Wolves Among Us(12)

“Are you angry with me?” Bjorn asked. Stefan waved him off, embarrassed. Bjorn knew him well. “I am just curious. What should be done next?”

“You could try praying.”

“Don’t mock me.” Stefan looked at Bjorn to see if his friend teased.

“I’m not. I’m mocking prayer.”

Bjorn ducked into a doorway with room only for Stefan to follow, giving them privacy.

“I know you do not understand what goes on between a man and a woman,” Bjorn said. “But the murders are God’s failure, not mine. I am out here every night. I answer every cry for help that I hear.”

“That’s not fair. We can’t know the mind of God. That does not mean He does not hear our cries.”

“Are you sure? That makes Him a devil, doesn’t it? That He hears and does not act?”

“You do not mean that.”

Bjorn opened his mouth to say something else, then sighed. “I’m sorry. I can’t escape these questions.”

Stefan patted him on the back. “Your profession is to blame, not you.” He gestured back toward the square. “The merchants are afraid of losing the best weeks of the market. What are you going to do?”

“A tart stirred up two men and paid for it. It doesn’t involve the merchants.”

“Two bodies left on the steps of the church? You have to arrest the man. It’s a scandal.”

Bjorn laughed, stepping out of the doorway. Stefan caught him by the arm. “You do not understand my meaning.”

“What would you have me do? Ask politely at every door, ‘Are you the man who was seduced by Cronwall’s wife and murdered them? Would you mind coming with me so I can hang you?’”

“The women are superstitious and fearful. If you do not make an arrest, they’ll travel in another direction to go to market. The first weeks of market are critical while we wait for the crops to ripen. We need the money. The church needs the money.”

“What is the reason you are so frightened? Is it the money or the scandal?”

Stefan held a finger up to stop Bjorn from saying anything more. Bjorn was failing him. But there might be a solution that saved them all. “There is an Inquisitor in nearby Eichschan,” Stefan said as the idea surfaced. “The bishop has said the Inquisitor is highly regarded by the pope, even commissioned in Nuremberg.”

“What are you saying?”

“Hear me out.”

“But this is not witchcraft. Just wickedness.”

Stefan swallowed, rubbing his hands together before weaving them through the air, as if to stir Bjorn’s imagination. “Wickedness is the Devil’s work. These circumstances are unusual for Dinfoil, and I think they merit a visit from such a man. A man of higher learning will have answers for you and the merchants. If it goes well, other villages will be talking about it too. We’ll have more visitors. More money. The prince would be pleased. Perhaps he would even mention us to the emperor.” Stefan had never argued with Bjorn. He did not know what to do after speaking, so he dropped his hands and waited.

“No. Do not bring a stranger into this. We do not want every other village hearing of our troubles.”

“Try to imagine it. I will bring in the Inquisitor and let him find the guilty man. Then he will declare the town free of all evil influences, and the markets will thrive. It will be over in a fortnight. You won’t have to do anything. No one will care if you don’t make an arrest. But we will all gain recognition. God could very well be in this tragedy for our good.”

“No,” Bjorn said in a tone meant to end the conversation. “No outsiders. Don’t speak of it again.”

“Bjorn,” Stefan said, his face turning red. “Have you seen the way they look at me? Everyone in town looks at me as if I allowed this. Even you accuse me, in your way. I’m not stupid.”

“Then don’t act it. An Inquisitor will come here looking for the Devil, and he may very well find one. How will you look then?”

“You’re wrong,” Stefan said.

“Look at your feet, my friend.”

Stefan looked down. The edges of his robe were a bit dirty, but his feet were clean, despite the mud and chaos of spring.

“Do you see the ground you’re standing on?”

Stefan looked up. “Yes.”

Bjorn pointed a finger at him. “That’s the only thing you know for certain. You hear what people want to tell you, only the sins they feel guilt for. The difference between you and me? I see what they do when they leave your church. I see the sins they commit without guilt or shame.”

Stefan watched him walk away, standing there in the dirt with chaos not far away. A red fleck caught his eye, a cardinal in a barren tree. The branches were just beginning to build up at the ends, preparing for spring, and the bird glistened, a trembling ruby startling in its perfection, in its dazzling, unrepentant red. Stefan stared at it until the sun caught its feathers just right, and for a moment he saw his whole village blinded with red. Beyond the barren tree, behind the houses with dark smoke curling from their chimneys, a wolf howled.

Cold wind stung his cheeks, and he shook free of the moment, pulling his arms in with a shiver. Winter had not finished with them yet.





Chapter Six