The entire tavern was laughing at him.
Nevertheless, there was found a daring man who wasn’t afraid of sharing the cooper’s fate. There, Karolinka’s playing with toys, Mom’s happiness. People had babbled things about a child without a father, but never found out the truth. Skwozhina, when asked about her daughter, would keep mum. Usually she would wag her tongue, say something – run away and fight off! And here – silent as a grave. The same way Skwozhina kept silent when the frontier guard men were whipping her trying to find out the hideout of Jendrich Dry Storm: you’re in the tavern, knowing everything, seeing everything – tell us! The taverner may have his own interest, and what’s in it for you?
They whipped and whipped and gave up. Decided she was a mute.
“Mister Jendrich, let me look at your leg. I think there’s a dislocation.”
“A doctor?” Dry Storm squinted at the youth unkindly.
“Well... Sort of.”
“Go on.”
Lukerda turned away shyly when Jendrich began pulling off his leather lined trousers with the youth’s help; while Skwozhina, not abashed a bit, was staring impudently at the chieftain’s legs, hairy and slightly crooked.
“Indeed, that’s a dislocation!” announced the youth sonorously, glad he had been right. “And the bones are intact. You were lucky...”
“Don’t babble. If you can set it – do it. Soon the Maintz men will visit the tavern.”
“I would ask you, mister...”
“Giacomo Seingalt at your service, young man.”
“Could you hold him, please? Yes, thank you. And I’ll attend to his leg. Now it will hurt...”
“I’ll take it. If you set it, kid – I’ll pay in gold!”
The thin fingers of the youth, proving to be suddenly strong, seized Jendrich’s dislocated leg. “Well, with the God’s help!” Then the youth acted surprisingly quickly and confidently. There was a short strong jerk. Jendrich cursed through his clenched teeth, and this time old Giacomo didn’t reproach him. “That’s all. Now we must bandage it.”
The chieftain moved his leg, made a grimace. “Look at you! It seems you really have been a doctor’s apprentice. Search in the farther packs – there’re fabrics. Take any of them, cut for a bandage. Here’s a knife, take it.”
From the first pack cut open there appeared expensive brocade. The youth and Giacomo who joined him (the latter was sneezing desperately because of the aroused dust) had to open three more packs before they got to the store of strong linen.
“How many things daddy’s got here! I didn’t even know...” Lukerda was looking at the chieftain, bewildered. He didn’t answer, groaning from the painful bandaging. Suddenly he grew silent, pushed his finger to his lips abruptly. Everyone in the cellar held their breath. Giacomo, intending to sneeze once more, hastily closed his mouth and nose with his hand, made a strangled grunt and shuddered.
Muted steps above, over their heads. Voices mumble vaguely. Boards creak, sagging.
Thin dust pours on the turned up faces.
“There, at the ceiling,” Jendrich’s hissing whisper. “Do you see the bung? Pull it out. Just be silent!”
Giacomo pulled out the lump of rags bunging a rat-hole or a vent with a visible effort.
“...rode away?”
“To the forest, to the forest, where else?”
“Don’t you lie?!”
“Why would I lie, sir knight? Robbers are robbers. Pure squandering. To the forest, odd-even, they flew, their den’s there, damn them...”
“And where are the people? Why’s the tavern empty?”
“Afraid, they are. You’ll become angry, that is, order to whip. Hiding they are...”
“A sly devil you are, taverner. Well, bring here meat, wine, but see to it, you rascal, that it’s the very best! You bring us rotten stuff – I’ll order to burn your tavern down, and hang you up high on...”
“The very best, sir knight! Just a moment!.. Wife, quick: wine, wine for the good gentlemen, and I’ll, odd-even, put sausages on the pan...”
Jendrich gestured to Giacomo to put the bung back in its place.
“Here they are... Never mind: Jas will douse them with wine and they’ll melt. We’ll hole up. Well, kid, just the time for you to make noise, for the Maintz men to take us on the spot. Eh?”
The youth shuddered again, as if from a slap. Even in the unsteady light of the candle it was seen that he blushed. Anger? Shame?
“You shouldn’t say so, mister Jendrich...”
“Oh, I’m so very sorry! And who was it that threatened to sell us out when we didn’t want to take him into the hideout?”
“I was scared...”
“Scared he was! With rats we have a short talk. A knife in the belly and the bowels on a branch. Tell us, what’s there between you and the margrave Siegfried?”
“I...” The youth felt confused under the intent glances fixed on him. “I... I can’t be captured, by no means! I was going to your prince, to Razimir of Opolie. Look, take me to Wrozlav! You can do it! Surely you know all the paths!”
“What, you have a bag full of golden amulets? The prince will be awfully glad to see you! Gold for us, you for him. The last hope, that is.”
“I have no amulets. I’ve given the last one to the taverner. And as for hope... Maybe the truth is yours. I’m the only hope. Opolie won’t stand against Maintz...”
“Young man, are you experienced in military art?” Giacomo Seingalt curved his brow sarcastically. “Are you a strategist? Do you suppose the prince Razimir will appoint you commander?”
“You are mocking me. But I must! I want to give the prince this...”
The youth opened his bag, began to rustle with the rags. There came to light a casket – shabby, triangular, marked in black, red and yellow chequers like a buffoon’s tights. Its paint had peeled off in some places, its edges were severely beaten. In addition to the casket in the bag there was a big hourglass.
“A game, is it?” the chieftain made a contemptuous grimace.
Giacomo nodded with confidence: “The ‘Triple Nornscoll’, or ‘Cheat the Fate’. I would play it in my time... We may amuse ourselves now, one way or another we’ll be sitting here doing nothing for a long time. Will you play, Jendrich? And you, young man? By the way, don’t you want to introduce yourself to your fellows in misfortune?”
“Forgive me... My name is Martzin, Martzin Oblaz from the free city of Holne. From the former free city. But this is not an ordinary game. It has belonged to Byarn the Pensive.”
“The mage from Holne?!”
“Yes.”
“What a rogue you are, lad! Stole the game from Byarn himself?! First he snitched the amulet, then the game! Or all at once? You’re desperate, and a doctor too... Want to join my gang?” It was hard to understand whether the chieftain was joking, mocking or talking seriously.
“It would be better if I really stole it...” whispered Martzin faintly, lowering his eyes.
“Didn’t steal? So where did you get it?”
“This is a legacy. My teacher Byarn the Pensive died last week.”
“Died?! Tell more lies! Mages – they live for a thousand years!”
“Unfortunately, you are mistaken. Meister Byarn had a weak heart... I know this better than many others.”
“Heart? Why didn’t he make himself healthy with magic and be over with it?”
“Oh, mister Jendrich,” Martzin sighed heavily. The flame of the candle flickered, queer shadows swayed along the walls, and the hideout seemed for a moment unreal – as if the next moment it would flow like fog and disperse. “Don’t mistake a mage for God. The magic of healing uses the healer’s own power. This is not alike spells or taming of the elements. One cannot heal one’s own heart. And I... I’m just learning. Was learning.”
“So how old was he, Byarn? Five hundred years? Seven hundred?”
“Seventy two.”
“A liar you are, kid! My old man lived up to ninety. And there you’ve got a mage!”
“You may not believe me, but I’m telling the truth.” The youth pursed his lips, offended.
“Begging your pardon for interrupting your absorbing discussion, but it seems that you, young man, wanted to expound to us the secret of your legacy. Why do you want to deliver this game to Wrozlav? Or do you hope that while practicing ‘Triple Nornscoll’ Razimir of Opolie will find the method of winning the war with the Maintz Mark?”
“Strange as it is, you’ve almost guessed, mister Seingalt. Meister Byarn had made this ‘Nornscoll’ in his youth, soon after he finished studying with his teacher. With the help of this game...” Martzin became more and more excited, obviously hesitating: to tell more or to keep silent? His voice was trembling, drops of sweat appeared on his forehead. “With its help it’s possible to play again... to change anything! Any event that took place in the past can be turned back! Not to allow the war to begin at all. To change its course. Do you understand me?!”
“To change? And your mage, that is, died all of a sudden?” Jendrich squinted unbelievingly. “He’d do better to play again our sinful life, to save Holne, to win for himself some hundred years! You’re hiding something, student...”
“You are simplifying everything. Anyone can use the ‘Triple Nornscoll’ but its creator. In the hands of meister Byarn the game would lose its power.”
“So he should have given it to your burgomaster. Or to a commander.”
“I’ve suggested this to the teacher. But he refused. When Holne had already fallen, the teacher was considering sending me to the prince Razimir. But he lingered, hesitated... I don’t know why. Then I found him dead. The heart... And then I decided myself...”
“Well, those mages, of course... Nothing’s clear, in short. They don’t know themselves what they want. But you here – you’re our fellow! Put the Maintz men above there to sleep! And we’ll get out, knife them all, take their horses – and to the forest. Straight to the prince Razimir, to deliver him your game. Come on, Martzin! Make your magic!”
“I can’t,” the youth threw up his hands with a guilty look. “I studied only for three years. I learnt only to cause rain, and that with hail, too. The hail’s all right, it’s big, but the rain... The teacher would laugh: you, Martzin, he would say, lack anger for a heavy downpour. A duffer you are...”
“Hail – and that’s all?!”
“Well, some more trifles... But I can’t put anyone to sleep.”
The chieftain spat on the floor. “I knew it. To babble everybody knows, and to do something – no one gives a hoot!”
“Wait, wait! What if...” All the glances turned to Lukerda at once, and the girl became abashed, flushed shyly. And then she started jabbering, floundering and stammering with excitement, as if she was afraid she would be interrupted and wouldn’t be able to finish. “Let’s try ourselves! Ourselves! So that there won’t be a war! Tell us, Martzin, your game... can anyone play it?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” the youth glanced at the taverner’s daughter with surprise, as if seeing her for the first time. Apparently, such a thought just hadn’t occurred to him. The idea of delivering the game to the prince Razimir had possessed his soul since the moment of his teacher’s death, and he hadn’t thought of anything else.
“Then why deliver it to the prince? Maybe we can do it?! And if not – the game won’t lose its power, will it? Right, Martzin?”
“Yes.”
“If we don’t manage, you’ll take the game to Wrozlav!”
“He lies, this Martzin, he does,” Jendrich waved his hand with dismissal. But those who were in the hideout didn’t fail to notice that the chieftain’s eyes were glittering with excitement. “Let him first prove he’s a bit of a mage. Right now... it’s just fooling around.” The severe chieftain wouldn’t confess even to himself that he wanted desperately, to tears wanted to believe in a miracle. With the help of some trashy casket to turn the course of the war back, and the margrave Siegfried will never invade the lands of Opolie, and Jendrich’s gang-mates that have fallen at dawn will remain alive, and...
“Prove? How?” Martzin ruffled like a funny sparrow.
“Have you learnt at least something? To light a candle without a flint?”
“Yes.”
“Come on then!”
The chieftain blew abruptly, and the hideout became pitch dark. The tang of soot crawled into the nostrils. Rustling, vague movement. A drop of flame appears noiselessly, coming out of the darkness. It’s strange, amber, with a vertical line in the middle – like a cat’s eye. Only after two or three heartbeats do they understand that the flame is burning in the air, between Martzin’s hands brought together.
The youth brings the drop to the candle.
The wick kindles at once.
“He’s a wizad, he’s a wizad! Make more wizadly!”
“Hush, Karolinka! Bad fellas will hear – them come and take you. Hush, my daughter...”
Now Skwozhina bore little resemblance to the loudmouthed squabbler that would tell bawdy jokes and wouldn’t give a hoot about anybody. Having drawn Karolinka closer to herself, she was stroking the girl’s head tenderly with a coarse hand, trying to protect, close, hide in her bosom from the troubles awaiting the child in the evil and hostile world.
“Here...”
Jendrich Dry Storm thrust his fingers into his curly inky mane, scratched his head – and suddenly grinned merrily: “Alright, hold that I believe you. Well, mage boy! Teach us to replay fate!”
The pieces were old, part of them lacked a head or a top. Well matching the peeled and cracked casket-board. Martzin was placing them carefully, biting his lip. Giacomo Seingalt was watching the youth’s actions intently. He reached forward: “Three colours? I assume that black is for the Maintz Mark, yellow for Holne and red – our Opolie. Can we choose any side? Any camp?”
“Of course. But you must choose only a single piece. Then for a short time you’ll become the man whose image you’ve chosen. And you’ll move backwards, into the past. There you can try to change something, to give a new course to the events. You’ll have about two months. My teacher would have transferred you for some twenty years without an effort, but I...”
“This sounds alluring. I think I would risk playing for...”
“Two months? That will do! The tournament! The tournament in Maintz! Damn it, I know what to do! Lubina decided not to take part in the jousting! And he should... Oh, I’ll show this son of a bitch!”
“There’s another thing. Would the margrave Dietrich, Siegfried’s father, live at least five-six years more...”
“I know that the burgomaster of Holne has a daughter. Were I in her place...”
“Good heavens! How hadn’t it occurred to me before! Were my teacher a bit more resolute...”
“Mommy, I want play!”
“Wait, dolly. After grown men finish making fools of themselves, they’ll give you toys to play too. Damn you! Just like babies...”
“Hush! Well, lad, show how to play.”
“Have you already chosen a piece, mister Jendrich?”
“Sure!”
The chieftain reached out to the board.
“Wait! This is not how it must be done. Imagine thoroughly what you’re going to do in the chosen man’s place. Because during the game you cease being yourself. Just remember the main thing – what you are playing for. So?”
In the chieftain’s face there expressed the unusually hard labour of the mind. After some lingering Jendrich Dry Storm nodded with a visible effort.
“Then clap your hands over the board. And then, when I say, touch the piece.”
Jendrich’s arms, swelling with lumps of muscles, met in a mute clap. None of them understood where most of the pieces vanished to from the board. The chieftain’s burning eyes were fixed tightly on the image of an armoured knight with a shield and a spear in its hands. The spearhead was long ago broken, the red paint had peeled off the helm – but this didn’t matter now. Martzin took in his hands the hourglass with the massive bronze stand, shook it slightly and stared at the bulging glass. The youth’s glance became lifeless, dim – and they saw that in the lower part of the vessel there rose a thin sandstorm. One by one, faster and faster the sand grains rushed for the orifice of the vessel, to the upper part of it.