Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale Read Free Page B

facing
Altea. His chin was pillowed by his jowls. He tapped his fingers on
his belly. His brown hair was gray at the temples and retreating
from his pudgy face.
    “Altea, why can’t my valet find my slippers?”
Martin demanded.
    “Because he’s incompetent,” Altea
suggested.
    The pamphlet snapped onto the table by his
chair and he puffed at her reproachfully. “He says he gave them to
you,” Martin said.
    “He gave me old slippers to throw out, and I
did,” Altea said.
    “And you did not get new ones?” he asked.
    “Wouldn’t that be Hynek’s task?” she asked
back.
    Martin grumbled. His aging valet was
misplacing and forgetting more and more things, but Martin knew
Altea was not going to accept any blame. His stepdaughter was many
things but meek was not among them.
    “At least it’s warm,” he muttered and wiggled
his toes in his stocking feet.
    “It may be time to refresh the valet’s
position,” Altea said.
    “That’s putting it nicely,” Martin said. “But
I don’t need you to tell me how to employ or not employ my valet.
Hynek’s loyal and honest. Rare things in this city these days.” He
commenced to complain about the rising crime and how it was
bollixing up the jails. “We ought to do like the damnable Turks.
They cut off the hands of thieves and are done with it. That would
surely put an end to all this pick pocketing and highway
banditry.”
    “And how would you expect all these
one-handed men to earn livings then?” Altea said.
    Martin wrinkled his nose. “That’s why women
have no place thinking about the law,” he said.
    Altea rolled her eyes. “I’ll check to see how
dinner’s coming,” she said as a way to excuse herself.
    Esther the cook was nearly done preparing the
evening meal. Altea set the table and rounded up the boys.
    “Wash your hands and faces,” she said.
    “Why?” the youngest two asked in unison.
    “How will you be proper gentlemen with dirt
smeared on your faces?” she said. Her stern look reminded them that
she would scrub them herself if they did not comply.
    At dinner, Martin presided over the meal from
the head of the table. Altea sat on one side with Yiri and Erik
across from Elias and Patrik. Elias was closest to his father, who
was sharing with him court cases he had presided over and the day’s
gossip. Altea cut meat for Erik and tried not to look at the empty
seat at the foot of the table. She would not presume to fill it
even if she had taken on the bulk of her mother’s duties.
    “There’s a new archbishop on the way I hear,”
Martin announced.
    Altea looked up. The news was quite shocking.
An archbishop had not been in Prague since the Hussite Wars.
    Martin added, “Finally an archbishop again.
It took till 1561 but it’s a sure sign this Protestant madness
won’t get its claws in Bohemia.”
    “It’s so heartbreaking to think of whole
kingdoms of people going to Hell,” Altea said. Protestantism had
consumed half the Empire. The German States and the Low Countries
were sick with it. Father Refhold had urged everyone to pray for
the return of Papal guidance to those under the sway of
fanatics.
    “Heartbreaking?” Martin humphed
disparagingly. “If this chaos doesn’t get snuffed out there’ll be
war till Judgment Day.”
    His dramatic prediction disturbed Altea, but
she could do nothing about it so she put it from her mind.
    After dinner she helped the younger boys get
ready for bed. Elias read a book while she tucked in the three
boys. Their soft voices were filled with sadness as they prayed on
behalf of their mother’s soul. Elias set aside his book and blew
out the candle. Dusky light silhouetted him gently against a
window. He would say his prayers later in private.
    When they left the younger boys, Altea
noticed that Elias was still dressed.
    “Going out?” she asked.
    “Yes. I’m old enough. Father does not mind,”
he said.
    “Enjoy yourself,” she said.
    He told her goodnight and ambled down the
stairs with