“Haaachoo! Yes, Abbot. Ndow will you excuse me? By dose is streaming.”
* * *
The bed groaned as Manfred did his customary flop onto it. As usual, he gave his attention to the bedpost caryatides before turning to Erik. “What’s up? Why are you pacing about, rubbing a thoughtful hand on that pious, sharpcut chin of yours?”
Erik took a deep breath. “I’ve got to go brothel-creeping!”
Manfred leapt to his feet in a single movement, like a crossbow snapping straight. It was at moments like this that the big knight revealed his true strength and agility. He rubbed his hands gleefully and grinned, revealing those blocky teeth.
“Oh, me too. Me too! But this time just to watch! What’s suddenly come over you, my pure Icelandic friend? Besides the need for female company, that is?”
Erik scowled. “I’ve got orders from Abbot Sachs to go to the House of the Red Cat. You will be staying here. Even if I have to lock you up, you will be staying here. And it’s not funny,” he snarled, seeing the young knight-squire’s expression.
Manfred put his hand in front of his grin, trying to hide it. His shoulders began to shake. Then he gave up. He laughed. He guffawed. Eventually he collapsed onto the bed again, still fighting off paroxysms of chuckles while Erik stared at him in icy irritation.
Eventually he stopped long enough for Erik to start speaking. “It’s a direct order!”
This provoked a snort of derision from Manfred. “I’ll bet. Tell me another one. Unless Sachs is learning more from Sister Ursula than we realize.”
“I’m supposed to be a decoy for a raid, you young fathead! I should take you out into the practice yard and teach you some decorum,” snapped Erik.
Manfred sat back and raised his big hands in a pacific gesture. “I’m all decorum, I swear. I haven’t forgotten the last time! Neither have my ribs. Has Sachs got wind of your last little visit and the friendly little chat you had with the Madame and her bouncers?”
“Jesu. I hope to God not.” Erik crossed himself. “Let me tell you about what he wants me to do.”
* * *
By the time he’d finished, Manfred wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even grinning. “I suppose they’ll be waiting by the water-door for the ruckus. This smells to the heavens, Erik! That idiot Sachs will get you killed—and I wouldn’t doubt that’s really what he wants. Why in the hell no sword and no armor?”
Erik pulled a wry face. “I suppose they don’t want the bouncers too alarmed and deciding not to interfere. I’m supposed to create a disturbance.”
Manfred had the grace to look shamefaced. “I think they’re going to be a little alarmed just to see your face.”
“Thanks to you, yes,” replied Erik grimly.
Manfred stood up slowly. “True enough. Are you going anywhere in the next while?”
Erik shook his head. “Not until I leave smelling of wine, shortly after Compline.”
Manfred pursed his lips. “That gives us plenty of time.” The knight-squire headed for the door. “Wait here. That Pellmann is nowhere about, is he?”
Erik raised his eyes to heaven and shook his head. “When he doesn’t have to be? Not likely.”
Manfred nodded, and walked out and away up the passage. He could walk fast and quietly for such a big man.
A short while later he was back, with a bag and an oilcloth roll. He closed the door and bolted it before tossing the bag onto the bed. It clinked. Erik raised an eyebrow.
Manfred unrolled his oilcloth onto to the table and revealed a set of tools that would have done any torturer from Damascus to Vinland proud. “Get out of those clothes. If you’ve got a close-fitting quilted shirt, put it on. If you don’t, we’ll have to get you one. We’ll need to fit this thing. It’s too small for me these days, but likely it’ll be still too big for you.”
Erik looked doubtful. “What is it?”
Manfred stepped over to the bag on the bed. He hauled out a shirt of tiny chain links. They gleamed with an odd black pearly sheen. “Koboldwerk. My uncle had me wear it at court. Somebody must have washed it because it’s shrunk.”