Eifelheim - Michael Flynn [138]
Judy read through them avidly. Sure, she was only a research assistant, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t care—about the research, among other things. When she finished, she set them down on the table and frowned a little. Then she paged back and re-read some passages.
“Did you catch that part about their names?” Tom asked. “‘He is called Johann because his true name is too difficult for our tongue.’ He would never have heard a non-Indo-European language before.”
Judy nodded absently. “He must have studied Hebrew if he was the doctor seclusus that Ockham mentions. And he would likely have heard Arabic at some time. But—”
“Did you read the part where Johann and some of his companions helped care for the villagers during the Plague?” Tom retrieved the pages from Judy, who continued to look at the space they had occupied between her hands. Tom licked his thumb and flipped through the sheets. “Here it is. ‘Hans and three of his countrymen daily visit the sick and bury the dead. How sad that those who hid from their sight will not emerge to witness true Christian charity.’” He took a sip of his soda. “‘And so Johann and I prayed for strength together, and gave comfort to those pilgrims who have grown despondent.’”
Judy made up her mind about something. It was only an intuition and she was afraid to give it voice, because she didn’t really know what that voice would say. She took the pages from him, leafed through them, and pointed with her finger. “What do you make of this …?” The abruptness in her voice earned her a curious look before Tom read the indicated passage.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” he said when he had finished. “Dietrich found Hans alone one night looking at the stars. They talked a while and Hans asked how he would ever find his way home again. A homesick traveler, n’estce pas?”
“No, Tom. He wrote that Hans pointed to the stars and asked how he would find his way home again.”
“So? People in those days used the stars as guides in traveling.”
She looked away; pushed her cheesesteak aside. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s just a feeling. Something we’ve read. It means something different … Not what we think it means.”
He didn’t answer her. He took a last bite from his hoagie and put it down unfinished. Despite the cornucopia of material they had unearthed, they were still no closer to finding the reason for Oberhochwald’s abandonment. He chewed on that for a while instead.
Shun them as we shun the unholy soil of Teufelheim. In its last year of existence, Oberhochwald was an ordinary village. Yet, a mere generation later it was being called the Devil’s Home.
He didn’t realize it, but he was dabbling in the occult—the essence of the matter was still hidden—and he would need a bit of magic to uncover it.
XVII
APRIL/MAY, 1349
Until Rogation Sunday
BY SPRING, it seemed as if the Krenken had always been there. They had settled into the rivalries, rhythms, friendships, and jealousies that marked village and manor, and had begun to participate in ceremonies and revelries. Perhaps, being deprived of the company of their own folk, their instinctus drove them to seek such comfort. When Franzl Long-nose was wounded by outlaw knights encamped in a cave below the Feldberg, two Krenken used their flying harnesses to scout for the outlaws, though to no avail.
“Men of von Falkenstein’s,” Max told Dietrich later, “who took to the woods when the Rock fell. I had thought them fled toward Breitnau.”
Shepherd’s long awaited coup fell on Low Sunday. Many Krenken, through too-literal a translation, had expected the “Herr-from-the-sky” to arrive on Easter and rescue them, and were afterward much disheartened. Shepherd (who had not so misconstrued) had carefully positioned her people, awaiting just this disappointment. She had insinuated herself into Herr Manfred’s company, always between Gschert’s lips