"City Air Makes You Free."
Part Two
One day, Ulrich had to run an errand for the church. His path took him down Gugen Lane – one of the most notorious streets in the city for brothels. Father Abelaird had told him to avoid Gugen Lane, but Ulrich knew it would save nearly ten minutes on his journey in each direction.
As he was coming back, keeping his face averted to avoid the catcalls of bare-breasted women from upstairs windows, a door banged open in front of him. Instinctively, he stopped and watched as one of the patrons stepped out into the street.
He felt a cold sickness inside of his stomach as he realized who the man was. Even dressed in a hooded black cloak, Father Abelaird was instantly recognizable.
Before Ulrich had a chance to hide, Abelaird looked in his direction. A shock passed across his face, but he regained himself.
“Boy,” he said to Ulrich. “Didn’t I tell you to stay out of Gugen Lane?”
“Yes, sir,” Ulrich replied. “But you also told me to go place the order for the colored glass and I had to come this way.”
“Well,” Father Abelaird said. “As you can see, I’ve been exorcising a demon in this house of sin.”
“No,” said Ulrich.
“What?”
“No. That isn’t what you were doing.”
“How dare you!”
“Father, I know what you were doing in there.”
“Don’t you disrespect me, boy. Do you know how many times I have heard confession? Do you know how often I pray for your immortal soul? Do you – you sinful dog – know how many souls I’ve saved? Why you wouldn’t know what the law is, but I live it every day. If it weren’t for me, you’d probably be here every night.”
He gestured at the brothel he’d just departed. “Sometimes my work must take me into unsavory places,” he said. “But such is the duty I have chosen. And your duty is to obey…”
But Ulrich turned and began walking away. He didn’t know what else to do. He ignored the man’s shouts, knew he wouldn’t follow. Abelaird was older than he looked and Ulrich was broad-shouldered and must have outweighed him by a dozen stone. Besides, the priest probably reckoned he’d turn up at the church eventually.
Ulrich wandered through the city for several hours, filled with doubts. He wasn’t sure who he was anymore, or what he was going to do. Father Abelaird had seemed so holy, so steeped in mystery and wisdom. To have him brought so low, by so common a temptation, rocked Ulrich’s mind. He felt unsteady, as though he had no foundation to stand upon.
Eventually, he found himself back at one of the taverns where some of his friends gathered. Two of them were already there, discussing some economic matter – a lifting of the price controls on grain, or some other thing. They must have noticed the despondence on Ulrich’s face, because they hushed and bade him sit down.
“You look like you need a drink,” Georg said.
“Not just yet,” Ulrich mumbled.
“What’s happened to you,” asked Freigdorf.
“I don’t know,” he said. He stared at the table for a second. Then he looked up intently.
“Hey,” he said. “I’ve got something I want to ask. I guess I forgot about asking this, but I should have asked a long time ago. See, I came to Yulburg because I’d heard a rumor – something like, ‘city air makes you free.’ Well, the whole time I’ve been here, I still haven’t figured out what it means. Do either of you know?”
They exchanged glances. “Yeah,” Georg said. “We know. But there’s someone you should see. He can explain it better than us.”
“Come,” said Freigdorf, jumping up. “Let us go to him now.” And before either of them could protest, he was making for the door.
“Come,” he beckoned from the door, as they were still getting up off of the benches. They followed him out into the street and down through a series of alleys, until Ulrich was thoroughly lost. Eventually, they came to a modest apartment in section of Yulburg where merchants lived. Friegdorf knocked on the door, despite Georg’s comment that the man they were going to see must be at supper.
“Why did we come all the way here, then, if we’re not going to knock on the door?” muttered Friegdorf.
“You didn’t exactly give us much choice?”
“Tut. One always has a choice. You need not follow me. Follow yourself.”
But then the door opened and a middle-aged man with a beard stood smiling at them.
“Georg, Friegdorf,” he said. “Come in. Who is this young man you’ve brought along with you?”
“My name is Ulrich, sir. I hail from Lindishire.”
“Lindishire – it’s been some time since I’ve happened to pass through there. I grew up not far from there, though. In Regstead.”
The man did not look like a peasant, and it must have been some time since he had been back to his birthplace. His rooms were not the lodging of a poor man. Ulrich couldn’t help himself from saying, “You must have come into some good fortune since that time, sir.”
Luckily, the older fellow smiled. “Not fortune,” he said, “but good business. Come, I’m Thomas.”
And he held out his hand. “I run a trading company,” he said. “Eleven merchants work for me, and we import goods from all over Europe.”