In the tavern, apart from beer, they were only serving herring, cabbage and peas without gravy—it was Lent, after all. There were so many guests that Reynevan and company found it hard to get a room. Among the customers, colliers from Złoty Stok and Cukmantl predominated and there were also plenty of refugees—from Paczków, Vidnava and even Głuchołazy. Naturally, the Hussite invasion was the chief topic of conversation, displacing even the economy and sex. Everybody was talking about the Hussites. Rzehors wouldn’t have been Rzehors if he hadn’t taken advantage of the occasion.

“Let me tell you this,” he began, when he was allowed to speak. “In this world, some men make an honest and fair living and eat their daily bread. But others devour that bread like thieves and plunderers, for they didn’t work for it, and only stole and robbed it from the men that work. And among them are noblemen, prelates, priests, monks and nuns, who suck the people like leeches, who don’t follow the word of the Gospel, but in fact act quite the opposite. Thus, they are all enemies of God’s law and deserve to be punished. Do you know, Brothers, how the peasants from Ketř and Głubczyce recently saved their homes and chattels? They took the matter into their own hands and resolved it themselves. When the Czechs reached them, they saw the charred ruins of the church and the lord’s castle, and the lord and the parish priest dangling from nooses. Think this matter over, Christian Brethren. Think it over well!”

The audience nodded, yes, yes, that’s true, he’s right, the magnates and masters oppress us, give us a hard time, more beer, innkeeper, and the priests and monks are the worst bloodsuckers, damn them, beer, beer, mehr Bier, and taxes, verfluchte Scheisse, they’ll probably throttle us soon, hard times have come, all our women think about is whoring, the young are ever discontent and don’t listen to their elders, it used to be different, more beer, mehr Bier, crack open a keg, innkeeper, that herring of yours is damned salty.

Scharley, bent over his bowl, swore under his breath, and Samson whittled and sighed. Reynevan chewed the peas, which tasted like chicken feed without any gravy. Smoke crept under the tavern’s low, soot-covered ceiling, cobwebs rippled and illusory shadows played.

They slept in the stable and in the morning continued their journey towards Lądek. Reynevan and Scharley wouldn’t let Rzehors forget his performance of the previous evening. Taken to one side, he was made to listen to a few comments, mainly concerning the principles of underground activities. Reynevan reminded him that the Vogelsang were heading for Kłodzko on a secret, important mission, which demanded discretion and secretiveness. Bringing unwelcome attention on them could compromise the mission.