And the look of a devil.
“It is us,” he confirmed with a smile, and the sight of the smile froze the blood in the deacon’s veins. “It’s been a long time, Kantor. I stopped by in Frankenstein to find out if…”
The deacon swallowed.
“Has anybody been asking after me lately?” finished the Wallcreeper.
It was a strictly observed custom that if Konrad of Oleśnica, Bishop of Wrocław, was residing at Otmuchów Castle for his amusement, the door to the bishop’s bedchamber was closely guarded and absolutely no one was permitted to open it or enter the chamber. So the bishop was dumbfounded when the door suddenly opened with a boom and a small group swept in.
The bishop cursed extremely coarsely. One of the nuns, freckled, red-haired and with cropped hair, jumped with a squeal from between his thighs. The other nun, also quite naked, concealed her head and her identity beneath the feather quilt, at the same time putting on public display something of much more interest than her identity.
Meanwhile, the crowd on the floor separated into Kuczera of Hunt, the bishop’s bodyguard, two Otmuchów guards and Birkart Grellenort.
“Your Eminence…” panted Kuczera of Hunt. “I tried…”
“He did,” confirmed Wallcreeper, spitting blood from a cut lip. “But the matter I come with brooks no delay. I told him, but he wouldn’t listen—”
“Get out!” roared the bishop. “Everybody out! Only Grellenort remains!”
The guards followed Kuczera of Hunt out, limping. Behind them, bare feet slapping, ran the two nuns, trying to hide as much of their charms as possible behind their shifts and habits. The Wallcreeper closed the door behind them.
The bishop didn’t get up but lay sprawled, only covering the very crux; that which the red-haired nun had been working on so devotedly a moment before.
“Let’s hope it is indeed urgent, Grellenort,” he warned ominously. “Let’s hope it is indeed important. In any event, I’m beginning to tire of your impudence. You don’t even bother to fly through the window or pass through the walls now. You must cause a sensation. So be it. What is the matter?”
“Oh, no. I’m waiting.”
“What?”
“Does Your Excellency,” drawled the Wallcreeper, “have anything to tell me?”
“Have you lost your mind, Birkart?”
“Are you by any chance concealing something from me, Father? Something important? Something which, though it is a closely guarded secret, may at any moment be revealed to the whole world?”
“This is nonsense! I will not listen to this!”
“Have you forgotten the Bible, Bishop? The words of the Evangelist? Non enim est aliquid absconditum quod non manifestetur, nec factum est occultum sed ut in palam veniat. For nothing is secret that shall not be made manifest. It’s my pleasure to inform you that a witness has been found to the robbery of the tax collector, carried out near Bardo on the thirteenth of September, Anno Domini 1425.”
“Well, well,” said Konrad of Oleśnica, grinning unpleasantly. “A witness has been found. And what did they testify? Who, I wonder, robbed the tax collector?”
The Wallcreeper’s eyes flashed. “Revealing the culprit is just a matter of time,” he growled. “It so happens that this witness was found by people hostile to us. Having the witness, they’ll get to the bottom of it and it will come out. Beautifully. So moderate your tone a little, Bishop!”
Bishop Konrad eyed him evilly for some time, then clambered out of bed and hid his nakedness with a mantle. He sat down on a curule chair and was silent for some while longer.
“How could you, Papa?” the Wallcreeper, sitting down opposite, said reproachfully. “How could you? Without telling me anything? Or informing me?”
“I didn’t want to bother you,” Konrad lied smoothly. “You had so much to do… How do you know about the witness?”
“Thanks to magic. And informers.”
“I understand. Using magic and informers, one will be able, I presume, to track down that witness… And, hmm, eliminate him? Generally speaking, that witness can go and boil his head and those hostile people can fuck themselves. They cannot do shit to me. But who needs trouble? If it’s possible to break the witness’s neck… Eh? Birkart, my son? Can you help?”
“I have enough to deal with already.”
“Of course, mea culpa,” the bishop reluctantly admitted. “Don’t be cross. You’re right. I concealed it! What of it? Do you never conceal anything from me?”
The Wallcreeper preferred not to admit that he did indeed, so answered the question with one of his own: “Explain to me, Father Bishop, why did you steal money that was meant to serve a sacred cause—the war against Czech heresy, a crusade you continue to call for?”
“I saved that money,” Konrad replied coldly. “Thanks to me, it will serve what it’s supposed to serve. It will be spent on what it ought to be spent on. On mercenaries, horses, arms, cannons, guns, gunpowder. On everything we can use to beat, grind down and destroy the Czech apostates. And it is certain that no one will embezzle that coin. If the money had gone to Frankfurt, it would simply have been stolen. As usual.”
“Quite convincing reasoning,” said the Wallcreeper with a smile, “but I doubt it would convince the papal legate.”
“The legate is the biggest thief of them all. In any case, the legate and the princes already have their silver, for we collected the tax again after the robbery. Everyone saw how it was spent—at the Battle of Tachov! What didn’t go into their pockets remained on the battlefield from which they fled in disarray, leaving everything to the Hussites! And that other tax? They’ve already forgotten about it. It’s history.”
“Unfortunately, it isn’t,” the Wallcreeper calmly countered. “The second tax was ratified by the Reichstag. Whoever stole the money played a trick on the Holy Roman Empire’s Prince-Electors, made a fool of the archbishops. They won’t just drop the matter. They’ll sniff around, delve into it. They’ll get to the bottom of it eventually—or harbour justified suspicions.”
“What will they do to me? What can they do? They’re unable to harm me. This is Silesia! My power and might are here! Maior sum quam cui possit Fortuna nocere! ”
“Quem dies vidit veniens superbum, hunc dies vidit fugiens iacentem.” The Wallcreeper retorted with an equally classical quotation. “Don’t be too cocksure, Papa. Let us be cautious. Even when the matter of the inconvenient witness is solved, one ought to think about finally closing the investigation into the theft of the tax—not by discontinuing it, but rather by capturing and punishing the guilty party.”
“Actually, I think likewise,” admitted Konrad. “According to the prevailing rumour, the tax collector was attacked and the money stolen by Reinmar of Bielawa, the brother of Piotr of Bielawa, a Hussite spy. Reinmar fled to Bohemia, to his fellow heretics. So let’s lure him to Silesia, capture him and put him on trial. Proof of his crimes will be found.”
“Naturally.” The Wallcreeper smiled. “Do we need anything more than the accused’s confession of his guilt? And Reinmar will confess to all the crimes we accuse him of. Everyone confesses in the end, after a suitably lengthy period of persuasion. Unless he unluckily dies before confessing.”