Free Speak to the Devil by Dave Duncan Page A

it.” Anton was making it up as he went along—Wulf recognized the tone. “I regret that I am forbidden to go into details, but …”
    “Forbidden by whom?”
    “By the man who gave me this baton.”
    The abbot shrugged his great shoulders and took a lengthy draft of wine. “Who is your companion? What is the real reason he refuses to show his face?”
    “His name is Wulfgang Magnus. He is my squire and brother to both me and Marek. I told you why he is being disciplined. Father Abbot,” Anton said sharply. “I am on a mission of great moment and did not come all this way out of my road to discuss family trivia. I have the honor to be a companion in the Order of St. Vaclav, which numbers among its members many distinguished men, including Cardinal Zdenek and Archbishop Svaty, Primate of Jorgary. I have a royal warrant I could show you, but to brandish that at you would seem like a threat. Come, surely a few minutes’ talk with one of your holy flock cannot imperil his soul irredeemably? Is his faith so delicate? Must I report to my superiors that you were contumacious?”
    “Show me your warrant, lad!”
    “As you wish, monk, although were you a layman of rank I should call you out on your implications of distrust. Don’t put your greasy fingers on it.”
    Anton spread out the scroll and held it up so that Bohdan could read it. He pouted, then licked his thick lips. “This house is dedicated to God. King Konrad’s writ does not run here.”
    Anton bowed and tucked the scroll back in his satchel. “I shall so inform His Majesty. He was of a contrary opinion.” He turned on his heel to go.
    “Wait.” The abbot belched.
    “Good one,” Anton remarked. “Anything else?”
    “Have you broken your fast yet?”
    “Now that you ask, no, my squire and I have not. Our business is too urgent for delays.”
    “Brother Cenek!”
    The monk waiting by the door said, “Father Abbot?”
    “Conduct Count Magnus and his squire to the guests’ refectory and tell the hosteler to feed them. I shall send in Brother Marek as soon as prime is over.”
    “Your Reverence is most gracious,” Anton murmured.
    Wulf coughed admiringly as they headed for the door.

CHAPTER 6
     
    The guests’ refectory was a dank, cool room, so long and narrow as to seem more like a corridor than a hall, yet Wulf found it beautiful in a hard, austere way. The tall stained-glass windows were set high enough that no one could see out or in; ribbed arches supported the stone ceiling. Fixed benches stretched the length of each side, with freestanding tables fronting them. It was a fair bet that male and female guests were seated on opposing sides and that a monk stood at the ornate lectern in the center and read Scripture to them during meals.
    Lay servants poured water for the visitors to wash their hands, laid trenchers of hard bread before them, and then brought a breakfast of lamprey pie, pike in a thick sauce, eggs, fresh grapes, crusty bread, a mountain of butter, four cheeses, and flagons of Tokay. The sight of food churned Wulf’s stomach, and eating with his sallet down, almost touching his bevor, would be impossible. He raised the helmet briefly to take a swig of the wine, which was surprisingly sweet and seemed to soothe him, confirming that he was suffering from no ordinary colic. He tried not to watch as Anton heaped his trencher and set to work with knife and fingers like a ravening, um, abbot.
    “They eat well,” he mumbled around a mouthful.
    “Food’s the only excitement they’re allowed.”
    “Suppose so. What’re you going to ask Marek?”
    “Won’t know till I see him.”
    “It’s been four years!”
    “Five.” Wulf decided to risk another swallow of the Tokay.
    Anton shrugged and cut himself another generous wedge of pie.
    Wulf said, “Here he is!”
    A diminutive black-robed figure had entered by the main door and was pacing along the refectory with an in-toed gait that Wulf had forgotten but now recognized as