The horses dozed where they stood, blankets draped over them. The Brothers poked through the black bones of the tavern, hoping to find an unbroken bottle or anything else of worth. They found only the charred remains of Alphonse, and neither wanted to reach into the partially collapsed fireplace to retrieve their cooking pot.

Together they entered the buildings Manfried had opened, and between them found a few sacks of grain, a new pot and more blankets. They went to shove these into the wagon but to Manfried’s relief and Hegel’s shock the woman reclined inside. Her hair shone, and Manfried reached out to push it away from her face when Hegel snatched his hand and gave him a hard look. Manfried dropped the blankets on the floor of the wagon and angrily closed the tarp.

“Gotta stay pure,” Hegel said.

“Who says I ain’t?”

“Her much as you. You recollect where that lass was head in?”

“Some fat lord down south,” said Manfried.

“Some fat sea captain down south.”

“Eh?”

“Yeah, you heard. As in, boats. As in, Gyptland.” Hegel grinned, pleased he had worked out the angles himself.

“Hey now,” said Manfried, genuinely impressed. “You recollect this captain’s name?”

“Er.” Hegel’s blistered brows creased painfully. “I do believe it was Bar Goose. Yeah, I’d stake my take on it.”

“What kind a ignorant name is that?”

“They all got’em dumb like Al Ponce or Ennio.”

“Suppose so,” Manfried allowed, “but where’s this Goose roost?”

“ Venetia, I’s sure a that.”

“What you mean?”

“Eh?”

“I’s sure a that,” Manfried said. “Ain’t you sure a the rest? Like his bein named Goose and bein a seaman?”

“Nah, I’s sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Better be, brother.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They glared at each other, then broke up laughing. Manfried spent a time straightening out the horses and piling the pieces he could not determine a use for in the back of the wagon. He led them by the bit to ensure everything stayed in place, then hopped onto the seat beside Hegel, who had half a pot of warm porridge waiting.

“Need Ellis, you said.” Manfried snorted.

“Aye, coward Ennio may a been, but he got pure fore he died.”

“Suppose so.” Manfried nodded. “Sight better than Ponce lettin that demon in, damn straight. Ennio’s sittin with Mary as we converse.”

“And what you think a that other one? Drowned in melted snow!”

“Who cares? They’s all’s weak as these ones, we’s gonna be princes a Italia and never need go to Arabtown!”

The day heated up, snow turning to sludge and impeding their progress until they left the gate and began winding up the road. Here the trail resembled stream more than highway but they persevered and a short time later stopped inside the gate of the monastery. With the demon safely destroyed, they could both retrieve their gear and finally get a peek inside that crypt.

“Be back in a bit,” Manfried called to the woman but got no response. He dallied but Hegel egged him on, and they hurried around the side, through the door and into the cemetery. They splashed through the mud and fell upon the sacks they had left behind. Their crossbows were wet but appeared serviceable, and the bottles they had pinched from the tavern were intact.

“Not demon, Devil, witch, or weather will keep us from our richly pleasure!” Manfried toasted.

“Bless Mary, and bless us too!” Hegel intoned solemnly, then they drank and clapped each other on the back.

Stowing the booze, they eagerly pushed open the crypt door and stepped inside. Hegel got their last rushlight aflame and swung it around the cramped interior, revealing three stone tombs. The bronze ornamentation they ignored, setting their prybars under the lids and putting them to their named use. Each contained an older skeleton than the last, but in the layers of dust and decay on the floors of the sarcophagi metal still glimmered. They fished out seven rings and a gold crucifix.

“Can melt him down.” Manfried grinned, stowing it in a pouch.

“Beauty better than any woman,” Hegel sighed, trying on a silver ring inlaid with green stones.

“Speakin a such,” said Manfried, “I oughta check on’er.”

“What for?”

“See if, uh, she wants some food. Ain’t et in our presence, gotta be famished.”

“That’s right civil a you, brother,” Hegel said. “Just be sure you don’t go pissin in our feedbag.”

“How’s that?” Manfried turned in the doorway.

“She noble or close enough. I’d reckon they’s smart enough to figure out we done somethin if somethin we do. So do all you can with your eyes, cause them hands a yours best stick to your own mecky self.”

“You got a wicked, unchristian mind.” Manfried stormed off, Hegel chuckling and polishing his rings on the step of the crypt.

Leaving the graveyard, Manfried noticed that the drapery covering the back of the wagon hung open. The only things inside were blankets and several boxes. Looking around, he saw a door on the rear of the monastery likewise ajar. Remembering that the demon had hinted at something regarding the abbey, he grabbed his crossbow before advancing. Poking his head in, he found it far too dark to attempt without both light and Hegel. He shouted for his brother, and when Hegel arrived they spent the heftier part of a little while getting the rushlight relit.

“Gonna claim this ax,” Hegel informed his brother. “Sword got buried back at the tavern and I might need a sharp edge stead a my pick.”

“Yours til somethin better turns up, then it’s mine again.”

“Proper. My bow looks a mite warped, so lets hope we ain’t gotta use’em.”

“Whatever you do, don’t shoot less you’s sure you gotta. No sense puttin a hole in our feedbag.” Manfried held up the sputtering reed.

“How’s that? Oh.”

Manfried led the way, Hegel instantly put off by both the darkness and the eye-watering stench they now equated with the pestilence. At the end of the hall stood a large door, and, exchanging a nervous glance, they shoved it open.

Unmistakably the kitchen, this room housed piles of wooden plates and cooking implements, as well as rotting food of all varieties. The high windows were boarded up for winter, but Hegel noticed a sconce in the wall and removed the torch, lighting it from his brother’s rushlight. Manfried went directly across to the opposite hallway but Hegel tarried, inspecting several oaken casks.

“What you got there?” Manfried asked from the hallway.

“Beer.” Hegel jammed the bung back in place. “Quality, too.”

“Later. We need our feedbag fore we can drink.”

“You liked that, did you?”

Halfway down the hall they could go no farther, the stink gagging them. Following Hegel’s prudent suggestion, they dipped their sleeves in the beer barrel and held them to their nostrils. They could then advance, although both were becoming heady from the odors.

Passing into the huge chapel, they discovered the cause of the smell. Over fifty bodies were heaped atop the pews, the outlines indistinct from the copious mold growing on them. Children and mothers had rotted together into hideous shapes, the faces of the dead weeping gray slime from every orifice. Monks were piled on women in suggestive positions, the entire putrefying mass an obvious labor of devotion. Even with their ale-soaked sleeves vomit assaulted the Grossbarts’ esophagi, and they staggered back down the hall, passing under a large cross smeared with excrement and pus. Shutting the doors on either end of the hallway helped but they could not get the smell out of their noses.

Again Manfried felt delighted and Hegel disturbed by the woman’s sudden reappearance. She sat on a table in the kitchen nibbling dried fish from a small crate beside her. Manfried went to her side and reached for a fish but she knocked the lid shut. Manfried felt a mix of anger and reproach, his watchful brother scowling in contempt. Hegel wanted fish, too, but if Manfried would not snatch it away neither would he. Hegel filled his porridge-crusted pot with beer and munched on the least moldy piece of bread he could find.