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This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>

[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D.W.]

IN THE BLUE PIKE

By Georg Ebers

Volume 1.

Translated from the German by Mary T. Safford

CHAPTER I.

"May a thunderbolt strike you!" The imprecation suited the rough fellowwho uttered it. He had pointed out of doors as he spoke, and scarcelylowered the strange tones of his voice, yet of all the rabble whosurrounded him only two persons understood his meaning—a fading, sicklygirl, and the red-haired woman, only a few years her senior, who led theswearing man by a chain, like a tame bear.

The Nuremberg magistrates had had Cyriax's tongue cropped for grossblasphemy, and listeners could scarcely comprehend the words he mangledin his gasping speech.

The red-haired woman dropped the knife with which she was slicing breadand onions into a pot, and looked at her companion with an anxious,questioning glance.

"Nuremberg Honourables," he stammered as fast as he could, snatched hiswife's shawl from her shoulders, and drew it over his unkempt head.

The woman beckoned to their travelling companions—a lame fellow ofmiddle age who, propped on crutches, leaned against the wall, an olderpock-marked man with a bloated face, and the sickly girl—calling to themin the harsh, metallic voice peculiar to hawkers and elderly singers atfairs.

"Help Cyriax hide. You first, Jungel! They needn't recognise him assoon as they get in. Nuremberg magistrates are coming. Aristocraticblood-suckers of the Council. Who knows what may still be on the tallyfor us?"

Kuni, the pale-faced girl, wrapped her bright-coloured garment tighteraround her mutilated left leg, and obeyed. Lame Jungel, too, prepared tofulfil red-haired Gitta's wish.

But Raban had glanced out, and hastily drew the cloth jerkin, patchedwith green and blue linen, closer through his belt, ejaculating anxiously:

"Young Groland of the Council. I know him."

This exclamation induced the other vagabonds to glide along the wall tothe nearest door, intending to slip out.

"A Groland?" asked Gitta, Cyriax's wife, cowering as if threatened with ablow from an invisible hand. "It was he—"

"He?" laughed the chain-bearer, while he crouched beside her, drawinghimself into the smallest space possible. "No, Redhead! The devildragged the man who did that down to the lower regions long ago, onaccount of my tongue. It's his son. The younger, the sharper. Thisstripling made Casper Rubling,—[Dice, in gambler's slang]—poor wretch,pay for his loaded dice with his eyesight."

He thrust his hand hurriedly into his jerkin as he spoke, and gave Gittasomething which he had concealed there. It was a set of dice, but, withready presence of mind, she pressed them so hard into the crumb of theloaf of bread which she had just cut that it entirely concealed them.

All this had passed wholly unnoticed in the corner of the long, wideroom, for all the numerous travellers whom it sheltered were entirelyoccupied with their own affairs. Nothing was understood except what wassaid between neighbour and neighbour, for a loud uproar pervaded thetavern of The Blue Pike.

It was one of the most crowded inns, being situated on the main f

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