"Then what's that sound?",
shouting.
Wulf paused his digging to listen. The was a flapping sound in a nearby
tree. "Why, it's an omen shaking off the cold," he said acidly.
"Now let me get this done."
"And I say that the Widow von Muhlau has played us for fools this
night."
As Wulf worked away, the chill wind turned raw and Karl pulled his collar
over his ears. The owl hooted again from the leafless tree and Karl nearly
leaped up when, with a wrenching screech, Wulf's spade struck metal. Wulf's
round white eyes lifted just above the edge of the pit. "It's the
coffin!" he said with a grin. Karl listened to Wulf's huffing and
puffing until he couldn't bear it any longer. He slipped down into the
pit and added his fingers to the effort of prying loose the object embedded
in the dense soil. With a final tug, the object came free.
Karl wiped the object free of soil and held it up again. Shaking his
head, he clambered out of the grave and brought it next to the lantern.
The brass trumpet, like those carried by public coaches throughout the
land, was scratched and dented, its bell nearly flattened. "It's a
post horn."
"A post horn?" Wulf reached out of the grave, and blowing
dirt from the mouthpiece, put the horn to his lips. The tinny blast sounded
much louder in the deep silence of the night.
"What have you done? Do you want to raise the dead?" Karl
grabbed the horn from Wulf's hands.
"Look at you. You'd jump at your own shadow." Wulf laughed
harshly as he returned to his task. The gritty scrape of shoveling continued.
Karl dropped the horn to ground and blew on his trembling fingers and stamped
his feet, but the sound he heard was not the puff of his breath nor the
thud of his boots on the earth.
Rather it was the snorting of beasts, and the pounding of hooves, and
the rattle and creak of a great carriage, its roof bright with flaming
lanterns. Karl's jaw dropped, and his legs began moving, a trot, then a
jog, then a mad scramble to outrace the oncoming coach.
As his feet sped down the rutted road, he looked back to see the furious
steam from the horses' nostrils and the dark, muffled driver who urged
the coursers on. To the sharp cry of command, the driver added the crack
of his whip and the horses shrieked as they surged down the road like a
storm wind, the great carriage creaking and shaking with the stress of
its speed. In horror Karl caught a glimpse of Wulf, standing at the edge
of the pit, his arms raised over his head as he went under thundering hoof
and wheel. Karl looked back as the galloping steeds gained ground, as the
iron rims of the great wheels shot sparks across the ground, as the driver
howled with a joy that made his heart pound with terror. Karl looked back
just in time to see, as the powerful hooves bore down upon him, the fiery
circles, like glowing coals, sunk in the face the driver, and the mocking
grin that seemed to hover in the air above the frothing manes of the horses,
the final gloating grin merging with the shroud of the moon.
The carriage plunged on, torches flaming at its four corners, horses
straining against harness, driver flailing his whip, wheels squealing against
axles, until it was at last out of sight, bound for a destination unrevealed
and unknown, leaves flying in its wake.
