Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart - By Jesse Bullington Page 0,114
son. And your father.”
“I, uh, thank you, thank you so very—” Rodrigo did not know quite how to respond to the words he had always longed to hear.
“Now get on with it, and focus sharp or I’ll put you off the boat.” Barousse winked, momentarily forgetting his purpose. A fish splashed his boots, and the calm passed. “Don’t stand there gawking, leave the blasted bottles! Get to the Grossbarts and send them to me. Kill the snob if he gets crafty.”
Barousse ran back to the foyer and up the stairs, unsure why his vision had gone misty in the kitchen. Unable to dispel his grin, Rodrigo raced across the house, seeing the captain disappear on the second story. The guards almost shot Rodrigo when he burst into the room, and all his pent-up happiness burst forth in hysterical laughter at what he saw.
Sir Jean sat stripped of all but a loincloth and the Grossbarts stood on either side of him, Manfried wearing the upper half of the knight’s plate armor and Hegel awkwardly attaching the greaves to his own knobby legs. The inebriated Al-Gassur wore the helm and sat in the captain’s chair, clumsily fitting the neck of a bottle under the jutting visor. Martyn sprawled in another chair, his ripe Cardinal’s robes hanging off his spindly arms like blood-trimmed bat wings. Fixing the codpiece into place, Hegel rapped it with his knuckle and smiled knowingly at the stewing chevalier.
“The captain requests you in his quarters.” Rodrigo giggled. “I’m to watch the Frenchman.”
“Watch his mouth most close a all his bits,” Manfried advised.
“He don’t seem to say much without his iron, though,” noted Hegel, and the two departed.
They clanked up the stairs, each thinking his brother had received the better half of the unwieldy armor that barely stayed on their bodies in its fractured state. The captain admitted them, taking notice of the Arab for the first time. Ushering them in but leaving both door and cage ajar, he motioned to several open chests. These were full of coins, with many more scattered all over the rug. The Grossbarts hid their greed and amazement far better than Al-Gassur, who licked his lips and positioned his crutch so it might catch on the floor and send him sprawling. Before he could act Barousse addressed them, bringing a thankful lump to the Arab’s throat.
“Carry these outside to the garden,” the captain ordered them, “and quickly, for if I know Strafalaria we will be blessed indeed if we have until dusk to prepare.”
“Might I fill a sack, as my deformity prevents me from carrying an entire chest?” Al-Gassur asked.
“There’s a bucket there.” Barousse nodded toward the tub, which Manfried immediately hastened to before the Arab could move.
“Why we takin’em out back stead a through the you-know?” asked Hegel, keeping an eye on his brother.
“A ruse, dear Hegel,” Barousse explained, hoisting a chest, “a ploy to distract the populace. In Angelino’s tub we’ll not leave the harbor without being nabbed if any see us board. No, we must keep eyes elsewhere, upon the ruins of the doge’s manse, the fire of my own, the miracle of a golden rain upon the streets! Hurry, you hounds, hurry!”
“Don’t be callin me no beast,” Hegel grumbled, lifting a chest.
Al-Gassur pretended to tie up the hem of his gown-length tunic when the bucket crashed into it, bashing his fingers. Manfried laughed while the Arab flung himself to the ground, secretly tickled the mangy bastard had eased his deception. He groaned and rolled on the floor and before he had recovered sufficiently to stand his pointed turnshoes and hidden pockets had eaten a dozen loose ducats.
“Quit that bellyachin,” Manfried ordered, cuffing Al-Gassur’s ear.
“Apologies, apologies,” the Arab whimpered, clumsily filling the bucket and his sleeve with coins.
They trotted downstairs and out the back, the baffled guards staring as they dumped the contents of the chests into the contraption’s receptacle on top of Cardinal Buñuel’s stinking corpse. The sight made all three laugh and Al-Gassur obediently joined in. Panting, Barousse turned to them and wiped his pink brow.
“Back inside,” said Barousse, “one more load.”
Their excitement at more carrying turned to seething anger when they saw the massive anchor against one wall of the foyer. Much shoving, cursing, straining, and tugging followed, but finally the iron behemoth lay beside Buñuel’s corpse in the coin-filled receptacle.
“Crucial,” Barousse gasped, “crucial. We. Don’t fire. Too soon. Hell.”
“At your word.” Hegel shrugged at Manfried. “But now lets get some a them sausages and wine.”