4 May. No death- Drinks. Puffy shirts = Slovaks. Slovaks much impressed with good character- several offers to buy bag, still no luck with fixing watch. Germany not so bad. Getting on with it- carriage here.
4 May: Unofficial Journal:
Marginal Note:
Now writing from carriage, feeling much relieved. Swift carriage ride + country roads does wonders for encouraging system to clear itself, though I may have upset the women of the carriage. Available Slovaks explained, I think, so everything's all right.
Exit from town was interesting. Had to ask innkeep what day it was ('schnapps' is a variety of drink, and not a peculiar local dance, though the two activities are related). Received a letter from the Brotherhood contact detailing Things and Carriages and Stuff. Head hurts – didn't really read. Innkeep read note to me, then looked very peculiar.
“Must you go, young Herr?” asked the innkeep. ('Herr' means 'Mister', they said in Munich).
I told him it was of utmost importance I go.
“Do you know what day it is?”
“Have you forgotten already?” I queried.
“No- but perhaps you have, young Herr! Are you not aware of what day this is?” he asked back. I was starting to think that we were perhaps about to get into an argument about the bill, and was determined to keep my wits about me.
“I... well, but you just told me.”
“I haven't told you anything yet,” he said, looking confused.
“Yes you did, just now, you told me what day it is.”
“No, I asked if you knew,” he said.
“Yes, but you'd already told me, so I already knew, and you knew I knew, because you told me.”
“What?” he asked.
Rather confused myself. Headache not helping. Tried again: “I asked you if you knew what day it was, and then you told me, and then you asked me all over again...”
“No! You misunderstood, young Herr,” the inkeep said, and leaned over the bar to articulate quite slowly. “Do. You. Know. What. Day. It. Is?”
Had to back up to avoid breath. Tried it his way, “Tues. Day.”
“No, young Herr! It is May Day! Tonight is Walpurga's Night!”
“Well, there are lots of days in May,” I objected – an obvious ruse for an extra charge on the room, in hindsight – “and furthermore, it isn't night, yet, and I'll be well gone before Wal-whoever gets here, so she can have my room.”
“Young Herr,” he sighed. “I mean to tell you what the coming night is called!”
This was definitely a trick question- luckily, I'd been studying. I gave him a look to let him know I was onto his game. “...'Nacht.'”
Contrary to my assumption, he did not give me a prize, or even look inclined to slip me another potato (must find way to get German potatoes home). He got that wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression I was learning the Germans use to express that you've pronounced something wrong, so I tried again, slightly accenting my 'cht'.
“No.... young Herr,” he said. “It is a holiday.”
“Well, that shouldn’t change the rates,” I replied.
“Young Herr” (might this mean different things in different parts of Germany?) said the innkeep. “Tonight is-” and then he suffered some horrible fit of sneezing.
“God bless you,” I said.
“God bless you!” He returned rather forcefully.
There was a brief silence in which I tried to hint that another potato should be forthcoming. Pre-carriage ride, potatoes were only consolation for hangover. No luck.
“Well,” I said, looking at my watch, which read quarter of three and had since Munich. “I really ought to get going...”
“Stop!” he cried, and brought forth a crucifix, “Take this, if you must go abroad–” and then he sneezed again.
“God bless you!” I said.
“God Bless you!” he returned, again with slightly more than Christian force. Though the country has had its moments of widespread heresy, but I found the German zeal quite fortifying, if not strictly approvable. “Tonight evil roams free – do not be upon the roads at midnight, young Herr traveler, lest the forces of darkness assail you!”
“But it's an overnight ride to the Count's. That's splendid!” I said, being eager to return to duty vanquishing said forces and etc. Germany very short of those, so far; not at all a rewarding country for travel after that purpose. “I've been wondering where you kept all your forces of darkness in Germany. Is it a scheduled thing?”
The innkeep made that face again, with the goggling, and re-offered his crucifix, so I tried again in German.
“Wonderbar!” (Cultural note: Germany is fond of bars, and now that I've been to some, I can see why. Also must avoid Slovak contests of strength in the future. Arm still slightly numb). “And thanks but I've got one...” I pointed to the crucifix, “er... a few... actually.”
The innkeep seemed not to understand this either, so I went on in an attempt to be polite and conversational. “Anyway, that's great news, as I haven't seen a decent force of darkness since Amsterdam, and I'm not at all convinced there was anything wrong with that fish, you know? How can you really tell it's swimming in 'demonic' circles as opposed to just regular circles?”
His response was more goggling, but I figured I'd have time to work on my German on the way to see the Count. Taking up my baggage and new stake-bag, I went ahead outside to wait for the carriage. Since he wasn't going to give me anymore potatoes, I thought I ought to go before he could further try to finagle another night's dues out of me.
While I was waiting, though, a small crowd gathered. At fist I thought they were merely a recipe group gotten together, because they kept saying things like 'pokol', which I think is the local spice, 'vrolok', which is some kind of meat, and 'ordog', which perhaps led me to believe I was among more of those with Heinz's belief in general canine devilry (dogs particularly evil in Germany? – Check records). I scooted away, but they were a rather large group. Trying to distance myself as they vigorously discussed the sundry methods of stuffing fowl (I think- they were making awfully offensive hand gestures otherwise, but everyone is apparently always talking of food around here), I walked some ways down the street but they followed after. Afraid I'd miss the coach (the sun was shining abominably brightly), I couldn't. Was forced to wait where I was.
The coach arrived just as the innkeep came out with a long string of root vegetables in one hand and his crucifix in the other.
“Take these,” he said, and slung both over my neck. “And God Bless YOU.”
Sensing his meaning, finally, I responded with an emphatic, “God bless you more,” vaulting into the carriage before he could make rejoinder. I think I won. Anyway, they let me keep the garlic and the crucifix, which I placed between the #4 Cherry and #14 Oak in my vest, the space having been cleared by my new stake bag. The garlic I put in the stake bag. Must be some queer Germanic custom. I guess one can't have too much garlic, but since I was visiting a count, I was pretty sure I wasn't going to be cooking for myself anytime soon. (Counts and the like have staff for such things, though I can't imagine how they occupy themselves without any chores – you know what Mama said). But the only other spice I have was my bag of tumeric, and that is strictly for combating evil.
Wouldn't say no to an omelette, though. Too bad they don't give out their potatoes instead.
The carriage is off! My first real, independent mission for the Brother of Slayers! Terribly exciting. Hard to write in carriages, so brass tacks: If this should reach my family suitably intact after being censored by the Botherhood's Inquisitionary Forces, and before delivery of my Slayer-certified dead remains, then hello, Papa! Hello Mama! Please don't do anything to Alouette or her family's property, it's not her fault. Love you.
Say hi to Oncle Sean, too.
-Remi