"Innkeeper!" the fat nobleman slammed the table hard, causing all the ships on it to jump. "Mead! Quickly! Not one who's ahead!" he added, tugging on the innkeeper's gray beard. "Remember, I'm mocking, or I'll cut off my ears.
" "And my nose!" his slightly balding companion added, stuttering from the excess fluids he'd poured into himself, and with difficulty tried to yank out the snorkel.
"Leave it alone, Sienkoś!" growled the third of the seated men, a rail-thin nobleman with a long mustache that fell to his chest. He was the only one who looked sober in the entire company. "Remember, this is the royal road, and the local starosta has a reputation for a fever, which has already harmed more than one coat of arms."
"What good is some starost to me, even if the chancellor himself fathered him!" the fat nobleman yelled. "I am Kuropatnicki of the Dąbrowa coat of arms, not some scrap who was snatched from the Tatars by the Cossacks and given to the castellan to raise.
" "You know the local deputy starost so well?" his companion with the black mustache said in surprise. "I thought you were seeing this for the first time in Przemyśl.
" "Yes, you are!" Kuropatnicki agreed quarrelsomely. "But I met this Jędrzejowski back in Kamieniec, where he accused me of manslaughter before the starost's court. What a trickster!
" "Shut up, sir!" the black-mustached man slapped his lips hard and looked around the dark room. "This place is full of the starost's spies. That one, for example!" He nodded toward the far corner, where a man dressed in wide trousers, his face scarred by pockmarks, sat, watching them intently.
The fat man glanced wildly around the smoky room and only nodded slowly.
"Rabble!" he muttered, twirling his mustache. "Rabble! Beer, you boor!
" "Exactly!" roared the nobleman called Sienkoś, jumping up violently. "Beer, I'm mocking you, because I'm making you cry!"
And to the obvious amusement of the group of slightly startled henchmen who were waiting here for the barges that were to arrive the next day at the nearby harbor on the San River, he collapsed over the oak bench and snored under the table.
"It's always like that with him!" muttered the thin nobleman. "Now he'll sleep for a few prayers, and then no one will bother him." Well, Mr. Kuropatnicki, it's time we had a talk! Are you still sober?
"A barrel of June honey wouldn't do it for me!" the fat man laughed cackily. "Want to try it?"
"We didn't meet here just because, acan!" his companion hissed through his teeth. "Do you have it? Show me!"
The fat man gasped heavily and reached into his robe.
"As much as you wanted, acan!" he jingled his purse. "A hundred chervonets! The rest is all over!"
"Give me everything! Now!" He tugged violently at the bag, but couldn't wrest it from Kuropatnicki's fat hands. "You know they could ambush me here at any moment. I don't want to be stuck at Leżajsk for long!
" "I know, acan!" growled the now completely sober fat man. "But first this man, and then the payment. The sooner we settle this, the better, because people are already staring at us.
" "What wrong did he do to you that you had to summon me against him?" the thin nobleman suddenly asked. "And that you weren't afraid to summon me after what happened between us!"
"It's my business, not yours! And the score between us is even! That's what Sienkoś said!" Kuropatnicki snapped angrily, jumping up. He looked around, but after a moment's huff, sat down on the bench with a thud and finally let out a long breath through his nose. "And why not? Perhaps you're right, Lord Starost! I'll tell you the wrong this man has done me!" A sad smile appeared on the nobleman's plump face.
He didn't have time to begin, however, because the inn door opened with a terrifying crack, and in the reflection of the distant flames burning near the monastery under construction, the shadow of a huge man appeared. He wordlessly headed towards them, ignoring the innkeeper's bows as he directed him to the only empty table near the hearth.
Kuropatnicki jerked violently, as if at first frightened by the unexpected guest. However, the thin man's lingering gaze riveted him.
"Don't worry, sir!" he whispered heatedly, burning the nobleman's ear. "You're with me. And no Siennicki dares even touch you in my presence.
" "Welcome, Lord Starost!" "The enormous nobleman boomed in a booming voice, twirling his gray mustache. "We haven't seen each other in a while. Probably near Sanok, right?
" "Don't tell me you've missed me, Mr. Jakub!" the thin man laughed. "And where is Mr. Starosta Opaliński?
" "It would be better if you didn't meet him now, because there would probably be a quarrel!" the newcomer replied seriously. "And I don't think you want that now! Especially now." He shook his head significantly.
"You know everything, Captain," the black-mustached starosta said without surprise. "I expected you! Do you know Mr. Kuropatnicki's acan? Of course you do," he smiled ominously. "They're neighbors, after all!
" "What neighbors?" Kuropatnicki said indignantly. "These few yarns we have next door. I have nothing to do with the acan now."
"Apart from a few lawsuits, which I promised myself I'd read on my own stomach!" Siennicki gritted his teeth, reaching decisively to his side, where a thin batorówka gleamed menacingly.
"Calm down, gentlemen!" the starost growled venomously, raising his hand. "Because..." His thin fingers spread in an unnatural gesture. Both of his interlocutors felt a sudden, paralyzing pain shoot through them, the source of which was most likely the black-mustached man's fingers.
"Let go!" Siennicki rasped with difficulty. "I'll leave him to you for now, my lord starost," he added, panting as the nobleman's hand dropped. The thin man smiled ironically and gestured for the newcomer to sit at the table.
Siennicki, wordlessly, sat down on the bench. Although he remained silent, it was clear from his face that only fear of the thin starost, whose piercing gaze had literally pinned him to the spot, kept him in check.
Meanwhile, Kuropatnicki quietly rose and tried to slowly creep toward the door, but suddenly felt his legs go numb and retreat of their own accord.
"Where are you going, sir?" the starosta laughed ominously. "But you were waiting, acan, for the distinguished guest I was supposed to speak to on your behalf. Don't you want this anymore?
" "I do, sir!" the fat Kuropatnicki stammered with a tremor in his voice.
"A purse!" the thin, black-mustached man hissed through clenched teeth.
This time there was no resistance. The clinking contents fell onto the table, greedily scooped up by the starosta's greedy hand.
"Much better!" the thin man licked his lips. "Mr. Siennicki, when will you pay, you owe me something?"
"For what?" Kuropatnicki whispered fearfully, his fat face suddenly turning white. The starosta ignored his remark and rose from his seat. At that very moment, his appearance changed. He grew literally before Kuropatnicki's eyes, and soon equaled Kuropatnicki in corpulence.
"Now we can look at your friend's work," he turned to Siennicki. "He probably won't recognize me now, will he?
" "You must have studied with the Black One!" he replied tremblingly. A truly devilish laugh was the only response.
It was chilly outside. The starosta raised his head toward the starry sky and inhaled deeply.
"I haven't been here in ages!" He looked around curiously. His gaze lingered for a moment on the bulk of the newly constructed building. "What's that?" he asked, nodding in the direction.
"It's the work of Mr. Łukasz Opaliński!" Siennicki muttered quietly, clearly fearing his interlocutor's reaction. "A monastery that's supposed to atone for his sins.
" "So that's how he wants to make a fool of himself!" "The mayor hissed, tugging nervously at his mustache. "It's not as easy as he thinks. He'll end up where I am anyway! You can't buy heaven!"
Siennicki looked at the now-fat mayor with fear. He didn't want to know what he was talking about. He glanced back, as if searching for an escape route in the depths of the inn.
Kuropatnicki, meanwhile, taking advantage of the starosta's moment of inattention, launched himself into an unusually fast dash for his size toward the distant forest line.
"He'll be back!" the starosta calmly threw back. "Faster than he thinks! He must pay for my service," he laughed hoarsely. "As will you, sir!" He grabbed Siennicki by the scruff of the neck, as one might catch an unruly dog. "You will give me what I asked for.
" "He will come!" the nobleman moaned, writhing like an eel. "By my soul, he will come!
" "By my soul, you say!" A sinister laugh tainted the starosta's plump face. "A tasty morsel! I'll consider what payment would be better for me.
" "Payment?" the nobleman stammered.
"Yes, sir Jakub!" the starosta nodded slowly. "You have to pay for everything in life. You have to pay too!" His face suddenly darkened, and a strange glint appeared in his eyes. "And do you remember, sir, that otrok near Berdichev? I see you remember him! He was my servant, but that's not why I'm reminding you of him. Because you'll have to pay me for him today, too! Just like for that Kuropatnicki whose ribs you want to count with my hands." Siennicki suddenly felt the remnants of his hair stand on end. This didn't escape the starosta's notice, who burst into a shimmering laugh. "So, see, was that half-a-row worth it? Or even a whole yonder! And even the fact that that fat man flattened you with a saber. And it probably wasn't so much the blows that hurt you, acan, as the thought that someone might find out. And they did find out!" he laughed again, looking at the nobleman's pale face. "But you probably anticipated that, acan! That's why I'm so sure you'll agree to my proposal to lure Mr. Kuropatnicki here. And now,
my lord, you'll have to pay. Oh, a heavy price!" "Do you want a head for this lad, Mr. Starosta?" Siennicki asked, shaking his head unsteadily. "I'll pay! I'll pay double!
" "And you think you'll atone for your sins with gold?" the starosta gritted his teeth. "And do you remember how you ordered the belts torn off that boy because he didn't get out of your way quickly enough! Gold won't make up for everything.
" "I'll pay triple!" the nobleman whined, his voice growing ever quieter.
"You'll pay for Kuropatnicki too!" the starosta muttered under his breath. "Look over there!" he pointed to the darkening forest line in the distance. "He's coming back!"
Indeed, a fat nobleman was approaching them from the direction of the Sandomierz road. It was hard to recognize him as the feisty crimson man who, moments earlier, had been tugging at the innkeeper's beard. His cashmere trousers were full of holes, and his robe hung in tatters. His entire face was covered in pine needles, and two bloody welts cut his cheeks. Clearly, he had been struggling through the dense forest.
"Help, people!" the fat man moaned, panting heavily.
"Of course we'll save you!" the starosta whispered, barely audible. But the remark must have reached Kuropatnicki, because even though the square in front of the inn was lit only by two lit tar barrels, not providing much light, his face darkened in an instant. He realized at that moment where he was.
"You've come back after all?!" the starosta feigned surprise. "I thought you'd changed your mind!
" "I've changed my mind!" the nobleman repeated in a trembling voice, sweat spots appearing on his forehead. "Could I... withdraw?
" "I suppose not!" the starosta growled dully. "Sir, you know the terms my Senkoś presented to you. I've already taken the appropriate steps and borne the costs.
" "Then leave me your payment and let me go!" Kuropatnicki groaned softly.
"So you don't want to wait for Mr. Jabłoński?" "The starosta shook his plump face. "That's a pity, because he'll be here soon! And we'll finally be able to finish our business, and I'll receive my payment."
"But I've already given you, my lord starosta, the agreed-upon sum!" Kuropatnicki wiped his sweaty forehead, which earned a shy smile from Siennicki, who was observing the whole scene from a distance.
This didn't escape the starosta's notice, who angrily summoned the nobleman. Siennicki's face was shimmering, and this was only partly due to the blazing fire.
"When will Mr. Jabłoński arrive here?" he asked, piercing Siennicki with his piercing gaze. "Did you do what I asked through Sienkoś?
" "Yes, my lord starosta!" the nobleman confirmed quietly. "As long as he's gone!" He couldn't resist grabbing that sip that had spoiled his daughter. He's sitting there in the inn now, because I was supposed to help him escape to the Sich.
"Go to him then!" ordered the starosta. "But don't forget, acan, you owe me something!"
"I won't forget, Lord Starosta," Siennicki assured him warmly. "I won't forget! Verbum nobile! Besides, do you hear me, gentlemen? Someone's approaching from the direction of Yaroslavl." Indeed,
the clatter of horse hooves echoed in the distance, and a moment later a foaming stallion burst into the illuminated courtyard, from which a huge nobleman, more like a Cossack, literally fell.
"Where is he?" he shouted directly into Siennicki's ear. He pointed to the inn door. The Cossack rushed toward them, and then, as if out of nowhere, the starosta appeared in his path.
"And where are you rushing to, Lord Jabłoński?" he hissed, grabbing the giant with his fat hands. "Do you recognize me, asan?"
"Starosta Zygwulski! I thought you'd given up at Tarnawka. That's what they said!" he added apologetically, looking at his interlocutor with some apprehension.
"Well, you probably expected to never see me again!" the starosta laughed maliciously. "Not after what I could tell the Voivode of Kraków, whom you supposedly serve diligently. Or that you'll see this nobleman whose wife you slaughtered." He pointed at Kuropatnicki, who emerged from the darkness.
"She pretended to be a servant!" Jabłoński choked out, pausing every now and then, his hand unconsciously going to the saber hanging at his side.
"And you had to kill her?" the fat Kuropatnicki groaned.
"You want to claim your daughter here!" the starosta growled angrily. "And what did you do to her? Will you say it in front of witnesses!
" "On the beaten ground!" Kuropatnicki groaned meanwhile. "That's the only way I'll get revenge!"
"You'll stand up to him!" "The starost of Zygwulski turned to the enormous nobleman. "Remember, you owe me something!
" "I will!" Jabłoński replied dryly. "I only have one request of you, gentlemen, that I may first deal with that little fellow and prepare his way to hell. You are noblemen! So allow me!
" "Then go with your lordship, Siennicki!" the starost commanded in a commanding tone, without even looking at the fat nobleman. "But remember, acan, that there is no escape from here! Unless it's to hell!"
Jabłoński staggered toward the inn door, which had just opened, disgorging the nobleman the starost had dubbed Siennicki. They almost collided in the doorway, but Siennicki somehow managed to avoid being impaled on Jabłoński's outstretched saber.
"Will he escape?" Kuropatnicki nodded slowly.
"As the lord of Tarnawka!" the starosta muttered so quietly that only Sienkoś, who was clutching his principal's wide sleeve, probably heard. "Go and keep an eye on him!" he added louder.
Kuropatnicki disappeared almost instantly.
"Is that the one from Tarnawka?" asked Sienkoś, who no longer looked intoxicated. "I recognized him immediately! This is your reward, Starosta!
" "Yes, a private one! Others pro publico bono!" the starosta patted his thinner thighs. "I'll always spare myself a few years of hellish torment! The hunt was successful, my Sienkoś. Time to end!" he raised his hand, but, looking toward the slowly rising monastery building, stopped. "What's that singing?" he asked sarcastically.
"The monks are getting ready to welcome His Grace the Bishop of Przemyśl," the noblewoman replied. “Tomorrow he is to consecrate the local organs, so that their sound may ward off evil.
” “At the last moment then!” the mayor smiled wryly.
His hand rose again, and clouds of fiery sparks shot from his fingers. It smelled of sulfur.
Something strange began to happen to the inn. The ground beneath it gurgled and slowly began to split. Less than half a prayer later, not a trace of the inn remained. However, where it had once stood, the sound of water splashed.
"They'll call it Stojadło!" The starosta turned to the nobleman and looked at him with pitch-black eyes. "Well, Sienkoś, it's time for me to go! Time to start a new hunt, although it probably won't be as successful. In two Sundays, we'll meet in Ustrzyki! Farewell, my Sienkoś!" And with
a bound, he jumped onto his night-black steed, only to vanish into the darkness in an instant. The nobleman nodded slowly.
"You were talking to the Devil, I presume, sir?" The shaggy head of a local beekeeper, who had found shelter here from the autumn chill, peeked out from under a stack of hay.
"Yes, the Devil!" The most famous in Russia! – replied Senkoś calmly. – With the Stadnicki Devil! The hunter of souls!
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