"I once met with the Duntsheshtshi," he said softly, for each tribe was further sub-divided into 'tents' or 'tzerha, which were descended from a single grandfather. In this case the grandfather had been called Duntshi, so his 'tent' or descendants were called the Duntsheshtshi. "Their kumpania traveled regularly across the Cesky Raj" - part of Bohemia less than 100km from Prague. "What did he want?"
"He bids you peace and bounty to your sumadji" - the hoard of gold coils all gypsy tribes held as part of their family's heirloom. "And wishes you to know that a Gajo priest is looking for you. This priest has been asking about you, and the Salamanders, all over Brno."
At the mention of the Salamanders, Cesky Brezen's eyes narrowed. It had been some time since he and his Uncles had used that name. Few in Brno would know of it. "Did this Bidshika describe the Gajo priest?"
"A tall man with high forehead and the eyes of a devil," was the reply.
"And did he say what he wanted?"
"No, only that it would be to your advantage."
"Where is this priest now?" Brezen demanded. Men of the cloth rarely sort out his services as a herbalist, and inquiries about his other professions came even less frequently. Caution was demanded.
"He was asking in the pivnice we were using last week."
Following his custom, Brezen had moved his base of operations away from the bar in which he had met Frau Druer, it was a sensible precaution anyway, but one most reasonably taken when one has tricked someone out of several gold coins. "Bidshika pointed him out to me, he is now on Koblizna Street."
"Go quickly and keep him in sight," Brezen instructed on an impulse, his instinct told him to accede to the priest's request, but it was never wise to act on such an impulse without precautions.
Thus it was that the three gypsy companions took up positions before and behind Brother Timothy as he crossed the square behind the Brno Centrum and started to walk down Divaldelni Street. With sharp and practiced eyes they watched for police officers, or agents of the public prosecutor, seeing none, Brezen approached the monk from an angle that kept him hidden until the last moment.
"Father," he said into Brother Timothy's startled ear, "you have been looking for me."
The monk swung round and faced the newcomer, there was no fright in his dark eyes, only surprise and a slight touch of humor. Brezen relaxed, this man was no threat.
"Are you the one they call the 'Salamander'?" the monk asked, looking directly into Brezen's face, a calculated insult to a Romani male, but one which Brezen took lightly; it was the usual ignorance and arrogance of the Gaje.
"Once in my life my family used that name," he said trying to take a closer measure of the monk. He had realized at once that this man was no priest, which made the situation even more interesting, but what sort of monk would need his help? The Church was not known for its support of the people of the Rom.
"Good, I have need of your services, and I am willing to pay," Brother Timothy said, coming straight to the point. He had no desire to be seen talking with a gypsy in the middle of a busy street. "Is there any where we can talk?"
"The sky is my roof," Brezen said with a shrug, "but, if that is not good enough for you, there is a place I know where we will not be disturbed."
Without talking again he led the way back to the original pivnice, and settled himself once more in the dark back corner. His two companions, which Brother Timothy had not yet seen, waited out in the street, always watching.
"I know of your particular talents," Brother Timothy said, and as he talked he slowly took out a purse which he shook to show it contained some coins.
"From where do you get this knowledge?" Brezen asked, not taking his own eyes from those of the monk.
"That does not matter," Brother Timothy said, "what does matter is if you still have those talents. Do you?"
"Maybe."
Brother Timothy's mouth curled at one corner. "If the price is right?"
"That is possible."
"Good," said Brother Timothy, sitting back in the hard chair and placing the purse of coins on the table between them. "In a few weeks time I would like to hire you for a special performance. This would not be your usual act, but one of my design and carried out to my own specifications. However, it is important that no one in Brno learn about your ... er ... particular abilities before then, so I would require that, as part of our ... er ... arrangement, you did not carry out any other performances before that time. I would want your exclusive services, you understand?
"In a few weeks time, it will be the Christian patshiva of Easter," said Brezen, ignoring the question, "At that time I am usually very busy, it is when I make most of my money. Also, what am I to do until then? You wish me to starve?"
"Naturally I would prefer that you were not too obvious before I need you, so, we could build a bonus into our price that would compensate you for any losses."
Brezen started to scratch himself, a tactic to which gypsies often resort when in the presence of unwelcome Gaje. But despite himself, he was intrigued by this monk and wanted to know more.
"It has been some years since my family performed as the Salamanders," he said, "what exactly did you have in mind?"
"Nothing very elaborate," said the monk, "in fact your whole performance should only last a few seconds. It is, as I said, not your usual act I wish you to perform. However, I am willing to concede that those few seconds will be very important to me, so I am willing to pay your usual price, and double it as a bonus. Provided you meet, and meet fully, my conditions."
There was nothing in the face of the monk that gave Brezen any further clues. This man was adept at closing his countenance and good at wearing a mask. At one level that made him more dangerous, and Brezen did not trust anyone he could not read, but at another level it meant that he was dealing with a man who, like himself, was a professional.
"You ask a lot," he said slowly, and then named a price in guilders that was several times higher than his usual take from a Salamander act.