The rat was well and truly dead, of course. Scattered on the stand about its feet were the bones of its skeleton. The tanner had improvised a wooden frame to support the rat’s skin, using only the creature’s skull when he stuffed it. Two bits of ruddy copper served the thing for eyes, shining sinisterly whenever the light hit them just right.
The effect was a bit spoiled by the crude sign hanging about the rat’s neck. Somehow a rumour had been started that rubbing the monster’s fur was a charm against the plague. In an effort to protect his new attraction, Bremer had placed the sign around its neck. It didn’t do any good. Most of his patrons couldn’t read and those who could, mostly students from the now closed Universitat, ignored it anyway. A few spots on the monster’s hide were starting to look a little thin from the constant attention.
‘I tell you this is too important to simply be relegated to being a freakshow attraction!’
Walther took a slow sip from his beerstein before deigning to continue his conversation with Lord Karl-Joachim Kleinheistkamp. The professor stood at his elbow, his brocaded hat clenched in his white hands, beads of sweat on his wrinkled brow. The rat-catcher savoured the desperate quality in the nobleman’s expression.
‘The Universitat will pay… three crowns for the specimen,’ Kleinheistkamp said, holding up his fingers. ‘Three gold crowns,’ he chuckled.
Walther joined in the professor’s chuckle, clapping the old man on the shoulder. Kleinheistkamp frowned at the overly familiar gesture, but quickly forced a wide grin on his face. ‘Three gold crowns. How many rats would you need to catch to earn that much?’
‘One,’ Walther said, taking another sip from his stein. He pointed across the tavern to the crowd circling about the stuffed giant. ‘That one,’ he elaborated. ‘That beauty is bringing them to the Black Rose in droves and I get half of the profit. Now, if I had a similar arrangement with the Universitat — whenever Count Artur decides it is safe to reopen, that is — then perhaps we might come to terms. You are going to charge admission, aren’t you?’
All geniality faded from the professor’s face. ‘I want that specimen for scientific study, not for a bunch of peasants to gawp at!’
Walther shrugged his shoulders. ‘Too bad. It looks like I’ll make more leaving my monster right where it is.’ A hard edge crept into his eyes as he watched Kleinheistkamp angrily turn away and order a fresh drink from Bremer. ‘Be careful, your lordship,’ Walther said. ‘I’m afraid you’re paying for the drinks this time.’
Laughing at the baleful look Kleinheistkamp directed at him, Walther pushed his way through the crowd. Maybe it was the professor’s ire, but suddenly it felt a bit cold inside the tavern. The rat-catcher was eager for the warmth of the fire. As he walked through the busy room, he found himself cheered and toasted by the patrons. Perhaps not quite as renowned as the monster he had killed, Walther had nevertheless become something of a local hero. For the rat-catcher, accustomed to being shunned even by the lowest dregs of society, all of the attention was more exhilarating than anything Bremer kept behind the bar.
The patrons gathered about the Black Rose’s hearth cleared a spot for Walther. A big, broad-shouldered man with a warrior’s bearing and a distinct Reikland accent even offered the rat-catcher a drink. Politely declining, the local hero nestled close to the fire and tried to warm the chill from his hands.
A different chill crept into his body when he noticed the object nailed to the back of the hearth, almost hidden by the roaring flames. The jawbone of a hog, its tusk black with soot. Folk medicine from the days of the Old Faith, a talisman against evil spirits and disease. There were many hearths decorated with such talismans these days, but the one in the Black Rose was there for a specific reason. There was a specific sickness the talisman was intended to alleviate.
Walther stared into the flames, his thoughts turning away from the busy crowd, from the congratulatory cheers. He was thinking of the little room down in the tavern’s cellar and the man entombed there. The rat-catcher looked away from the fire, wondering if the Reiklander was still around and if the offer of a drink was still open. Instead he found himself looking into Zena’s pretty face. His pleasure at seeing her looking for him quickly faded. There was a fearful look in her eye and a tightness about her mouth. Over the last few days the chores of the tavern had increasingly been taken up by the other serving girls. Zena’s attentions had increasingly been needed elsewhere.
Walther didn’t speak, simply grabbing Zena’s elbow and guiding her towards the kitchen. His retreat with the shapely serving wench brought jovial catcalls and lewd gestures from some in the crowd, but they ignored the rude humour of Bremer’s patrons. Some things were too serious to bear distraction.
‘Why did you leave him?’ Walther demanded once they were in the kitchen. Zena cast a worried look at the cook and the kitchen boys. Catching the suggestion, Walther drew her into the larder and lowered his voice. ‘You should be with Hugo,’ he accused.
Zena winced at the anger in his voice. ‘I can’t do anything for him,’ she said. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘It’s not that,’ Walther growled. ‘Ranald’s purse! Do you think I’d ask you to look out for him if it was that! It’s just a fever, an infection from that damn rat bite!’
Zena placed her hand against Walther’s neck, drawing his face close to her own. ‘It’s more than that,’ she whispered. ‘He’s getting worse. It’s more than fever now.’
Walther pulled away, uttering a pained moan. His fist lashed out against a sack of potatoes, disturbing an ugly grey rat that was hiding in a cranny behind the bag. Squeaking, it scurried off to find a new refuge.
‘He saved my life,’ Walther said. ‘When that thing turned on me, I couldn’t move. I froze. I just stood there. If Hugo hadn’t attacked it…’
The woman’s arms closed around him, hugging him to her body. ‘You’ve done all you could for him. If he has the plague, there’s nothing you can do.’
‘I can get him a doktor. I have enough gold for that, even with Bremer cheating me on my cut. I’ll get him a doktor.’
‘And you think Bremer will sit still for that?’ Zena scoffed. She jabbed her thumb at the door. The murmur of the tavern crowd was just audible. ‘You think he’ll risk losing the business you’ve brought him? How many of those people would be here if there was a red cross daubed on the door? They might scoff at death, but they won’t go courting it!’
‘Hugo saved my life! I won’t abandon him! I’ll find a way!’ Walther reached beneath the fancy new tunic he’d bought, retrieving a fat purse stuffed with coins. ‘Take these. Find a physician who will be discreet. We can do this without Bremer getting wise.’
Zena shook her head, but couldn’t refuse the purse when it was pressed into her hands. Walther leaned down and kissed her. ‘If you haggle, maybe there will be enough left for a new dress.’ The remark brought a smile to her lips. Her eyes looked up into his. For a moment, all worry and fear was forgotten. There was only hope and love.
A harsh knock at the door broke the moment. Walther and Zena pulled apart as Bremer’s frantic voice sounded from the kitchen.
‘Schill!’ the taverneer cried out. ‘I need you! There’s an idiot out here saying your rat is fake!’
Walther pressed Zena’s hand. ‘Take the money. Get Hugo a doktor.’ He didn’t wait for her to answer, instead turning and opening the door. A flush-faced Bremer stood just outside.
‘You need to stop this idiot, or our agreement is off!’ Bremer threatened.
Walther glared at his partner. ‘Hans and Schultz are the roughs!’ he snarled back at the taverneer, naming the two bouncers who had been hired on when business increased. ‘Have them kick the fool into the street!’