They had more than enough time to finish several sausages as they waited for Fitch to return. Indeed, Elise was beginning to wonder if the man had lost his way, but finally she caught sight of him trudging slowly toward them. From his doleful expression, she could swear he bore the weight of the world upon his shoulders.
“ ‘Ere be a change in plans,” he announced glumly when he halted beside them. “We’ll be puttin’ up at a different place north o’ here. We’ll be needin’ mounts ta take us . . . an’ supplies ta see us through ‘til ‘is lor’ship comes.”
Spence frowned in sudden bemusement. “But ‘is lor’ship said he rented a manor ‘ouse right ‘ere in ‘Amburg an’ put out coin for it.”
A long, wavering sigh slipped from Fitch, seeming to deflate his spirits even more. “ ‘Ans Rubert said the ‘ouse’s been taken. ‘Tis no longer ‘vailable.”
Spence peered at his companion closely, but the man would not raise his gaze. With a snort of irritation the taller man held out his hand for the purse. “I’ll go an’ fetch the ‘orses an’ supplies meself whilst ye wait ‘ere wit’ the girl.”
Fitch mutely nodded and, with another laborious expelling of breath, lowered himself onto a stack of firewood. He dropped his chin into his cupped hand and was in such a state of despair, he was oblivious to the peddler who persistently urged him to try her sausages. It was only when the aroma wafted beneath his nose that he came to an abrupt awareness and eagerly dug in his jerkin for a coin.
It was some time before Spence returned. What he acquired from the waterfront livery made Elise doubt his capable judgment of horseflesh. The saddles and tack were worn relics of an era long past, which might have also been a way to describe the four small horses. The beasts were short-legged and shaggy with long winter coats, and they plodded slowly along with no apparent ambition to move any faster. The food and provisions procured from shops along the quay and gathered into bundles upon their backs would not have been a wearisome burden for an ordinary steed, but the two geldings on whom they had been laid wheezed and labored under the strain, as if the weight was far beyond their ability to carry.
Having grave doubts as to the strength of her own nag, Elise settled herself gingerly on its back, then caught her breath as the rising winds sent shivery blasts coursing beneath her woolen cloak. Catching the flaring garment and tucking it securely around her, she huddled within its warmth upon the sidesaddle and prodded her mount with a thumping heel until the animal reluctantly followed Spence who led the procession on his steed. Bringing up the rear, Fitch held the lead rope of the packhorses as he kept a wary eye upon their charge.
The short caravan traversed the winding streets of Hamburg, crossing stone bridges that spanned canals and narrow waterways until they gained the outer limits of the city, then they traveled north along a wide road that led them through a thick forest. Though it was early afternoon, low leaden clouds continued to dull the western light and deepen the gloom beneath the trees. Spitting snow stung their faces, leaving traces of white upon the mulched leaves upon which they trod. Eventually they came upon a path that was wide enough for a cart, but only a little better than a worn rut. Without word or nod Fitch turned his horse onto the trail. Climbing gradually from the lowlands, they picked their way through the thinning forest and around large tumbled rocks which became increasingly more plentiful.
The wind whistled over a low ridge that buttressed the hill and wailed a mournful lament as it passed behind them through the trees. The sorrowful sound seemed to echo the dismal mood of the three. The men were only slightly more knowledgeable of the terrain than their hostage, and from the questions exchanged between them, it was apparent the three of them shared a common curiosity as to where the path would end. As for Elise, she was anxious to know where she would be imprisoned, in what house, hall, dungeon, or fortress she would eventually find herself.
They topped the ridge, and to Elise’s amazement she found that their path led to an ancient castle nestled on a low bluff a short distance away. Gray and bleak as the wintry sky overhead, the outer walls rose from a jumbled pile of jagged rocks near an elbow of an ice-crusted stream and were themselves breached in several places. Dry tufts of withered grass randomly pierced the clumps of snow that covered the rampart. A low bridge constructed of stout timbers provided access across a moat to the dark, gaping maw of the gatehouse where a rusty portcullis hung askew over the upper part of the entrance, held there by one chain that still secured a corner. A wooden gate lay in a broken heap across the passage and was covered with a fresh dusting of snow.
Picking their way around the fallen gate, the three passed through the gatehouse and entered the courtyard. Elise found little to assuage her anxieties. The storehouse and barracks had all but collapsed against the west wall. On the east stood a dilapidated stable, to which Spence led the packhorses. The main keep was still intact at the juncture of the east and north walls, but most of the shutters and some of the windows on the second and third level, along with the steep slate roof, were in sore need of repair. A few windows stood open, as if to welcome the birds that fluttered about them.
Fitch stared agog at his snow-bedecked surroundings. Finally he dismounted and approached the maid, seeming reluctant to meet her gaze. Without word or excuse he helped her down and followed at a distance as she climbed the front steps to the arched doorway of the stone keep. The large, heavy portal gaped open, offering little protection from the blustery winds that whipped about them. Peering into the gloom of the inner chambers, Elise moved cautiously inward. She had no knowledge of what creature, human or otherwise, might be lurking within the shadows of the great room, and she was alert to any sudden movements as she descended the pair of steps that led from the entrance. No ferocious beast sprang upon her from the darkened corners of the hall; there was only the assailing attack of her senses by the filth of the place. Decades had apparently passed since the castle received the care and attention of a human hand.
Huge, grayish shreds of long-abandoned cobwebs hung from the darkly timbered, rough-hewn trusses that braced the ceiling. The webs spanned doorways, corners, and other nooks and crannies, while tiny droppings gave evidence of the comings and goings of small rodents. As Elise moved about the room, her skirts raised dust from the long, tapering ridges of dirt that stretched across the stone floor, marking where strong drafts had long invaded the hall. A large table lay on its side in front of the huge hearth, and several benches were piled in a jumbled heap beside it, some broken in pieces as if used to feed a fire of a more recent time. The soot-coated interior of the open hearth bespoke of a lengthy age of roaring blazes and smoldering coals. A brick oven had been built close against the side of the inner wall, indicating that the area had been utilized as a kitchen. A large iron kettle still hung on its bracket above the ashes, and from a beam overhead assorted pots and utensils hung, covered by a thick mantle of dust.
Stone stairs ascended in a flight to the second floor and were buttressed by stout wooden balustrades on either side. A landing existed on the upper level and led to another flight of stairs.
“A poor camp,” Elise sighed wearily, “but at least ‘twill give us some shelter against the wind.” She faced Fitch, who had paused behind her. “How much farther is it to your master’s house?”
“Yer pardon, mistress,” Fitch mumbled shamefacedly. “I fear this be the place.”
“The place?” Her brows came together in confusion. “What do you mean? Where are we?”
Fitch glanced about in wry repugnance and was well aware that this was no fit shelter for even one night, much less a place where a fine lady should have to live. “Faulder Castle, mistress. This be where the agent said ‘twas ta be found.”
Elise’s bewilderment did not diminish. She found it difficult to understand the significance of his words. This tumbledown keep could not possibly be where they were going to live. “Are you saying”—her tone was flat and frigid—“we’ll have to stay here in this . . . pigs
ty?”
The servant hung his head and scrubbed a toe across a mound of dirt. “Aye, mistress. At least ‘til ‘is lor’ship arrives.”
“You jest!” Her voice was weak, and she could put no force behind her words.
“Yer pardon, mistress.” Fitch dragged off his hat and twisted it worriedly in his hands. He cleared his throat, as if his words were wont to stick there. “I fear ‘tis no jest. This be Faulder Castle for sure.”
“You really cannot expect me to stay here!” Elise cried incredulously. She was suddenly bone-tired, weary, and racked with despair at the thought of having to search out even meager comfort in such a den. “ ‘Tis not fit for swine!” An outraged anger began to burn within her and gave her words a stinging disdain. “Though your lord and master is wealthy and powerful enough to command the loyalty of the likes of you yea, even the captain of a Hansa ship . . . not to mention how many others . . . will you now tell me he cannot provide better than this for us? Must we make our home among the vermin?” She flung a hand toward the tiny-footed tracks tracing across the mounds of dirt and then looked about her in sneering contempt. “His humor must be supreme to send us to this pile of wreckage. I vow this hovel has to be the leavings of Charlemagne or some such lord who roamed these lands in eldritch times.”
Fitch wrung his hat in his hands as he sought to excuse his master from blame. “ ‘Twas none o’ ‘is lor’ship’s doing, mum. ’E paid rents for a manor ‘ouse in ‘Amburg. ‘Twas the agent, ‘Ans Rubert, what made the mistake. ’E heard we’d been shipwrecked an’ gave the ‘ouse, the very same ‘at ‘is lor’ship paid for, ta ‘is poor bewidowed sister.”
Elise gnashed her teeth in roweling vexation. “And I suppose the good Hans Rubert gave you this keep for a mere tuppence.”
Fitch hung his head and mumbled in agreement, as if reluctant to talk about the matter. “Aye, at least a tuppence.”
Elise set her hands on her hips and flared, “Then, my good man, you have paid a tuppence too much!” She swept her arm about in a gesture that encompassed the interior. “Look around you and tell me, if you can, how anyone can exist in this filth.”
Fitch crumpled the poor hat between his pudgy hands as he tendered a question for an answer. “May’ap if it were given a good cleanin’?”
Elise gaped at him in stunned disbelief and finally arched a delicate brow as she asked, “What say you, Fitch? Are you offering your services? Will you bend to your hands and knees and scrub the floors until they gleam? Will you repair the door? Scrub the hearth?” The man backed away in great discomfiture under her barrage of questions, but Elise followed, persisting. “Will you mend the windows and peg up the shutters, sweep the chimney, dust the rafters, and braid new rushes into mats to warm these stone floors?”
Fitch halted abruptly with the wall to his back and waved his arms helplessly as she pressed closer. “ ‘Ere be little choice, mistress. ‘Ti! ‘is lor’ship arrives, we ‘aven’t the coin ta rent a finer house . . .
“Did you not receive the difference in rents from Hans Rubert?” she asked, already perceiving the answer.
Gingerly Fitch shook his head. “Nay, mistress, ‘Ans Rubert said ‘is lor’ship owed him a debt, and he wouldn’t discuss the matter wit’ a servant. I ‘ad ta take more coin out o’ me purse ta pay ‘im for this, an’ ‘twere the best I could afford, what wit’ havin’ ta buy supplies an’ all for us.”
Elise glanced about her in growing dismay. For some strange reason she had held a vision of a wealthy hall wherein she would find a bath, a good meal, a private chamber, and a down-filled tick upon which to rest. She had been unable to sleep during the night, knowing they would soon be docking. The long wait in the cold after the hustle of the landing and the wearisome ride had done nothing to ease her discomfort. “ ‘Twould seem we have little choice indeed,” she murmured dejectedly, then sighed in doleful spirit. “On the morrow we must make an accounting of what coin you have left and what needs be done first. As for tonight, we will have to make do with what little comfort we can find.”
“A mighty task ta be sure, mistress,” Fitch commented dismally.
Elise shivered as a chilly draft swept through the hall. “A fire would help and perhaps something to block up those windows that cannot be closed.”
“Spence is settlin’ the horses. I’ll go an’ fetch some wood an’ bring in the supplies, then I’ll see what’s ta be done ta mend the windows an’ shutters.”
The servant hurried out, and Elise lifted her gaze toward the higher level, wondering if the upper chambers were in any better condition than the hall. Taking up her skirts, she slowly mounted the stone stairs until she reached the second level. There a short hallway jutted off from the landing. The floor consisted of only two rooms, a tiny one as would be suitable for a lady’s maid and a larger chamber. The portal of the latter stood slightly ajar, allowing a shaft of light that filtered in through the windows to pierce the gloom of the hall. The hinges creaked in rusty protest as she pushed the door wider, and in sharp repugnance she brushed aside the cobwebs and entered. Within the bedchamber the floor was covered by a thin layer of dirt rather than variegated ridges. The light was afforded by several tall, narrow windows whose lower panes of octagon-shaped colored glass cast variegated hues into the room. A few stood open, allowing birds and persistent drafts to enter, while beyond them the sagging shutters flapped and rattled in the wind. Crudely chiseled beams supported the ceiling and from these, thick cobwebs swept downward, gracing the canopy of a bed that was closed in by solid panels of deeply carved wood at the head and the side against the wall. Tattered shreds of a feather mattress was all that remained to cover the rough planks of the box. Another canopy of sorts, constructed of copper and wood, sheltered a large, circular copper tub, which stood in the corner between the fireplace and the windows. Its once-elegant hangings were now merely long shreds of rotted cloth which fluttered in the errant breezes. Deeply carved buffets, chests, armchairs, and armoires completed the furnishings that were untouched by anything other than dust and time.
Elise could well surmise that the distance and difficulty of getting to Faulder Castle had, at least for the most part, discouraged the ransacking and pillaging of the place. It was the neglect of years that had been the worst culprit in the destruction.
A pair of low stools, thickly crusted with dirt and grime, squatted before a large fireplace at the end of the chamber near where she stood. On the same wall, nearest the door, a huge tapestry hung from ceiling to floor, covering a section of wooden panels. A grayish layer obscured the needlework, and Elise reached out to examine it to see how well the fabric had withstood the ravages of time. Her hand raised a thick cloud of dust from its surface. Noticing a tasseled cord hanging beside it, she tugged on it, curious as to its purpose. The cord refused to yield to her small inquisitive jerk, and finally in exasperation she gave it a mighty yank. A screech of rusty nails, tearing loose from dry wood suddenly splintered the silence, bringing her head up with a snap. Without pause the tapestry, the rod on which it hung, and the carved wooden valance that covered both began a majestic descent as one mounting after another gave way, spilling a billowing cloud of choking gray dust in advance of their ponderous fall.
Elise gasped and stumbled back, barely noting the doorway that had a moment earlier been hidden by the tapestry as the weight of the cloth brushed heavily against her. In the next instant the air was filled with a growing swarm of small, chittering, black creatures that flitted about her head in swift, staccato swoops and dives. The horror of the attack seized her, and she gave vent to an undulating scream as she twisted this way and that, seemingly forever confronted by their darting flights.
Rapidly thudding footsteps sounded in the hall, and Fitch burst into the chamber, the heavy splitting axe he carried held at the ready. It was apparent he had come to do battle with whatever fierce assailants the lady had encountered, be it bear or wolf . . .
“Bats!” he bellowed as he skidded to a halt In
the middle of the room, which incidentally was within center of the swarm of bats. As a hundred dread stories of the evil creatures welled up within his mind he swung the weapon with mighty sweeps and let out a roar in blood-red tones. “Fly, mistress! Get yerself safe! I’ll ‘old ’em off!”
The broad axe head fairly whistled as it cleaved the air but amazingly very little else. The skirt of Fitch’s jerkin flew out as he spun on a single foot, raking the weapon around again in great swooping strikes.
‘Twas Elise’s good fortune to have fallen to the floor. From there she lifted her gaze and realized that her defender, in order to keep these fierce beasties from his eyes, had the latter tightly clenched. Recognizing her plight, Elise remained crouched as she crept to the doorway. When her breath returned, she noticed Fitch had gallantly cleared the room of the winged creatures and with such astounding success that no sign of the bats remained, neither sundered wing nor splintered body. She called out to that mad dervish with the axe. “Cease your attack, Fitch! You’ve won the day!”
The man halted abruptly with his feet braced wide and the axe still at the ready, then he teetered as his eyes rolled wildly in his head. When he finally steadied himself and was certain no enemy remained, Elise deemed it safe to rise and dust off her skirts.
“Look, Fitch! They’ve fled you as demons would an avenging angel.”
“Aye, mistress,” he panted between gulps for breath. “An’ well ‘ey would. I must’ve slain”—he searched about for evidence of his destruction and was somewhat confused by the lack of same— “at least a . . . ‘undred or so . . . ?”
“Aye, Fitch!” Elise laughed as the man wiped his sweating brow and leaned in puffing exhaustion against the haft of the axe. “But I fear the power of your blows has flung them all out the windows.” She gave a nod toward the panels of leaded glass. “For the sake of caution, you’d best latch the windows against their return. We would not want them to visit us again.”