The Fairytale Keeper: Avenging the Queen (17 page)

“You should go back so no one can accuse you of helping us. Get some sleep. I’ll yell if we need you.”

He nods and begins to walk back to the tavern.

“But before you go can you scratch my nose?” I ask.

His shoulders droop and he sighs. He turns around and saunters back.

“Higher…. lower… left…. more left. It’s between my cheek and my nose…” He gets the spot and it feels absolutely heavenly.

“Anything else before I go?” he asks, pretending to be annoyed.

“No. Thank you though,” I say, trying to smile.

I am more vigilant now. Every snap of a twig, howl of the wind, and hoot of an owl makes my heart pound with fear. I am beyond fatigued and surely half the noises I hear aren’t real. I debate crying for Ivo a dozen times, but I don’t. I know he must be tired, but I doubt he’s as tired as me for I haven’t slept in two nights.

Each time I get into a comfortable position, my eyelids fail me. As soon as I fall asleep my legs collapse, forcing me to fall back. My head smacks painfully against the back of the stocks, wrenching my neck. I stumble back to my feet as the muscles in my neck twist into knots. I bite my lip to stifle whimpers of pain.

Eventually the tension dulls and I am left with a burning throb from head to hip. My feet shuffle as cramps shoot through my legs and back. I drift briefly into sleep over and over and I fall back again and again.
One more night
, I chant through chattering teeth,
one more night
.

The sky lightens and the artisans come to set up their stands. A dense fog seeps through the market and I can’t tell whether the day shall be sunny or cloudy. I lean into the stock and stretch my neck in small circles. The block chafes my neck terribly, but my head is too heavy for it to carry any longer so I reluctantly rest on the rough wood. The fog clears and the sun peaks through thick clouds, warming my back. Perhaps if I just close one eye I won’t fall asleep, but soon the other eye is heavy and I fight to keep it open. I can close my eyes for a moment, I think, just for a moment.

***

Thwap! The stock shakes and I awaken in just enough time to turn my face from the projectile. A rotten apple smashes against my cheek, spraying the putrid flesh across my nose and lips. I spit the slimly pieces from my mouth, but a few pieces stick to my tongue. I gag.

“I got her!” a filthy red-headed boy cries. His friends cheer and pat him on the back. A shorter urchin steps forward, aims, and throws his apple at me. This time I bow my head so the rotten fruit can land in my hair rather than near my nose or mouth, but his apple doesn’t even hit the stock. His friends laugh at him and the boy sulks.

I narrow my eyes. “Hey!” But before I can threaten them, they run off and disappear into the horde, squealing with laughter.

Once they are gone, I realize that I had been sleeping before they’d started throwing spoiled fruit at me. I sigh pleasantly, grateful to have finally learned how to sleep in this thing. If I lean into the stock, my legs don’t give when I fall asleep. To pass the time, the stiffness in my body, my thirst, and hunger pains, I fall asleep again and hope vainly I don’t rise until tomorrow when we shall be freed.

***

“Adelaide!” someone calls and I groan. “Adelaide!” It is Father’s voice. I open my eyes, but my vision is cloudy. The market is quieter than normal. My vision clears as I pull back on the stocks to give my legs and back a stretch.

I can hardly believe what I see. The Archbishop and his guard parade into the market again to the awe of the small crowd who again receive pfennigs for their reverence. Did I sleep through the day and the night, I wonder optimistically. Is it time to be set free?

Then I realize it can’t be morning. The sun is too far in the west and the crowd in the market is too small. It must be late in the afternoon which means it is not Wednesday morning and I have another night in these bloody stocks. I dully wonder why the Archbishop is here. I hope he’s here to set us free early, but I doubt he would ever be merciful. Perhaps he’s here to make further examples out of us.

If that was it, surely Soren would be in the front row to watch, but I don’t see him. I search through the crowd for his smug face and then I see
her
. I am dreaming, I think, but my body hurts and I am terribly hungry so I must be awake. I’d rub my eyes or pinch myself to check, but my hands are bound by the stocks.

Galadriel steps forward in a fine velvet gown. What is she doing here? She left days ago. How could she even be here? How would she even know to be here?

Her face is as regal as a stone sculpture. She looks at the Archbishop like she’s waiting for him to speak. Today she plays the role of a countess just as she did when we went to St. Pantaleon’s to guarantee Peter safety and freedom from his captors. The Archbishop raises his hands in the air and the people of the market hush immediately.

“People of Cologne,” he says loudly. “There has been a great injustice done to two of our own!”

The crowd gasps with disbelief and I can see their eagerness to hear the news. I shake my head for I’m sure the Archbishop has known of this injustice for two days now, but his threats against Father are still fresh in my mind so I won’t dare tempt him.

“Ansel Schumacher and his poor daughter Adelaide are victims of a terrible plot,” he says woefully, feigning pity for us.

The crowd edges closer to him, to us. The children stand on tiptoe as they wait to hear.

“Two of our own forced Ansel and Adelaide to miss Sunday Mass. The plot was confessed to me just this morning! God forgive me for not knowing and for punishing the innocent! But how, oh Lord, was I supposed to know of such wickedness among my own guards!” He places his head in his hands dramatically as the crowd looks upon him with pity and bewilderment.

I am sure the people wonder who among the Archbishop’s servants has betrayed him. I know and he does too. I am sure he has known since Father and I were brought to the North Tower but he didn’t care. I hope he intends to punish the real criminals now and not another pair of innocents like Father and me.

“Father Soren of St. Laurentius Church, Haimo Fitzoda, and Aldo Becker plotted to keep Ansel and his daughter Adelaide from Mass to settle personal scores! They were held prisoner in their own home!” The crowd boos and hisses as Haimo and Soren are pushed through the crowd by the guards with bound hands and gagged mouths. Haimo still limps from the beating he received last night. Soren is bruised and bloodied too. “These men led me to believe that you good people of Cologne planned a most heinous and wicked revolt against your Holy Mother Church led by this humble shoemaker!

“Is Soren right, people of Cologne? Do you intend to turn against God, against the Church?” he cries out.

The crowd cries its “no’s” emphatically, and some of the women even weep. Aldo is pushed through the crowd and stands, his head bowed in shame, next to the Archbishop. His wife follows holding their little girl Leah, who is the same age as Levi. Worry weighs heavily on her face, making her look older than she is.

“Here stands the man who confessed to this horrible plot,” the Archbishop says, a stern finger pointed at Aldo. “He won’t be punished as harshly as the others, but he shall be punished for his part in the crime. Aldo, you are hereby released from service to the provincial guard and banished from Cologne. Release the innocent and string up the guilty.”

The crowd roars for justice. Nooses are tossed across poles that have been used for hasty hangings before. Just as Soren and Haimo are about to be sent to their deaths, the Archbishop whispers something to Soren whose eyes narrow in anger. He screams through his gag. A horrified shriek pierces the roars of the crowd and Oda, Haimo’s mother, runs to the Archbishop, kneeling at his feet and begging him to have mercy on her son. She claws at his robes but he pushes her away with his feet. When he refuses her she doesn’t run to her son, but to Soren, beating him with her fists until the guards drag her away.

The last time I see Soren and Haimo is with a rope around each of their necks. I have wanted this since the day of Mother’s funeral, but it doesn’t make me as happy as I imagined it would. There is a reason the Archbishop has changed his mind about our sentence and Soren’s guilt but I doubt it has anything to do with justice.

Two guards come to my stock with keys in hand. The lock releases with a click. It is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. The men then open the stock and I try to stand as soon as the log is lifted over my head. It is a stupid thing to do. A horrible pain stabs me in the back and I fall backwards. I feel the breeze of someone running toward me and someone catches me by the pits of my arms before I hit the ground. Ivo. My joints are locked and I imagine I look like a hunchback. He lays me gently on my side, but I wince as my arm touches the ground, thinking my shoulder shall snap before it can hold weight. He turns me onto my back and cradles my head. My neck slowly releases. The column of my back cracks pleasantly and the warmth of blood flows into my joints allowing them a little movement.

I turn my head and watch as the guards toss the wood of the stock over Father’s head. He does exactly as I. He tries to stand and then falls back, but no one is there to catch him so he hits the ground hard. The velvet of Galadriel’s dress rustles as she rushes to his aid. I look away and shake my head sadly for she plays the role of his wife again and I can’t stand it. If only I wasn’t too stiff to stand, I could have been the one to him help him.

I lie still as the market fills in response to the deafening cheers and jeers of the crowd, always hungry for blood in this large, unforgiving city I call home. Above the riotous shouts and cries I hear Oda’s shrieks. I cover my ears but cannot drown them out.

It seems forever before the cries of the crowd die down, and I realize Soren and his son are dead. The mob grows bored and they dissolve into the alleys around the market back to their homes or the taverns just as quickly as they had come.

I can see the corpses swinging from the ropes. Oda holds Haimo’s feet and desperately tries to lift him, wailing in grief. His eyes are closed and his face has the same lifeless grey tint that my mother’s had at her funeral. Soren’s buggy eyes and mouth gape open, his purple tongue visible. It is so ghastly a sight I look away for a moment and then I remember how long I’ve waited for this. I think of how he defiled my mother and burned every reminder I’d had of her. This is just how I want to remember Soren so I look and hope that this is exactly how I remember him.

Ivo places my arm over his shoulder and lifts me. My shoulder pulls painfully at first, but then my arm and back warm from the stretch as I straighten my right leg to stand. He wraps an arm around my waist and I step on my left leg which gives way beneath my weight. He catches me quickly and I shift back to the stronger leg.

Oda weeps at Haimo’s feet now. She has abandoned her desperate hopes of saving her son and I feel sorry for her She suffers greatly yet she’s committed no crime besides being Soren’s mistress for a time, but no love is lost between them now so the affair must have been long ago. Still, she didn’t deserve to watch her only child hang. I can’t imagine having to watch such a thing. I think if I was her, I’d rather myself hang instead.

No one mourns for Soren. How horrible it must have been for him to die alone without comfort, without knowing he’d be missed. I smirk with satisfaction at the thought, finally getting a taste of justice. But I am unable to enjoy it fully. His punishment was just, but he wasn’t hanged for the right reasons. He wasn’t hanged for defiling my mother’s corpse, for taking bribes, for abandoning his congregation when they needed sacrament. The Archbishop had Soren executed for another reason, yet I do not know what it is. His hanging had nothing to do with framing Father and me. I want to know the real reason, but fear the more I know the more vengeance I shall seek.

I look at Father as Galadriel helps him follow us. His limp is bad. Cuts and bruises cover his face. Vengeance has cost me more than I bargained for. Our possessions have been burned. Father and I’ve spent two days in the stocks. The Archbishop could have had us tortured and killed. And now Father cleaves to Galadriel. Even Soren paid for revenge, it cost him his life and that of his son’s. Vengeance comes at a price to us all, but we never seem to know the charge until the deal is done.

Galadriel’s arrival and our early release are no coincidence. She must have had something to do with this. If so, God charges for answering my prayers and the cost is too steep for my tastes. Vengeance against Soren has brought Father closer to Galadriel and, in her eyes, balanced the scales between us.

Galadriel and Father stop to talk to Gregor and Ivan as we go on without them. Ivan’s eyes are red and puffy. He buries his head in his hands and Father pats him on the back. Gregor stands close by, patting his friend on the back, as well and looking upon him with great pity. I remember now that Ivan’s sister had taken sick a week ago.

I look to Ivo to ask about Ilsa, but I already know the answer. He just shakes his head.

“What of Otto and his wife?” I ask and he shakes his head again.

“Did they take them on the cart?” I ask, wondering, but not wanting to ask if they were taken to the pit.

“No, they were buried in the night outside the city walls.”

I look back at Father who’s talking seriously as Galadriel stands beside him, waiting to catch him if he falls. I would stay back to give my condolences and keep an eye on Galadriel, but I don’t think I’d know what to say. I don’t know Ivan well and my presence might make him uncomfortable. Besides, I am too thirsty, hungry, and tired. The promise of water and bread from the Gilded Gopher is too tempting to pass up. My stomach feels tied in a tight knot from being empty for so many days. Sal had better let us in. She’d let me in before and surely I look more pitiful today than I ever have.

It seems like a long way to the tavern as my limp slows us down, but I have a new appreciation for walking and feel great pity for those who cannot. It helps to walk even though I ache all over. Blood warms parts of my body that have been cold and stiff for far too long. Feeling rushes into my left leg and it tingles unbearably. I shall be glad when I can put my weight on it again for my shoulder aches from hanging onto Ivo.

I look up and see the sky. Brilliant oranges line the clouds as the sun sets and I have to avert my eyes for the brightness is blinding. The firmament darkens from pink to lavender to shadowy blue and a few stars glow softly even though it is still light. The trees, rooftops, and church spires darken before the luster of the setting sun. I haven’t seen the sky in days. I don’t know that I’d ever appreciated it as I do today.

Smoke billows out of the many chimneys of the hundreds of row houses surrounding us in all directions and I find the aroma of smoldering wood on the crisp evening air strangely comforting. I breathe it in. I let it fill my lungs.

I let my fingers slide against the cool bricks of our great city wall, which have smoothed with age. The coolness seeps into my fingers.

Cologne looks, smells, and feels as it always has, but it is not the same. I cannot help but despair at what our city has become as I look upon the city wall and the people who amble down the street in the setting sun. Any one of them could catch the fever tomorrow, be dead by Friday, and be dumped in the pits by Saturday. They could be sent to the tower without knowing why and hanged without a hearing. Two men died today without a hearing. A few days ago, Father and I were threatened with torture and placed in the stocks for no reason. It could happen to any of us, all of us. There is no promise of tomorrow, and though there never really has been, the odds of a happy tomorrow used to be better in Cologne. How things have changed. It is scary the amount of power one man can hold and the toll one illness can take.

Ivo knocks on the door to the Gilded Gopher and a woman opens it cautiously. She has skeptical eyes, but takes one look at me and lets us in. Ivo helps me down the stairs though I can walk on my own if I place a hand on the wall.

“Can you sit?” he asks.

I nod and he helps me into a chair. I put my head down on the table and stretch, groaning with pleasure as Ivo walks behind the bar. I sit up in anticipation of what he will bring. My stomach roars. He turns the corner of the bar with two mugs in his hands and two loaves of bread beneath his arm. I reach for the mug and drink ferociously, water trickles down the sides of my mouth. My tongue is as dry as saw dust and soaks up every drop that isn’t swallowed. I pant for breath once I empty the mug, moan in delight, and reach for the bread. The sweet scent of the loaf fills my nostrils and I can taste it before even placing the crust to my lips. My stomach howls, commanding me to eat. I thought I’d known what hunger was, but I’d never gone without food for two whole days. I devour the loaf in four bites.

“Thank you so much,” I groan and he smiles. I put my head back down on the table and he places his hand on my back, rubbing up and down along my spine. “I love you,” I groan with a laugh and he stops rubbing. I feel the weight of what I’d just said. I turn my head to look at his face, resting my cheek on my forearm.

“You love me?” he asks.

I look up and think for a moment. “Yeah, I do.” He looks down and smiles, but he doesn’t say he loves me too. He doesn’t say anything. An embarrassed blush rushes to my cheeks and I want to pull the hood of the two cloaks I am wearing up over my face to hide. I swallow hard and wish I could take it back. “Do you love me?”

“Yes,” he says with a laugh. “I can’t believe you even have to ask.” He brushes a tangle of hair behind my ear. I smile.    

There is a knock on the door upstairs followed by the sound of limping down the stairs. The door to the tavern swings open, smacking the wall hard enough to make the room shake and Father limps in with Galadriel in tow. He heads toward the barrels behind the bar, fills four mugs with ale, and limps to our table. Large waves of ale spill over the sides of the mugs and Ivo rushes to help him. Father and Galadriel sit across from us and I look into my half-full mug.

“We live another day!” Father jokes, patting my cheek before chugging his ale.

“Was it your doing?” I say to Galadriel. “Did you get us set free early?”

“No, I was on my way to beg for your release, but he was already on his way to set you free.”

“I’m confused,” Ivo says.

I had forgotten that Ivo only knows what the Archbishop revealed at the market. I had to keep the truth from him before. The Archbishop had said he’d stick a hot poker in Father’s rectum if I told anyone the truth, but we are free now. Besides, the tavern is empty and no one but us shall know the truth.

I relay how Haimo and Aldo held us captive, and that we escaped only to be recaptured. I reveal how the Archbishop threatened and interrogated me. Worst of all, I confess my betrayal of Elias. I expect to be called a Brutus, a Judas, but Father and Ivo look on me with pity instead of anger and shame.

“So most of what the Archbishop said was true,” Ivo confirms. “It was Soren’s plot all along.”

“But the Archbishop’s known that it was Soren’s plot for two days now,” Father adds. “I told him of it when we were in the North Tower.”

“I thought he knew,” I hiss. “Perhaps he didn’t believe you. He kept asking me if you planned a revolt. I told him ‘no’, but he didn’t believe me until I swore on Mother’s soul. Then, he told me that if I said we missed Mass on purpose and stayed silent about the rest, you wouldn’t be tortured.”

“He came back and said the same to me,” Father says.

“Perhaps he thought you were lying about Soren, but you’d think he’d at least have asked me about it. He never mentioned Soren, and when I tried to tell him about it, he told me he didn’t care and that if I said anything else about it he’d have us burned as heretics,” I recount. Ivo’s hands clench and his jaw tightens.

“Then he told me that we were being punished because I lied and said I didn’t know who incited the rebellion when I knew it was Elias all along,” I go on. “But the guard who took me to the stock said I was being punished for missing Mass.”

“So the Archbishop was protecting the hog-shivver,” Ivo says through his teeth. “Why would he do that just to hang him in the end anyway? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Galadriel gasps and places her hands to her lips. “I know why Soren was hanged! I overheard the Archbishop say something to Soren just before the hanging.” I suddenly remember the moment just before Soren’s hanging when I saw the Archbishop whisper something in Soren’s ear and Soren eyes widened with rage. “He told Soren he’d never be able to blackmail him again.”

No one speaks for a moment. “So Soren was blackmailing the Archbishop?” I say.

Galadriel nods.

“Do you know what Soren had on him?” I ask.

“No,” she replies. “He didn’t say.”

“Well, we’ll never know now,” I huff.

It is silent again as I think about what I know now. It fits together somehow. I know it. But how?

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Ivo says.

We drink our ale and I almost choke on a gulp as it comes to me.

“It makes perfect sense!” I exclaim. “The archbishop did believe us when we told him what Soren had done! I bet he had Aldo interrogated just after you told him what really happened and Aldo confessed. That’s why we were in the North Tower so late.

“The Archbishop probably would have arrested Soren for leading him on some wild goose chase, but then he realized he could kill his blackmailer instead. We were nothing but pawns to him. He even used me to get to Elias.” I shake my head for I’m angry at my own stupidity. Ivo, Father, and Galadriel look at me with confused eyes.

“Don’t you see? He had us put in the stocks so the people of the market would feel sorry for us when he was ready to set us free. Then, he knew the crowd would turn on Soren and Haimo for framing us. Then no one would care that Soren and Haimo didn’t get a hearing. The people would want to see them strung up on the spot and they were. If there was a hearing, Soren could have exposed the Archbishop’s secret and the Archbishop didn’t want that to happen.

“He planned to let us go today. He needed the market to be full so his plan would work,” Father adds.

“Right, if he’d let us go at sunrise tomorrow, the market would have been empty. He let us go today so he could have the large, bloodthirsty audience of the market, a crowd to support the hanging of Soren and Haimo without a hearing.”

“God’s teeth!” Father shouts. “Good girl,” he says proudly and looks upon me with surprise. Then his brow furrows. “Does anyone else know that you overheard what the Archbishop said, Galadriel?” Father asks.

“No,” she says. “Why?”

“If he thinks we know about the blackmail, we could still be in danger.”

“Don’t you think people might get suspicious of him if we were to disappear?” I ask.

“Maybe. But it’s best if he doesn’t have reason to kill us.” He sighs.

“But you both told the Archbishop what Soren did the night you were arrested. What if the Archbishop thinks you’ll tell others that he knew of Soren’s guilt two nights before he let you go?” Ivo reasons. “No, I was on my way to beg for your release, but he was already on his way to set you free.”

“But the Archbishop could just say he didn’t believe us. Who would take the word of a pair of cobblers over that of a priest? Besides, we were caught running away from the guards in the middle of the street,” I say. “And, like I said before, people shall grow suspicious of him if we disappear. I’m sure we’re safe now.”

I may say we’re safe, but I don’t know that I believe it. I fear that if Father worries for my safety, he’ll send me away, especially now that Galadriel has returned.

“Aldo’s a dead man,” Father says. “He knows too much and the Archbishop won’t risk him talking, even if he is banished. The Archbishop needed a witness against Soren and Haimo today. That is the only reason he needed Aldo alive. He has served his purpose. He’ll be dead before the week is through.”

“Piss on Aldo,” Ivo says heatedly. “He didn’t care when you and Addie were taken to the stocks. You know what could have happened to her.” I know he’s talking about what happened to Anna, what Haimo threatened to do to me.

“I’ll drink to that!” Father cries. “Piss on Aldo! Piss on all of them.”

“What made you come back? How did you know?” I ask Galadriel, though as soon as I say the words I wish I could take them back. I have just given her the opportunity to paint herself in a saintly hue.