Only the Mayor did not share the festive mood. He huffed up to Sergeant Zulli, his face red and angry. Thanks to the sling on his arm, the old soldier was accepting his latest free drink with his left hand.
The Mayor clutched a severed rope in one fist, and shook it in Zulli’s face. “Look! See? This rope was cut! That’s how those Jägerscum got free! One of those show people, I’ll be bound!”
Zulli sipped his drink. “A good thing, eh?” He flicked his eyes around the crowded taproom, then gazed back at the Mayor with a significant look.
The Mayor frowned as he surveyed the happy crowd. A large number of the men were sporting bruises, but nothing more serious than that, and the worst bit of property damage had happened to out-of-towners, who hardly counted at all. He could see that everyone was in a surprisingly good mood, and his political sense told him that now was the time to make himself visible, be jolly and congratulatory, and take as much credit as possible. But he wasn’t quite ready to let go of his disappointment. He puffed out his moustache. “But now no one will win the bet,” he muttered petulantly.
Zulli nodded again. “Also a good thing, I think.”
The Mayor snorted and tossed the rope to the ground. “Bah!” He looked over at Master Payne. “It was them all right.” He glowered at Zulli. “I assume you know what to do?”
Sergeant Zulli actually smiled. “Already done, sir.”
Later, Master Payne and Abner were examining the burned circus wagon when Rivet strolled up. “Get this—the Sergeant there said we can fix our wagon in town for free!”
Payne was astonished. “Really?” He glanced around the town as if seeing it for the first time. “Well, well,” he murmured. “We might have to stay a few days after all.”
Abner rubbed his hands together. “Wonderful! I’ve just been talking to a Frau Velichou who wants us to perform at a wedding!” This was also good news. A wedding was a plum job, with lots of tips and free drinks. Payne almost smiled.
Agatha and Othar stood apart, watching the celebrations. Othar was bruised from all his tumbling about, but was surprisingly undamaged. Agatha was beginning to think the man was made of rubber. She shook her head. “You’re the one who caught them? By playing a game of hangman?”
Othar was visibly pleased with himself. “The Jägermonsters love to play games, but they’re fuzzy when it comes to rules. That’s something you should remember as you set out to fight evil.”
Agatha cocked an eyebrow at him. “I told you, I’m not doing that. Going out looking for trouble to ‘fight evil.’ It’s ridiculous. You can’t make me.”
Othar threw his head back and burst out laughing. Agatha stared at him. “Make you?” He took off his visor and wiped his eyes. “You ran straight at the danger without even thinking. That is who and what you are.” Suddenly, the big man’s voice was grave, his manner serious. “You say you want a normal life.” He sighed deeply, “We all say that at one time or another. You certainly deserve your chance at it.” He stepped back and looked her up and down.
“I’ll find you in about three months,” he told her. “And we’ll see how ‘normal’ your life is.” Then he leaned down, and to Agatha’s astonishment, gave her a soft peck on the cheek. His blue eyes were bright and warm.
He grinned and replaced his visor. “But sincerely—Good luck.” And with that, he walked back to the tavern, and the admiring crowd who was waiting to hear his tales of adventure and buy him drinks.
Agatha watched him go, her hand gently touching the spot where he’d kissed her.
Krosp materialized at her elbow. “How can someone so stupid be so smart?” he groused.
Agatha dropped her hand and turned away. “He only sees what he wants to see,” she growled. “Which is why he’s completely wrong about me.”
Krosp’s eyes narrowed as he stared at her. His whiskers twitched. “Ah. Right.” He sighed, “Of course.”
From the eaves of the forest outside town, the Jäger woman listened to the celebratory noise spilling out into the night. As she turned her back to the lights of the town, a huge black shape detached itself from the shadows and lumbered toward her. Even in the darkness, she instinctively found the great bear’s moist nose leather and gave it a fond pat. “Ah, Füst. Who iz a goot bear?”
Füst snorted happily and nuzzled her hand. Without turning, she addressed the air. “Hokay—Hy know hyu eediots iz dere. Come on out.”
From the deep gloom under the trees, the other three Jägers appeared—smug grins on their faces. The Jäger woman looked them over. “Maxim, Ognian und Dimo. Vot vas dot all about? Iz hyu seriously telling me—”
“Dot ve found a Heterodyne? Ho, yaz!” Maxim’s purple eyes shone in the darkness.
Ognian’s toothy grin seemed to reach to both ears. “It’z a gurl. But de schmell, de voice...” He thumped his halberd on the ground—“She iz uf de bloodline!” he declared.
Dimo nodded quietly, but with certainty. “Dere iz no mistake, Jenka,” he agreed.
“A gurl?” The others nodded. Jenka abruptly sat down. The three stepped forward in concern, but she waved a hand in reassurance. “Dot iz... sooprizink.” She sat still a moment, and then, with a single graceful bound, leapt astride her bear. She pointed at the other three. “Hyu three vill stay vit her.”
Dimo was surprised. “Iz dot all?”
Jenka took a deep breath. “Our task vas to find a Heterodyne. This ve haff done.” She sat back. “Now de qvestion iz—vot iz to be done vit her?”
The three looked at each other in surprise. “Hyu gots to ask?” Maxim was puzzled.
Jenka consulted the stars and began steering her bear between the trees. “It haz been too long. Hy vant... instructions.” She waved a hand at them. “Until den, just keep her alive.”
And with that, bear and rider vanished into the night.
CHAPTER 5
Passholdt Fried Crème “Tings”
Preparation Time: 35 minutes
Cooking Time: 30 minutes
Ingredients:
80 g (3/8 cup) sugar
80 g (2/3 cup) unbleached flour
4 eggs
500 ml (1 pint) fresh whole milk, brought to a boil and allowed to cool
The zest of half a lemon, in strips
1 Tablespoon mild fruit liqueur
Salt
Unsalted butter, for frying
A piece of stick cinnamon
Breadcrumbs
Preparation:
In a bowl, beat two whole eggs and two yolks (reserve the whites) with 4 tablespoons of cold milk, the sugar, and the flour.
In the meantime, put the remaining milk in a pot with the lemon zest, cinnamon, and a pinch of salt, and bring it to a boil. Remove it from the fire and slowly add it, in a thin stream, to the flour mixture, beating the mixture steadily with a small whisk to keep lumps from forming.
When you have finished adding the milk, pour everything back into the pot in which you boiled the milk, return the pot to the fire, and cook over a gentle flame, stirring constantly and gently, until the cream thickens. Though an occasional bubble is all right, you do not want it to boil hard, or it will curdle. Continue cooking and stirring for 5 minutes, and then remove the pot from the fire. Remove and discard the zest and cinnamon, and stir in the liqueur.