What the River Owes: The Strutting Cock
The Strutting Cock Jost winced as Heidi's voice cut through the stale air of the common room. “The room can wait! Take me to him now." Heads turned; eyes watched. Discretion was already dead. Josef, the innkeep, stopped mid-sentence and simply sighed, waving them toward the back. “Go on, then. Pit's not going anywhere." Before they breached the yard's threshold, Jost caught Janderke’s arm. “Keep your hand on the axe," Jost murmured, his eyes sweeping the muddy expanse, the stable shadows, the inn's rear door. “Take nothing for granted." Whatever rotted in that pit was one thing, but the dark around it was another. Caution cost nothing; carelessness cost everything. Jost hung back, watching the reunion unravel the family. Emmerich Handler’s pale hands seized the rusted bars before his cracked voice could form words. Heidi didn't just kneel; her legs seemed to give out, dropping her into the freezing mud. Gretchen peered down into the gloom. “Daddy...