Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale by Tracy Falbe Read Free Book Online Page B

down
here,” Ondrej said.
    “Good morning, my good brother,” Andreli said
and bowed elaborately.
    Then he patted Ondrej’s tummy. “It seems
you’ve not been getting enough hard labor.”
    “Accuse me not of the sin of sloth. My labors
are not done with axe and shovel,” Ondrej said.
    The feisty monk was annoyed by the friendly
exchange and said, “Brother, we told these Gypsies we’d only help
them through till spring.”
    Ondrej scolded, “Be more charitable.”
    “The Abbot will hear of this,” the monk
warned.
    “And then forget about it before the next
bell rings,” Ondrej said without the slightest concern. He flapped
a pudgy hand in the face of his scrawny colleague and the
disgruntled monk stomped away.
    “He’s a man truly moved by the example of our
Savior,” Andreli noted.
    “Oh hush you troublemaker. You’d be no more
pleasant if he walked into your house uninvited,” Ondrej said.
    “I don’t have a house,” Andreli noted.
    “Then join us Cistercians and have a home,”
Ondrej proposed but he could not keep a straight face and guffawed
at his own idea. Andreli laughed as well.
    “And who is your new rogue?” Ondrej asked,
looking Thal up and down.
    “A wanderer,” Andreli said.
    Ondrej lifted his eyebrows. That designation
had to mean something coming from Andreli.
    “I am Thal.”
    “Pleased to meet you,” Ondrej said a little
dreamily, suddenly lost in his contemplation of the young
stranger.
    Andreli explained that Thal had something
that they needed help reading.
    Ondrej perked up. “That sounds interesting.
That’s why I welcome you, Andreli. You’re always interesting,” he
said.
    Ondrej led them upstairs. Thal looked around
as he climbed the steps. The feeling of the building enclosing him
was distracting. The straight lines of cut stones, the wood grain
of the door trim, and the creak of the floor boards pressed hard on
his senses and herded his brain toward a once familiar pen. He
imagined the trees that had once been green and growing upon the
hills and now their guts were split and entombed in stone and none
of the smell of the forest remained. This complicated structure
crafted by the hands of men stimulated him immensely. Being inside
was strange yet comforting. It gave Thal an unexpected sense of
safety. He supposed this was why most people lived inside.
    A cluttered desk, a table, and two stools
furnished Ondrej’s study. Books lay open on the table and stacks of
blank paper awaited his quill. Broken wax seals clung to opened
correspondence. The man seemed to be in the middle of five writing
projects. He hauled a tome off his desk to make room and set it on
another table with bang.
    “Oo, watch it,” he muttered in apology to the
book.
    Ondrej sat on his stool. His prodigious ass
overhung the edges and the situation did not look too comfortable.
Andreli grabbed the other stool.
    He leaned over the desk and peeked at what
Ondrej had been writing. “Copying some holy scripture?” he
inquired.
    “Copying? Get thee with the times. Scripture
is done with the printing machine these days. These are of more
important matters,” Ondrej said and patted the paper. “I’m
recording my latest beer recipes.”
    “Oh, a very sacred subject,” Andreli agreed.
“And then you will get it printed?”
    “Yes,” Ondrej said, rather looking forward to
it. Then he scowled. “Now how did you bring up the subject of beer
so quickly?” he complained.
    “You brought it up,” Andreli said.
    The monk chuckled. “You are such a tricky
Gypsy,” he said.
    “He’s very much hoping to get some of your
beer. He praised it much while we walked up here,” Thal said.
    Andreli gave him a startled look. Thal’s
forthright approach seemed to be spoiling his game. Thal ignored
the look. He was curious about beer, recalling that it was a
pleasant thing.
    “Ah, Thal the wanderer, you do know that
people typically pay for our beer,” Ondrej said.
    “But not always,” Thal