Birgitta the Nun

Part 24 - The Tent

Incidentally, the incident at the inn didn't bring much of a disappointment, the only ones feeling rather out of the game being the suspicious characters. They were the only ones coming out of the occasion without some business taken care of, losing their bait before even being near a closing of the deal. A poor dinner and the taking care of the dishes, was what they could expect due to their mischief. And for some time - but only for a short while - they would be careful around both grand kitchen-utilities and horsewhips.

The merchant and the abbess were all alone on the village road as the sun started setting. A lantern was brought out and hung at the very top of the cart, over-swinging their heads with its delicate light. The fields were closing in and the buildings lessening. Soon they had left the edge of the village behind and only some small dwellings could be discerned in the growing barrenness. Civilization was taking its leave.

"Can we please make a stop?" the merchant asked, noting the retreating civilization. She steered the cart towards a lone kiosk, clinging to the last remnants of the village, almost falling into the wilderness. "I want to buy a newspaper and read about the bar-fight," she offered. "I'm sure they're going to present it in a weird manner."

"But, that was only moments ago," the abbess hesitated.

"I know—I want to read about it while my memory is still fresh."

"Do you know how journalism works?" The abbess looked at the merchant in disbelief.

"Never cared much for it," the merchant replied. "You have to search far and wide to find a more meager occupation."

The abbess really didn't mind making a stop, but this foolish suggestion to buy tomorrow's newspaper made her annoyed. "Do you know how time-machines work?" she asked.

"What's that?" The merchant smiled at the upset nun, "Did I detect some sarcasm?"

"Never mind—"

"Trust me. I know all that is needed," the merchant continued as she pulled up to the kiosk and descended her cart. "I don't know all, but I know enough. I doubt the monastery ever subscribed to any news?"

"We knew everything we needed to know centuries ago. All essential morals are already written down. No news are going to change that."

"And still people end up in bar-fights?"

"Obviously—" the abbess again hesitated.

"Alright then—a newspaper won't make any difference. Let me have it! Then we'll set up camp and I'll read it in bed."

The abbess didn't enjoy sleeping in a tent. The night was cold, the tent-cloth damp, and her borrowed sleeping-bag too short. Was it a child's sleeping-bag? Perhaps—the merchant's sleeping-bag definitely looked larger. In the morning she would try and mention the matter, maybe to delicately ask for some bedding not curbing her person completely. Perhaps it was a mistake? It was better than sleeping under the stars, by all means, but still—the abbess couldn't help but longing for her grand - but modest! - monastery bed.

The tent was put up in a cornfield, making the two residents exposed to the wind and the sounds of the open land. Some corncobs were stuck under the ground-cloth and the abbess kept being poked in the belly every time she tried to turn in her sleeping-bag. A low howl could be heard, coming from far away, rolling across the fields. The abbess shuddered. It was nasty indeed—probably some vicious guard-dog, haunting some poor wanderer. Hopefully not Birgitta—no, Birgitta ought to be far away by now. How did she manage on the roads, alone in the night, being terribly afraid of the dark and all? The abbess could not imagine.

The merchant didn't notice the tossing and turning of the abbess. She was reading her newspaper under a flashlight and doing a fair bit of chuckling. It really was all nonsense they put in it—most of the stories shouldn't even have reached the printers! And she marveled. The fantastic details of an article about a "heroic bar-fight" especially made her guffaw. There was even a picture - of her and the abbess. Hah—she put her news away with a contented sigh and fell asleep at once. And the abbess was left alone in the dark with her thoughts.

A ghastly wheezing followed, and the abbess was torn out of her reveries. It turned out the merchant was a wood sawyer - and a heavy one at that. The abbess groaned. "Well," she thought with some condemnation, "at least Birgitta doesn't have to put up with someone snoring in her ear—or being forced into a pygmy's sleeping-bag."

She felt restless and sick at heart. Tomorrow she would ask the merchant to urge her horse on—or to find a shortcut. But a shortcut to where? Well, that she didn't know. She only knew that life on the roads was too rough for her, and that she needed to arrive at something, somewhere. Yes, that was probably where Birgitta was hanging out - somewhere, accomplishing something.