The Philosophical Strangler by Eric Flint

By now, Hrundig had padded around to stand in front of me. He had that thin, merciless grin on his face.

“None, that I know of. But there’s probably a thousand informers in the city fit your description. Close enough, anyway.”

My eyes flicked back and forth from him to the Frissault women. I didn’t understand anything of what was happening, mind you. But I am:

1. Not stupid.

2. Pessimistic.

3. A student of the wise man. Among whose saws, of

course, is the classic: “Never try to think of the worst

thing that could happen. It’s bound to be worse than

that anyway.”

“No,” I groaned. My mind raced like wild horses, trying to think of the worst. “Olga and the girls are Joeist heretics, fleeing from the Inquisition.”

Hrundig grinned. “Dead on the money. But it’s worse than that, Ignace. They were found out and arrested two weeks ago. Judge Jeffreys set their bail at two hundred thousand quid, no doubt on the assumption that nobody could come up with that kind of money. I wracked my brains trying to figure out a way to spring them, but it was impossible. You know what the Durance Pile is like. Take an army to break into it.”

My mind raced like the wind, trying to think of the worst. “Somebody figured out a way to do it. You? Must have robbed the Royal Treasury.”

Hrundig shook his head again. “Worse. Benvenuti came up with the bail money. Got them out yesterday before Jeffreys got wind of what was happening, and turned them over to me.”

My mind raced like a hurricane, trying to think of the worst. “He defrauded a noble client,” I croaked. “The Queen herself.”

Hrundig’s grin widened. “Worse. He defrauded the Church. Cardinal Megatherio in particular, but the whole Church is in a frenzy because he—ah! Never mind the details.”

My mind raced like a meteor, trying to think of the worst. “He’s on the run. All the forces of Church and State are out looking for him. And the Frissaults too.”

The headshake was inevitable. “Worse. They already caught him. He led them a merry chase, but he figured he could draw the pursuit away from me and Olga and the girls long enough for us to find a hiding place. Which he did. But now he’s in the hands of the Inquisition.”

My mind raced like—like—

Hrundig laughed. “Relax, Ignace! You take the wise man too seriously. Benvenuti won’t be spilling his guts yet. He told me he was sure he could hold out for at least a day before he started lying. Another day before they untangled his lies, and another before he’d have to spill the truth. Which gives me two days to figure out a way to get Olga and the girls out of town. I’ll have to leave too, of course. No way to keep my involvement a secret.”

He moved his eyes away from me, and looked over at Oscar and his friends. “I brought us here because I knew Oscar and the boys could be trusted. And since it’s a stable, maybe we could jury-rig some way to get us out of town without being spotted.”

His smile was no longer in evidence. “It’s not looking good, though. None of the vehicles in this claptrap place are anywhere big enough. Not for all of us. But I’m hoping I might still get the girls out. Olga and I will take our chances.”

I started choking. Hrundig cocked a quizzical eye.

“The hell I take the wise man too seriously!” I snarled. Then, feeling lightheaded, I squatted down, crossed my arms over my chest, and glared at the straw-strewn dirt of the stable floor.

” `Never try to think of the worst thing that could happen,’ ” I mimicked in a mutter. ” `It’s bound to be worse than that anyway.’ ”

The worst!

“What’s your problem?” demanded Hrundig.

“It’s not fair!” I exclaimed. “I never asked for any damned—”

I bit it off. What was the point? Sighing heavily, I came back up to my feet. “Never you worry, Hrundig. I’ll get you out of here.”

I crooked a finger at Oscar and the boys. “Come on, lads. I’ll need you to pick out the right one.”