Having been torn away from her games, the little girl was whingeing, sulking and doing her best to hinder the housekeeper in her work. She was taking such tiny steps out of spite that the housekeeper almost had to drag her. Ofka reacted with malevolent snorts at everything the housekeeper threatened her with because she didn’t give a hoot about it. She’d had enough of translating Grandpa Tammo’s speech, because his chamber smelled and he did, too. She didn’t care that Uncle Apecz had just arrived at Sterzendorf with some extremely important news for Grandpa, and that when he finished, Grandpa Tammo would have lots to say, as usual, and of course, no one but she could understand what Grandpa Tammo was saying.

The high-born Ofka of Baruth didn’t give a tinker’s cuss about it. She only had one desire—to return to the castle embankment and drop flat stones onto cowpats.

The sounds coming from Grandpa’s chamber could be heard from the staircase. The news Uncle Apecz was sharing must have been horrifying and highly unpleasant indeed, for Ofka had never heard grandpa yelling so loudly. Ever. Not even when he found out that the best stallion in the stud had got food poisoning and died.

“Vuaahha-vuaha-buhhauahhu-uuuaaha!” came the sound from the chamber. “Hrrrrhurrr-hhhuh… Uaarr-raaah! O-o-oooo…”

Then the following sound:

“Bzppprrrr… Ppppprrrruuu…”

And then silence fell.

And soon after, Uncle Apecz left the chamber. He looked at Ofka for a long time, and at the housekeeper even longer.

“Please have some vittles prepared in the kitchen,” he finally said. “Air the chamber. And summon a priest. In that order. I shall issue further orders after I’ve eaten.”

Seeing the housekeeper’s perplexed expression, he added, “A great deal will change here. A great deal.”

Chapter Twenty-One

In which the red-hooded goliard and the black wagon reappear, along with 500 grzywna. And all because Reynevan is chasing skirts again.

Around noon, the road was blocked by a long stretch of windblown trees lying in a row and extending deep into the forest. The barrier of splintered tree trunks, the mess of entangled boughs and the chaos of roots torn from the earth and seemingly contorted in agony truly reflected Reynevan’s state of mind. The allegorical landscape had not only stopped him but made him think.

After parting from Duke Bolko Wołoszek, Reynevan had ridden south apathetically, towards banks of dark clouds. He had no idea why he had chosen that direction. Was it because Wołoszek had pointed towards it on parting? Or had he instinctively chosen a track taking him away from places and matters that aroused fear and aversion in him? Away from the Sterczas, Strzegom and Lord Laasan, Hayn of Czirne, the Świdnica Inquisition, Stolz Castle, Ziębice, Duke Jan…

And Adèle.

The wind was driving the clouds so low, they appeared to be snagging on the treetops beyond the windblown debris. Reynevan sighed.