Buchman, who has ordered his servants to give his guests absolutely everything they want, and who practically genuflects every time he meets them.”
“I don’t believe I know Herr Buchman.”
“He’s a major merchant living in the big new brick house by the market square. Viktor has occasionally rented space in one of his warehouses. The three men are searching for a runaway Swedish servant who is also a thief and a murderer. They have a drawing that two of them show around in taverns. One of the children I sometimes hire saw it and came to tell me it looked like you. It’s only a question of time before someone either tells them where you live, or that you often walk around the harbor.”
“I’ll go grab some belongings. Will you ask Boris to buy me a horse and meet me at St. James Tower? I’ll send Viktor my address if I’ll settle down in a place where I might be useful.”
“I’ll have Viktor lend you his big roan horse. It’s faster than any for sale right now. Anything else?”
“No. And thank you, Tat’yana.”
Lasse quickly made his way among the potholes and rubble surrounding the partially rebuilt St. James, but stopped immediately as a rat ran past him down the hill. Rats ran away from-not toward-people. Nicolaus didn’t like the shells of the abandoned houses that once had housed his neighbors, so he always went straight to and from his home. It might of course be nothing more than a hunting cat that had scared the rat, but with Otto in town Lasse preferred not to take any chances.
By leaving the cleared path and moving carefully through the ruins, Lasse made his way to the small yard behind the house, but stopped at the sound of a whining voice coming from the study next to the kitchen.
“I want to take him along. Surely a priest as sacrifice at a Black Mass would produce a spectacular result.” Black Mass? Lasse paused to listen. Had Otto taken up Satanism or was this something entirely different?
“No, Wilhelm.” The sound of Otto’s voice not only answered Lasse’s question, it also made him break out in a cold sweat. “We came for Lasse, not just to grab anything that came our way. You really need to show more discrimination. Lasse is a work of art. Perhaps my very finest. And I want him back to see what new possibilities this small taste of freedom has opened up. This rather pathetic little priest isn’t even pretty enough to keep around for amusement.”
So they had Nicolaus in there and he was still alive. Lasse turned to head for Viktor and Boris, only to see a man standing among the ruins with a gun in his hand.
“So, we meet again, Lasse. Why don’t you go inside? All this sunlight really isn’t good for your complexion.” The man came closer and Lasse recognized Johan, one of Otto’s oldest cronies. Johan had never shown any interest in Lasse and had always withdrawn early from the excesses of Otto’s parties. Johan had probably been concentrating on the political aspects of Otto’s schemes. Not that this was likely to be of much help right now. Whatever Johan’s deal with Otto was, it was highly unlikely that Lasse could offer the man anything better.
“Open the door, and go say hello to Otto. He has been talking a lot about you since you left, and I think you’ll find that you have escaped from the frying pan, only to find yourself in the fire.”
Lasse took a deep breath and went inside, then turned to slam the door behind him, and close it with the thick bar he had installed himself. Three quick steps brought him across the tiny kitchen and into the study.
Nicolaus was sitting in his usual chair behind the table, but across from him, where Lasse usually sat, was Otto. Right beside Lasse stood an unknown man, gaping in surprise.
“Ah, Lasse my dear, do come join us.” Otto turned his head with its gleaming curls to smile at Lasse, but kept his gun pointing straight at Nicolaus. The man to Lasse’s right closed his mouth and started turning his gun toward Lasse. Lasse grabbed the gun with his left hand while sliding his knife into the man’s stomach and jerking it upwards. If Otto shot Nicolaus there would be nothing Lasse could do. Once they lost the advantage of surprise they would have no chance against the armed men, and Nicolaus would certainly die anyway.
Lasse pulled his knife from the man sliding screaming to the floor, and swung the gun around to shoot Otto, only to see Nicolaus turning over the heavy table. Nicolaus leaped over the table with the heavy pewter candlestick in his hand. He swung it toward Otto’s head. The candlestick connected with a sound like a dropped egg, just as the bullet from Otto’s gun buried itself in the heavy oak table.
“Keep down. There’s one more man outside.” Lasse tried to listen for any sound of movement, although the screaming of the wounded man interfered. There was nothing to be seen through the thick bubbled glass of the window, and there was no air movement suggesting that Johan had opened a door. There would have been time enough for the man to get around to the front door or even break open one of the windows.
Nicolaus was kneeling in front of Otto, staring at the man he had killed. No help there. Lasse glided toward the front door as silently as he could. It was neither locked nor barred. Slowly he pressed down on the handle and stood aside to let the door swing open. Nothing. Outside was silence. Inside, the screams had faded to a whimper.
Lasse waited. This was the kind of situation where impatience would get you killed. Then a slow shuffle outside. A horse? Lasse chanced a quick glance out the door. Viktor’s big roan horse was walking slowly past the door snatching at the weeds growing along the path.
“Boris! Are you there?” Lasse shouted.
“Yes, with friends! All clear?”
“All clear in here, but one man outside.”
“He’s no longer a problem,” the gravelly voice of Viktor sounded from beside the door. “Brigitte is quite protective of you. She insisted we all come. Who’s the hurt one?” Viktor came through the door with Tat’yana close behind.
“I’ve no idea, but I spilled his guts. I’ll go clean it up.” Lasse would have liked to give the woman a hug, but judging from her flat watchful eyes her Brigitte persona was still in control, so he’d better just leave her alone until it faded. Tat’yana was in many ways even more damaged than Lasse, but she had dealt with her problems in her own way, and usually managed to balance her various personas quite well. Still, when Brigitte was in control, you’d better be careful.
Nicolaus was still kneeling by Otto’s corpse, tentatively reaching out to touch the bloody curls.
“He’s quite dead. They don’t look like that if there’s any chance they’ll wake up.” Tat’yana had gone forward to squat beside Nicolaus, who looked up at her with unseeing eyes. “How do you do?” Tat’yana held her hand out almost into his face, and he took it by reflex. “You must be Nicolaus. Lasse has told me about you. I’m Tat’yana.”
“Yes. Yes, I’m Nicolaus. Lasse, what are you doing!”
Lasse stood upright. “Nicolaus, no one recovers from that kind of wound. It really would have been no kindness to let him live.” He paused. “Or did you want to shrive him? Give him a chance to confess his sins? I really don’t think that would have helped his soul. Providing he still had one. I heard him wanting to sacrifice you at a Black Mass.”
Nicolaus shook his head and looked away. “This is a nightmare,” he whispered.
“No, my dear friend. This is encountering and fighting evil. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Lasse pulled Nicolaus up from the floor. “Come say hello to my friends. Tat’yana you have already met, but this is Viktor and Boris is outside, probably preparing for getting rid of the corpses. These are very good people to have along if you jump into fire.”
All God’s Children in the Burning East
1630, Kingdom of Ayutthaya, Southeast Asia
The setting sun floated like a red paper lantern in the darkening sky, casting the golden temples and palaces of Ayutthaya in crimson and bronze, as Nishioka Yoriaki paddled his small wooden boat lightly down the Menam river. Today the tides ran out to sea, making his journey home easy. Sometimes he stole a glance backward at the fantastic scene, surely a glimpse of Paradise although he would never admit to thinking such a thing to the Dominican or Jesuit fathers. He crossed himself quickly to clear his mind of such fantasy.
