Eifelheim - Michael Flynn [170]
THAT NIGHT, quietly, the Kratzer died.
Joachim wept, for the philosopher had never accepted Christ and had died outside the arms of the Church. Hans said only, “Now, he knows.”
Dietrich, to comfort the servant of the talking head, said that God could save whom He would, and there was a limb of Heaven reserved for the virtuous pagans, a place of natural happiness.
“Do I experience that which you call ‘grief’?” the Krenk wondered. “We do not weep as you do; so perhaps we do not feel as you do. But there is a sentence in my head that I will see the Kratzer no more, that never more will he give me instruction, never more strike me for my faults. Since a long time, I have not paid homage to him—I use your term—and since that time, I have looked on him differently. Not as a servant looks on a master, but as one servant looks on another, for are we not both servants of a greater Lord? The sentence in my head is that this pleased him in some way, for even now I cannot bear that I have disappointed him.”
He turned to the window, where he stared down Church Hill to the village and beyond that to the Great Woods. “He would not drink, and I did. The strength he refused was mine to repair the ship. Which of us was right?”
“I do not know, my friend,” said Dietrich.
“Gschert drank, and did nothing.”
Dietrich did not answer him. The Krenk’s lips worked slowly.
After a time, the physician came with two other Krenken and they carried off the mortal remains of the Kratzer to their vessel, there to prepare him for the nourishment of others.
FRIDAY, ON the commemoration of the Seven Holy Brothers, the Krenken departed the High Woods. Manfred bade them a ceremonial farewell in his manor hall, inviting their leaders and those who had hosted them. To Shepherd he gave a necklace of pearls, while to Baron Grosswald he gave a coronet of silver to signify his rank. Perhaps for the only time, Dietrich thought the Krenken leader affected. He set the laurel upon his head with great care and, though Shepherd split her lips in the Krenkish smile, the knights and armsmen present gave forth a loud “Hoch!” that startled the Krenken.
Manfred summoned Dietrich, Hilde, and Max. “I had not the heart to forbid it,” he said. “Their ship’s rudder has been fully repaired, and they have no cause anymore to linger.” He paused. “If they stay, all will follow poor Kratzer to the tomb. As you three were the first to welcome them, I am sending you with them to bless their craft. I hope for their speedy return now that they know which winds carry them here. The Baron Grosswald has promised to return with skilled physicians and apothecaries, who may aid us against the pest.”
“Mine Herr,” said Dietrich, “their rudder—” He could not continue and said only, “I, too, wish them fair winds and calm seas.”
They rode the Herr’s rouncies past golden fields to the clearing where the vessel lay. Dietrich suggested they picket the horses at the charcoal kiln and walk the rest of the way, lest the nearness of so many Krenken panic them. Dietrich noted that Max wore now a scrip on his belt in which nestled a handheld pot de fer. “You have finally secured one, I see.”
Max grinned and slipped the machine from his scrip. “Hopping Max gave it me before they decamped for their ship.”
“What will you do when there are no more bullets for it?”
Max shrugged. “Is there a flaw in my weave? They’ve taught us how to make safely the black-powder, and that is enough. To make bullets for this device wants arts mechanical which we do not have. The bullets we use for our slings are too irregular in size and shape. But it is a cunningly wrought piece, and I will keep it for its beauty and as a think-piece for the strange events of this past year.”
“Last night, Joachim begged Shepherd and others to stay.”
Max cocked his head. “He hates them so? If they stay, they die.”
“He believes that our great work was to win these creatures to Christ, and this labor alone has kept the pest from our homes. If the Krenken depart unbaptized, he says, the pest will