Eifelheim - Michael Flynn [204]
“Saturn, I think you called it.”
“Doch. Beyond Saturn, the firmament of stars, and beyond that, the waters above the heavens, though in a form crystallized to ice.”
“We, too, find a belt of ice bodies girdling each world-system. Though, of course, they turn on the hither side of the firmament, not the farther.”
“So you have said, though I understand not what then keeps the ice water from seeking its natural place here in the center.”
“Worm!” Hans replied. “Have I not told you that your image is wrong? The sun sits in the center; not the earth!”
Dietrich held his forefinger in post. “Did you not tell me that the firmament … What did you call it?”
“The horizon of the world.”
“Ja, doch. You say its warmth is the remnant of the wondrous day of creation; and beyond it no one can see. Yet this horizon lies in every direction at the same distance, which any student of Euclid can tell you is the locus of a sphere. Therefore, the earth lies truly at the center of the world, quod erat demonstrandum.”
Dietrich smiled broadly at having determined successfully the question, but Hans stiffened and emitted an extended hiss. His arms flew up and across his body, presenting the serrated edges. A protective gesture, Dietrich thought. After a moment, the Krenkl’s arms slowly relaxed, and Hans whispered, “Sometimes the dull ache sharpens like a knife.”
“And I conduct a quodlibet while you suffer. Are there no more of your particular medicines?”
“No. Ulf needed it far more.” Hans pawed with his left hand, seeking Dietrich. “Move, twitch. I can barely see you. No, I would rather discourse on great questions. Unlikely, that either you or I have the answers, but it distracts a little from the pain.”
Dawn was crawling up the Oberreid road. Dietrich rose. “Perhaps some willow bark tea, then. It eases head-pain among us, and may serve you also.”
“Or kill me. Or it may contain the missing protein. Willow bark tea…. Was it among those things Arnold or the Kratzer tried? Wait, the Heinzelmännchen may have it in his memory.” Hans chittered into his mikrofoneh, listened, then sighed. “Arnold tested it. It makes naught.”
“Still, if it dulls the pain … Gregor?” He called to the mason, who sat by his eldest son on the other side of the smithy. “Have we any willow bark prepared?”
Gregor shook his head. “Theresia was stripping bark two days ago. Shall I fetch it?”
Dietrich dusted his robes. “I will.” To Hans, he added, “Rest well. I’ll be back with the potion.”
“When I am dead,” the Krenkl replied, “and Gottfried and Beatke drink of me in my memory, each will give his share to the other out of charity, and thus will the quantity double in size from being traded back and forth. Bwah-wa-wah!”
The jest escaped Dietrich, and he supposed his friend had developed a flaw in his weave. He crossed the road, waving to Seybke at work in his father’s stoneyard. Carving tombstones. Dietrich had told the masons not to worry at the task, but Gregor had said, “What is the point of living if folk forget you when you’re dead?”
Dietrich knocked on Theresia’s doorjamb and received no answer. “Are you awake?” he called. “Have you any willow bark prepared?”
He knocked again and wondered if Theresia had gone to the Lesser Wood. But he pulled the string on the latch and opened the door.
Theresia stood barefoot in the middle of the dirt floor, wearing only her nightgown but crumpling and wringing a coverslut in her hands. When she saw Dietrich, she cried out. “What do you want! No!”
“I came to ask after willow bark. Excuse my intrusion.” He backed away.
“What have you done to them?”
Dietrich stopped. Did she mean those who had left? Those who had died in the hospital?
“Don’t hurt me!” Her face had turned red with anger, her jaw clenched tight.
“I would never hurt you, schatzl. You know that.”
“You were with them! I saw you!”
Dietrich had