KETERLYN WAS ALONE in the pharmacy. Sunlight streamed in through the open door and a warm spring breeze caressed the stone walls and floor, driving out the dank and musty air that had been trapped there over the long winter. Keterlyn had just finished cleaning and now set sweets and cakes on the counter while tidying up the mess left after Melchior’s late-night meditations. In the morning her husband had not told her what had unsettled him so or why an old wives’ tale about St Olaf’s Church had seemed so important to him. Melchior had sped out of the house, leaving Keterlyn to handle the pharmacy affairs once more. But Keterlyn could manage by herself – she had learned a small amount of pharmacy wisdom at Melchior’s side and was even able to concoct some simpler medicines that did not require the permission of the town doctor – not to mention the fact that her Viru ancestors knew a great deal about medicinal plants, certainly no less than any monastery herbalist. None the less, Keterlyn also knew when to mind her tongue and not irritate her betters with shows of excessive wisdom or arrogance. She just quietly slipped in the odd recommendation now and again, and Melchior probably never even noticed how his wife carried on practising the ancient wisdom of the Viru shamans here in the town.
Keterlyn sat on the doorstep in the sunshine after getting the pharmacy ready for customers. Not many people were passing along Rataskaevu Street; only Kilian was there, sat hunched on the wall of the well just as he was every morning. This morning, however, his face seemed sad and miserable; he had even put his lute down and sat stiffly, as if he had just received terrible news. Maybe he is still depressed over the Prior’s dreadful death, thought Keterlyn, but maybe … She recalled what Melchior had said about Tweffell, about his wife and about Kilian and had to admit that, looking at things from a certain perspective, Melchior was probably right.
As Keterlyn mulled this over Mistress Gerdrud stepped out of the house with Ludke at her heels. The young woman waved to Keterlyn, and Keterlyn waved back. Gerdrud then shouted something to Kilian, but the boy took no notice.
Gerdrud shouted again. ‘Kilian, good morning. You seem out of sorts, as if the strings on your lute had snapped. Or has something happened to your voice?’ The boy turned and bowed to her, but his movements were stiff and formal.
Ludke stepped towards Keterlyn and asked whether the pharmacy was open, as Sire Tweffell urgently needed a salve for his aches.
‘Melchior should be back soon,’ Keterlyn spoke gaily. ‘I am unable to give you the salve right now.’
Ludke seemed worried. ‘Master is in great pain,’ he mumbled.
‘You can stay and wait for Melchior,’ Gerdrud said to him. ‘No doubt he has business to attend to elsewhere on occasion. I will head off to the market while you wait.’
Ludke seemed even more confused. He stared first at the pharmacy, then at Kilian and Gerdrud and wavered over what to do, looking uncomfortable. Then he grunted, ‘But the Master said you’re not allowed to go into town alone, that as long as that murderer is on the rampage and that sack of flour who calls himself a magistrate is unable to apprehend him –’
Gerdrud interrupted shrilly, ‘Silence yourself, Ludke. Not everything that is said in the privacy of one’s home is to be declared loudly in the street.’
‘But what am I to do then? The Master is in great pain and needs medicine as soon as possible, and the Mistress is not allowed to walk about town alone.’
‘It’s not as if war has broken out,’ Gerdrud retorted. ‘But you’re right, medicine is needed soon. Kilian. Hey, Kilian, maybe you could come with me to the market?’ she suggested hopefully.
A more vigorous spirit now seemed to enter the boy, as he slowly stood up.
‘Yes, I would gladly accompany you,’ he returned.
At this Ludke appeared to descend into even greater uncertainty.
‘That minstrel?’ he sputtered. ‘He’d be of no use if he had to protect you. Even a stray cat would get the better of him.’
‘Listen here, servant, I have studied swordsmanship in Italy,’ Kilian growled, but Gerdrud just laughed radiantly. ‘Oh, Ludke, when will you learn that it is not polite to express all of your thoughts out loud,’ she exclaimed.
Ludke muttered, no doubt to himself yet loud enough for Keterlyn to hear, ‘Mistress has certainly learned this skill very well.’
‘What are you going on about now?’ Gerdrud put her hands on her hips and spoke in a tone reminding all in range just who the Mistress of Sire Tweffell’s household was. ‘Sire Mertin also knows very well that a merchant’s wife is not to be argued with out in the street in broad daylight – not by the Toompea Murderer or anyone else. So, what will happen is this. You will remain here waiting for Melchior, and Kilian will escort me … if he has no other urgent matters at hand.’
Ludke did not like this, Keterlyn noted, but neither did he dare argue further.
Just as Gerdrud was about to head off towards the market square with the journeyman singer at her side, someone shouted, ‘Kilian! Meistersinger! Have you heard the news? A miracle. A miracle has occurred …’
Keterlyn turned her head and saw Birgitta – one of the girls with whom Kilian often passed around the town – hurtling towards them from the direction of Long Hill Gate. She dashed towards them giddily, having nearly run into a couple of master armourers striding towards the stables. Birgitta noticed Gerdrud as she came closer and appeared to falter lightly, although she collected herself again quickly.
‘Mistress Gerdrud, good morning to you. I saw, that is I … I saw Kilian in the distance and wished to tell him the news. They say that a genuine miracle has occurred near the Church of the Holy Ghost almshouse. A genuine miracle.’
Keterlyn rose and stepped closer in order to hear better. After all, it was not often that miracles took place in Tallinn.
Birgitta explained breathlessly and gestured wildly. ‘It’s such a miracle that when I heard the news and then saw Kilian, I thought, well, it’s just the sort of thing that he might be able to compose a song about in an instant, just as he always does –’
‘Well then, tell us about this miracle,’ Keterlyn interrupted the girl, growing impatient herself.
‘It’s that alms-box – you know, where people can donate a penny or whatever. Apparently yesterday evening the chest was completely empty, but this morning it contained the most amazing golden collar you can imagine – the sort that noblemen wear around their necks, beautiful and worth a great deal of money.’
Keterlyn did not fail to notice that Kilian started, supporting himself against the well wall and nearly dropping his lute in the process.
‘Collar? A golden collar,’ he stammered.
‘Exactly. One made of pure, shining gold. If it’s sold then the poor almsmen can buy lots food to eat and more clothing than they will ever need. They say it is a genuine miracle and that either the Holy Ghost or St Victor has allowed this to take place and that a mass of thanksgiving will be held in the Church of the Holy Ghost and that –’
No one seemed to notice Kilian’s astonishment.
Gerdrud merely shrugged and broke off the girl’s prattling. ‘I have never heard of miracles happening just like that. If it is a collar then someone has placed it there, and may the heavens impart heaps of thanks upon the person for having a heart that aches for the poor and the crippled. However, Kilian and I were just about to go to the market. Were we not, Kilian?’
Gerdrud’s final sentence was pronounced in a tone that hushed Birgitta. The young girl bowed to Gerdrud, albeit in a somewhat forced and ostentatious manner. Kilian nodded quickly, and the pair began heading slowly towards Pikk Street while Birgitta ran off. Ludke remained standing stiff and immobile in front of the pharmacy waiting for Melchior.
Keterlyn sat back down on the doorstep and chuckled. She believed in miracles, of course – or, rather, she wanted to believe in them – yet to her knowledge such things only happened far away and a long time ago. The idea that some saint had visited Tallinn and dropped off a goldencrusted collar for the almshouse … oh no, that she did not believe, especially given the fact that her husband had slipped away somewhere during the night believing that she had not heard him.
Nevertheless, a gold collar was certainly of more use to an almshouse than around the neck of some Grand Master of the Order, of this Keterlyn had no doubt.