The Bloodletter's Daughter by Lafferty Linda

Author:Lafferty, Linda [Lafferty, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Cesky Krumlov had ears at every door and eyes that stared from every window. As the citizens learned that Pichler and Mingonius had successfully treated the mad prince, more and more patients made a pilgrimage to the Pichler bathhouse for bleedings. It was now deep November, and though the transitional seasons of autumn and spring always brought more clientele for the balancing of humors, Pichler was barely able to keep up with the new crowd of eager patients.

“I’ll have the same treatment as the Hapsburg prince,” said the butcher, winking at Pichler. “Good enough for the son of King Rudolf, it will do for me as well.”

“You mean the Mad Bastard of Cesky Krumlov,” suggested a tanner, his voice low so as not to carry beyond the intended listeners.

The butcher chuckled, but wished the tanner had bathed before coming to see Pichler. He reeked of the urine and feces of the tanning vats. An hour’s soak in hot water and lavender would do him and the rest of Krumlov a world of good. Whenever he did come, Lucie had to warn the regular clients, who refused to bathe at the same time as a tanner. She kept a separate barrel for him, for no one would pay to be bathed in a barrel that had once held the stinking water of Pan Ruzicka.

One by one, the townspeople came to feed the leeches with their blood, trying to pry details from Pichler about his royal patient. But Pichler would not divulge any significant information about the prince.

“How about you, Marketa? Tell us what it is like to hold a basin for the son of Rudolf II. Is he as mad as they say? Does he ask for a kiss from your sweet lips?” asked the butcher, pinching her cheek, a leech wiggling on his forearm.

“Surely he must be struck with the girl,” agreed the tailor, looking her up and down. “She’s far more comely than the girls up north. If only you would eat more, Marketa, and put some fat on your hips, you would be a true Bohemian beauty.”

“Enough about my daughter,” insisted Pichler, suddenly irritated. “Hold still and let the leeches take hold—you are making them dizzy with your gyrations. Marketa! Wash the trays and see if you can help your mother in the bathhouse. That is enough for today!”

Marketa nodded to the three patients, who blithely smiled and bid her good-bye, their limbs, torsos, and heads sporting small dark leeches. The butcher looked like a strange version of a unicorn, a water worm protruding from his marble-white forehead.

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