Twelve: The Black Major
Kurti did his best to stay quiet. Mama and Papa needed their rest, and
he needed to do something very important. Something he needed to do
because he loved his family so much.
He needed to run away from home.
It had been a difficult decision, reached after weeks of silent crying
and thinking hard about what to do. But it was the only conclusion he
could reach, especially after those toughs beat up on Papa for trying to
protect him.
He had to leave a note, but at four and a half, he only had the
vaguest idea about writing one. He couldn't write all the words he wanted
to put down. He had to draw the concepts instead.
Kurti got the biggest sheet of paper he could find, and got out his
crayons. First, and most important was the love he felt for his family.
That was easy. He drew them all, hugging. Him, Katja, Anja and Mama and
Papa, all in a circle (Mama had a bulging tummy with yet another baby)
and surrounded by love-hearts.
Next, his worries and fears for them if he continued to stay. That was
harder. He drew himself again, and connected the picture with a drawing
of bad men beating up Papa via a think-bubble. He connected *that* to
another drawing of bad men beating up his whole family, and made that
the thought-bubble of a crying Kurti-picture.
The bottom of the picture was dominated by a mural of Kurti leaving
home, heading out across mountains and forests to find his real family
(Two adult-sized blue demon-figures) on the other side.
He placed it on the kitchen table, where they'd find it, and went to
his room to pack.
He took Schmerzmann, to remind him of his family. And his brush, to
keep his fur clean. And a spare pair of overalls and a few shirts. And -
this took him a lot of inner debate - half a loaf of bread.
He packed them all in a gigantic scarf and put it on the end of a big
stick, like he'd seen in picture books. Then, quieter than a mouse, he
crept out of his home and set off into the unknown.
On circus tours, Kurti had been north, west and south of Heirelgart,
and no-one had seen anyone like him. Therefore, he went east. His people
had to be east.
Breakfast time in the Wagner household was usually something of an
experience. This time, it was a relatively quiet affair, until Mama
Wagner started getting worried about Kurti.
"He's usually here before the water starts to boil," she said.
Papa Wagner finished buckling young Anja into her high-chair and
spotted the table-cover. "Hello. Art... Kurti drew us a picture." He
walked around until it made sense. "He drew us a letter."
"Yeah?" said Mama, who couldn't see it. "What does it say?"
Papa's face had fallen. "It says 'goodbye'."
Kurti's tummy rumbled at him, and he didn't want to think about eating
up all the bread yet. He had to find something to put on it, first. Make
it last.
He'd thought that springtime was when all the flowers and things came
out, and there was plenty of food.
Well, there *would* be plenty of food if he could eat grass like
Andrei.
He tried. It just tasted yuck.
Kurti couldn't go back. He'd just wind up hurting everyone he loved.
He didn't want to do that. Not at all.
The lowing - no, *bawling* - of a cow caught his attention. He zeroed
in on the source of the sound and started running. Cows meant farms.
Farms meant farmhouses. Farmhouses meant delicious breakfasts. He
*could*, if he was lucky, talk his way into earning a good breakfast.
And if not, he could maybe filch a little something to put on his bread.
The cow stood alone, bawling for her calf. Her udder looked awful
swollen. She had to be in pain.
"Hey, cow," he cooed. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. You see, I'm
*very* hungry, and some nice, warm milk would really hit the spot. So
maybe we could come to an agreement, yes?"
The cow just stared at him.
"*Good* cow," Kurti murmured, petting her. "I'm just gonna try getting
a squirt or two of milk. Don't kick me, yes?"
The cow just stood there.
He'd been taught how to milk farm animals, and knew that the creatures
much preferred his touch, since he was always nice and warm.
And then, so was the milk.
Major Stinheild Lowhard, Stinz to all his friends, cursed up a blue
storm as he discovered his prize cow had gone missing again. Stupid
creature had probably gone off in search of her calf again. If his old
legs weren't so shaky, these days, he'd hoof the animal into next week.
He leaned on his cane and started tracking her.
"...blankety blank-blank bleepin' *blank*..." he muttered, following
the tracks through the fence. For such a dumb animal, she was sure
brilliant at escapology. Bloody stupid at everything else, but brilliant
at escapology.
He followed her uphill. Damn-blasted animal had doubtless split her
udder wide open - and if she hadn't, he was half-tempted to let her.
Sell her for beef, because she was getting to be too much verdammt
trouble for his liking.
He couldn't even hear her bawling for the calf he'd sold all the way
across the other side of the Geiselthal. That, in his humble opinion,
was a danger sign. Maybe she was already so many pounds of cooling
beef...
No, she was lying on the grass and chewing her cud.
"Having a nice rest?" he sarcasmed. "Or perhaps you forgot that you
have to get milked, yes? Or perhaps some little fairies came down and
helped themselves..." he moved over to the cow and improvised a rope
halter around her head. "Or maybe it was the --" then he saw it. "--
little Elves?"
There, using Bessy as a living pillow, was the most fantastic creature
that Stinz had ever seen.
He'd heard whispers of them. Elves living above the snowline. Far away
from civilised contact. Personally, Stinz didn't blame them. The
civilised world and its damn fool science had ruined a lot of things,
and yet it pretended that it was, instead, an improvement.
This Elf was small, he expected that. The coat of blue fur was
something of a surprise, but it made sense. An adaption against the
cold. The delicately pointed ears weren't a shock, though. Everyone
*knew* that Elves had pointed ears.
The tail, frankly, made him jump.
"Good *God* in heaven!"
The effect on the boy was electric, he woke up in an instant, and
Stinz barely had time to register the milk-stains on his mouth before he
sprang away from the cow and guarded his small body with a stick.
"I'msorryIdidn'tmeanit! I'mnoharmtoanyoneIswear, andIdidn't *really*
meantostealyourcow'smilk, onlyIwassohungryandshewashurtand *please*
don'thitme?"
There was only one rule with magical creatures: Don't annoy them.
Therefore, Stinz took great care to be excessively polite to the lad.
"Easy now, young colt," he soothed. "I only came for the cow. I know how
your kind likes fresh milk, eh? If it wasn't for you, I'd have a lot of
work on my hands, wouldn't I?"
The boy un-huddled, and stood on the front of his feet - just like a
demon. Mayhap that was *why* the Elves stayed away from civilisation.
They knew what they'd look like to the superstitious. "You - know about
my people?" he asked.
"Only by reputation, young sir," he said. "You're a long way from the
mountains."
The boy looked back uphill, and Stinz could see a silver crucifix
dangling from his neck. "Yeah."
_Huh. A Christian Elf... Who'd have thought it?_
"I didn't mean to scare you," said the boy. "I'll just - go." And he
started walking eastwards. He looked beaten and defeated, his tail
barely held above the ground.
_Ach... Bruna's going to kill me for this..._ He lead Bessy along
more-or less the same path. "Since we're travelling the same way," he
began, "why don't you stop by my place. My wife should be getting a good
breakfast ready by now."
"Oh, I don't want to impose," said the boy, trudging along. "I have a
little bread. I can make do."
So *meek*. There had to be a story behind *this*... And if there was
one thing a Centaur loved, it was stories. "From the looks of things,
you just about milked my Bessy out. I don't think you'd be able to make
do on a little bread for very long."
True enough, the kid's stomach rumbled. "I - I don't want to impose,"
he said. "But *maybe* I can do a few chores? Work for my keep? I -um- I
eat an awful lot."
"Then you'd best sit yourself on my withers," he said, patting his
hair-end in invitation. "I can't make you walk all the way to my house
and then demand you *work*. It just isn't right."
"Ride you? But I barely know you, sir. Isn't that - rude?"
Interesting. He knew Centaur ways. "Ach, I've carried plenty of
strangers on my back. I'm used to it."
"I don't wanna show disrespect."
Stinz sighed. He held out his hand. "Stinz Lowhard."
The boy took it. "Kurti Wagner."
Well, that was no help in finding his kinfolk. There were Wagners
spread thick all over the Schwartzwald. Hell, most of them were Romani,
and constantly touring the hillsides.
Stinz helped the boy up, and was only mildly surprised that he knew
how to sit on a Centaur. "You know how to ride my people."
"My best friend Andrei gives me rides all the time," said Kurti as he
clasped a bright scarf full of his things close to his body. "He says my
feet are too soft to trust on their own when there's prickles around."
"He does, eh?" _West of here... a little village with Centaurs and
Gypsies, maybe? Not many of them around._ "Sounds like you had fun."
"Oh, I did. Especially races. I'm the only two-legger who can keep up
with a four-foot. But Stefan says that my galloping's cheating. He's
just jealous 'cause he can't do it."
Stinz laughed dutifully. "If it's such fun, why are you running away?"
All the happiness left Kurti's voice. "Some bad people came and beat
up on Papa for protecting me. They wanted to hurt me 'cause I look like
a demon."
"And your Papa doesn't?"
"I'm adopted. My real Mama and Papa left me on their doorstep. That's
why I'm heading east. 'Cause I've *been* north and south and west of
home, and no-one *there* has seen anyone like me."
_Oh dear._ Stinz was now determined to delay the lad at his place, so
his family could come for him. He knew of nothing that lay eastwards but
barren wastes. No little slip of a boy - Elf or not - could survive out
there. And that was assuming he could even *get* that far. Many of the
folks in the Geiselthal were a lot less open-minded about things than
Stinz. They wouldn't even *look* for the cross around Kurti's neck.
"Well," said Stinz. "You'll have a lot of walking ahead of you. I
can't recall ever hearing of Elves to the *east*. You'll have to raise a
lot of money to travel further than gossip, my friend."
"I will?"
"Tell you what," he offered. "I need someone to help me out around my
farm. You'll get paid for your work, of course. And when you have
enough, I'll have asked around and found out where your kinfolk are most
likely to be."
"An Elf," Kurti murmured. "Everyone else who's seen me says I look
like a demon. Maybe I'm getting closer already."
"Kuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrr-tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"
"KUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRR-TIIIIIIIIIIIII!"
Most of Heirelgart had turned out to look for him. Andrei, who knew
how Kurti thought and who could actually *see* little fuzzy's tracks,
had guided them eastwards before he lost the trail completely. Now, the
golden Centaur galloped back and forth through the woods, calling for
his best friend.
"*KUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRR-TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII*!"
So far, there'd been no answer. Mrs Wagner's calls for her son
bordered on becoming hysterical screams, and Mr Wagner had to stay close
to her and cheer her up.
*There*! A tiny patch of blue fur on some bark.
"*HERE*! _*HERE*_!" Andrei bellowed. "I found a trace!"
The shouts of, "A trace! A trace!" echoed up and down the search line,
and half of Heirelgart zeroed in on him.
When they'd gathered, Andrei pointed out the wisp of fur, and searched
about for Kurti's unique scent, or a hint of track.
"*Damn* the rain," he said. "I can't see another trace..."
Papa clapped him on the shoulder. "Your eyes are keener than ours,
lad. Keep looking on the main line. We'll just spread out again."
Andrei sighed. "Yes, Papa."
And as they fanned out, the calling began again.
"*KUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRR*-TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!"
"Stinheild Lowhard, hast thou gone addled in the head? Just who art
thou talking to?"
"Kurti Wagner," said Stinz, "Meet my lady wife, Bruna Lowhard." He
sidled around to reveal a very small figure clinging to his withers.
"*God*," said Bruna. "How far up the mountain did that verdammt cow
*climb*?"
"I'm sorry," said the little demon-boy. "I shouldn't have come. Thank
you for the ride, sir." He climbed off, put his belongings over his
shoulder and started walking for the road.
Stinz glared at her and handed her the cow's rope before he went
trotting after the devil-boy. There was a moment of agitated discussion
on Stinz's side, and a lot of quiet head-shaking on the boy's before the
kid dropped to a crouch and Stinz came back.
"Woman, thou wilt listen to me," he hissed. "That boy's been taken in
by others, he doesn't know where his people are and he thinks they're
somewhere *east* of here. And thou *knowest* what's east of here."
"Dear God," she whispered. No soul, no matter *what* their outward
appearance, deserved to try travelling in the wasteland to the east.
"Oh, Stinz. I'm so sorry."
"Good," he said. "Now I can get him to come in. Be *careful* what thou
sayest, love. I think his heart's been broke enough, today."
"Aye," Bruna bit her lip. "I can see it in the way he carries himself.
He's hurting awful bad."
"Remember that."
Bruna nodded once. She tried to think about the things children took
with them when they ran away from home. Favourite toys, *maybe* a few
clothes, sometimes a little bit of money, but very rarely any food. She
definitely pictured what would happen to a child out on that blasted,
barren steppe with no shelter and pitiful supplies.
"See? Bruna didn't mean anything," said Stinz. He took the cow back
off her.
"Ach, you poor little boy. I didn't mean to break your heart. Come in,
come in," she beckoned him. "I was just finishing a pot of porridge."
"Oh..." Kurti breathed. "Centaurs make the *best* porridge..."
He stopped at the door and, after Bruna had washed her feet, cleaned
his own hands, face, and feet; drying them properly before he entered
the house.
Kurti *knew* Centaur customs. Better than some of her own children.
Certainly better than some husbands she could mention.
"I'm sorry I scared you, Frau," he murmured, voice soft and timid. "I
can't really help how I look."
"Na, it's all over with," she soothed. "It's human nature to be scared
of something new. And you're certainly new."
"Am I really frightening?" he asked. "No-one at home will tell me, but
I scare strangers."
Bruna hastily cleaned her craftwork off a chair she usually reserved
for two-leggers or grandchildren, and sat the boy down on it. "I must
admit you* are* a bit of a shock at first. But you aren't a monster.
Stinz, once you get him going, will tell you of monsters who walked
around without looking scary at all."
"Opa told me about a real monster," said Kurti. "His name was Hitler.
He put numbers on Opa's arm."
"That's him," said Bruna. "Him and the people who followed him. Like
Mengele." She looked up to see her husband trot inside with dirty feet.
"Stinheild Lowhard, thou hast been shown up by a four-year-old *boy*.
Wash thy *feet*!"
"I'm four and a half, Frau," Kurti corrected.
Stinz muttered curses as he splashed his feet in the bowl.
"And watch thy language," Bruna added. "Remember thy little guest and
thy manners!"
Curse curse curse women curse curse.
If Kurti even understood what Stinz was saying, he gave no clue.
"Ach... *Men*," Bruna hissed. "They get more like children than
children do as they age..." she sighed. "Don't mind us, Kurti. We just
love to fight. It's all fun to us."
Kurti breathed a sigh of relief even as he took a little blue doll
from his 'pack'. It was the very image of him in blue acrylic fibre.
Right down to the clothes it wore. She saw a glimpse of clothing in
there and a hint of bread as well.
Once again, her dire vision haunted her.
"You stay right there, dear. I'll get you something to eat." She all-
but galloped into the kitchen, and hurriedly dished up bowlfuls of
porridge.
"So is he settling?" Stinz asked. "He's awful nervy. Poor boy."
"Stinz. You may have just saved his life. Lord alone knows what our
*neighbours* may have done to him, and if he made it to the steppes..."
Bruna shook her head. "Poor little lad."
"I'll tell him war stories and thou feedst him, ne?" said Stinz,
packing his pipe. "Between the two of us, we aught to send him to sleep
soon enough."
"Thou'st heard me gossiping with my friends, old man."
"Less of the old, woman," Stinz smirked. "I'm still younger than thou
art."
Kurti purred in pure delight. A comfy seat, a warm fire, and a heaping
bowlful of old-style Centaur porridge. Bliss. His tail even wriggled
with his delight, curling and uncurling in the soft pillows.
"There's no end to your surprises, is there, lad?" said Herr Lowhard.
Kurti shrugged, and snuggled into the pillows. He tried to savour his
meal, but it was too good. Soon, he was scraping the bottom for the last
honeyed, spicy dregs.
"Ach! You eat a lot for a little two-legger," said Frau Lowhard. "Poor
lad, you must be starving. Let me get you another bowl."
Part of him wanted to cheer, but Kurti kept his reaction down to a
wide grin, and a little more purring.
Herr Lowhard chuckled indulgently. "Ah, my dear boy, this reminds me
of a spring some many years ago, when I first realised the war we were
fighting was wrong."
"You were in the war?" said Kurti.
"Oh, aye. I fought with our fellow misled soldiers for the Reich and
glory, until I woke up to myself, and saw that flatulant little Austrian
for what he really was - a foul-smelling little despot..."
"TRACKS!" Andrei bellowed, following them with his eyes in instants.
Kurti meets cow. Has a free drink (spume on the grass). Both lie down
for a rest. Cow's owner (either a man on a horse or a Centaur, belike
the latter) arrives, he and Kurti scare the heck out of each other.
Cow's owner follows Kurti for a little while, Kurti's tracks vanish, and
the cow and her owner continue on.
There was no sign of a struggle, but with a little cheeseweight like
Kurti, there didn't have to be.
The scream that came from his throat surprised the hell out of
everyone. Especially Andrei. The only thing he knew was that he had to
follow those tracks to its owner and rescue his lifelong friend.
All Heirelgart could really do was follow.
Later, they all swore, Astrid Wagner almost overtook Werner Guismann
before she vaulted onto his back and started screaming in his ear to
hurry the hell up.
"Wow," Kurti whispered. "You're *really* *THE* Black Major! My Opa
told me about you. You knocked down a whole sentry tower and set his
camp free. *Then* you lead a resistance movement against the troops
wanting to catch the rest of the mythic-folk and put 'em in *more*
camps."
Stinz was frankly astonished that the boy was still awake. Usually,
his war stories put everyone to sleep. Except Bruna, who seemed to be
immune. Maybe she'd built up a resistance over the years...
"Well," he allowed. "I only busted up one of the tower's feet. It was
full of woodworm. But the fight that happened *after* that was something
worth telling about." He lit his pipe and prepared to waltz down Memory
Lane.
Kurti pinched his nose against the pipe's smell.
"Oops," Stinz laughed. He extinguished the pipe. "I forget how you
little ones hate the smell of my old pipe. Na... As I recall, my
commanding officer had just told me to help exterminate those poor
Romani, or join them, since me and my kind were next, anyway. So, of
course, I decided to make myself a third option and kicked the dummkopf
straight over his own camp's fence."
Kurti laughed.
"Good *gracious* what a racket," Bruna peeked out of a window. "Who's
killing *who* out there, and why-- Oh *God*!"
Stinz levered himself up and had a look. "*Jesus*! That's gotta be a
vengeful Mama..."
And Bruna scooped up Kurti and ran outside shouting, "He's fine! He's
fine! We haven't touched a hair on his head! He's *fine*!" Lest the
outraged mob following the vengeful Mama in question got half a chance
of tearing Stinz's farm apart after *she'd* had a go.
The Centaur - or to use the old slur, Kentaur - carrying her put on
the brakes, but the woman riding him just vaulted over his shoulders and
somersaulted to a halt just before she could crash into Bruna.
"*KURTI*!" And the vengeful Mama fell to weeping with relief. Hugging
her adopted son close.
She was about five months pregnant.
_Good *God*, but these Gypsies guard their own..._ Stinz recovered
enough sense to shut his open jaw and join his wife's side for the end
of the drama.
Kurti was crying, too. More because he'd upset his Mama than out of
any realisation that he was in any trouble, or could have been in any
danger.
"Mama, don't," he was saying. "You'll hurt the little baby."
All his Mama could say was, "Oh, Kurti..." over and over again.
"Mrs Wagner, I presume," said Stinz. "My Lady, thou and thy tribe are
more than welcome to camp on my lands. Any time."
"How did you--?" asked a man who carried two small girls. The elder of
the nearly-identical sisters had Mrs Wagner's colouring. Her younger
sister had the man's.
"The young boy, here," Stinz indicated the lad who was also hugging
the stuffing out of Kurti. He was as gold as a new Mark coin from head
to toe. Even his feathers had a yellowish tint. "Some of thy people just
can't hide. Have no fear, Herr Wagner. I'm sympathetic to thee."
"Mama! Papa! This is *THE* Black Major!" Kurti announced. "He's the
one who busted Opa free!"
Mrs Wagner looked at him in awe. "Sir," she said. "I owe you my life."
Stinz tried not to wince. He was a War Hero all over again. _Heaven
save me from an adoring public..._
Meanwhile, the Gypsy tribe was discussing cutting a road from
Heirelgart to the Geiselthal and adding the valley to their summer tour.
"Of course; *Thou*, sir, and any of thy family, will never have to pay
admission," said a slightly-flustered looking official.
"That'll suit thy cheapskate soul, won't it, Stinz?" smirked Bruna.
"And thine as well, love," he needled right back.
Kurti did his best to stay quiet. Mama and Papa needed their rest, and
he needed to do something very important. Something he needed to do
because he loved his family so much.
He needed to run away from home.
It had been a difficult decision, reached after weeks of silent crying
and thinking hard about what to do. But it was the only conclusion he
could reach, especially after those toughs beat up on Papa for trying to
protect him.
He had to leave a note, but at four and a half, he only had the
vaguest idea about writing one. He couldn't write all the words he wanted
to put down. He had to draw the concepts instead.
Kurti got the biggest sheet of paper he could find, and got out his
crayons. First, and most important was the love he felt for his family.
That was easy. He drew them all, hugging. Him, Katja, Anja and Mama and
Papa, all in a circle (Mama had a bulging tummy with yet another baby)
and surrounded by love-hearts.
Next, his worries and fears for them if he continued to stay. That was
harder. He drew himself again, and connected the picture with a drawing
of bad men beating up Papa via a think-bubble. He connected *that* to
another drawing of bad men beating up his whole family, and made that
the thought-bubble of a crying Kurti-picture.
The bottom of the picture was dominated by a mural of Kurti leaving
home, heading out across mountains and forests to find his real family
(Two adult-sized blue demon-figures) on the other side.
He placed it on the kitchen table, where they'd find it, and went to
his room to pack.
He took Schmerzmann, to remind him of his family. And his brush, to
keep his fur clean. And a spare pair of overalls and a few shirts. And -
this took him a lot of inner debate - half a loaf of bread.
He packed them all in a gigantic scarf and put it on the end of a big
stick, like he'd seen in picture books. Then, quieter than a mouse, he
crept out of his home and set off into the unknown.
On circus tours, Kurti had been north, west and south of Heirelgart,
and no-one had seen anyone like him. Therefore, he went east. His people
had to be east.
Breakfast time in the Wagner household was usually something of an
experience. This time, it was a relatively quiet affair, until Mama
Wagner started getting worried about Kurti.
"He's usually here before the water starts to boil," she said.
Papa Wagner finished buckling young Anja into her high-chair and
spotted the table-cover. "Hello. Art... Kurti drew us a picture." He
walked around until it made sense. "He drew us a letter."
"Yeah?" said Mama, who couldn't see it. "What does it say?"
Papa's face had fallen. "It says 'goodbye'."
Kurti's tummy rumbled at him, and he didn't want to think about eating
up all the bread yet. He had to find something to put on it, first. Make
it last.
He'd thought that springtime was when all the flowers and things came
out, and there was plenty of food.
Well, there *would* be plenty of food if he could eat grass like
Andrei.
He tried. It just tasted yuck.
Kurti couldn't go back. He'd just wind up hurting everyone he loved.
He didn't want to do that. Not at all.
The lowing - no, *bawling* - of a cow caught his attention. He zeroed
in on the source of the sound and started running. Cows meant farms.
Farms meant farmhouses. Farmhouses meant delicious breakfasts. He
*could*, if he was lucky, talk his way into earning a good breakfast.
And if not, he could maybe filch a little something to put on his bread.
The cow stood alone, bawling for her calf. Her udder looked awful
swollen. She had to be in pain.
"Hey, cow," he cooed. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. You see, I'm
*very* hungry, and some nice, warm milk would really hit the spot. So
maybe we could come to an agreement, yes?"
The cow just stared at him.
"*Good* cow," Kurti murmured, petting her. "I'm just gonna try getting
a squirt or two of milk. Don't kick me, yes?"
The cow just stood there.
He'd been taught how to milk farm animals, and knew that the creatures
much preferred his touch, since he was always nice and warm.
And then, so was the milk.
Major Stinheild Lowhard, Stinz to all his friends, cursed up a blue
storm as he discovered his prize cow had gone missing again. Stupid
creature had probably gone off in search of her calf again. If his old
legs weren't so shaky, these days, he'd hoof the animal into next week.
He leaned on his cane and started tracking her.
"...blankety blank-blank bleepin' *blank*..." he muttered, following
the tracks through the fence. For such a dumb animal, she was sure
brilliant at escapology. Bloody stupid at everything else, but brilliant
at escapology.
He followed her uphill. Damn-blasted animal had doubtless split her
udder wide open - and if she hadn't, he was half-tempted to let her.
Sell her for beef, because she was getting to be too much verdammt
trouble for his liking.
He couldn't even hear her bawling for the calf he'd sold all the way
across the other side of the Geiselthal. That, in his humble opinion,
was a danger sign. Maybe she was already so many pounds of cooling
beef...
No, she was lying on the grass and chewing her cud.
"Having a nice rest?" he sarcasmed. "Or perhaps you forgot that you
have to get milked, yes? Or perhaps some little fairies came down and
helped themselves..." he moved over to the cow and improvised a rope
halter around her head. "Or maybe it was the --" then he saw it. "--
little Elves?"
There, using Bessy as a living pillow, was the most fantastic creature
that Stinz had ever seen.
He'd heard whispers of them. Elves living above the snowline. Far away
from civilised contact. Personally, Stinz didn't blame them. The
civilised world and its damn fool science had ruined a lot of things,
and yet it pretended that it was, instead, an improvement.
This Elf was small, he expected that. The coat of blue fur was
something of a surprise, but it made sense. An adaption against the
cold. The delicately pointed ears weren't a shock, though. Everyone
*knew* that Elves had pointed ears.
The tail, frankly, made him jump.
"Good *God* in heaven!"
The effect on the boy was electric, he woke up in an instant, and
Stinz barely had time to register the milk-stains on his mouth before he
sprang away from the cow and guarded his small body with a stick.
"I'msorryIdidn'tmeanit! I'mnoharmtoanyoneIswear, andIdidn't *really*
meantostealyourcow'smilk, onlyIwassohungryandshewashurtand *please*
don'thitme?"
There was only one rule with magical creatures: Don't annoy them.
Therefore, Stinz took great care to be excessively polite to the lad.
"Easy now, young colt," he soothed. "I only came for the cow. I know how
your kind likes fresh milk, eh? If it wasn't for you, I'd have a lot of
work on my hands, wouldn't I?"
The boy un-huddled, and stood on the front of his feet - just like a
demon. Mayhap that was *why* the Elves stayed away from civilisation.
They knew what they'd look like to the superstitious. "You - know about
my people?" he asked.
"Only by reputation, young sir," he said. "You're a long way from the
mountains."
The boy looked back uphill, and Stinz could see a silver crucifix
dangling from his neck. "Yeah."
_Huh. A Christian Elf... Who'd have thought it?_
"I didn't mean to scare you," said the boy. "I'll just - go." And he
started walking eastwards. He looked beaten and defeated, his tail
barely held above the ground.
_Ach... Bruna's going to kill me for this..._ He lead Bessy along
more-or less the same path. "Since we're travelling the same way," he
began, "why don't you stop by my place. My wife should be getting a good
breakfast ready by now."
"Oh, I don't want to impose," said the boy, trudging along. "I have a
little bread. I can make do."
So *meek*. There had to be a story behind *this*... And if there was
one thing a Centaur loved, it was stories. "From the looks of things,
you just about milked my Bessy out. I don't think you'd be able to make
do on a little bread for very long."
True enough, the kid's stomach rumbled. "I - I don't want to impose,"
he said. "But *maybe* I can do a few chores? Work for my keep? I -um- I
eat an awful lot."
"Then you'd best sit yourself on my withers," he said, patting his
hair-end in invitation. "I can't make you walk all the way to my house
and then demand you *work*. It just isn't right."
"Ride you? But I barely know you, sir. Isn't that - rude?"
Interesting. He knew Centaur ways. "Ach, I've carried plenty of
strangers on my back. I'm used to it."
"I don't wanna show disrespect."
Stinz sighed. He held out his hand. "Stinz Lowhard."
The boy took it. "Kurti Wagner."
Well, that was no help in finding his kinfolk. There were Wagners
spread thick all over the Schwartzwald. Hell, most of them were Romani,
and constantly touring the hillsides.
Stinz helped the boy up, and was only mildly surprised that he knew
how to sit on a Centaur. "You know how to ride my people."
"My best friend Andrei gives me rides all the time," said Kurti as he
clasped a bright scarf full of his things close to his body. "He says my
feet are too soft to trust on their own when there's prickles around."
"He does, eh?" _West of here... a little village with Centaurs and
Gypsies, maybe? Not many of them around._ "Sounds like you had fun."
"Oh, I did. Especially races. I'm the only two-legger who can keep up
with a four-foot. But Stefan says that my galloping's cheating. He's
just jealous 'cause he can't do it."
Stinz laughed dutifully. "If it's such fun, why are you running away?"
All the happiness left Kurti's voice. "Some bad people came and beat
up on Papa for protecting me. They wanted to hurt me 'cause I look like
a demon."
"And your Papa doesn't?"
"I'm adopted. My real Mama and Papa left me on their doorstep. That's
why I'm heading east. 'Cause I've *been* north and south and west of
home, and no-one *there* has seen anyone like me."
_Oh dear._ Stinz was now determined to delay the lad at his place, so
his family could come for him. He knew of nothing that lay eastwards but
barren wastes. No little slip of a boy - Elf or not - could survive out
there. And that was assuming he could even *get* that far. Many of the
folks in the Geiselthal were a lot less open-minded about things than
Stinz. They wouldn't even *look* for the cross around Kurti's neck.
"Well," said Stinz. "You'll have a lot of walking ahead of you. I
can't recall ever hearing of Elves to the *east*. You'll have to raise a
lot of money to travel further than gossip, my friend."
"I will?"
"Tell you what," he offered. "I need someone to help me out around my
farm. You'll get paid for your work, of course. And when you have
enough, I'll have asked around and found out where your kinfolk are most
likely to be."
"An Elf," Kurti murmured. "Everyone else who's seen me says I look
like a demon. Maybe I'm getting closer already."
"Kuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrr-tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"
"KUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRR-TIIIIIIIIIIIII!"
Most of Heirelgart had turned out to look for him. Andrei, who knew
how Kurti thought and who could actually *see* little fuzzy's tracks,
had guided them eastwards before he lost the trail completely. Now, the
golden Centaur galloped back and forth through the woods, calling for
his best friend.
"*KUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRR-TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII*!"
So far, there'd been no answer. Mrs Wagner's calls for her son
bordered on becoming hysterical screams, and Mr Wagner had to stay close
to her and cheer her up.
*There*! A tiny patch of blue fur on some bark.
"*HERE*! _*HERE*_!" Andrei bellowed. "I found a trace!"
The shouts of, "A trace! A trace!" echoed up and down the search line,
and half of Heirelgart zeroed in on him.
When they'd gathered, Andrei pointed out the wisp of fur, and searched
about for Kurti's unique scent, or a hint of track.
"*Damn* the rain," he said. "I can't see another trace..."
Papa clapped him on the shoulder. "Your eyes are keener than ours,
lad. Keep looking on the main line. We'll just spread out again."
Andrei sighed. "Yes, Papa."
And as they fanned out, the calling began again.
"*KUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRR*-TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!"
"Stinheild Lowhard, hast thou gone addled in the head? Just who art
thou talking to?"
"Kurti Wagner," said Stinz, "Meet my lady wife, Bruna Lowhard." He
sidled around to reveal a very small figure clinging to his withers.
"*God*," said Bruna. "How far up the mountain did that verdammt cow
*climb*?"
"I'm sorry," said the little demon-boy. "I shouldn't have come. Thank
you for the ride, sir." He climbed off, put his belongings over his
shoulder and started walking for the road.
Stinz glared at her and handed her the cow's rope before he went
trotting after the devil-boy. There was a moment of agitated discussion
on Stinz's side, and a lot of quiet head-shaking on the boy's before the
kid dropped to a crouch and Stinz came back.
"Woman, thou wilt listen to me," he hissed. "That boy's been taken in
by others, he doesn't know where his people are and he thinks they're
somewhere *east* of here. And thou *knowest* what's east of here."
"Dear God," she whispered. No soul, no matter *what* their outward
appearance, deserved to try travelling in the wasteland to the east.
"Oh, Stinz. I'm so sorry."
"Good," he said. "Now I can get him to come in. Be *careful* what thou
sayest, love. I think his heart's been broke enough, today."
"Aye," Bruna bit her lip. "I can see it in the way he carries himself.
He's hurting awful bad."
"Remember that."
Bruna nodded once. She tried to think about the things children took
with them when they ran away from home. Favourite toys, *maybe* a few
clothes, sometimes a little bit of money, but very rarely any food. She
definitely pictured what would happen to a child out on that blasted,
barren steppe with no shelter and pitiful supplies.
"See? Bruna didn't mean anything," said Stinz. He took the cow back
off her.
"Ach, you poor little boy. I didn't mean to break your heart. Come in,
come in," she beckoned him. "I was just finishing a pot of porridge."
"Oh..." Kurti breathed. "Centaurs make the *best* porridge..."
He stopped at the door and, after Bruna had washed her feet, cleaned
his own hands, face, and feet; drying them properly before he entered
the house.
Kurti *knew* Centaur customs. Better than some of her own children.
Certainly better than some husbands she could mention.
"I'm sorry I scared you, Frau," he murmured, voice soft and timid. "I
can't really help how I look."
"Na, it's all over with," she soothed. "It's human nature to be scared
of something new. And you're certainly new."
"Am I really frightening?" he asked. "No-one at home will tell me, but
I scare strangers."
Bruna hastily cleaned her craftwork off a chair she usually reserved
for two-leggers or grandchildren, and sat the boy down on it. "I must
admit you* are* a bit of a shock at first. But you aren't a monster.
Stinz, once you get him going, will tell you of monsters who walked
around without looking scary at all."
"Opa told me about a real monster," said Kurti. "His name was Hitler.
He put numbers on Opa's arm."
"That's him," said Bruna. "Him and the people who followed him. Like
Mengele." She looked up to see her husband trot inside with dirty feet.
"Stinheild Lowhard, thou hast been shown up by a four-year-old *boy*.
Wash thy *feet*!"
"I'm four and a half, Frau," Kurti corrected.
Stinz muttered curses as he splashed his feet in the bowl.
"And watch thy language," Bruna added. "Remember thy little guest and
thy manners!"
Curse curse curse women curse curse.
If Kurti even understood what Stinz was saying, he gave no clue.
"Ach... *Men*," Bruna hissed. "They get more like children than
children do as they age..." she sighed. "Don't mind us, Kurti. We just
love to fight. It's all fun to us."
Kurti breathed a sigh of relief even as he took a little blue doll
from his 'pack'. It was the very image of him in blue acrylic fibre.
Right down to the clothes it wore. She saw a glimpse of clothing in
there and a hint of bread as well.
Once again, her dire vision haunted her.
"You stay right there, dear. I'll get you something to eat." She all-
but galloped into the kitchen, and hurriedly dished up bowlfuls of
porridge.
"So is he settling?" Stinz asked. "He's awful nervy. Poor boy."
"Stinz. You may have just saved his life. Lord alone knows what our
*neighbours* may have done to him, and if he made it to the steppes..."
Bruna shook her head. "Poor little lad."
"I'll tell him war stories and thou feedst him, ne?" said Stinz,
packing his pipe. "Between the two of us, we aught to send him to sleep
soon enough."
"Thou'st heard me gossiping with my friends, old man."
"Less of the old, woman," Stinz smirked. "I'm still younger than thou
art."
Kurti purred in pure delight. A comfy seat, a warm fire, and a heaping
bowlful of old-style Centaur porridge. Bliss. His tail even wriggled
with his delight, curling and uncurling in the soft pillows.
"There's no end to your surprises, is there, lad?" said Herr Lowhard.
Kurti shrugged, and snuggled into the pillows. He tried to savour his
meal, but it was too good. Soon, he was scraping the bottom for the last
honeyed, spicy dregs.
"Ach! You eat a lot for a little two-legger," said Frau Lowhard. "Poor
lad, you must be starving. Let me get you another bowl."
Part of him wanted to cheer, but Kurti kept his reaction down to a
wide grin, and a little more purring.
Herr Lowhard chuckled indulgently. "Ah, my dear boy, this reminds me
of a spring some many years ago, when I first realised the war we were
fighting was wrong."
"You were in the war?" said Kurti.
"Oh, aye. I fought with our fellow misled soldiers for the Reich and
glory, until I woke up to myself, and saw that flatulant little Austrian
for what he really was - a foul-smelling little despot..."
"TRACKS!" Andrei bellowed, following them with his eyes in instants.
Kurti meets cow. Has a free drink (spume on the grass). Both lie down
for a rest. Cow's owner (either a man on a horse or a Centaur, belike
the latter) arrives, he and Kurti scare the heck out of each other.
Cow's owner follows Kurti for a little while, Kurti's tracks vanish, and
the cow and her owner continue on.
There was no sign of a struggle, but with a little cheeseweight like
Kurti, there didn't have to be.
The scream that came from his throat surprised the hell out of
everyone. Especially Andrei. The only thing he knew was that he had to
follow those tracks to its owner and rescue his lifelong friend.
All Heirelgart could really do was follow.
Later, they all swore, Astrid Wagner almost overtook Werner Guismann
before she vaulted onto his back and started screaming in his ear to
hurry the hell up.
"Wow," Kurti whispered. "You're *really* *THE* Black Major! My Opa
told me about you. You knocked down a whole sentry tower and set his
camp free. *Then* you lead a resistance movement against the troops
wanting to catch the rest of the mythic-folk and put 'em in *more*
camps."
Stinz was frankly astonished that the boy was still awake. Usually,
his war stories put everyone to sleep. Except Bruna, who seemed to be
immune. Maybe she'd built up a resistance over the years...
"Well," he allowed. "I only busted up one of the tower's feet. It was
full of woodworm. But the fight that happened *after* that was something
worth telling about." He lit his pipe and prepared to waltz down Memory
Lane.
Kurti pinched his nose against the pipe's smell.
"Oops," Stinz laughed. He extinguished the pipe. "I forget how you
little ones hate the smell of my old pipe. Na... As I recall, my
commanding officer had just told me to help exterminate those poor
Romani, or join them, since me and my kind were next, anyway. So, of
course, I decided to make myself a third option and kicked the dummkopf
straight over his own camp's fence."
Kurti laughed.
"Good *gracious* what a racket," Bruna peeked out of a window. "Who's
killing *who* out there, and why-- Oh *God*!"
Stinz levered himself up and had a look. "*Jesus*! That's gotta be a
vengeful Mama..."
And Bruna scooped up Kurti and ran outside shouting, "He's fine! He's
fine! We haven't touched a hair on his head! He's *fine*!" Lest the
outraged mob following the vengeful Mama in question got half a chance
of tearing Stinz's farm apart after *she'd* had a go.
The Centaur - or to use the old slur, Kentaur - carrying her put on
the brakes, but the woman riding him just vaulted over his shoulders and
somersaulted to a halt just before she could crash into Bruna.
"*KURTI*!" And the vengeful Mama fell to weeping with relief. Hugging
her adopted son close.
She was about five months pregnant.
_Good *God*, but these Gypsies guard their own..._ Stinz recovered
enough sense to shut his open jaw and join his wife's side for the end
of the drama.
Kurti was crying, too. More because he'd upset his Mama than out of
any realisation that he was in any trouble, or could have been in any
danger.
"Mama, don't," he was saying. "You'll hurt the little baby."
All his Mama could say was, "Oh, Kurti..." over and over again.
"Mrs Wagner, I presume," said Stinz. "My Lady, thou and thy tribe are
more than welcome to camp on my lands. Any time."
"How did you--?" asked a man who carried two small girls. The elder of
the nearly-identical sisters had Mrs Wagner's colouring. Her younger
sister had the man's.
"The young boy, here," Stinz indicated the lad who was also hugging
the stuffing out of Kurti. He was as gold as a new Mark coin from head
to toe. Even his feathers had a yellowish tint. "Some of thy people just
can't hide. Have no fear, Herr Wagner. I'm sympathetic to thee."
"Mama! Papa! This is *THE* Black Major!" Kurti announced. "He's the
one who busted Opa free!"
Mrs Wagner looked at him in awe. "Sir," she said. "I owe you my life."
Stinz tried not to wince. He was a War Hero all over again. _Heaven
save me from an adoring public..._
Meanwhile, the Gypsy tribe was discussing cutting a road from
Heirelgart to the Geiselthal and adding the valley to their summer tour.
"Of course; *Thou*, sir, and any of thy family, will never have to pay
admission," said a slightly-flustered looking official.
"That'll suit thy cheapskate soul, won't it, Stinz?" smirked Bruna.
"And thine as well, love," he needled right back.