An Embarrassment of Riches (3 page)

“Then a selection of ivory boxes should be welcome; there are no elephants in Bohemia,” said Rakoczy, his expression remote. “There should be a dozen of them in the banded trunk. You’ll have no difficulty in locating them.”

“We can search for them later,” Hruther said, aware of Rakoczy’s discomfort. “But for now, the bath-house, don’t you think?”

“I do,” said Rakoczy, and dropped his gloves on top of his mantel, preparing to follow Hruther.

The kitchen, tacked onto the east wall of the manse, proved cavernous, with two huge fireplaces, one equipped with spits for turning meat, the other with an assortment of hooks for hanging cauldrons. The room smelled of stale oil and burnt flesh. An oven with an iron door was set in the wall between the two fireplaces, and another small fireplace in the center of the room was topped with a thick iron sheet that was in need of cleaning and oiling. The windows were high in the wall, the thick, greenish glass filling them in diamond patterns of heavy leading, giving the kitchen a quality of fretted light that made the room seem as if it were under water.

“The utensils are gone; we will have to get new ones, and whatever pots and pans are required,” Hruther remarked as he continued on toward the larder and the door to the outside, where the information the Counselors had provided said there was a kitchen garden; there was, but it had been allowed to run riot.

“We have time enough to restore many of the herbs; the rest may have to wait a year to be replanted,” Rakoczy said as the two of them made for the small gate that led out into the courtyard.

To the right of the garden wall stood the bake-house and the bath-house, both of stone with wooden roofs topped by slates, many of which were chipped or broken; they shared a brick chimney. A large wooden bin backed onto the bath-house; a lift of its lid disclosed a fair supply of very dry cut wood and the distinct odor of rats, accompanied by a scuttling under the sawn branches. Hruther dropped the lid back into place.

“We will need a cat or two,” said Rakoczy. “At the least.”

“Male and female, so there will be kittens.” Hruther nodded. “For now, we’d best see to the furnace. I’ll wager it needs cleaning, with so many rats about.” He chuckled. “Konig Bela would be pleased to see you so deprived.”

“So he would; it would give him profound satisfaction to see me destitute, but he would not be endorsed by the Church if he ordered it himself, my title being older than his for more years than he realizes. He wants to keep track of me, so that he need not fear my making alliances with Galich or Polovtsky. Do not say those words aloud if anyone other than I can hear them: Bela might learn of it and change his mind about exile in favor of something more absolute. We must guard our tongues in this place,” Rakoczy said sardonically, looking for the loading chute for the bath-house furnace. “We need to have all the chimneys cleaned, and repaired if repairs are needed, which I suspect they will be.”

Hruther shrugged to cover his relief at Rakoczy finally talking about the reasons for his departure from his native earth. “Along with everything else; we’ll need an army of cleaners.” He went around the corner to the bath-house entrance. “The hinges are rusty.”

“They will be oiled and cleaned, or replaced,” said Rakoczy, coming up behind him. “Will the door open?”

“It should,” said Hruther, taking hold of the latch-handle, shoving it down, and pulling outward. With a groan the door swung wide reluctantly, exuding an odor of mold and revealing a heap of damp rags.

“More cleaning, and more repairs,” said Rakoczy. “I suppose it would be as well to wash in one of the kitchen tubs tonight. Tomorrow I will put my native earth under the bath and I will inspect the old bathtub to see how much can be salvaged. Most of the boards will have to be replaced, in any case, by the look of them.”

Hruther stepped inside the bath-house, taking stock of the small undressing room and the ajar door that led into the main bath-room. “Not very big.”

“It will suffice,” said Rakoczy, his expression darkening as he studied the ceiling for signs of leaks. “We will need to have the roof repaired.”

“For all the buildings,” said Hruther. As he left the bath-house behind Rakoczy, he inquired, “What became of the previous owner? do we know?”

A frown flickered between Rakoczy’s fine brows. “I will inquire of the Counselors tomorrow. Knowing what became of its previous owner would be useful.”

“Do you think they’ll tell you?” Not waiting for an answer, Hruther closed the door. “I’ll check the furnace, and if it’s in good form, I’ll do what I can to have it ready in a day or two.”

“The same will be needed for the bake-house,” said Rakoczy.

“And every hearth inside the walls. The attics and cellars will need attention as well; you were told the mansion was ready for occupancy.” Hruther started toward the door to the furnace, noting with misgiving that the iron door was scabbed with rust. “This door will need to be replaced; it’s rotted at the hinges.”

“It is not the only one,” said Rakoczy, turning as he heard a thud from the stable. “I think I should see what the men are doing with the horses and mules.”

“The stalls may be falling apart,” said Hruther, his face showing no emotion. “Or they are trying to move fallen stall slats out of the way. Or there could be vagabonds hiding there, and your escort is trying to evict them.”

“I should go,” said Rakoczy, signaling his appreciation to Hruther as he made his way across the uneven flagging of the courtyard, being careful to watch where he stepped, for the paving stones were broken and uneven, providing poor footing. He tripped only once, on the handle of a fallen rake. Reaching the stable door, he tugged it open and stepped into the dark interior.

Illes of Kotan, the groom, was the first to look toward Rakoczy, and to duck his head in respect. “Comes,” he said loudly enough to alert the three men-at-arms; they turned and offered a simple salute.

The men-at-arms took a few steps toward Rakoczy but made no effort to help contain the furious mule that demanded Illes’ attention.

Rakoczy had taken in the general confusion, and realized that the noise had come from one of the mules, the on-side wheeler attempting to kick the wagon he pulled; he was half-rearing in his harness, ears laid back, and eyes rolling, while the other three mules did their best to lean away from their unruly comrade. Rakoczy went up to the aggravated animal, speaking softly as he reached for the reins to steady him. “There, there. No bad conduct now, when you’ve done so well for so many leagues.” The mule gave an angry squeal; Rakoczy laid his hand on his noseband. He spoke to Illes. “Unbuckle him from the wagon—slowly. Do it as calmly as you can. Then lead him around for a short while until he’s used to this place.”

“Yes, Comes,” said the groom, hastening to his work as he had been ordered.

“Brush off his legs as soon as the mud dries,” Rakoczy went on, still patting the mule’s neck. “No need to fuss,” he added to the mule.

Illes worked as quickly as he could, trying to stay away from the mule’s feet, for he was stamping in annoyance. “Comes, he’s almost free.”

“Thank you, Illes,” said Rakoczy, preparing to lead the mule away from the wagon. “As soon as I get him at the end of the aisle, come and take charge of him.”

“And the rest of the hitch?” Illes asked, aware that the other three mules were very nervous. “They’re restive.”

“I will attend to them, with some help from your comrades,” he said with a significant glance at the three men-at-arms. They might consider caring for mules beneath them, but refusing their assistance when the Comes himself was willing to handle them was demeaning.

“I’ll deal with the lead pair,” said Zabolcs of Hrasty, the senior of the three, a man of medium height with powerful arms and shoulders and a swagger in his walk.

“I’ll take the other wheeler,” said Domonkos of Pest, falling in beside Zabolcs as they approached the mules. Endre son-of-Odon hung back, then went to help out.

Rakoczy held the mule’s head low so that he would not be inclined to rear again and led him at a slow trot toward the far end of the stable. He saw that none of the box-stalls were bedded; he added straw to the many things he would have to purchase the next day. “Where is my horse, and my manservant’s horse?”

“In the paddock behind the stable. The fence is sound enough, and I didn’t want to stall them just yet. I’ll bed stalls for them while they’re turned out in the paddock, assuming I can find enough straw to do it.” Illes reached up and took the lead from Rakoczy. “Where do we put the wagon? We can’t leave it here in the aisle.” He made a gesture of confusion.

“There should be a place for it near the tackroom,” said Rakoczy with more hope than certainty. “If there is no place for it, put it in the mare’s stall at the end of the row. Give them all oat-mash for their suppers, and vinegar,” he added, tossing him a scoop that had been hanging on a nail. “Put oil in the mash, and on their hooves.”

“Yes, Comes.” This time all the men answered in a ragged sort of unison as they took reluctant steps forward.

“And when the horses and mules are groomed and fed, come to the main house and I will have silver for you all, so you may go down into Praha and enjoy yourselves.” He was not surprised to see the men’s eyes brighten at the prospect. “I will provide you money to put up at one of the inns until there are rooms ready for you. I see no point in asking you to sleep on the floor.”

“Why not?” Domonkos asked. “The Konig demands it often enough.”

“Ah, but I am not Konig Bela,” Rakoczy said.

Zabolcs laughed. “Would you want to be?”

“No,” Rakoczy said quietly. “Little as he may believe it.” He regarded the four men. “Are you able to manage for yourselves?”

Endre son-of-Odon, lead-rope in hand, swore as the off-side lead mule lashed out at him with her teeth, barely missing his shoulder; Rakoczy moved swiftly to bring the frightened jenny under control. Endre stepped back into the nearest stall, regarding the mule warily. “Be careful, Comes.”

“Do not fret, Endre,” Rakoczy said, his Carpathian accent stronger than usual. “He’s settling down. You can handle him safely now.”

Reluctantly Endre came out of the stall and attached the lead-rope to the bit-ring. “There. I’ll have her out of harness in three finger-snaps.”

“Steadiness is better than speed,” said Rakoczy, and looked toward the door as Hruther came through it, appearing uncharacteristically flustered. “What is it?”

“Counselor Smiricti has just arrived, with two deputies,” Hruther said. “I’ve asked them to wait in the main hall.” He was not panting, but he took a deep breath, as if to clear his head. “I have told him we haven’t had a chance to make the house ready to receive guests yet, that most of your goods have yet to arrive, but—”

Rakoczy stared at Hruther for a moment, and said, “Then I must go and welcome him as best I can.” There was an ironic note in his words; he turned to Illes and the three escorts. “I will leave you to your tasks. When you have finished them, come to the manse and I will give you your money.”

“Thank you, Comes,” said Zabolcs for all of them.

Hruther held the door for Rakoczy as he left the stable. “The deputies are armed,” he said in the tongue of Visigothic Spain.

“That is hardly surprising; I believe any man of means goes about the city with some form of protection.” Rakoczy lengthened his stride, taking care not to trip on the flagstones; he avoided the bake-house with the small laundry attached to its back, and made straight for the low-walled and much-neglected kitchen garden. “That is not a matter for concern; the deputies are guards for the Counselors.”

“Possibly,” said Hruther, keeping pace with Rakoczy.

“They’re in the main hall, you said?”

“Yes. I apologized that we wouldn’t be able to offer them bread and salt, or wine. Or a chair to sit in.” Hruther reached the kitchen garden and its dilapidated gate. “At least the Counselor can see the state of this mansion he has allowed you to purchase.”

Five steps brought them to the kitchen door; they passed inside and closed the door, then went past the two pantries, through the kitchen, and down the corridor to the main hall.

“Comes Santu-Germaniu,” said the tall, angular, middle-aged man in the elaborately fur-trimmed huch of dark-blue Milanese velvet worn over a long chainse of rose-colored silk; his braccae were dark-brown, as were his low boots. His hair, a steely gray, was cut fashionably short, curling next to his jaw and blending into his trimmed beard in the style of merchants; his soft hat of amber velvet brought out his light-brown eyes and minimized his large ears and hatchet-nose. He offered a mannerly bow, although the deputies with him did not; they remained standing, their hands on their swords and an air of belligerence about them.

Rakoczy returned it. “Counselor Smiricti.”

“I was told you had arrived, and I wanted to bid you welcome to Praha.” He signaled to the two men standing behind him, indicating that he wanted to be private with Rakoczy. “I will be here some while. The Comes and I have much to discuss. If you will keep watch at the door?”

The two deputies turned and left the room, their spurs ringing on the stone floor.

“I regret that the stable has not yet been prepared for horses. My escort and groom can provide grain and buckets of water for your horses from our traveling supplies, but there is no bedding in the stalls, and no hay in the loft. I trust your men will not be too displeased with that,” Rakoczy said with as much geniality as he could summon.