Frankowski, Leo - Stargard 2 - High-Tech Knight

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Leo Frankowski - Conrad Starguard 2 - The High-Tech Knight
Book 2 of the Adventures of Conrad Starguard
Prologue
He unloaded the temporal canister, glanced quickly at his new subordinate, reloaded it with his previous
superior, and hit the retrieve button. That had to be done quickly. Holding the canister in 2,548,950 B.C.
was expensive.
He examined her frozen, nude body. It was just over four feet tall and skinny. The skin was dark brown,
the hair black and tightly curled, the breasts small yet pendulous. An excellent imitation of a type twenty-
seven protohuman. The biosculptors had done a good job.
He switched off her stasis field.
Her eyes opened, she stared shocked at the stalactites on the ceiling of the cave. She noticed the naked
brown man bending over her, noticed her own nakedness and yelped, covering her breasts and groin.
"Yeah, the uniform here is a bit skimpy." He chuckled. "The protos haven't invented clothes yet, so what
can we do? Hey. Don't look so shocked. I'm not going to rape you. You're not my adolescent fantasy any
more than I'm yours."
"Damn it! I have five doctorates!"
"I'm sure your mother is very proud of you. Are any of them in finding carrion or grubbing for grubs?
Anything else isn't very useful around here."
She glanced furtively at the cave's rock walls, at the torch that was its sole illumination.
"What is this place? When is it? And who are you?" She was still clutching her groin.
"You weren't briefed? This is anthropological research station fifty-seven. The time is half past two.
million B.C., and I am your charming host, Robert McDougall. I'd tip my hat, but you see the problem.
The tribe here calls me 'Gack,' so you might as well, too. No point in being formal when you're naked.
I'll be your boss for the next fifty years."
"Fifty years..."
"Right. Then I go home, a new chum arrives, and you get to be boss for fifty more."
The cave was cold and wet. She shivered. "This is all some horrible mistake!"
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"How can there be a mistake? You replaced the asshole I used to work for. Not that I really had anything
personal against her, but you'll understand that after fifty years with only one person to talk to, you just
naturally start to hate each other's guts."
"Anyway, the computers don't make mistakes, so you're supposed to be here because you've arrived at
the proper time and in a body properly tailored for our research."
"This body!" She bawled, "I used to be beautiful!"
"All part of the high price of science," he said. But she had pulled herself into a fetal position and was
sobbing louder. "Hey, you're serious, aren't you? You actually didn't volunteer for this post?"
"No! I mean, yes I didn't volunteer. I was in twentieth-century Poland. I spent one day on my new
assignment and the monitors came and I woke up here! I'm in the Historical Corps. I don't know
anything about anthropology!"
" Why, those filthy bastards..."
"Yeah," she said, grateful for any sympathy.
"...sending me a totally untrained recruit! My God! That means..." He stooped down and found a sliver
of bone on the cave floor. He grabbed her right hand.
"This doesn't hurt. You won't feel it at all." He slipped the bone under her index fingernail and moved it
sideways. She stared openmouthed as he repeated the operation on her left hand.
"What..."
"They were both turned off, thank God. Look. You have some fairly powerful equipment built into that
little body. Your right index finger contains a temporal sword. With it, you can cut a tree in half at six
paces. Your left contains a fire-starter. They can save your life, but if you don't know how to use them,
they can kill you. Or me!"
"There's more?"
"Some recorders, communicators, beacons, and so on. But that can wait. I want to find out what you're
doing here." He squatted in front of a large flat rock by the cave wall. He pressed four nondescript spots
on the rock. Glowing white letters appeared in the air before him.
READY
He started tapping the blank rock as though it was a typewriter keyboard.
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INFO REQUEST PERSONNEL RECORD. HISTORICAL CORPS WORKER NO....
"Hey. What's your number?" She told him, he loaded it and started reading. "Hmmm... born in North
America, 62,218 B.C.... approved for child rearing; eleven children... at forty-five, attended Museum
University 62,219 B.C. to 62,192 B.C.... doctorates in medicine, Slavic languages, psychology, and
Greek literature... accepted into the Historical Corps... assigned to Periclean Athens, forty-one-year tour
of duty. Performance unsatisfactory..."
"That wasn't fair!" she said.
"Fair? What's fair? If you want to talk about 'fair,' go talk to one of our protos after her kid's been eaten
by a leopard!" he snapped. "... Returned to university and obtained a doctorate in ancient Egyptian
languages... turned down on four assignment requests, ninth through thirteenth dynasties... assigned
twentieth-century Poland... caused a situation which resulted in unauthorized transport of local citizen to
the thirteenth century. Involuntarily assigned to anthropological section as disciplinary action..."
"The bastards! Turning my station into a penal colony!"
"But all I did was leave a door open!"
"We'll see what you did." He backspaced a few lines and requested an information expansion. "Good
Lord! You're her! They used to tell stories about you in school. You're the worst screw-up in our history!
You're the one who sent the owner's own cousin back to the Polish Middle Ages, ten years before the
Mongol invasions, when the guy didn't even know that time travel existed. They couldn't bring him back
because he wasn't discovered there until the invasion was actually on. The owner himself found his own
cousin on the battle lines, so they had to leave the guy there for the ten years or violate causality. When
you make a mess, lady, you don't kid around!"
"But all I did was to forget to close a door!"
"You screw up here and I'll feed you to the leopards." He pulled up four more files and scanned them.
"Well, if it's any consolation, your last boss was punished for failing to brief you properly. He'll be here
in fifty years as my replacement and you get to break him in."
"I think I'll just quit and go back to North America."
"Fine. You'll get your chance to do that in a hundred years, subjective."
"But-"
"Lady, this far back we get one canister every fifty years. The last one just left and the next one is taking
me out of this flea-bitten pest hole."
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"So cheer up, kid, and make the best of it. Hungry? Come on, I'll show you where there's a good rotten
log. Lots of grubs."
Chapter One
My name is Sir Vladimir Charnetski. I am a good Polish knight and a true son of the Holy Catholic
Church. I was born in 1212, the third son of Baron Jan of Charnet.
I write because my instructress felt that I could improve my literacy by recording the events of my life,
but on reflection I find that there is very little to say. I had an ordinary upbringing. At sports I was better
than most, but not the best. I am good at arms, but there are some who can knock me out of the saddle.
My chess is solid but uninspired.
Who would want to read the tale of so ordinary a knight? None but my mother and she already knows it.
But in my twentieth year, I met a most extraordinary nobleman and I think it fitting to write about him.
His name is Sir Conrad Stargard and I met him in the following manner. In the fall of 1231, word came
from my father's liege lord, Count Lambert, that we should send a knight to Lambert's castle town to
attend there on Easter and for the three months thereafter.
This was a duty that I eagerly sought for myself, for rumor had it that Okoitz was an excellent place for
many reasons. Lambert's table was reputed to be one of the best in Silesia and his wine cellar the best
stocked in Poland. Also, Lambert took his droit du seigneur in a most unusual and, it seemed to me, a
most delightful way. The lord of a manor naturally has the right to enjoy his peasant girls on the night
before their wedding. My father is a vigorous man in most respects; but encouraged by my mother, he
had long since declared himself too old for this duty and delegated the task to his sons.
My brothers and I diced for the responsibility and occasionally I won. Now, while the worst of
copulations can fairly be described as excellent, these bouts were often less excellent than they could
have been. While unmarried girls were presumed to be virgin, in fact they rarely were and a considerable
number of them were obviously pregnant.
Then, too, they were often frightened and sometimes actually in love with their future husbands;
circumstances which degraded their enthusiasm.
Oh, one could always encourage a wench to meet one in a secluded wood, but this entailed a certain
amount of sneaking around, a thing I am loath to do.
My Lord Lambert's solution to the problem is as straightforward as he is. He picks the best-looking of
his girls just as they are blossoming and persuades them to move into his castle as "ladies-in-waiting."
The advantages he offers are such that scant persuasion is needed; indeed little more than a permission
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to come. He turns the management of his household over to the "ladies," and enjoys them at his leisure
until such time as they are with child; he then procures for each an acceptable husband, provides a
suitable dowry, and pays the wedding expenses.
Most importantly, Lambert, with his usual largesse, permits his attending knights full use of this harem,
which often numbers a half dozen.
Lambert's custom is the envy of all the noblemen around and he gets away with it because his wife stays
on her family's estates in Hungary. Or perhaps she stays there because of his custom. For my purposes it
was inconsequential. I wanted to go.
As this pleasant obligation must, of necessity, fall to one of us three brothers, they suggested that we
dice for it. I refused, saying that three months was a long time and that the matter ought to be discussed
carefully over several days. My real reason was that, while I was a bachelor, my brothers were both
married. I was sure that once their wives heard about the matter (and I saw to it), I would be given the
task without the risk of the throw.
And so it was that my father informed me that I would go to Okoitz. My mother was in tears as I left,
acting as if I were going off to war, or some less honorable way of finding death. My father and brothers
were cordial and polite with the vague certainty that somehow I had cheated them.
It was an easy day's ride to Okoitz and, since the highwayman, Sir Rheinburg, had been killed, a safe
one. It was Holy Saturday and the Truce of God was in effect, yet prudence and courtesy required that I
be fully armed, covered head to toe with chain mail and astride my warhorse, Witchfire.
But there was no need to be grim, so I took the precaution of carrying a three-gallon sack of wine over
my saddlebow, and had a plentiful supply of bread and cheese in my bags, this being the last day of Lent.
It was a pleasant spring morning and I found myself singing old songs. I aided Witchfire by lessening
the weight of the burdensome wine sack and came to some assistance with regards to the saddlebags, as
well.
Horses like you to sing to them and soon Witchfire was galloping for the sheer joy of a clear springtime
morning. But while crossing a small wooden bridge he threw the shoe from his fight rear hoof.
This was serious, both because of the high cost of steel and because a charger cannot possibly be ridden
unshod without injury. I could not walk to Okoitz and get there by the morrow, and to not get there
would stain my father's name.
I searched the bridge, the stream and its banks for hours without finding the lost shoe. At last I went
down the road, walking in full armor and leading my horse, searching for a blacksmith.
I found a small side trail and followed it to a peasant's hut. The peasant's wife assured me that there was
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a village with a blacksmith two miles up the side trail.
In full armor, I trudged fully four miles to this village, only to find that the blacksmith was away,
visiting his mother for Easter. But the filthy churls informed me that but three miles further on the trail
there was another village and here the smith was sure to be home, as he was the brother of the local
smith and it was their custom to alternate, year by year, visiting their mother on Easter and Christmas.
I walked more than eight miles without finding the next village. Witchfire was limping badly, the wine
skin was nearly exhausted and night closed in on us. There was nothing for it but, like a hero in a
fireside tale, to stretch out under a tree and sleep in armor.
I unsaddled Witchfire, rubbed him down as best I could with some weeds and hobbled him for the night.
I had my flint and steel with me, and by dint of a half an hour's puffing and cursing, I managed to get a
decent fire going. I gathered a supply of wood, doffed my helmet and unlaced the coif at my throat. I
took another pull of wine and dozed off.
At perhaps midnight, I woke to the sound of a wolf howling. It was shortly answered by another and yet
another, and they were close!
The fire was down to a few dying coals and Witchfire was whinnying nervously. I went to him and
tripped in the dark, which spooked him worse. I had to speak to him a bit before he'd let me come close
enough to take the hobble off. A damned nuisance when time was precious, but no beast of mine will
ever be taken without a chance to defend himself! I could hear the wolves, snuffling, gathering both their
courage and their numbers.
I went back to the coals of the fire and found my helmet and sword. Then I threw what kindling and
wood I had left onto the coals and said a silent prayer in thanks to Saint Christopher for the blessing of
enough time to get ready.
The fire blazed up as I belatedly laced shut the chainmail coif at my throat and donned my helmet. I
slipped on my shield and drew my sword, for this was not the place for the lance, though I love that
weapon above all others. The wolves grew louder, and I could tell that they didn't like the fire. I could
imagine some impudent young wolf complaining, "Sooner! We should have hit them sooner!" It's sure
that I heard one of the animals yelp as though bitten!
Witchfire, trusty friend that he is, came into the circle of firelight to join me. He knew that this must
needs be a fight afoot, but he none the less meant to get his share of it. I grinned at him and they rushed
us.
A huge gray wolf burst out of the darkness and at my throat. It was skinny, gaunt and hungry, yet it was
fully my own size and weight none the less. These murderous beasts must have traveled far for the pains
of winter to still be on them!
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My sword caught the huge gray brute fair on the side of the skull and I heard the bone crack. His body
rammed me square on the shield with such force that I was nearly knocked over, and indeed would have
been had not a second wolf hit me but a moment later in the back. A foul blow, that, but one I was glad
of, for once down, it was not likely that I could defend myself with any alacrity!
The wolf at my back was trying to bite into my neck, but the armor my father bought at great price was
proof against it. I swung my sword back hard as though preparing for a forward blow. It caught the beast
on the back. Again, I heard bones crack and it was at my feet whining and snapping.
I had no time to give it mercy, for my war-horse was sore pressed. Three gray forms were snapping
around him and he had a fourth in his teeth, shaking it as a small dog will shake a rat. He threw it high
into the air. It came down on the fire, screamed, and lost all of its fighting spirit. It ran away, yelping, its
coat burning merrily.
I waded into the beasts that were harassing my mount and broke two gray necks with as many blows.
The third turned to charge me, but Witchfire dropped both front hooves on its back and it moved no
more.
Suddenly, all was quiet. We'd killed five of the foul creatures, and the one who got away would think
long before it again approached a human fire!
Witchfire seemed unhurt and I was unwounded. I gave each of the dead animals another blow to see to it
that they stayed that way, then laid myself back down to sleep. I didn't bother hobbling my mount. He
wouldn't be wandering far from the fire again this night!
Yes, I was unharmed, but only because I was armed and armored and with a trusty war-horse. One can
well see why the peasants lock their doors at sunset and dare not leave until dawn. Even in daylight,
many are killed when caught alone in the wilds. But what can be done about it?
I left the carcasses to rot on the ground. Wolf skins are worthless, even a peasant can afford better. And
maybe the other wolves would get a meal off of their brothers instead of killing some hapless commoner.
The next morning I gave the coup de grace to the last of my wine, cheese, and bread and found the
village not a quarter mile down the trail. I caught the smith and his family on their way to church.
"But, my dear sir knight! This is Easter morning, the holiest day of the year! Surely you can't expect me
to work on this greatest of feast days!"
"Surely I can! Know that I am sworn to attend our liege lord, Count Lambert himself, on this very day at
Okoitz. I cannot get there without my horse and my horse cannot travel without a shoe. You are the only
blacksmith available and therefore you will do the job. Bid your family to church without you, and come
with me. "
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"But to miss mass on Easter would be a great sin!"
I loosened my sword. "Not nearly so great a sin as committing suicide, which is your alternative."
His wife kissed him worriedly and hustled their children before her toward the church. Thus she made
the decision for him, though I intended the man no harm. He started to call to her, but I took him by the
upper arm and moved him to his shop.
"But I am in my best clothes! I must change."
"Very well. Do it quickly." He went into his house and I followed. It was well built, as peasant huts go,
with a brick fireplace and a real wooden floor. He stopped and looked at me hesitantly, so I drew my
sword and placed it before me, point down with my palms on the pommel. He changed clothes rapidly.
"But, sir knight... "
I ground the point of my sword into the floor, twisting it. He darted out to his shop. I followed.
Once he had a fire going in his forge, he said, "But I have forgotten! I have no more iron! I used the last
of it Thursday and no more will come until tomorrow."
"No iron? Then we must find you some. Hmmm... the hinges on this door are iron. It's a start." I ripped
the door from the frame and threw it at him. It's a pity to have to use such techniques on such a sniveling
wretch, but he had exhausted my patience.
"But that's not nearly enough and hinges are so hard to make!"
There were plenty of iron tools about, but I hate to deprive a man of his livelihood. I stalked back to his
house. "That crucifix is iron."
"But that was blessed by the priest! We can't..."
"No, I guess we can't. Those candlesticks... the two of them will make a shoe and nails and we can spare
your hinges."
"But I made those for my wife!"
"If your wife demands gimcracks while you lack the wherewithal of your trade, she deserves a good
beating! Take them!"
It was eight hours of welding and forging, filing and fitting before my horse was shod. While I waited,
his wife returned. I sent her out for wine and meat. Lent was over and I had a craving for a thick slab of
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roast pork.
What I got was small beer and chicken, the best-she claimed-to be had in that festering dump.
Finally, it was past none when I saddled Witchfire.
The blacksmith ran up. "But sir knight, you owe me for the shoeing!"
"The last time I had a shoe put on, it cost me eight silver pennies, so that's what I'll pay. And here's
another penny for the meal, though it wasn't worth it." I rose to the saddle.
"But the candlesticks alone were worth twice this!"
"Then next time be better prepared." I rode out of town. Actually, I'd paid him half the money I had. My
father was not a wealthy man.
We were an hour getting back to the main trail and though we pushed on as fast as I dared, darkness
overtook us many miles from our destination. I had failed. There was no moon and perforce my charger
and I spent yet another night under a tree.
The tierce bell was ringing as we rode into Okoitz. An old friend was at the gate; we embraced and
exchanged the kiss of friendship.
"Sir Vladimir! You arrive late!"
"Aye, Sir Lestko. Witchfire threw a shoe and finding a smith on Easter... But I must apologize to Count
Lambert. Where is he?"
"Your apology will be delayed as well; Lambert left at gray dawn to make his spring rounds. He may not
return for months."
"Damn! Damn and thrice damn!"
"Fear not at all. Lambert said that if you arrived today, all would be well; but if not, we should search for
you on the morrow. He knows no son of your father would fail him."
"Sir Lestko, we serve the finest lord in Christendom."
"Agreed. But come. You have just time to wash off the road dust before dinner."
We entered the bailey where a vast tower was under construction. "What on Earth is that thing?"
"A device of Sir Conrad's planning. They say it will suck power from the winds and force it to do man's
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bidding."
"That smacks of witchcraft."
"Sir Conrad claims not, though by all accounts, he's as much warlock as warrior and a giant besides."
"Sir Conrad? Is he the man that killed the brigand, Sir Rheinburg?"
"Rheinburg and his entire band and each killed with a single blow of the sword!"
"Unbelievable!" I said.
"But true. That German bastard's arms are in the storeroom here without a mark on them. Sir Conrad
caught him straight through the eyeslit and cut his skull in half without harming the helmet."
"Some might call that luck."
"Not when he killed all the others besides. I tell you he brought in four suits of armor and all of them
intact save for bloodstains."
"What manner of man is he?"
"I haven't met him yet myself, having arrived only a day before you. They say he's in Cieszyn and will
return in a week or two. I must watch the gate until sext, but you go up to the castle; the ladies will see
to your comfort."
"Indeed!" I asked, "Is Lambert's board and bed all they say it is?"
"Better. He has eight of them now and there are only five of us knights to keep them pleasured."
"The poor things." I grinned. "Well, we can only do our best."
No one met me at the castle door, but a remarkable noise was coming from within. It sounded like a
dozen mad drummers going at once, or like carpenters trying to be musicians. I followed the sound to
the great hall and found there an incomprehensible flurry of activity.
There was a great table around which sat a half dozen pretty wenches. Each had a cartwheel in front of
her that seemed to spin of its own accord. There were big balls of wool and complicated arrangements of
thread and spools spinning with astounding speed.
Unconsciously, I made the sign of the cross.
Against one wall, two more ladies worked a great wooden machine of incredible complexity, with
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file:///G|/rah/Leo%20Frankowski%20-%20Stargard%202%20-%20High-Tech%20Knight.txtLeoFrankowski-ConradStarguard2-TheHigh-TechKnightBook2oftheAdventuresofConradStarguardPrologueHeunloadedthetemporalcanister,glancedquicklyathisnewsubordinate,reloadeditwithhisprevioussuperior,andhittheretrievebutton.Tha...

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