The Trumpeter of Krakow

It was in the spring of the year 1241 that rumors began to travel along the highroad from Kiev in the land of Rus that the Tartars of the East were again upon the march. Men trembled when they heard that news and mothers held their children close to their breasts, for the name “Tartar” was one that froze folks’ blood in their veins. As the weeks went on, the rumors grew thicker and there began to come through to Poland, our land of the fields, the news that the country lands of the Ukraine were ablaze. Then it was heard that Kiev had fallen, then Lvov, the city of the Lion, and now there was naught between the savage band of warriors and the fair city of Krakow, save a few peaceful villages and fertile fields.

The stranger that they had left in the mud by the roadside that morning stood by the side of the wagon with a crowd of ruffians at his heels threatening and shouting at Pan Andrew and his wife. The stranger carried a huge club, and the ruffians, of whom he appeared to be the leader, were armed with staves and stones and were shouting angrily as if intent on harming the man and woman above them. Pan Andrew, in facing them, had stepped in front of his wife, to shield her if stones were thrown; and the sight of the resistance, and the cries of the leader and his attackers, soon brought a huge crowd surging about the wagon, for it was now close on to noon, and the morning’s business of the market was well-nigh finished and many citizens and farmers were eating or resting in the shade of the trees about the square.

Joseph darted through the crowd and leaped up on the wagon, to stand by his father’s side.

“Ha, we have the cub as well,” shouted the one who had boasted of the name Ostrovski in the early morning. “He is a wizard like unto the father, and a witch like the mother, for it was he who made my horse fly straight up to heaven this morning with a blow upon the flank.”

At that a great skulk in the crowd let fly a stone at the three which missed Pan Andrew but narrowly.

“Magicians, wizards, witches,” hooted the crowd.

The door at the landing above him was thrown open and a figure in white emerged. It began to descend the stairs hurriedly, and, as it came near, Joseph saw that it was Elzbietka in her night clothes, over which she had thrown a white cover-lid from her bed.

He spoke quickly in order that his presence might not alarm her.

“Elzbietka,” he said, “it is I, Joseph. What has happened?”

“My uncle,” she cried, “Joseph, I know not what they are doing.”

“I thought you were with my mother,” he exclaimed.

“I was, but I became sleepy, and she told me to go up and sleep. I did sleep, for some time, too. But then this loud talking and noise began. Joseph,” she came close up to him, “Joseph, I am frightened. Something is going on upstairs that is not good. The student Tring is with my uncle always now. He came early in the evening, and they have been there together ever since. Uncle never used to go up there at night before—he stayed with me. Joseph, I fear that student Tring.”

“I know what you feel,” he said.

“I believe that he has some power over people that is not of this earth,” she continued. “You do not know how much my uncle has changed since he first knew him. And I am all alone.”

“What did you hear to-night?” asked the boy.

“I was wakened by a loud tramping on the floor. Then my uncle said, ‘No, that will kill.’ Then the student laughed a terrible laugh. After that there was a long, long silence.

Up above him the trumpeter kept a much stricter vigil, and all about the town, the watch tried house doors and questioned late passers-by.

“Oh-ho-hum!” he yawned. Such a quiet thing was life!

But—flattened against the church wall behind him was one whose intention might have disturbed those weary thoughts had the watchman been able to discern it. The Snake had sized up this situation with rapidity and had taken advantage of the moment that the watchman turned his back upon the square to dart into the projecting shadow of a buttress. Edging along the wall, he moved cautiously until he was but a few yards from the tombstone by which the watchman sat.

Plof! The Snake had pounced like a hawk on a mouse.

There was not even a scuffle, so prepared was the intruder and so taken by surprise was the victim. Down went the watchman on his back by the side of the grave and in a second the deft Michael had bound his scarf tightly about the man’s mouth, so that he could not utter a sound. It was the work of a moment as well, to secure the hands and feet with short bits of rope that he carried in his jacket—he was at first minded to cut the man’s throat with his own sword, but he feared lest he might make one last dying cry and upset all their plans.

He shook some powder into a brazier full of coals which suddenly leaped into flame. As the whole room burst into existence with the illumination there appeared most prominently in it the tripod which bore the covered mystery. The alchemist whipped the cloth covering away.

It was as if he had uncovered a diamond of the finest water! Upon the brass top of the tripod gleamed in that instant a very miracle of color and light; the object itself was about the size of a man’s head. Upon this exquisite thing no artificial effort of man had been expended; it was as nature had fashioned it in the depths of some subterranean grotto where drops of water falling in steady succession for thousands and thousands of years had slowly created it. The outer layers were clear like the water of a mountain spring; as the eye fell farther and farther within the surface a bluish tint was perceptible and at the very center there was a coloring of rose. Such was its absolute beauty that whoever looked into its depths seemed to be gazing into a sea without limit.