Escape from the Past Read Free Page A

the edge of the forest, the land fell in a gentle slope toward…
what
?
    Where the neat homes and hedged gardens, the paved roads and street lanterns of Bornhagen had been, shacks and huts squatted in the dusk, crooked and dirty with thatched roofs and muddy paths. This couldn’t be right. I’d spent two years in Bornhagen. I knew every street, nearly every house. I had to be in some other place, maybe one of those make-believe medieval villages, some kind of tourist attraction.
    Bero’s slight figure scampered along two hundred yards ahead.
    “Wait for me,” I shouted again, breaking into another run. At last I saw Bero stop. His pigs snorted loudly, impatient to get back to their stall.
    “Thanks, man,” I panted as I drew near.
    “What is it?” Bero frowned. “I’m late. Sows need water.”
    I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, a sure sign I was nervous. I thought of what to say, tell the guy some bullshit story about being mugged or losing my parents in a bloody car accident, but somehow it seemed unlikely that Bero would fall for it. I decided truth was best.
    “Look, I need a place to stay. Just for tonight. I’m sort of lost. I’m not from here, not exactly. I’ll try to explain, but I know you’re late. I’m not a spy even if I sound strange to you. Fact is you’re my only hope. Otherwise, I’ll…have no place to go.” I opened my mouth, but nothing else seemed right to say.
    Bero stared, his gaze lingering on my shoes. A minute passed. Whether it was my explanation or the underlying fear that had made my voice shake, Bero finally nodded.
    “You can come. But you must help with the sows. And don’t mouth off to
Mutter.
” Bero punched me in the shoulder, but I didn’t mind. I was strangely relieved.
    “Thanks, man.”
    At the edge of the village a shack stood surrounded by a fence. Blackened timber crisscrossed its whitewashed outer walls, reminding me of a crooked chessboard. On the doorstep a girl of about twelve sat shelling beans by a smoldering light. She didn’t look up until Bero opened the gate and shooed his pigs into an enclosure with a low-roofed barn. I slinked along. “
Mutter
is cross with you,” the girl shouted in Bero’s direction. When her eyes fell on me, she began to stare, her mouth forming a perfect O. I nodded. She shrieked and disappeared inside the hut.
    Ignoring her, Bero pointed toward a wooden bucket that hung on the fenced-in pen. “Water troughs need filling. You have to go three times. Sows are thirsty after the long day.”
    I grabbed the pail and looked for a faucet. Surely it had to be near the house.
    “What are you doing? Make haste,” Bero said.
    “Looking for the faucet.”
    “What’s a faucet?”
    “For the water.” We stared at each other as if we were both fools.
    Finally Bero shrugged and pointed down the path. “The well is that way. Make haste, I’m starving.”
    I ran past more crooked huts until I saw a circular wall with a crude roof above. Remembering vaguely what I’d learned in history class, I circled around it. The wooden crank, splintered and silvery from age, was encased in rusted iron. I gave it a shove, breathing a sigh of relief when I heard the sound of trickling water in the depth. It was nearly dark now except for a low shine escaping from the open door of Bero’s hut. In the distance, I saw other lights. They were so dim that they looked more like fireflies than lamps. Jimmy’s father sure had done a good job with this place. It looked pretty authentic, wherever it was.
    “You dawdle like a drunken snail,” Bero said after my thirdtrip, snatching the pail from my hand and returning it to the barn wall. “Let’s eat.”
    I wiped my damp hands on my jeans and followed Bero into the hut.

Chapter 3
    “
Mutter,
I brought someone.” Bero slumped on the bench, scanning the table. I stood unmoving. Two tallow lamps flickered in earthen pots, barely making a dent into the gloom. The thick mixture of smoke,