Birgitta the Nun

Part 23 - The Fight

Incidentally, some tables away, two suspicious characters were keeping an eye on the newcomers. They didn't even try to hide their suspiciousness, that's how suspicious they were—this was, after all, the place where such a thing was quite in order. They bent low over their table and talked in a whisper, keeping their heads close together. Their eyes darted all over the tavern, to and fro, so as not to miss even the smallest of events. All the while, they clasped their mugs till their knuckles whitened, as if protecting some precious booty.

One of them seemed harsh - probably the leader. The other looked somewhat slow - probably the follower. Their attention was directed even more to the newly arrived cart, standing outside the inn, than to the travelers to whom it belonged. The cart was in no way impressive in itself, indeed it was not. However, it did seem loaded with something—something in need of two individuals to convey it.

"What if it's gold?" the slow one said.

"Don't be stupid," the harsh one replied. "They've got only one horse. That poor old nag couldn't pull any gold—look at it, it couldn't pull nothing—not even one sole coin. It would break its back."

"Oh no, dear—" the slow one replied and narrowed her eyes. "Poor nag. I thought something suspicious about those newcomers. They don't look animal-friendly." She stroked the deep lines of her forehead. "That horse deserves something better."

"Sure it does—" the harsh one replied, her face being even more of a deep-lined landscape than that of her comrade. She looked like something carved out of a block of tough wood, set in a mood to contemplate. Or to set an example: those sharp lines would lure nobody to seek the consequences of an adventurous life.

The two suspicious characters studied the merchant and the abbess with close attention. Did they seem rich? No, not really. But they did have a cart and a nag. And obviously a mission, since dealing with the innkeeper.

"Don't take out your binoculars," the harsh one hissed.

"What?" the slow one said. "I just wanted to take a closer look at that gold-loaded cart. It's not like we can ask for a tour—"

"Holy Maria—" the harsh voice exclaimed. "We're freebooters. We take risks, we guess, and we make assumptions. That's what we do. We never get a closer look at anything, ever. We decide on an empty stomach, always. And then we claim it."

The binoculars were put away, and some serious squinting was done instead. They observed the odd dinner guests, how they spooned their stew and munched their bread. Really, they behaved kind of well at their table. Yet, they managed to provoke a fair bit of distaste with the onlookers.

"A nun guarding a heap of gold—" the slow voice drawled. She smacked her tongue as if tasting the words, but without enjoying them. "I think I've heard of that. It's like a dragon watching over some legendary treasure, or a goblin—"

"Anyway—" the harsh voice interrupted its slow companion. "What if it's fireworks? A cart full of fireworks is worth a lot of gold."

"Yes—I do like gold," the slow voice picked up.

Their eyes left the newcomers and focused on each other. They were thinking the same thing. Faces working. Fingers tapped mugs. Then, pleased expressions. Both creatures relaxed in their chairs, and for a moment they seemed just a little bit less suspicious. It was the kind of relaxation that would come after a decision - a sort of calm before the storm. A happy smile was met with a smug one, and so they agreed—

"Let's free that horse," the slow voice exclaimed.

"Sure—let's make a raid on that cart," the harsh voice fell in.

What happened next is somewhat hard to describe. The suspicious characters pushed their chairs back and rose like a whirlwind. The inn was disturbed. Most of the dinner guests remained seated, feeling neither threatened nor targeted, but the merchant followed suit and pushed her chair back. She stepped on a table, leapt, and landed in the whirlwind.

A mug came flying, grazing the head of the abbess, and tore her attention from the stew. She looked up and tried to find her partner, but the merchant had already swung into action. She was shielding herself with a silver-tray, trying to ward off some kind of attack. "Clang—clang!" said the silver tray, as flying objects aimed at the merchant bounced off it.

The mistrustful cook had also awakened, bringing her heavy spoon into the action. As it was, she didn't know which party was the mischief-maker - she trusted no one - and so she ended up banging the heads of both the merchant and her opponent, with her kitchen-weapon.

Objects kept flying around the abbess' face, when it looked like she was about to get her own opponent. The quick steps of a suspicious character were directed towards her. But the nun didn't know what she was involved in. She waved her arms and pronounced her words, and settled for throwing a curse upon the approaching villain.

The attacker stopped, seemingly befuddled by the damnation. "Ah, a curse! Who wants a curse—aaah, is it bad?" escaped her slow lips. She stopped to inspect her body parts. Had some part turned into a donkey-tail? Or perhaps a pig's foot?

The pause was long enough to give the merchant time to react: she pulled out her horsewhip and gave the abbess' opponent a lash right across her slow face. A sprinkle of fine drops of blood followed the whip through the air, retreating to the merchant. The attacker also retreated and hid behind a table. She clutched her wound. A deep scar would add to her deep wrinkles, making her look just a little bit less slow.

The cook continued her banging, but was soon solely occupied with grim head of the freebooter, the merchant breaking free. This gave the newcomers time to conduct themselves. The merchant grabbed the abbess by the neck, and pulled her out of the inn. The cursing was up - the nun could put a hold on her vulgar activity.

And so they fled the inn with very much called-for action. The merchant gave the refreshed horse a smack on the back, and they jumped into the sought-after cart. However, nothing happened. As was her habit, the nag looked back at her passengers to count their heads. She would make sure they were all comfortably settled in, before making a move. She neighed, confirming the correct number, and so considered the situation appropriate. The cart creaked and the careful nag started walking, in no hurry whatsoever. There was no fire, was there? Neither was there a storm. So why should she hurry?

As luck would have it, no one followed the company. Despite their embarrassingly low speed, it seemed they were going to make it to escape. Only the innkeeper burst through the doors of the tavern. She waved her goodbye and called after the escaping crew:

"Come again soon—"

The merchant waved back and promised to give it a try.