Cinderella

Quinnelly

Romuald Wieczynski was just making his way back from the stables, slipping rather inelegantly on the muddy road and swearing on the weather. It was true, the weather seemed to bother everyone that year since sunny days were long since gone, and the snow was nowhere to be seen yet. One had to be pleased with drizzles bringing terrible mire, and cold wind which froze people to the bone, forcing them to wear gloves.

If it is not finished soon, thought Wieczynski, soon at the gateway to his manor a crowd of peasants will gather and start begging for help. They always came, and he, out of the goodness of his heart, gave out the wood they could put in the fire to warm up and cook their meal with. And yet, his patience did have its limits, and at some point, he found himself quite tired of it; therefore, he hoped it would not happen again this year.

However, one could think that fate decided to punish his parsimony and that year, the winter would be longer and even more burdensome, and at the gateway to his mansion, even more peasants would gather, moaning and crying. And he, just for peace of mind, would have to give out wood and corn to the poor.

Out of such grim thoughts, he was pulled out by a characteristic sound of horse's hooves hitting the sodden ground. Slightly breathless, Romuald raised his eyes, squinting his short-sighted eyes and shielding his face from the sun peeking out from behind the clouds.

"Ah, Mr Kindler!" he cried, recognising the rider's face. "By God, what a weather! What a weather. Here, follow me, my servant will take care of your horse."

"Thank you, Mr Wieczynski," answered Kindler, and a charming smile returned onto his face as soon as he had dismounted the horse. The stable boy, having noticed his master's beckoning, immediately ran close to take the reins and lead the stallion to the stables. "That is quite right. Though, I have heard Mother Nature is gentle with us. I was told that the basements in Warsaw and Poznan are flooded, and even the nobles are afraid that they will share the peasants' miserable fate."

"We are fortunate it is quite far away," muttered Wieczynski under his breath. "It is enough for me that the peasants keep coming to me every year... asking for help, you know. So I give them what they need, so they can survive winter. But there are more and more of them..."

"Now, have you not surprised me!" said Kindler, raising his brow. "I have always thought the prince should... since it is his land..."

"No, no, it is not as simple as that. Honestly, it is a more complicated issue as to whose land it is." The moustached man shook his head, then sniffled. "Damn this cold. It is like this: I and prince Gerard are neighbours. The peasants living on his land go to him. Those who live on mine, come to me. Well, I must admit, there are more of them on the prince's land, there are several villages he takes care of... and well, truth be told, he helps them every year, and no-one has ever heard them complain."

A strange kind of spasm crossed Adam Kindler's handsome face, as though he had expected to hear something quite different – and as though the fact that no-one seemed to complain about the prince did not please him, although it would be hard to say why.

"Prince Gerard does wield certain... certain kind of power over my land. He dispenses justice to my peasants. Also, he sets the tax rates, you know. And there are other things, like... he can constitute certain laws and so on. This is why there is that silly thinking that this land is the prince's, not mine. And I just give a little part of my taxes to the castle, the rest of them go straight to my treasury, so I can take care of the village."

It was more than certain that not all of the money was used for that purpose only, yet this praxis was neither forbidden nor infrequent, even though it should be the rental that a landowner made his living from. However, in his favour spoke the fact that he never determined very high rental.