The Hunchback's Secret.

The first stone whistled past his ear, and he slapped it heavily into a nearby puddle, brimming with black, manure-smelling water. He unconsciously moved his dry, dry tongue, licking a few drops that fell, cooling his lips. The water stank even in his throat. He curled up, passively waiting for the next stones to fall, which would inevitably fall on his crooked back. Brag was used to this kind of entertainment. The castle guards were simply bored, and to lighten their moods, they set the local farmhands on him. They then watched as they tried to straighten his crooked back, cackling venomously as they made bets on which of the castle thugs would finally crack the hunchback's skull. But Brag had a hard skull! When the farmhands had had enough, he'd crawl away to his hiding place near the stables, where he'd burrow into the rotting hay until a kick from one of the stablehands brought him to light, or his hungry stomach demanded to be stuffed with the scraps that a merciful hand sometimes left near the castle common room.

Brag suspected this was the work of old Flo, who, for some unknown reason, seemed to be watching over him, though when he found himself in her domain—the dark castle kitchen—he'd often taken a heavy beating from her heavy hands. Brag knew, however, that her blows wouldn't really do him much harm, at least not as much as he expected from the enraged farmhands. And anything could anger them! Even today, he hadn't quickly enough stepped out of the way of the overweight stable boy, Drog, who merely glared at him with his one good eye, spat, and screamed at the top of his lungs,

"Changeeeeeat!"

And that was enough!

A moment later, Brag, crouched in pairs, was fleeing from a horde of screaming minions who, in a circle, drove him into a square covered in mud puddles near the pigpen, from which there was no escape. Slowly, the circle tightened.

"What, you freak?!" hissed shaggy Marg through his remaining teeth. "We're about to split your disgusting gnome head!" He picked up a slimy stone from the puddle at his feet and threw it. Brag closed his eyes and waited. But to his surprise, no more stones flew in his direction. Startled, he opened his eyes slightly.

The circle was broken! The farmhands huddled near the wooden beams of the pigsty, and shaggy Marg knelt in the middle of a puddle-like puddle before a figure standing in a shaft of sunlight. It took Brag a moment to realize who the person whose appearance had so suddenly interrupted the farmhands' "fun" was.

It was Jolanda! The daughter of Count Stogniew—the local castle-keeper who ruled Dali with a stern hand.

"What do you want from this poor man?" Yolanda demanded in an angry voice, and with an imperious movement, she parted the minions swarming at her feet. At that moment, Marg, suddenly pale, plunged his shaggy hair into the stinking puddle.

This humiliation of his greatest enemy brought Brag inexpressible joy. Until then, he had been the only one who usually ended up in the putrid water.

The count's daughter took another step forward, careful not to smother her long, scarlet dress in the mud.

"Leave him alone!" she said proudly, raising her head and, after a careless glance at the unfortunate man she had rescued, spun on her heel and, like an apparition from another world, vanished from the hunchback's field of vision.

Brag was unable to move for a long moment, and not out of fear of the farmhands or the castle guards, who, as if on command, had vanished from the castle walls. Until then, Brag had only seen the chatelaine once, and from a considerable distance. He had seen her, of course, when she was still a child, playing in the castle courtyards with several nannies. But then Jolanda left for a long time. It was said that old Stogniew had sent her to study at the court of Princess Fiolunella in Kuropatki, where she was expected to acquire the necessary refinement and manners appropriate for a woman of her standing, which she certainly wouldn't have been able to achieve with the vulgar women who inhabited the castle in Dali. True, the count was reluctant to part with his beloved daughter, and only the intervention of Grafina Monto, the sister of his wife, who died young, persuaded him to send Jolanda to Kuropatki.

Now, however, as the rumors of some vague threats looming over the normally peaceful lands of Zagórze grew louder, he preferred to have his daughter nearby. And so, about a month earlier, amidst a procession of copper-clad guards, the iron-clad wheels of a graceful two-wheeled carriage clattered against the castle stones, from where the blue eyes of the chatelaine gazed proudly at the family nest. It was then that Brag saw her for the first time.

Meanwhile, rumors began to spread among the farmhands and castle servants about a possible attack threatening Zagórze from the Great Empire of Apostates, whose serpentine armies were expected to descend from the shadowy slopes of the Brown Mountains at any moment. However, this was perhaps the least feared in Dalia. After all, the castle lay far from the expected attack site, separated from the mountains by the mighty fortifications of Grodgórze, where the valiant Count Mąciwił resided. It was widely known that he would sooner order himself buried under the castle moat than allow even a single apostate to pass through his lands. Furthermore, nearby was the considered impregnable Painted Castle, which, according to prophecies circulating among the mobs, could never fall to the non-humans. Dalia was more afraid of news coming from the west and south. The few merchants who traversed the Great Southern Road during this turbulent time spoke over a mug of frothy wine of eyes gleaming on the slopes of the Blue Mountains, and even of packs of terrifying mountain gnomes flashing in the distance. There were even rumors that the threat might also come from the east, though, as far as human memory stretches, no tribes of sand people had ever been heard of leaving the Great Eastern Wasteland.

And there must have been some truth to these rumors, spreading through inns and servants' chambers, because the Count himself often rode out at the head of his guards, gleaming in the summer sun, only to disappear for a few days. Upon his return, he ordered messengers sent to the green slopes of the Blue Mountains, while the guardsmen from Dale, for the first time in centuries, ventured into the terrible marshes along the banks of the Dyed River. What were they searching for there? But they preferred not to know about this in the castle.

A feverish rush gripped all the inhabitants of Dala. The local peasants, living in the nearby hamlets, without waiting for orders from the stewards or for the grain to ripen, went out into the fields with sickles and reaped the barely yellowing ears of corn. And strangely enough, none of the count's servants even tried to stop them. The castle was also growing in population. Everyone who could, at least, sent their children into the castle grounds. The area was emptying!

And the castle was in an ever-increasing uproar!

The only creature who seemed unconcerned by the growing commotion in the castle was the hunchbacked Brag. From the moment the chatelaine took him to his defense, he had lived as if in another world. The proud figure of Jolanda, as he had seen her then, constantly flashed before his eyes. Bathed in the golden rays of the sun that illuminated the storm of her golden-red hair, she seemed to him then as beautiful as any other inhabitant of the whole of Zagórze, and perhaps even of all the Middle Lands.

Ignoring the insults hurled at him by the young chatelaine's maids as they passed, or even the buckets of waste poured out of the windows, deliberately dropped by the kitchen boys directly onto his matted head, he spent his days wandering near the tower where Count Stogniew's daughter's chambers were located. Sometimes, through the narrow windows, slightly ajar because of the heat, he managed to glimpse the outline of a woman's head, which he guessed represented the adored chatelaine. And one day, he saw her in all her glory when, encouraged by the beautiful summer weather and the absence of her father from the castle—who, for reasons unknown to her, had strictly ordered her not to leave the walls—she and two of her ladies-in-waiting emerged from the tower for a stroll. When Brag saw her emerging from behind the heavy door, just a few steps away, he froze. He waited for even a single gesture from her, and watched, trying to memorize every detail of her slightly pale face and dark blue eyes.

"Lady!" One of the ladies-in-waiting looked at him with disgust, spitting directly in the hunchback's face. "Changeling!"

Brag waited for his adored chatelaine to defend him again, but Yolanda didn't even deign to look at him. Only the slightest movement of her hand toward the powerful guardsman following her indicated that she had indeed noticed his presence.

The next thing Brag was aware of was a pig's snout methodically sniffing his face. He lay in the center of the pigsty, thoroughly covered in pig droppings, and it seemed to him that there wasn't a single whole bone in it. Through his swollen eyes, he had difficulty making out the blurred shapes. With a loud groan, he rose and limped toward the exit.

For the next few days, he stopped guarding the chatelaine's tower, tending to his battered, hunchbacked body. Fortunately, the castle servants were occupied with entirely other matters, and for now, at least, they left him completely alone. So the hunchback's only concern became the daily bowl of food his loudly growling stomach demanded. Sometimes, he would surreptitiously allow himself to be locked in the pigsty, and before the pigsmen knew it, he would be eating a bit of the churned-up swill from the trough. Sometimes, old Flo would take pity on him and angrily summon him to her kingdom. She would then offer him slightly stale vegetable peelings, which, after the pigs' swill, tasted like a dish from a royal table. Afterward, Brag had to spend long nights scrubbing the dried-up deposits of grease from the brass pans and pots the enormous cook piled at his feet. Blood gushed from the hunchback's wounded hands. But he didn't complain!

After about six days, he returned to his post beneath Yolanda's tower. This time, however, within a few hours, a gruff guard appeared beside him and, with a few brutal kicks, threw him out into the main courtyard. Swinging a large mace menacingly, he growled a warning over his head.

"If the eminent Lady Yolanda complains again," he rasped, spitting lumps of greasy saliva onto the hunchback's matted head, "that your stench is disturbing her sleep, I'll tear off your filthy head, you freak! Do you understand?" The guardsman brought his horned mace down sharply.

Brag felt a stinging sensation on his cheek. One of the thorns brushed his face.

He didn't return to the tower that day. Instead, a plan began to form in his mind.

In the evening, he crept to the window of the small basement where, he knew, the old cook spent her evenings. In a whining, broken voice, trying not to be overheard by the guards bustling about the yard, he began to call out:

"Madam! Eminent lady!" he called softly, before finally thundering with greater courage, "Eminent Flo!"

This seemed to be what had provoked the reaction. The parchment paper covering the shutter rustled, and first the cook's greasy, gray-streaked hair peeked out of the window.

"And who the devil brought there?" Flo asked hoarsely, brushing away the tufts of hair that had fallen over her face. Brag emerged right in front of her thick nose. "And is that you!" she cleared her nose, absently wiping it with her soiled cuff. "Are you hungry, I'm sure?"

"No, Eminent Lady!" Brag shook his head. "I have another matter for you, eminent Flo!

" "You?" the old cook drawled hoarsely. "For me? A matter?

" "I think you know what it is!" The hunchback's voice was filled with certainty. Flo leaned out further and glanced suspiciously at the surroundings.

A moment later, the door creaked open, and a strong hand pulled Brag into the basement, whose interior was illuminated only by a tar-smelling torch stuck near the door. Despite the prevailing semi-darkness, the hunchback could clearly see the tension in the housekeeper's face as she nervously filled a brass mug with the foaming liqueur. Only after taking a long sip did she turn her plump face toward the hunchback.

"You did find out, didn't you?" she asked tensely, gazing intently into Brag's face.

"Yes, I did!" the hunchback confirmed confidently, though he had no idea what the old woman was talking about.

"I always told her you couldn't hide it from me for long!" Flo squeaked as if to herself. "But she was so stubborn! So stupid!" she shrugged angrily, her half-naked shoulders. "And your father...! I've never seen such a freak before! To be happy that he had a hunchbacked child. No wonder!" she nervously jumped up from the bench she'd been sitting on. "After all, what can you expect from a stray from the far West? Apparently, before he came to us—to your mother's misfortune, poor thing—he lived for many years in terrible Megana, where people live alongside misfits.

" "My father wasn't from Zagórze?" Brag stammered with effort. Old Flo's face suddenly contorted with sudden anger.

"What did he come here for, you tramp?" she screamed, pushing him toward the door. She tried not to touch his arched back, which the hunchback noticed. "Get out!" she roared across the courtyard. Crouching, Brag fled toward the barn, fearing the fat cook's furious shrieks would bring the castle guards after him.

All night, his mind buzzed with swirling thoughts. Buried deep in the rotting hay, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

Brag was practically devoid of childhood memories. As if through a fog, he sometimes saw a woman's head bending over him, but he couldn't see her face. It was as if she were hiding it from him. He only clearly remembered the woman's voice. A soft, soothing whisper that lulled him to sleep. But until now, he had never thought of her as his mother. He accepted the fact that he had no one close to him as completely natural. So far...

The conversation with old Flo had completely unsettled him. He went to her to ask her advice on how to get closer to the adored chatelaine. He wanted to ask the plump cook to intercede for the noble Count Stogniew to accept him as Jolanda's stable boy. He believed that this would allow him to spend at least a short time close to the chatelaine. Meanwhile, the cook's sudden outburst of anger prevented him from even uttering his request.

Flo, after all, knew something about him! About him and his parents!

Brag was now thinking more and more about his parents. He even stopped wandering to Jolanda's tower, where a taciturn guard lay in wait for him. However, he barely took his eyes off the plump cook, trying to avoid her, for since their late-night conversation, her attitude toward him had changed dramatically. Not only did she stop feeding him, but upon seeing him, she even set the angular cooks on him. It was fortunate that the increasingly dark news reaching Dali continued to distract the peasants from his presence. And the castle was increasingly bursting at the seams with the sheer number of people who had gathered behind the defensive walls. It was easy for the inconspicuous hunchback to hide in such a crowd.

Brag, meanwhile, waited for an opportunity. He knew his only chance to learn anything more from the fat Flo was to approach her when her mind was clouded by the wine liqueur she drank in copious amounts. However, due to the increasing number of guests at the castle, the old cook had less time for herself than usual.

Fortune finally smiled on the hunchback. That day, a large ladder-type cart, laden with crates and household vessels, rolled into the castle. Atop it sat a gigantic woman with arms like tree branches, calling out to Flo in a booming voice. The greeting, which Brag silently witnessed, indicated that the two women were very good acquaintances, though they hadn't seen each other for years. When the hunchback saw the greenish reflection of a large flask in the giantess's hand, he knew his moment had come. Despite his stomach growling, he didn't leave his post near the kitchen until late in the evening, when finally, supported by one of the cooks, the old cook stumbled out, barely dragging her feet.

Without much difficulty, unnoticed by anyone, the hunchback slipped into the wine-smelling basement. Flo lay on a pallet, probably abandoned there by a farmhand. She tossed and turned, as if convulsed by sudden fear, and from her mouth came gibberish words whose meaning Brag couldn't initially fathom. Only when he leaned over the woman's massive frame did the meaning begin to sink in.

"Damned foundling..." Flo hissed. "Beware... HE'S approaching! The cave... Ugh... Hide, I'll find... The witch... Hide!!!" At the last word, which turned into a terrifying howl, the old woman jumped up and looked around with her dazed eyes. When she noticed Brag leaning over her, she yelped and cowered, as if expecting a blow.

"Who am I?" the hunchback tried to seize the moment. "Who were my parents?!" he shook the woman's trembling shoulder.

"Noooooo!" A piercing shriek escaped the old woman's lips, and Brag almost wanted to flee, convinced the scream would bring the entire castle guard down on him. But he hesitated for a moment, and then the woman let out a snarl directed at him. "GOAT CAVE! Go to the Goat Cave..."

After uttering these words, Flo staggered and fell unconscious to the floor, finally frightening the hunchback. Brag ran out of the cook's basement as if chased by a pack of apostates and butted his head directly at the approaching Kleb, the commander of the guards. The man, surprised by the sudden appearance of a man before him, crouched down, giving the hunchback time to slip out of his powerful hands.