“He only wants venison,” the young man said. “Give him what he wants.”
She reached out and slapped the young man on the side of the head.
“Ow!”
“Who do you think you are? You do not tell me what’s what and who’s who. Do you know this man?”
“Nein.” He sounded petulant, more boy than man.
She turned her gaze back on Jorgen.
“I want to purchase some venison for my aged mother. The barber said the red meat would strengthen her blood.”
She stared at him, then stepped back. “Come in.”
He went inside the dimly lit back room and followed the woman down a corridor and into a small kitchen. Slabs of fresh deer meat were laid out on the tables.
“Is this what you were looking for?”
“Ja.” Jorgen examined the meat, skinned and readied for cooking. He was certain this was venison. He pretended to look it over, selecting what he wanted. The only other person in the room was a boy about fourteen years old who stood and offered him a hemp cloth to wrap his selection in.
Jorgen did choose a slab of venison, wrapped it in the cloth, and handed over the money to the woman. She stuffed the coins in a purse that hung from a belt around her waist, then escorted him back to the door in the alleyway.
As she opened the door to let him out, two people were standing there waiting. One was a servant from a wealthy household, if he read her tidy appearance and clothing correctly, and the other was a young man, also with the appearance of a servant.
Did the wealthy people of Thornbeck know about this black market of poached deer? If only he could find out who was behind it.
Perhaps he could find out who owned this building.
When he was back on the street and unescorted, he circled around to the front. It was the brothel as he had suspected. As much as this house of prostitution had been spoken of by all the boys his age when he was growing up, he couldn’t recall anyone saying who owned it.
Nevertheless, he had discovered the black market the poacher was using to sell his meat.
The margrave invited Jorgen into his library. Lord Thornbeck looked preoccupied, his face drawn and somber as he stared down at the papers on his desk. His chancellor stood just behind him, glaring at Jorgen.
“Jorgen, do you have news for me?”
“Lord Thornbeck, thank you for seeing me. I do have news. I have discovered that there is a place in town where people are going to buy venison, and I believe it is deer that have been poached from Thornbeck Forest.”
The margrave’s brows lowered, giving him an even darker look. He stood, then limped while leaning on a walking stick as he moved toward the tall windows overlooking the steep, wooded ravines behind the castle. The sun had not yet broken through the clouds, even though it was almost midday, and he stopped and gazed out.
“Tell me everything you know,” Lord Thornbeck said without looking at Jorgen.
Jorgen began by telling him about the deer he had found with the arrow sticking out of his side and the white feathers that matched the other arrow he had found. He described the situation in the back alleyway behind the Rathous, not far from the marketplace, the meat, the buyers, and the sellers.
“In which house was it located?”
“The house of prostitution everyone calls The Red House.”
“I will have my steward find out who owns it.” He turned back to Jorgen. “I thank you for your diligence in finding out about the black market and poaching problem. That was very good work.”
“It was my duty and honor, my lord. I intend to capture this poacher.” Jorgen bowed.
“Please do keep me informed if you discover anything new.”
“I do have one other matter to ask you about, my lord, if I may.”
“Of course.”
“Since we are snaring so many hares this week, would you like to donate some of them to the poor?”
He stared, as though the question surprised him.
“Donate them to the poor?” Contempt oozed from Ulrich’s voice. The chancellor stepped forward to glance at the margrave’s face. “My lord, I have never heard of previous margraves doing that.”
“I do not do the things the previous margraves did, Ulrich.” Lord Thornbeck cleared his throat. “I think it is a good idea, Jorgen. Besides, I do believe my cook is ready to start tossing hares in the rubbish heap. Therefore, you may give all the hares you snare, from this point on, to the poor. You will take charge of it.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Ulrich.” The margrave glanced at his chancellor. “Send for my steward. I have a matter to discuss with him. And you may show Jorgen out.”