Read Online Twelfth Krampus Night by Matt Manochio - Free Book Online Page B

anyone else see the devil?” Wilhelm’s incredulousness drew looks from around the room. Mumfred reentered and joined the nobles.
    â€œPerhaps guards on the wall walks,” Otto said. “My lords, both of you need bodyguards around you at all times.”
    â€œPish, Otto,” Wilhelm said. “The castle’s defenses held up just as designed. Post extra guards up top. Oh, and get one of the cottars to fish the woman out of the moat.”
    â€œI would not do that, my lord, lest you wish the cottar dead.” The chaplain, a man named Theodore, stood. “And I would suggest you follow the knight’s suggestion about bodyguards.”
    Wilhelm rolled his eyes and sighed. “Loosen your robe, priest. It’s on too tight.”
    Theodore, a cherub of a man, flapped his long brown and white robes. “They are fine. What I am suggesting, my lord, is that the woman the knight described likely already is out of the moat—and angry to have been knocked in there in the first place by Krampus.”
    â€œExcuse me?” It was Mumfred. Beate followed him to stand near the chaplain. Heinrich remained seated, surreptitiously poking duck in his mouth.
    â€œThe thing the knight described. That’s Krampus. The dark servant to Saint Nicholas. But what he’s doing out of his cave this time of year—”
    â€œToo much red wine, Father,” Mumfred said. “Perhaps you need to skip evening Mass.”
    â€œOn the coming of the Epiphany?” Theodore walked to where Otto sat. “I think not, my lord. And that explains the woman who attacked the knight. It’s Frau Perchta. I’ve heard stories of her comings and goings in Bavaria, but never have I seen her, nor do I wish to.”
    â€œI cannot blame you.” Otto grunted. “She was too strong to be—”
    â€œWhat did her feet look like?” Theodore said.
    Otto looked up, rolling his eyes back and forth, thinking. “One of them was odd, deformed, by the look of her boot.”
    â€œLike a goose’s foot?”
    â€œI didn’t think of it that way, Father, but it was flat.”
    â€œMy lords.” Theodore stood before the brothers and placed a hand on each man’s shoulder to huddle. “Every conceivable entrance of this castle must be fortified for the foreseeable future. At least until the Twelfth Night festivities have long passed. She won’t let up. Not until she guts and sews up whoever she’s after.”
    â€œWhat?” Beate’s voice echoed around the hall.
    â€œWait a minute,” Wilhelm said, his irreverence slipped to concern.
    â€œThat woman we put on Hans’s horse.” Otto stood and pointed to Beate. “That girl’s friend.”
    â€œShe was murdered in such a manner, Father,” Beate said. “Her body was defiled and left on the roadside.” Beate recounted what she’d seen.
    â€œThe seamstress,” Theodore recalled. “I remember seeing her around here.” He shook his head to refocus. “Then, my dear, I regret to tell you that your friend must have done something the frau frowns upon. Perhaps she didn’t meet her quota of spun wool?”
    Wilhelm arched an eyebrow. “This Frau Perchta worries about how much people sew?”
    â€œYes, according to the tales I’ve read. Her goose foot resembles a splayfoot that works a spinning-woman’s treadle. So perhaps she does. Or it marks that she’s some other type of being, a higher power, a spirit of nature and defender of the woodlands. And she also frowns upon people not eating fish during Twelfth Night in favor of something else. Perhaps it’s an old superstition of mine, but that’s why I requested the cooks prepare me some salmon. It was good too.”
    Everyone else within earshot looked at their dinner plates holding an assortment of ravaged duck carcasses. Heinrich slowly gulped the last bit of poultry in his