Here and Now
Шрифт:
“Be ready. You’re going to the hideout. I know you: someone pokes his hand under your skirt – you’ll hit him on the ear! Or blurt something out...”
Skwozhina spat through her teeth, but didn’t say a word.
Dusty darkness. Exciting odours of smoked food, beer, onions and dried fish. Out of the crack there flows a scarcely felt string of wine’s scent. It can be heard how Jas Misiur outside, wheezing, blocks the secret door with various lumber. Even if the Maintz men poke their noses into the cellar, they won’t like rummaging in such rubbish.
“It would be extremely useful to light a candle,” rasps the displeased voice of Giacomo Seingalt. Then the old man coughs for a long time before he continues. “I have been late to examine the interior of this... hmm... apartment, so that now I’m afraid to sit on something improper.”
“With your ass on a pitchfork,” specifies Skwozhina venomously, sneezing.
“Or would you prefer to stand waiting till the Maintz men move further along, towards Wrozlav?” finishes the old teacher calmly, ignoring the serving woman’s acidity. It’s clear that the old man has long ago got used to the woman’s bad temper, paying no heed to her grumbling.
“It’s better to stand. What if they see the light?” the question is asked by the young vagabond.
“Hell they’ll see. I’m sitting in this hole not for the first time. It’ll be better for us to see one another. Especially some of us. I have a flint and tinder. Somebody’s got a candle?”
“Take it please, Jendrich. Although I don’t see anything.”
“Hold it in your hand. Now you’ll see.”
“A-ha. Let him hold it in his hand. And with this hand jerk here and there. Then the candle will grow up to the sky! Blaze without fire, it will...”
“Shut up, you fool!”
“I utterly agree with you, Jendrich. Such ugly things... when there’s a young maiden here...”
“Mommy, I want a candel! It’s vely-vely da-ak! Let uncle Zakomtzik make light...”
“Uncle’ll make, he will... Hell he’ll make, your uncle, and devil too...”
There click the strokes of flint. Sparks. More sparks. There comes the smell of smoke. A fire begins to kindle slowly in Dry Storm’s hands – at first it is dark crimson, dim, then brighter and brighter. Or rather, later on one can see that it is in the hands. At first it seemed as if an ominous red eye appeared in the dark.
“Do you see now? Give me the candle.”
The stooped figure covers the glowing “eye”. Cracking of a wick, flashes rush about the walls.
Light! Alive, ochre coloured.
“I’m grateful. Lukerda, please sit down. It’ll be better here, on the barrel. One moment, I’ll just brush off the dust. There are no stools here, as you may understand. Not to mention chairs and armchairs.”
“What about carpets?” Jendrich makes a grimace. It’s still a question what irritates him more: the pain in his leg or the old man’s primness. “Here it stands in the corner, rolled up. A good carpet, from Shemachan. Bring it here, it’s just for me to lie down. What am I – to lie on the floor?..”
“Where has daddy got a Shemachan carpet from? And... all this?!”
Lukerda was looking around, surprised. Tight logs of carpets, packs of textile, skillfully wrought coffers and carved chests, barrels, bulging sacks. Here and there from the heaps and piles stick out hilts of swords, the shaft of a pole-axe, the polished stock of an arbalest, the crest of a helm...
While making himself comfortable, the chieftain grinned with fake gaiety: “Where from? There from! Doing valiant business – from faraway countries brought, from bad folks taken...”
“Young man, would you be so kind as to name things with their own names? You ought to be ashamed misleading the na"ive maiden. Smuggling and robbery, that is how it’s called.”
“Giacomo, stop it! Shame on you! Jendrich, he... he’s a real hero! He attacked today the vanguard of the margrave Siegfried! Like Roland the Furious on the Moors!”
“Yes, of course,” Giacomo smiles bitterly with the edge of his lips, sitting down on the nearest chest. “Roncevaux Pass, the faithful Durendal... Troubadours are standing in line to praise him in their songs. So how do you do, sir hero, terror of the usurpers? The foe is beaten hollow and has fled with shame? Or maybe you and your worthiest knights of luck have just decided to rob somebody’s train? Only that the guard proved to be too tough for our Rolands? And now the margrave’s soldiers vent their anger on peaceful villagers – the heroes have gone, after all! The heroes are sitting in a hideout, saving their strength for new feats!”
Jendrich Dry Storm kept gloomily silent. The old dependant had put his finger on it. That was exactly how it had happened. They crossed the border easily, because after the free city of Holne had been occupied there was no border any more. Close to the evening they discovered the train. The wagons with provision and fodder lagged behind the main troops that had already reached the frontier of the Opolie principality, and seemed to be easy prey. However, they couldn’t make it without noise. The hefty fellows in the train fought off with halberds, furious with despair: jingle, clank, cries... Two of their gang were badly wounded, and brave Zbyshek remained in the field – they hadn’t even time to carry out his body. When it was all over and they only needed to get away the wagons with the goods, out of the forest there rushed out a cavalry squadron. There was five times more of the margrave’s riders than the chaps in the gang, so they couldn’t even think about the loot any more – they would’ve been lucky enough to get away themselves.
They were running away all night. At dawn, near Pshesek, the riders caught them. They were lucky that their pursuers had stretched out after the night. If they struck with all their forth – the robbers would be rotting in the hot sun. After the first skirmish, leaving one third of their gang as prey for ravens, the survivors scattered: into the ravines, to the river Veselka, to the Kichora road. Two were unlucky – they were caught and cut down. As for Jendrich himself, his horse was killed with an arrow. He hadn’t the time to jump off it, and the body of the fallen mare pressed his leg. Thanks to his friends – ran over to him, helped him out. And so now he, Jendrich Dry Storm, had to sit in a cellar with women! With that acrimonious old sponger! With that milksop boy who had probably wet his trousers from fear! This pup even threatened to sell out everyone... Who needs him, I ask you? Or maybe somebody does? All right, we are to sit here for a long time, we’ll shake the truth out of him. There’s time for that.
“What, you hawk – broke his leg in a haycock! Lost your tongue? When it comes to robbing and rolling with other people’s wives in the hay – you are a hero! And when it comes to answer for what you did – stuck your tongue in your behind? Jacom’s saying right...”
“Skwozhina! I’ll show you!..” Jendrich eyed the insolent woman from head to toe. This bitch doesn’t care a damn about who is in front of her: a street drunkard, a city merchant, an honest chieftain – be it the prince Razimir himself! If he’s not to her taste – she’ll fling mud on him without batting an eyelid. To get involved with the fool? It would cost dear. Still he couldn’t remain silent. “With you I haven’t roll in the hay, that’s for sure. Probably that’s why you’re angry. Who would have eyes for such muck? Except for our daring cavalier, maybe. Eh, Giacomo? Is it from you that Skwozhina developed a daughter?”