The Baker's Secret(32)
He leaned closer. “That you wanted to kill.”
Chapter 16
They had been ordered to assemble, everyone, no excuses, that morning in April. It was a bluebird day, whole hillsides of apple trees in blossom, pinks and whites and the hum of bees. New ration cards would be issued. Anyone in Vergers failing to attend would therefore no longer receive a share of the permitted food.
Often the occupying army traveled with its dogs, large, unfriendly, brown-and-black animals. At rest they were pretty, with bushy tails and ears that rose and curled like tulip petals. Around the villagers, though, the dogs snapped like wolves, curling their lips to show their teeth. Sometimes the soldiers took the animals for walks in the lanes, and if they passed a villager the dogs would lunge at their leashes. Odette said she would gladly kick one of them, except that it would probably bite off her leg.
That day the dogs were tethered at the edge of the square, one private standing by as they growled and paced as far as their constraints allowed. Leading Mémé to the opposite side, Emma passed Marie and Fleur a step behind the bulk of Guillaume, who was discussing with the Goat whether the soldiers deliberately tormented the animals, to keep them in a constant snarl.
The veterinarian bowed to Emma but she did not greet him. Nor did she tell him about the knife strapped to her leg.
“Cage an animal,” Guillaume was saying, “train it in frustration, teach it subservience when all its breed has ever known is freedom, and you will cultivate creatures like this.”
The Goat nodded. “Maybe they are doing that to us, too.”
Yet all was orderly as the villagers assembled. The Argent couple made a late arrival, but that reflected how they generally kept to themselves. They only left their stone palace on the bluff—mansions on either side commandeered by the occupying army, communications wires webbing in all directions from their rooftops, their home exempt because it lacked electricity—when it was time to join the queue for rations. Everyone observed as the husband became more solicitous to his wife, and her belly grew round as though a half-moon had affixed itself to her spine, which caused Emma to bask in the remaining wisdom of her grandmother. As they joined the crowd now, the young woman’s visible pregnancy inspired the village’s gossiping biddies to draw aside a few steps—so that their queen bee could scold about indulging during wartime in pleasures of the flesh, and the others could tsk and cluck.
At last the Kommandant appeared on the top step of town hall, as stiff as a fence post. Officers flanked him in descending order of rank, Thalheim lowest on one end, the pencil-thin mustache officer on the other. Those two, Emma mused, all swagger and display, but in truth they were pawns.
An officer midway up the ranks came forward and called for quiet. Once the crowd settled, the Kommandant began.
“The rations process has become disorderly,” he said in their language, his pronunciation excellent. “Also there is the potential for corruption. You people do not follow directions.”
“Or choose not to,” Odette muttered, causing a titter among people in her vicinity. The Kommandant raised an eyebrow, and soldiers turned in the disturbance’s direction. Silence returned.
“Today you receive new cards, which will improve our efficiency. One person shall carry the card for a family. We will have order in their distribution this morning, and—”
Another noise interrupted from the far corner, dogs snarling, then a woman’s scream. The Kommandant frowned. Now several dogs were barking, and the woman wailed. The crowd began to murmur, people shifting in place. Thalheim drew his pistol and fired a single shot into the air. The crowd silenced instantly, at which the Kommandant nodded to his captain in approval, but the quiet made one last yelp sound twice as loud.
“What has happened there?” the pencil-thin mustache officer called, standing on tiptoe to peer over the crowd.
Two soldiers came forward, each holding one of Guillaume’s arms. They looked like dwarfs beside him, but the veterinarian did not struggle or resist. “This one, sir,” one of them said. “He killed one of the dogs.”
A gasp went through the crowd. “This is bad and going worse,” Emma said to Mémé, taking her arm. “We need to leave.”
“The animal broke his leash,” Guillaume said. “He bit Marguerite, and was not letting go.”
“Snapped its neck with his bare hands,” the soldier marveled.
“Those animals are the property of our great nation,” Thalheim said. “You have killed the wrong animal.”
“I ask permission to treat the old woman,” Guillaume said. “She is bleeding heavily and you took our physician away last year.”
The Kommandant was frowning at the entire scene. His speech had been disrupted, when the whole point had been to emphasize order. These bumpkins were so annoying. If not for their bread and brandy, and a few of their whores, a man would be tempted to slaughter them all. The officer to his left leaned closer. “What shall we do, sir?”
“We cannot be permissive,” Thalheim called from his lower step. “They must learn obedience, through punishment.”
“This fellow is useful, though,” said one on his right. “He has treated our animals repeatedly. He saved my horse.”
“We already tolerate that tree-climbing fool,” Thalheim persisted. “Also the old woman with no mind left. Any waste of resources invites disrespect. Sir, here is an opportunity—”