of the youth flushes with amazement. The sand in the lower part of the vessel doesn’t end! The upper part is already overfull, but the little tornado continues to drive into the orifice numerous grains: hours, days, years...
“It cannot be...”
Martzin hasn’t time to finish. The girl hastily snatches the black pawn and presses it to her chest.
The window is flung wide open...
“Oh, knight! Knight!”
Elsa Fenriver, a five year old girl, clapped her hands. She was charming, in a new frilled dress, flowers in her golden locks. A pony standing in front of the little girl was scared of her quick movement. It snorted, moved back.
Started prancing in one place.
“Wait! Ponee, wait!”
Sitting in his saddle, three year old Siegfried was smiling with the mindless smile of an idol, not understanding what was going on. Today he was dressed up in child armour with a gilded breastplate. Given a helmet with a plume to put on. To his belt was hung a real sword – long-long, up to the sky. Well, maybe not to the sky, but still a long one. Like his Dad’s. Siegfried was happy. And his Dad – the strongest! the cleverest! – went away to the rose bushes to admire his heir while not hindering his son from enjoying his triumph.
Siegfried was happy even while flying off the saddle.
“Ponee!”
Shying away from Elsa, the pony reared. Its hoof stroke near the boy’s head. The toy helmet rolled aside, the temple of prone Siegfried was absorbing an accidental shade – the sun had hidden behind a fluffy cloud resembling a dog.
The blond hair of the heir was sandy.
“Stand!” A shout – masculine, imperious. A strong hand caught the bridle, in a jerk threw the pony away, to the side alley of the garden. Dietrich, the margrave of Maintz, bent over his son: “Are you hurt? Are you all right?!”
Siegfried turned on his back.
Started laughing.
Then thought better, looking at his father’s beaming face, and started crying.
“We’ve seen, Karolinka. You’ve tried. You’ve tried hard, it’s not your fault you didn’t manage. You have played well.”
“Well! I played well! Zere was no evil fella. Was knight! Vely good! And a little horse...”
“That’s how it is,” Giacomo knitted his dry lips. “Just playing. Well, what can you demand from a child?..”
“I want horse! I want knight!..”
“Twenty years!” whispered Martzin as if delirious, looking with horror at the little girl who was ready to cry. “Be she just a bit older... Good heaven, almost twenty years!”
“What are you babbling on, mage boy?”
“Twenty years! She has transferred for twenty years into the past! Herself! She did it herself!” the youth’s eyes were glittering feverishly. “She has a gift! Gracious God, such power...”
“Well, and what’s the use of this power? For Siegfried all this is like water off a duck's back...”
“Maybe the prince Razimir will manage? Or someone else? We should keep trying! We should do something!” but in Martzin’s words there was nothing of the former confidence. “Skwozhina, maybe you’ll try?”
On the board there remained only one red pawn.
The woman squinted contemptuously at the game. “Me? What I am – worst of all?!”
“Hush!” hissed Jendrich desperately in a sudden, and everyone became silent at once.
Above there were heard distinct, self-confident footsteps. The boards creaked.
Giacomo, without waiting for the chieftain’s instructions, pulled the rag bung out of the hole.
“...boozing, that is?..”
The newcomer’s voice – quiet, ingratiating, promising – boded nothing well for the Maintz men resting in the tavern.
“Sir, no, sir baron! I have to report, sir: we were chasing the enemy squad through the night, sir. Now we’re waiting for the main forces of His Grace, sir. My people needed rest...”
“In five minutes here will be His Grace Siegfried von Maintz in person! Search the tavern anew! From top to bottom! I’ll have your hides! If there’s one more national avenger again...”
“Sir, yes, sir!” A busting tramping.
“Sit here with the folks, Karolinka. Mommy will come for you.” Having got up, the serving woman stepped resolutely to the door.
“Have you gone mad, woman?! Want to give us up?!”
But nobody had time to stop Skwozhina. The woman pressed against the door with her entire body, something fell down outside. The door leaf gave way...
“Hold her!”
Too late. Skwozhina was already outside, having shut the secret door and now blocking it with rubbish anew. Giacomo clang his ear to the weak partition. Everyone kept silent. Lukerda was praying soundlessly, moving her lips in a childish manner...
...Voices.
The people waited, holding their breath. Jendrich, baring his teeth like a wolf, took his knife so it would be handy to throw.
“There’s somebody here! Taverner, give a torch!”
“Carefully, good gentlemen, don’t make a fire! Or we’ll burn down!..”
“A broad! By Saint Sebastian’s torturing, a broad! Hey you, come here!”
“Well this is my servant, sir knight! A fool, fool as she is... Hid in the cellar out of fear. Come out, come out, you muck, good gentlemen won’t hurt you. And decant beer, the dark “Chabrick” from the last barrel! Look at her, she took it into her head shirking work!..”
“Give me light, Ronmark. Nobody else there?”
“Empty...”
“Who would be here? Except for rats...”
“All right. Hey woman, climb up. And you too, taverner...”
Footsteps. Receding. From afar, muted – the clang of a lock.
“Blessed Virgin, thank you...”
“Mommy! Want to Mommy!..”
“Come here, Karolinka. Don’t cry. Here, take a toy.”
“Why, this woman has saved us. Were it not for her, they would start rummaging, searching...”
“Siegfried! Have you heard – the margrave himself is here! Were that we could know what happens there now...”
The people were looking at the board as if hoping that the window will be flung wide open any moment.
But the game remained soundless.
Tied to the saddle, a mutilated corpse was dragged over the ground after the rider.
Skwozhina was looking silently how the body of her elder brother Stanek was jumping over the potholes. Soil stuck to his beard, his right shoulder was slashed, his eyes, surprisingly clear on the bloodstained face, were looking mindlessly into the sky. This was the man she hated more than anyone else. She would pray at night for violent death to come for Stanek who had driven his own sister out of home.
There, God had heard.
“Congratulations on your dowry, wench!” whispered inside somebody’s voice resembling very much the bass of the taverner Jas. “That’s what you’ve been waiting for... These folk will ride away, what the hell do they need us for, and for you, odd-even, there’ll be the house, if they haven’t burnt it down, and the field near Zamlynska Gurka, and the cattle, and some clothes! Lubka, she lived with Stanek unmarried, which means she’s not his wife... Throw her a dry bone and let her be happy, the bitch!”
The voice was right.
“What carrion are you dragging along, Gernot?” one of the margrave’s bodyguards stepped forward.
“Rushed on me with an axe, this scoundrel!” cried out the rider merrily, stopping. “Derek had laid his wench on the coffer, so he grabbed an axe, this scumbag...”
“A knight!” the bodyguard burst into laughter, his teeth shining. “Dragon fighter!” And he kicked the dead body with his foot.
Skwozhina was looking indifferently how they were scoffing at the deceased. At night she would dream: I’ll spit in his eyes! I’ll dance on his grave! Here, she has a chance, thanks to good God...
