the starosta's assistants 6

 yup, this is a cliffie, I'll be looking for the first shout out. 

Chapter 6

 

Back in Dmuchów, the assistants prepared for the masked ball. The city hall had a box with dominoes for the less daring, and sundry articles of clothing.

“If I can borrow your red kontusz, er, Jaracz, I’ll wear my red uniform trousers, make a tail out of plaited wool, and paint a devil mask,” said Frydek.

“Perfect!” said Jaracz. “Halszka, there’s a white robe used for all sorts of classical things. We can make you some cardboard wings if I go beg some feathers for pasteboard wings for you, to make you an angel.”

“I think I’m cast against type,” giggled Halszka.

“Wilk has a wolf mask which someone called Mestek made him last year,” said Kordula, who had been told by Felicia when directed to the clothes box. “I shall put on panniers and a pretty gown with an apron, an outrageously high mob cap, and carry a crook to be a shepherdess. We girls can learn more as girls than as boys.”

“If you’re going as a shepherdess, I’m going as Paris, who was a shepherd before he was a Prince of Troy,” said Jaracz.  “My legs might not be as beautiful as some people’s but they are well enough.”

“You have dimples on your knees,” giggled Kordula.

“I do not, either, have anything so girly,” said Jaracz, firmly. “Wife, you are mistaken. I have manly knees with... depressions.”

Kordula giggled.

“Firebrand,” she said.

“Ah, if I had been Paris, I would not have been such a fool as to leave my own Oenone,” said Jaracz.

Once costumes were sorted out, they went to circulate.

The balls were held in the public meeting hall of the Town Hall, and the wives of the constables were in charge of the refreshments and ticket sales, the proceeds from which went into the fund for constables injured in the line of duty and pensions for any widows.

 

The masquerade balls in the run up to Christmas and until Lent were popular; because everyone was masked, it was possible for peasants and nobles to mix together in apparent equality.  In practice, the szlachta tended to have the more expensive costumes, but as there were wealthy townsfolk who were still peasants in the eyes of the szlachta, and poor szlachetka who had little more than any peasants on their land, it was not that clear cut.  It permitted business to get done which might otherwise be difficult to approach; and brought colour and glamour into the lives of the townsfolk. It was good etiquette to address another party respectfully, and in terms of the costume they wore. Frydek retired to the gaming rooms, taking a look around at the gamblers, and hoping to identify Torzecki. Most of those gaming were playing ‘Lucky Pig’ on tables with the board for the game carved out on it. It was a simple board, with one central column marked into six compartments, the furthest, a larger triangle, marked ‘12’ with a crown carved in it; the nearer, a larger rectangle with a pig carved, and the figure ‘2’. From 12 to 2 were equal boxes of 7, 10, 9, and 8. The column was crossed at the 7 and the 9, with one square each side of them, being 11 and 3either side of 7, and 6 and 5 either side of 9.  There was no 4. It was a low-stake game, commonly played with a number of single grosze. Each player in turn rolled a number and placed their stake on it, missing a go if they rolled four. If they rolled a square which already had a stake on it, they got the money on that square – except with seven, where the money was left. Rolling two meant that all the money on the board except what was on the seven was won; it took rolling a twelve to take all money on the board.

It was an inn game, and had been played time out of mind, and somehow Frydek doubted that the inveterate gambler would be content with such low-value stakes.

 

 

He found several men playing Hazard, and stayed to watch. His brown eyes narrowed and as one player went to cast his dice, he moved forward to grasp his hand, squeezing it shut on the dice until the man cried out in pain.

“Here, what do you think you’re doing, demon?” demanded a man with a rather nasal voice. He was dressed as an ace of spades, the design painted on two pieces of pasteboard. He had boot-heels.

“Stopping you from being fleeced, my lord-brother,” said Frydek. He opened his quarry’s hand and showed how the hard bristles on the corners of the dice had embedded themselves in the man’s hand as he had squeezed it.

“The hell! Thank you,” said the Ace of Spades. “I never saw, did you,Torzecki?” he addressed the other man at the table, wearing a slightly threadbare domino.

“No, I didn’t,” said Torzecki.

“Who do I thank?” asked Ace of Spades.

“Frydek Wronowski, Ulan,” said Frydek. “This precious character will spend the night in the lock-up and if you want to prefer charges, Lord Zabiełło-Wąż will be seeing him in due course.”

It was the same man Jaracz had found marking cards.  Frydek saw to it that he had water to drink, and left him in the cells. If he went hungry, it was no skin off his nose.

Well, he had identified Torzecki, who knew him now.

He caught sight of an angel, shedding a feather as she danced with Paris the Shepherd. He went to retrieve the feather.

“Fair angel, I believe that you have dropped a feather,” he said.

“Perhaps it will bring luck,” said Halszka.

He tucked it inside his costume.

“Would the angel dare to dance with a devil?” he asked.

“Oh, I think I am strong enough to take that risk,” said Halszka. “He is a very amiable devil, after all.”

Frydek took her arm to polonez.

“He is a rather rough and ready devil, having learned no polished manners,” he said. “He does not know the niceties a lady might expect.”

Halszka was a becoming shade of pink.

“He has the instincts of a gentleman, even as a gemstone is still attractive before it is cut; and some more so without being tortured and forced into alien shapes against their being,” she said.

“Unrefined; aye, that’s me,” said Frydek. “The sort of rough stone as might bruise a lady for not being smoothed into shape.”

“Hush; I like geology better than jewellery,” said Halszka.

“We can almost pretend to be strangers tonight; it is a fairytale, and nothing is real,” said Frydek.

“Why is nothing real?” asked Halszka, puzzled.

“Because, muy harna, it’s only in fairytales when the poor Cossack wins the princess with valour or cleverness, and I have neither to lay at your feet,” said Frydek. “Hush, Angel; let this wicked Devil have his fairytale for tonight.”

Halszka did not protest that he called her ‘my lovely’ in his own tongue, and Frydek was encouraged by this.

He polonezed her out of the door and into an antechamber, currently unoccupied, kicking the door shut behind him. The strains of the music came faintly through the door, and he danced her round the room.

“Now, Angel, the power of your wing feather enables me to dance on a cloud beside you, briefly entering your golden realm, before anyone catches me and casts me down where I belong,” he said, coming to a halt, and drawing her into his arms.

Frydek was popular with women, but he had covertly watched Jaracz with Kordula, to understand how a szlachcianka might like to be approached; since hitherto, most of his conquests had been quite experienced and happy to skip a step or two.

He pushed up his mask and hers, and brushed her lips with his, and heard her gasp, felt her quiver in his arms. He pressed light kisses to and around her mouth and felt her press against him, as her lips opened.

Halszka slid one arm round Frydek’s waist, and the other round his neck.

“Frydek....”

“No names, Angel, I am just a devil tempted beyond endurance, who will take off his mask and walk away.”

“I don’t want you to walk away.”

“Ssssh. Don’t spoil the magic, muy harna.”

He kissed her deeper, and ran his hands down her sides, his thumbs caressing the side of her breasts, and running down to hold her waist.

She pushed against him.

Frydek knew in that instant that he could probably take her with her willing co-operation.

He lifted his lips from hers with a long, shuddering sigh, let go of her, and stepped away. Halszka staggered, off balance.

“Run back into the main room, Angel, whilst you still have a chance to escape,” he said.

“What if I don’t want to escape?” whispered Halszka.

“You should want to escape! Pull down your mask and go!” His voice was rough. Halszka stared at him for a moment, and did as she was told, a little bewildered, but obeying what she read in his desire to be alone.

Frydek opened the window to cool his face.

 

Jaracz saw Halszka coming uncertainly out of the room where Frydek had taken her, and crossed the floor in a few brief strides.

“Did he hurt or frighten you?” he demanded.

“No, but he confused me,” said Halszka. “He told me to escape and go away. I didn’t want to; it was just getting very nice.”

Jaracz chuckled.

“For all his swiving of the village mule, he can be a gentleman,” he said. He went into the room and saw Frydek at the window.

“You weren’t thinking of doing anything stupid like jumping, were you?” he asked.

“No: I just wanted to cool down.”

“You’d better write to her parents to ask leave to court her,” said Jaracz.

“They’ll have me beaten for my cheek.”

“I doubt it. Lady Skrzetuska has polonezed with Ursyn; they aren’t stuck up,” said Jaracz. “Tell them you’re a Cossack, that your mother married a peasant because she had to have someone to help rear you, but that your line is proud if poor.”

“They... it’s not enough.”

“For goodness sake! Tell them about your cherry-tree connections, not about your cultivation of marrows,” said Jaracz.

“You are a bastard,” said Frydek.

“I’m your friend; it goes with the territory,” said Jaracz.  “Look, Jeremi would jump at someone who will make his sister happy. I’ll write to him; you write to her father. If he says no, then’s the time to despair. But you don’t know that he will.”

“I suppose it can’t hurt,” said Frydek.

“No, now get out there and circulate, soldier, and do your job,” said Jaracz.

 

oOoOo

 

Zabiełło made a small change of plan.

He would need someone to help him with the bodies.

He decided to order Jakob Kowal to follow him to the Lasecki dwór, so he would have someone to help him take the bodies into the woodlands and bury them. And he could kill Kowal there as well, making sure nobody else knew. After all, Kowal was stupid enough to get things wrong.

Jakob Kowal had a bad feeling about this secret mission, but he dared not disobey. His old bones protested at following the mounted lord several miles twice in one day, but he had to think of his family.

He also had his duty to his true overlord, who was Miss Sylwia.

Perhaps he could think of something when they got there.

 

Zabiełło left his horse at the end of the drive up to the dwór; he had no intention of its hoofs being heard on what was still a gravel drive, albeit a little grown over with weeds. He walked beside the drive, to keep his footsteps quiet, forgetting that he was leaving impressions of his heels in the soft ground. He went round to the back of the house to the room with the faulty catch. As a matter of fact, it was the steward’s room, and had he not killed Adam Kowal, he would have been in some trouble.

It was another thing old Jakob had against him; Kuba Kowal, Adam’s father, was his cousin, both named after a grandsire, and they had grown up like brothers. Kuba had been the quicker scholar, though, and became a servant to the old steward, his son learning enough to take the previous steward’s place. Adam was like another son to Jakob.

Jakob knew all the short cuts which Zabiełło did not, and was closer behind the szlachcic than Zabiełło realised.

Jakob walked carefully so as not to smear his current master’s footprints. There were no flies on the new starosta who read everything Jakob had not said.

He watched Zabiełło climb in the window, and gave him time to move into the house, and went looking for something to make a noise. It would be easy to throw a stone through the window, but if Zabiełło got away with whatever he was up to, Jakob’s family would suffer if he was so obvious.

Miss Sylwia had had a pet bear when she left.

There was bear dung and tracks in the bushes.

Jakob smiled.

If there was one thing the bear hated it was dogs which yapped, a memory of its time in captivity before Miss Sylwia took it into her head to adopt it.

Jakob yapped, loudly.

He could not be blamed for any household dogs.

 

oOoOo

 

Ursyn slept in the same room as Sylwia and Jaras; he got unsettled about new places and felt more comfortable with the human he thought of as his mother, and her mate.

He had been gelded, but when his humans sorted each other out, the smells did things to him, and he had to sort himself out as well. This was an enjoyable exercise, and Ursyn disapproved of it being interrupted by the sound of dogs.

He growled low in his throat, a sound too low for human hearing.

The dogs barked again, and Sylwia stirred.

“Dogs?” she wondered. “Must be Adam’s.”

“Not our concern,” muttered Jaras.

 

Zabiełło had reached the master bedroom, and froze to hear dogs. That fool, Kowal, must have upset them. Well, hopefully they were chained.

He heard the young couple mutter as well, and inwardly cursed. He would have to give them a few minutes to get back to sleep.

Tired out, and expecting a duel on the morrow, Sylwia snuggled up and quickly went back to sleep. Jaras had never fully woken up.

Ursyn, however, had woken up. He regretfully let the fruits of his sorting diminish in the usual manner, and sat on his haunches, wondering what was going on. Things were not right.

He had vague memories of the dwór, and had found his own scent in a few places; but there had been comings and goings. He liked the guests, and he liked Marianna, who had always sneaked him honeycakes, but there had been the smell of someone he did not like, and he was smelling it again. 

He was well enough trained to wait before doing anything about people with smells he did not like, but there was nothing wrong with being ready.

He watched Zabiełło creep into the room, with cushions brought from the steward’s room, rather than risk pulling pillows from beneath two active young people. They were doused in poppy juice, which Zabiełło had brought with him, in the hopes of making it easier.

He moved forward with the pillows.

Ursyn did not like this, and growled.

Zabiełło froze.

There was a dog in here?

And then Ursyn stood up to his full height, and Zabiełło saw him, silhouetted against the window.

There is very little different in the makeup of a szlachcic and any peasant when it comes down to it; and the squeal Zabiełło gave was every bit as falsetto and girly as had been that of Ursyn’s burglar.

But he was a szlachcic, and he had training to fall back on.

He drew his sabre.