Read Online The Left-Handed God by I. J. Parker - Free Book Online Page B

Stuttgart, capital of the dukes of Württemberg, Franz had to spend the night before buying a seat in another coach to Ulm.
    A cold rain was falling when he climbed out of the coach in Ulm. The posting inn, called Goldener Adler , stood in the shadow of the looming cathedral. Three beggars huddled against the inn’s wall, stretching their hats and hands toward the travelers who hurried past them through the rain.
    “Help a fellow wounded veteran, sir!” begged a young man who had lost an eye and wore a patch over it.
    “I’ve got a starving wife and four kids, sir. Have mercy on them,” pleaded the gray-whiskered man who missed a leg.
    The third man, pale and red-haired, wore an arm in a sling and was racked by a hollow cough. He said nothing, just held out his hand.
    They wore the tatters of their uniforms, an Austrian jacket here, the breeches and gaiters of another regiment there, a vest and bandolier over a torn shirt on the third man. None inspired trust, and the other travelers had ignored them.
    Franz, who had been the last out of the coach, stopped, felt in his pocket for money, and gave each some silver he could ill spare. Their misery was worse than his.
    They saluted and thanked him fervently.
    Inside the inn, he was shown to a seat near the window. As he waited for his meal, he could see the three wretches huddling together in the rain. They were looking enviously his way. A maid brought him a plate with a slice of roast beef and two potato dumplings swimming in gravy. The food looked and smelled delicious, but he had lost his appetite.
    After a few listless bites, he got back on his crutches and hobbled outside. The three beggars watched him coming. Perhaps they thought he wanted his money back.
    “W-will you j-join me for a m-meal?” he asked, speaking carefully.
    They gaped at him, then looked at each other.
    “You’re asking us to eat with you, sir? In there?” the youngest finally asked.
    Franz nodded.
    The old soldier with the gray whiskers eyed Franz slyly. “We can’t afford the prices.”
    “M-m-y g-guests.” Franz said. “I-it’s c-cold and w-w…‌.” He gestured at the rain.
    They looked at each other, grinned, and accepted.
    The inn’s staff was not happy to see three wet and filthy beggars occupying their premises, but since Franz paid, they served them hot food and beer.
    Franz watched as the soldiers ate. He felt a little better.
    “You just getting back from the war, too, sir?” The whiskered man’s name was Hannes Moser. Franz nodded, and Moser guessed, “Freiberg, was it?‌—‌where you got wounded, sir?” Franz nodded again. Moser shook his head. “Them Prussians are devils. At least you still got two legs.”
    Franz said nothing.
    The man with the cough was Willi Reiss. He was shoveling in the food and asked with a full mouth, “Where’s home then, sir?”
    “L-lindau.”
    Willi choked on another spasm of coughing, washed it down with a draft of beer. “A far way.”
    The one-eyed youngster grinned and raised his own beer, “Here’s to you, sir! May you get home safe.”
    Franz did not particularly want beer, but it was churlish not to respond and he filled his own mug from the pitcher and drank, then proposed another toast to happier times for them.
    They took turns talking about their battles and wounds and where they had served, consuming a large amount of beer toasting fallen friends and famous generals. Franz was thankful that this conversation asked little of him except an occasional nod or grunt and a raised glass. And ordering fresh pitchers of beer. They were talkative enough. He learned that they, too, were on their way home but without money for lodging or post coaches. They would have to spend the night outside in the rain and were reluctant to leave.
    Finally Franz was nearly asleep and went to talk to the innkeeper about sharing his room for the night. The innkeeper didn’t like the idea but agreed when Franz offered to pay double if he would