But there was no time for reflection. Silvio turned into ever-narrower streets until, at last, the odor of fish and sewage told Magdalena they were approaching the boat landing along the Danube. Between buildings she spotted the jetty, stacked high with crates and barrels. Behind these, small boats bobbed along the shore, and the dark outline of a wooden crane rose up from the quay wall. Silvio ran in great strides toward the jetty.
Magdalena turned to find that the stranger was now only a few paces back. She cursed softly. Why had Silvio brought them to this godforsaken place? They would have been safer if only they’d stayed at the Whale! The stranger wouldn’t have dared attack them in front of all the patrons, but here they were alone and helpless. Again she heard the sounds of several more pairs of feet behind them; apparently they would have to fend off a number of pursuers.
Silvio jumped into an empty rowboat tied to the jetty and beckoned to her to follow. As she stepped in, she felt the nearly ten-foot-long boat begin to pitch. How did the Venetian intend to use an unsteady boat like this to his advantage?
With a great leap the stranger landed in the boat with them. His voice was high and shrill, almost childlike. “In the name of—” he began, but Silvio stopped him with a shout. The Venetian charged his pursuer, drew his rapier, and attacked. His opponent skillfully parried the blow, and they crossed swords again and again, moving from one side of the boat to the other. Time and time again, the men jumped over coils of rope and slippery wooden benches as the boat pitched and tossed, demanding a great deal of skill of the combatants.
Magdalena meanwhile cowered in the back of the boat to watch the men slash away at each other, sweat pouring down their foreheads. Silvio was an excellent swordsman, but the baldheaded stranger was so skilled with his rapier one might believe he was born with it in his hand. Again and again he found gaps in the Venetian’s defenses, and each time Silvio was only able to parry the blow frantically at the very last moment.
Silvio was now backed into the bow of the tiny vessel, his leather boots slipping on the wavering rail. The stranger thrust once more at Silvio, almost sending him overboard, but with feline agility Silvio sprang upward to grab a rope dangling from the crane directly above him and swung over the stranger’s head. When he landed in the middle of the boat, the vessel rocked so violently Magdalena feared it might capsize.
The stranger struggled to keep his balance as he swayed from left to right as if intoxicated. When he finally managed to stabilize himself again, he swung his blade in a perfect semicircle, catching Silvio’s shirt with the tip of his rapier. With a nasty ripping sound, the shirt tore open and blood came seeping out. The little ambassador staggered, stumbling on a coil of rope and collapsing against the railing with a moan.
Smiling victoriously, the stranger bent over him, holding his rapier to his opponent’s neck, where a small rivulet of blood was forming. Silvio’s expensive hat had slipped from his head, and he stared up wide-eyed at his opponent, expecting the final blow at any moment.
“It’s over, Silvio Contarini,” the bald man gasped in a high-pitched voice. “In the name of the kaiser—”
He fell silent, his mouth forming a silent O as blood poured from his lips. For one last moment he stood there, swaying back and forth, before his eyes turned up to the breaking dawn. Then, with a loud splash, he fell over the railing into the water, where his body bobbed gently in the current.
“What happened, Silvio? Is he dead?”
As Magdalena leaped up with relief, she saw a crossbow bolt protruding from between the stranger’s shoulder blades.
“Food for the fish,” the Venetian panted. His gaze rested a moment on his opponent’s corpse drifting away face-down; then he turned toward the shore.
“It was high time, wasn’t it?” he shouted into the slowly brightening gray of morning. “Maledetti! Why didn’t you shoot sooner?”
“Couldn’t have done it, master!” a deep voice replied from the other side of the quay. “I might have hit you, with all the running back and forth.”
In the very next moment three figures appeared out of the darkness, one holding a heavy crossbow. Magdalena caught her breath. They were the three roughnecks who’d been playing cards with Silvio at the Whale. Now she understood why she’d heard all those footsteps behind them as they fled. Evidently these three fellows served the ambassador and had followed their master only to save his life at the very last moment.
But why had they all fled the safety of the Whale in the first place? And why did the stranger speak of the kaiser just before he was killed?
Silvio approached Magdalena, smiling. He gently brushed a lock of hair from her face.
“Mea culpa,” he whispered. “I never should have put you in such danger. You’re too valuable. Madonna, what a waste that would have been!” His eyes glistened sadly as he ran his fingers through her thick black hair. “But you’re not only beautiful, you’re also clever. Too clever. And we need someone for our experiment anyway.”
“Ex—experiment?” she stammered. Then her voice failed her.
Silvio just nodded. “I’m really anxious to see how it will turn out this time, Magdalena. After all our failures, it’s high time we made a success of it.”
A blade flashed, and Silvio held up a lock of her hair. “Allow me this souvenir.” He bowed gallantly.
Meanwhile the three men had boarded the unsteady boat. To the east the sun was just cresting the horizon, a glowing red ball.
“What are we going to do with her?” the man with the crossbow growled. “Throw her overboard?”
Silvio sighed. “Grande stupido! You’ll have to bind and gag her. She’s unruly, and we don’t want our experiment to end up… um…” He frowned, searching for just the right word. “Dead in the water? Isn’t that what you say?”
Magdalena was speechless. Not until the three grinning, bull-necked monsters began to approach her with anchor ropes in hand did she pull herself together.
“What—what’s this all about?” she whispered.
Silvio shrugged. “You’ll get an explanation, just not here and not now. I know a nice quiet place where we’ll have all the time in the world to chat. So just keep still a little longer…”
“Take all the time you like, you dirty foreigner, but it will be without me.”
Like a slippery fish, Magdalena disappeared over the railing into the filthy, putrid green Danube. Dark waves passed over her as she swam away, but when she’d nearly escaped, powerful hands reached out and dragged her back on board. She struggled and kicked, but the men were too strong. In no time she found herself on the bottom of the boat, tied up like a bale of cloth, a moldy piece of linen stuffed in her mouth. She struggled against her bonds, moaning.
“If you promise not to scream, I can remove the gag,” Silvio offered sympathetically. “Believe me, it would be better for your complexion.”
When Magdalena nodded, one of the men took the cloth from her mouth. She spat out stinking river water and saliva.
“Who…?” she finally whispered. But she had no strength to finish.
“Who was he?” The little Venetian stared downstream, where the stranger’s body was now little more than a distant speck.
“Heinrich von Bütten.” Silvio nodded respectfully. “The kaiser’s best agent, a superb swordsman. He was the only one who could have helped you.” A wan smile spread across his face. “And you beat him half to death in the cathedral. How ironic!”
He looked out over the Danube, whose water reflected the blood-red light of the rising sun. “It’s high time for our experiment,” he said, addressing his servants. “Let’s push off, shall we?”
Slowly the boat started to move.
13
REGENSBURG
THE MORNING OF AUGUST 26, 1662 AD
THE SILHOUETTE OF Jakob’s gate rose up before Jakob Kuisl. Dawn was already brushing the top of the tower while night still reigned down below.
It had taken the hangman almost two hours
to get here from the bishop’s palace; over and over he’d come across groups of guards and had to take cover. He’d walked in circles through narrow back alleys and wound up several times in the dead end of a courtyard. At one point two guards marched past just inches from where he cowered in an entryway; later he had to dive behind a pile of manure when, out of nowhere, guards appeared in front of him. Now he stood before the same city gate through which, an eternity ago, he’d entered and by which he now had every intention of leaving. Teuber had told him Jakob’s Gate was what most farmers used when they entered the city with their wagons, and now Kuisl hoped to stow away in one of them, hidden among crates, bales, or barrels.
From behind a fountain Kuisl watched the early-morning changing of the guard. The soldiers saluted one another, but their movements seemed sluggish, and some of them stretched and yawned. Kuisl grinned and cracked his knuckles. At least he wasn’t the only one who’d had a long night.
A huge bolt the size of a wooden beam was pushed aside, the towering gate creaked open, and the first farmer came lumbering into the city in his cart. He was followed by ragged day laborers and peddlers with packs of merchandise slung over their backs, men who’d evidently waited the entire night outside the city walls. Cocks crowed and church bells rang as Regensburg came to life.
After closely observing the gate’s activity for some time, Kuisl decided to scrap his original plan. It was simply too dangerous to smuggle himself out of the city this way. However tired the bailiffs appeared, they were still keeping a close watch on everything, and everyone intending to leave the city met with careful inspection first. Again and again guards stuck their pikes into sacks of flour or broke open barrels of wine, seemingly indifferent to the complaints of the merchants and farmers.
“Shut your damned mouth,” one guard shouted when a clothier complained too loudly about having to untie every single bale. “Do you think I’m doing this for fun? We’re looking for that monster from Schongau, jackass! Be happy we’re taking care that the werewolf doesn’t sneak up on you from behind and cut your throat as you go about your merry way.”
“Bah!” the merchant snapped, peevishly packing up his cloth again. “This monster is leading you on a merry chase! You let him escape, and now it’s we who have to pay. If you weren’t always drinking when you were supposed to be at work—”
“Watch what you say!”
As the clothier moved along, Kuisl tried frantically to think of another way to get out of town. He gazed northwest over the city wall, where smoke was rising from the chimneys of several houses. On his arrival in Regensburg the hangman had noticed that the damage from the Great War in that part of town hadn’t all been repaired. The fortifications outside the city were in dreadful shape. Gaps and cracks yawned in the stone, and grass grew thick and wild over the ruins, an indication that the city didn’t have the money to rebuild at present. Perhaps there was even a gap somewhere in the city wall itself…
Just as Kuisl was preparing to leave, he heard the sound of crunching gravel behind him. Darting aside, he lost his balance and fell painfully onto his shoulder. Once he’d picked himself up again, he saw a small stooped figure in front of him, holding his hands up as if in surrender. The man wore ragged trousers and a shirt so soiled its original color was now impossible to discern. He was barefoot and as gaunt as a mangy dog, and over his long, stringy hair he wore a straw hat held together by a single leather band.
“For the love of the Virgin Mary, please don’t hurt me!” the little man pleaded, squeaking like a ferret. “I mean you no harm. Teuber sent me!”
“Teuber? How in the world…?” Only now did Kuisl notice that the tattered creature in front of him reeked like a manure pit. And at once it became clear to the hangman what color the man’s shirt actually was: the man must have literally bathed in manure.
“And how would Teuber know where to find me, huh?” Kuisl growled, raising his hand menacingly. “Tell me the truth or else…”
The little ferret cringed. “We’ve been watching you since you left the bishop’s palace. By order of the hangman. He said we’re to bring you to him.”
“But I’m…” Kuisl began.
The ferret winked his cagey little eyes. “You almost got away from us. Thank God one of us saw you down by the bridges. An interesting passageway, that one. We—”
“Make it brief,” the hangman interrupted. “Just tell me who you are.”
For the first time the little man grinned. He was almost toothless; only a single rotted black stump was visible behind his chapped upper lip. “Me? You mean we,” he said, with a shallow bow. “We are the gold diggers, if you please.”
Kuisl stood still for a moment, his mouth hanging open. “The gold diggers…?”
The ferret turned away. “Come along; you’ll see.”
Kuisl hesitated before following the stooped little creature. The hangman thought it highly unlikely this was a trap. No one knew about his connection with the Regensburg executioner, and a simple shout or wave would have sufficed to summon the guards. Why would this stinking ferret take the trouble to lie to him?
Kuisl’s companion scurried northward along the city wall, looking cautiously in every direction as they progressed. Few people were about at this early hour of the morning, but every single one of them gave this dirty little man a wide berth.
After a while Kuisl noted that the houses they passed looked poorer and poorer. Most, in fact, were no more than makeshift cottages nestled close to the city wall. Garbage piled up in the streets, and sewage flowed in broad streams through the ditches dug into the street for precisely that purpose. From time to time Kuisl and his strange companion had to wade ankle-deep through the mud and manure where skinny, ragged children were using pebbles for a game of marbles. A cart loaded with animal carcasses and manure, driven by another dark figure, passed by. The ferret turned to Kuisl and winked.
“This has never been a good part of town, down here by the city wall, but ever since the war folk like us have had it all to ourselves.” He giggled and pointed at his nose. “We’ll be there in a second. Just have to follow the scent, ha!”
At long last they reached the far end of the city. Here the western and northern city walls met in a sharp angle. Kuisl was relieved to notice a breach in the wall not far away, which had been filled in with something recognizable only on closer examination—something that caused Kuisl involuntarily to hold his breath.
A mountain of putrid wet garbage at least fifteen feet high.
Recoiling, Kuisl held his hand over his mouth and nose. He could make out the decaying carcasses of chickens, cats, and dogs scattered among the garbage—there was even an entire pig here with fat white maggots crawling out of its empty eye sockets.
On the top of the mountain of garbage stood Philipp Teuber, arms akimbo, grinning.
“So we meet again, Kuisl,” his voice boomed. “No doubt you’ve never in your life seen so much trash.” The Regensburg executioner carefully climbed down the slippery slope, his boots sinking in almost to his knees. “It’s not like this in your little Bavarian village, is it?”
“Something to be proud of, you old knacker!” Kuisl turned away, disgusted, but with a thin smile on his lips. His former torturer had become a true friend. “I should have known you’d never leave me in peace.”
Kuisl looked around cautiously to make sure no one had followed him. Out of the corner of his eye he spied a few men with soiled scarves over their mouths standing not far from him and shoveling excrement from a cart. The ferret was among them. Alert gazes seemed to be watching him with interest.
“You can trust them,” said Teuber. “If any of them betrays you, I’ll break every bone in his body and toss his corpse onto the pile like a dead animal to rot alongside the others.” He smiled. “And besides, you’re one of us, a hangman without honor, just like the whores, beggars, street performers, and knackers. We all ought to stick together.”
Kuisl pointed at the slimy mountain, f
rom which pieces kept breaking off and sliding to the ground. “What are you going to do with all that stuff? Bury it?”
Teuber shook his head and pointed behind him. “From here the rubbish goes right into the Danube, a few cartloads of it every day. The city pays us well for our work.”
“Us?”
The Regensburg executioner spat noisily. “All I do is bring it here. The real work is done by the knackers and the gold diggers. They empty the sewers and bring the mess here.”
Kuisl looked down at his feet, where iridescent yellow sewage ran over his leather boots.
The gold diggers…
So that’s what the ferret meant!
“Pure gold,” Philipp Teuber added, pointing at the pile of garbage fermenting in the rising sun. “I think it was a Roman kaiser who once said that gold doesn’t stink. Believe me—without my men the city would choke on its own filth.”
“How did you find me?” Kuisl asked abruptly.
“After you fled Fat Thea’s place, city hall really gave me hell,” Teuber said. “I think the noblemen know it was me who helped you break out of the jail, but they can’t prove it.” He tapped Kuisl on his bandaged left shoulder. “It’s all better, isn’t it? I told you, my remedy—”
“Be quiet you wise-ass,” Kuisl interrupted. “Finish your story.”
Teuber caught one of the many bluebottle flies that buzzed around the trash heap and crushed it between his fingers. “The whole city knows you were hiding out in the bishop’s palace,” he finally said. “It was clear that you’d have to get out at some point, so I asked my gold diggers to keep an eye out. They see more than any soldier does; plus they manage to keep out of sight themselves.” He wiped the sweat and dirt from his forehead. “But that won’t do you any more good than it’s done already. You’ve got to get out of here, and fast.”
“There’s one thing I have to do first,” Kuisl replied.
“I know what you have in mind, and that’s why I brought you here.” Teuber looked Kuisl in the eye before he continued; his words were measured. “I now know who the third inquisitor is. Fat Thea told me.”
The Beggar King: A Hangman's Daughter Tale Page 36
