1635_ The Eastern Front - Eric Flint [99]
The Pomeranian had been moved to this house as well, it turned out. They could hear him moaning and groaning in an adjacent room.
All night. Every hour of the night. Every minute of the hour.
"How does he not die of exhaustion?" wondered Eric.
"Fate won't allow it," replied Friedrich. "He must not have fucked his mother yet."
Dawn came, finally, and with it the vision returned. Not long after he woke up—amazingly, he'd managed to fall asleep in mid-moan—Eric heard a woman's voice in the main room below. It was that of a young woman, from its tone and timber.
Hope sprang alive in his chest. Could it be?
A few seconds later, he heard the sound of a woman's feet clumping up the stairs. He knew it was a woman from subtleties in the sounds being made.
The clumping noises were on the heavy side, too, for a woman as short as she had to be judging from the pace of the footsteps. Hope flared brighter still. Just the sort of sounds that might be made by a shortish woman who was mistaken for being stout at a distance but whose heft was in fact not evenly spread at all.
Then, she appeared in the doorway. Indeed, it was the vision. In the bright light of the room, with its open windows letting in the sun, Krenz could see much more of her than he'd been able to in the dark cavern in the castle.
She was quite pretty, in a modest sort of way. No Venus here, just an attractive young farm girl or—Eric raised his head to study her shoes—no, town girl. Maybe a butcher's daughter. Fox-colored hair—very rich, too—dark blue eyes. Perfect in every way.
"I'm Eric Krenz," he announced. "From right here in Saxony. Not Dresden, though. Leipzig."
She greeted that information much the way a milkmaid greets the sight of flies in a barn. Takes brief note of the pests; dismisses them as an unavoidable but minor nuisance.
Eric recognized the symptoms immediately. Mentally, he struck a line through his original guess that she was a butcher's daughter.
"Your father owns a tavern, doesn't he?"
For the first time, the girl showed some interest in him that transcended "recognition of pest." After a couple of seconds, she said: "How did you know?"
Her voice was marvelous. Just the way Eric remembered it from the castle, except without the angry shouting overtones that went along with putting a harridan-nurse flat on her ass.
An honest answer would be unwise. I know from the long experience of getting clouted by barmaids annoyed at my advances.
But an outright lie would be equally unwise, assuming this infatuation had a future. I know because my own father owns a tavern was the sort of claim that could easily be shredded by a tavern-keeper's daughter.
So, he opted for mysterious silence.
The girl sniffed. "Got boxed on the ears enough times, did you?"
She took two steps into the bedroom, and planted her hands on her hips. Very ample hips, Eric was pleased to note.
"My name is Tata and I'm giving you fair warning. I have a short way with irritating men. Give me any trouble and I'll beat you black and blue."
Eric's hand clutched at his chest. "Oh! I adore domineering women!"
Chapter 24
The Vogtland
In the end, all of Captain Lovrenc Bravnicar's efforts to protect the elector of Saxony proved to be pointless. A massive explosion erupted just as John George and his wife and son passed through a narrow defile in the mountains.
The sound was almost deafening. Bravnicar, riding at the front of the column, twisted around in his saddle. The little gorge was filled with gunsmoke. He could hear the sounds of shrieking men and horses. Several riderless horses were already racing away from the disaster. He could see two bodies—presumably their former riders—lying still on the ground. Another horse was dragging a cavalryman whose boot had gotten stuck in a stirrup. His head smashed against a rock and he lost his helmet. Blood spilled out to cover his face.
Lovrenc thought the man was already unconscious. He hoped so. There was no way he was going to survive,