Scharley didn’t comment. He was busy watching some soldiers pulling a wagon covered in a black, tarred tarpaulin from a shed. A pair of horses was harnessed to the wagon. And then, urged on by a fat sergeant, the soldiers carried out a large iron-bound chest and slid it under the tarpaulin. Finally, a stout individual in a beaver calpac and a cape with a beaver collar emerged from the inn.

“Who’s that?” Scharley asked, his curiosity piqued. “An Inquisitor?”

“Almost,” replied Dzierżka in hushed tones. “He gathers taxes.”

“What taxes?”

“A special tax, for the war against heretics.”

“Czech heretics?”

“Are there any others?” Dzierżka grimaced again. “And the tax was approved by the lords in the Frankfurt Reichstag. Anyone with a wealth of over two thousand guilders has to pay one guilder, anyone with less—half a guilder. Every squire from a noble family has to give three guilders, a knight five and a baron ten. All clergymen have to pay five from every hundred of their annual stipend, priests without stipends—two groschen…”

Scharley grinned, showing his white teeth.

“All the priests declared a lack of stipend, no doubt. Led by the aforementioned Bishop of Wrocław. But four burly men were needed to lift the casket, and I counted eight in the escort. It surprises me that such a hefty load is being guarded by such a small number.”

“The escort changes along the route,” explained Dzierżka. “The knight whose estate they’re passing through supplies the men. That’s why there are so few at this moment.”

“I understand. Oh well, Dzierżka, it’s time to say goodbye. Thank you for everything.”

“You can thank me in a moment, after I’ve had my men prepare you a little horse so you won’t have to jog alongside your companion’s mount, and will have a chance when they catch up with you. Just don’t think it’s out of charity and the goodness of my heart. You can pay me back on a suitable occasion. Forty Rhenish guilders. Don’t give me that look—it’s a bargain! You ought to be grateful.”

“And I am.” The penitent smiled. “I am, Dzierżka. My heartfelt thanks. I’ve always been able to count on you. And so you won’t say I only take, take, take, here’s a present for you.”

“Some purses,” Dzierżka stated coolly. “Embroidered with silver thread and pearls. They’re quite pretty, even if they’re fake. But why three?”

“Because I’m generous. And that’s not all.” Scharley lowered his voice and looked around. “You ought to know, Dzierżka, that the young Reinmar present here has certain… abilities. Absolutely remarkable, not to say… magical.”

“Eh?”

“Scharley is exaggerating,” said Reynevan, flinching a little. “I’m a physician, not a magician—”