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“Well, who's brave! Come closer, and I'll give you some more!”
A completely naked man had climbed onto a table in the corner of the tavern, swinging a heavy chain overhead with broken shackles at the end. The metal hummed menacingly, and the fighter occasionally spat out blood from his cracked lips, grinning cheerfully. It looked like the man had snapped and was gearing up for one last, decisive stand.
“Dezi, enough of this madness! You're still going to the labor camp! I have an order, and I ...”
“Landsknechts never surrender! You can shove that paper… Long live the Swabians!”
Agnes was just finishing her dinner in another corner of the massive hall when she heard an odd noise, followed by the sounds of a fight, and was now watching the scene unfold with interest. She vividly remembered that a couple of months back, some mercenaries recruited from the mountains had demanded a contract revision, caused an uproar, and had been given a thrashing. It seemed that one of those rebels was now being escorted to his new place of labor. And, much to his dismay, he had no desire to swing a pickaxe. Still—he did look rather impressive. Well-built, with a short beard, neatly trimmed mustache, and a “bowl cut” hairstyle. Most pikemen and other ruffians didn’t shave their heads. Hair, along with a felt arming cap, helped absorb blows to the head. Otherwise… Look, they’d already brought out the pikes. The man had no chance.
At first, people looked at the advancing Plague Midwife with clear disapproval, but then recognized both her attire and the silver mask hanging at her belt. Whispers sounded from behind: ‘It's the Sister! The Brotherhood!’ The senior gendarme struck his breastplate with a loud thud and bowed.
“Hermann, from Koblenz!”
“The western border? A pleasure, miss Agnes. And who’s this spirited fellow?”
“Mercenary Dezi. Convicted of mutiny, robbery, and disobeying his commander's orders.”
“Robbery? Doesn’t look like he made much off of it.”
“Their unit looted a monastery, frightened the holy sisters, and drank all the wine in the cellars. They caught them in the courtyard, dead drunk.”
“Understood… Hey, Dezi or whatever your name is! Enough waving that chain around. Drop it already. I’ve had a long day, a dusty road, and a splitting headache—and now you with that ridiculous chain.”
Offended by the obvious lack of respect, the future convict protested:
“They’ll just tie me up again!”
“They’re going to grab you either way and probably give you a few blows to keep you in line. There are six of them, they’ve got pikes, and they won’t hold back.”
“I’ll take down two, break the ribs of another two, and manage the rest somehow.”
Sighing, Agnes drew a heavy pistol from beneath her blood-red cloak and muttered:
“I said, enough. Or I’ll shoot off your manhood so you’ll have nothing left to rattle… Now, let’s go have dinner. The wine here isn’t bad. We’ll quench our thirst. And someone find him a bag to cover himself with; respectable people are around, and you’re trying to turn this place into a brothel.”
***
After two pitchers of robust wine, life decidedly took a turn for the better. The mood lightened, and people stopped frowning at each other. A couple of gendarmes even managed to nod off, heads falling into empty bowls of stew from sheer exhaustion. The chief of the guard sat next to Agnes, hiccuping occasionally, and thoughtfully rolled bread crumbs into small balls. Across from her, the chained prisoner, now wearing a burlap sack with a hole cut for his head, was downing another mug and explaining how he’d come to this life.
“I’m originally from Tuscany. A good place—it was, anyway… I even remember our old house. The garden. Neighbors’ fields. An orange grove down the road.”
“Don’t tell me you were landowners and bought up the estate.”
“No, no sense lying,” Dezi sighed. “We labored, like most of the village. But the land—that was ours, at least. Before the Plague, most of us managed to make ends meet. Then the monsters came, and we had three years straight of summer rain and cold… I’m the only one from my family left.”
The Plague Midwife wasn’t drinking much wine herself. She paid without issue, having brought extra coins for the journey. Tomorrow would mean hitting the road again, and though the eastern borders of the Empire were rough, the roads were packed with carts and travelers. It was more about dodging people and swearing than enjoying the ride. The density of people was obvious in some areas, while others were just fools behind high stone walls, or toiling fields under heavy guard. But despite the local population, these lands didn’t warm her spirit. If it weren’t for her promise and the mysterious caves, she’d have turned back a hundred times by now.
“So you became a mercenary. Did you make it to lieutenant, or not bother with a patent? You speak too properly for infantry—they usually have different words for things.”
This harmless question unexpectedly embarrassed the ex-Landsknecht.
“Well, I served as a servant for three years with a lecturer in Parma, then as a clerk at a court in Verona. But I grew tired of scratching with a quill, so I moved to St. Gallen. Spent half a year in a Dominican brotherhood, wearing the habit out of habit, and then joined the free companies. Monastery life wasn’t for me—lighting candles, carrying the cup around the rows… Lieutenant? That’s a distant dream; you’d need to start in the tercio ranks young. But I made it to corporal, yes.”
“That much is clear. You left it all to your commander. Didn’t even post guards at the monastery, and for free wine? They caught you nice and cozy.”
Almost dozing off, Hermann rubbed his red eyes and snorted.
“Half of them, without weapons, went off to the nearby village for women. Took us two days to round up those rascals in the area.”
“Rascals?” Dezi protested. “Because they didn’t pay us our wages! They promised us a position near Villach. But in the end, they finished it without us, killed the creatures, and didn’t pay a coin! Do you think we rebelled for no reason? We were starving, so we protested…”
A familiar story. Poorly trained pikemen and other iron-banging types put in reserve—not for any serious monsters, of course, since those would just pass by without noticing. They were used to clean up minor pests when things got unruly. Entire regions in the east were combed through for toothy creatures, even in the endless forests, sending three to four thousand fighters in a chain to clear them out. In a month, what’s left would emerge on the other side, turn in fangs and tails for bounties, and be ready to raise hell again. Fortunately, the Poles and Hungarians held their borders tightly. The Rus had managed their own mess, and the lords on horseback and noble Hungarians amused themselves with the smaller nuisances, training dogs and boasting of their hunts. As a result, in the Empire, only the western front held on, hoping eventually to cleanse the worst spots—or to simply dig a ditch, build a high wall, and let the Gauls beat their heads against it.
But the real issue was the constant mess around paying mercenaries. Funds were stolen, militias managed on their own, and in the end, Swabia was left in a difficult position. Many armed men but few willing to employ them. They were rioting, unpaid. One misstep, and there could be war.
“Alright, stop complaining… Hermann, do you remember the last edict about hiring?”
At her words, the gendarme sobered up.
“Sister… we’re on duty; we’re not allowed! That’s like sending lambs to slaughter!”
“You aren’t the issue. I’m saying, here’s someone who’ll surely smash a skull with a pickaxe in the quarry. He’s a ruffian, not just a peasant in debt. And I have documents… read them: I am to provide assistance at Zeitz Mark, clearing underground salt caves. Expected resistance level—high. Monster assessment—from vampire level and up. Timeline—execution of orders to begin immediately… I could use extra hands. And you won’t have to haul him around. The Holy Church pays a silver zwölfer per head; after that, it’s my problem how to use an ex-pikeman.”
The chief guard thought it over and agreed.
“A proper signed release, and breakfast covered. Then he’s yours.”
“I could take him anyway,” laughed Agnes. But she was in a good mood, too tired from the day to argue on principle. “Here, take the coin. Bring me the paperwork, and I’ll mark what’s needed. And get everyone up at dawn; I’m an early riser… Hey, Dezi, do you snore at night?”
Draining the last drops of wine from his mug, the former Dominican brushed crumbs from his beard and proudly straightened his shoulders.
“Why would I snore? I’m not some pack mule.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Then tonight you’ll sleep inside by the door. But if you lied, I’ll leave you in the hallway, on the bare floor…”
***
By the next evening, Agnes still hadn’t decided if she’d made a mistake or scored a decent acquisition.
On one hand, Dezi could be annoying. He talked a lot—enthusiastically commented on the busty peasant women they passed in the armored vehicle, bragged about the delicacies he’d tried in his life, and especially praised the cheese served in the mountain cantons. ‘Aged and aromatic, it doesn’t mold, and if you soak it in hot water to soften it, it turns into a hearty soup.’ He also puzzled endlessly over how holes formed in a solid wheel of cheese sealed in wax, convinced that nobody went around poking them with an awl.
On the other hand, having an extra set of strong arms was useful. Pushing them out of muddy patches, hauling bags and sacks into taverns in one go, and holding the assembled halberd upright with a flag that warned anyone coming near. This was especially useful at road checkpoints, where lately it seemed people had forgotten the “dark times” and returned to demanding, “Pay the toll!” Agnes had grown tired of asserting her authority long ago, so her usual response was simple: a gauntlet in the teeth. For anyone who didn’t get it the first time, a boot to the groin clarified things quickly. But that meant getting out of the vehicle, delivering the blow, cursing for effect, and then going on her way. Now, though, any fool at a checkpoint could see authority on the approach—an armored vehicle, a squire, and a halberd-wielding Dezi proclaiming in high style how he’d use it on anyone blocking their way. So, the guards would raise the barrier, salute, and the Plague Midwife would breeze past each booth.
At dinner, Agnes opened a tube and pulled out a few sheets of paper.
“So, Dezi. Let’s go over this again, so you don’t end up right back in shackles. Ever since the darkest times, there’s been a law about death-row hiring. Back when monster hunters were few, they’d drag anyone convicted of serious crimes out of prison, hand them a knife, and use them to plug defense gaps. Anyone who refused went straight to the noose. Heard of it?”
“Yeah, there was a guy in the squad next to ours who survived that. If he sat by the fire telling stories, no one could sleep afterward. I think he embellished a bit.”
“Probably left out the worst of it. In any case, things have eased up since then. Now that bounty hunters get paid for monster guts, there are plenty willing to risk their necks... As for you, I didn’t sign a year-long contract. I don’t have that many caves to explore. It’s a one-time deal—you’ll cover me and carry heavy stuff, crates with useful supplies, water, provisions, and so on.”
“And after that?”
“Then I’ll talk to Irene, and we’ll see. Either she’ll place you somewhere, and you’ll serve your court-appointed ten years as a ‘decent man,’ or I’ll stash you with some acquaintances. Because you can’t go around shouting at judges and calling them idiots. I can, but you’ll get ten years of hard labor without the chance for parole.”
The surprised former Dominican eyed his employer skeptically and asked, “And what’s the difference? Aside from certain anatomical ones?”
“The difference? Well, I have an excellent legal advisor, Eivan Eatz. The judges hate and fear him like the plague. He can interpret any law the way I need it. Naturally, I don’t push it. But the difference is simple: people in town nod to me, even if they’d rather eat me alive. For you? It’s ten years of hard labor and a boot out the door… Now, let’s finish up and get some rest. We’ll be there tomorrow.”
***
Her friend Irene greeted her dressed to the nines: a pristine white suit, a luxurious brocade cape with a fur collar, and thigh-high boots. But instead of showing off, she ran over, hugged Agnes tightly, and kissed her dusty cheeks.
“My dear, you made it! Right, the girls will prepare a bath, you can rest after the journey, and then we’ll have lunch. After that, I’ll show you around, and we’ll figure out how to prepare for tomorrow’s expedition... And who’s this cutie?”
“That’s Dezi from Tuscany, a would-be gallows-bait. Tried to out-argue the court’s decree, now he’s got a ten-year sentence. I bought him out for us: to haul things, clear rubble with his head, and stick his halberd wherever we tell him. And yes, he has huge dick, though I haven’t checked it in action. I warned him I’d rip it off if he causes trouble.”
“We’ll inspect later,” nodded Irene, turning to the sweaty, armor-clad girls struggling in the sand-covered training yard. “What are you all gawking at? Never seen a Sister of the Brotherhood before? Well, here I am… Maria, when they’re done with their warm-up in an hour, give each of them a bag of stones and have them do a lap around the castle. Move it! They’ve been slacking, I tell you…”
Leading Agnes by the arm, Irene boasted about her estate:
“When I first came back home, I almost considered retiring. Then I looked at you and realized I'd never really become properly reckless. I love life too much. Don’t feel like shoving my head into a cave bear's jaws for nothing anymore. Then I had a nasty row with the monastery folks—blood and all—over withheld pay from our last raid, and I snapped. Went straight to the treasury, saw chests full of money, while the nuns were dressed in rags. So, I gave the abbot a seat on the stake.”
“Oh, really?” said the Plague Midwife, impressed. Clearly, she'd been taking lessons in true recklessness from the wrong people. “And how did that end?”
“The inquisitors came, gifted five more fellows with hempen neckties, and appointed a new abbot. He looks at me sideways, but we coexist for now. They forced me to move out, though. Thought I'd be sad. But I found an abandoned castle, gathered a crew, and now I’m my own boss. And the penny-pinchers pay me upfront for every thud of iron.”
“And Madame Hoffna didn’t impose any penance?”
Looking somber, Irene admitted, “Worse. Said I’d have to work like a galley slave here for five years. She’s fine with a new panzerwagen and fancy outfits, but in exchange, I have to keep the whole mark and neighboring lands clear of monsters. They funded me for forty young and lively men, and made me attend lectures, where I was ‘blessed’ with two aging instructors who can’t keep up with the young ones. So, I’m stuck… Don’t want to join me? We’ll split the load, and together, we’ll train up the fanged ones in no time!”
Agnes almost ran back home with a skid from such a generous offer. “Are you joking?! I just escaped a lieutenant’s commission! My father back home is the head abbot and would sign me up as abbess the second I show any weakness. Do I need that? Beating idiots with a stick, making them recite prayers for their sins, and not even allowed to torch anyone I really dislike... No, I want to go on raids. To rip out fangs and poke bellies with steel. Or dynamite fish and roast them over a fire.”
“You think I don’t want that too?”
“Well, you should’ve asked Hoffna for permission first and then put the abbot on a stake. I’m sure she’d have approved. And really, if I get sick of it all, I’ll head west. Settle down like Saint Vaclav. I’ll find some remote spot, where not even the Swiss can hack their way in. I’ll gather some adventurers and live out my days just as I please... I hope I’ll still have time for that.”
After a moment’s thought, Irene jabbed a finger at her friend's scratch-covered breastplate. “That’s a fantastic plan! Alright, five years… We’ll revisit this in five years. All we need is to hang on together for now. And try not to skewer anyone else on a sharp stick. Then, we’ll pick out our spot, and figure out how to handle our problems. Maybe by then, I’ll be used to using the table for paperwork rather than amusement.”
***
The trip to the salt caves thoroughly surprised Dezi. He understood that these two ruffians mostly just wanted to have some fiery fun, free to chat without anyone overhearing. To flaunt their new gear, compare the noisy metal trinkets they wore, and boss around the young, feisty girls decked out in weapons from head to toe. Agnes and Irene also found it hilarious to give him orders, pointing out exactly which hole he needed to chuck the dynamite into. As they explained to the Dominican, the local miners had dug through the mountains for over a hundred years, turning them into something like a block of cheese. Chasing out various types of cave horrors could go on indefinitely. But if you wanted to spice things up, why not?
On the third day, they decided the younger recruits were tired enough and sent them up with Maria. The spirited pair also began packing up, kicking aside the empty crates of spent explosives. Sweaty and dirty, Dezi looked offended as he tried to get rid of the annoying ringing in his left ear.
“That's it, then? Where are the epic feats you mentioned?”
“Epic feats?” Irene smirked carnivorously. “Oh, my beefcake, do you truly crave some heroic glory?”
The newly appointed headmistress of the academy gave him a look that made Dezi take a cautious step back, reminded of the “kind” gaze she’d given him the other day before sending him to a bed he only managed to crawl out of by midday.
“Well, aren’t we supposed to… clear out those… those with the fangs?”
“We’ve got enough meat chopped up, that’s not an issue. But if you’re so keen…”
Irene approached an old cart loaded with leftover dynamite, measured out a long fuse, lit it, and gave the cart a gentle push down the track.
“Alright, people, we’ve got about five minutes. So let's hurry topside.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Well, then this cart will reach their lair and do one big ‘boom.’ And then a giant head will come barreling up, scattering all the little ones in its path. We’ve got flamethrowers and rifles set up at the entrance, so we’ll greet it properly. And you, my giant, will get a chance for glory. I’ll even find you a fitting halberd.”
Agnes focused on the key points: ‘boom’ and ‘five minutes.’ She grabbed her things and bolted for the surface like a springbok, with Irene thundering in laughter behind her. A moment’s hesitation, and Dezi snatched up two mining lanterns and took off after them. After all, if the fearless Sisters were demonstrating the art of a swift retreat, he certainly had no reason to hang back.
The Swiss mercenary flatly refused the castle position. After all, he’d just spent two hours alongside the trainees hacking through a monster wave that surged out, only to end up dueling the ‘super-boss.’ No one later identified the creature from any tome—it looked epic, though: something like a centaur with the body of a centipede, a head the size of a stagecoach, and monstrous fangs. It also held a club in each hand, trying to swat away the pesky little bugger—Dezi—who kept jabbing it with iron in painful spots. He likely would have met a ‘heroic’ end if Agnes hadn’t grown tired of the show. She turned to Irene and said:
“My armorer made this great gadget. I brought the blueprints for you. If you need to pull someone out of a beast's jaws or drag some fiend closer, you take this loop with lead weights at the end... Aim that wooden part there... Then pull the lever, and off it goes… Now release the stopper… Voilà—a mechanical snare! With a range of a hundred paces or so, you’ll catch any target with practice. One-two, and it’s right here.”
“He,” Irene corrected with a grin, “our ‘shackled hero’ here, a little battered and scratched from the rescue, but he’s here. And that beast will soon follow.”
“Good. Let it get close to that marked spot. I stashed another box there—just in case… Where’s my shotgun?”
The dynamite blew the beast’s fanged head into bits. One of its limbs even flew all the way to the nearby village, which was a thirty-minute walk. And with one blast, the contract was fulfilled. Now, that’s what planning and Baron Constant Vue von Saltz’s discipline are all about.
But the whole ordeal left Dezi gritting his teeth in horror. He declared that he’d rather work a quarry with a pickaxe than endure such stunts. So, at Irene’s request, Agnes stayed a few more days, and then she headed home, bringing along the somewhat worse-for-wear mercenary.
***
Agnes placed the Dominican as the assistant to the attorney. Why not? He could read and write, and he had the right look. So he handled court documents, sometimes twirling a club in his hand, which encouraged the complainants to back off quickly. Ayven Eats was so impressed with him that, after three tries, he managed to convince the local magistrates to change the sentence: from ten years of hard labor to a single year of service to the city as the attorney’s assistant. There was plenty of work and clients; running around the district was impossible alone. So Dezi got a good salary, a small wing of the house, a shared cook and laundress—life was good.
Most likely, Dezi wouldn’t rush off after that year. He continued his morning training with weapons, but now he spent more time poring over local law tomes. Who knows? He might actually become a partner one day. He’d already got himself a stylish vest and a gold pocket watch on a chain.
And the fact that every month Agnes received a large Swiss cheese wheel with the caravans? No one minded. A heartfelt gift, after all. And no one made cheese like the mountain folk. Slice off a piece, place it over smoked ham—and life was grand.
***
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