The Beggar King hd-3

by Oliver Pötzsch

  Simon slapped his forehead. For a moment he forgot the dead monk in the brewing vat; he forgot Kuisl; in fact, he even forgot Magdalena. Was it possible? Could this be the philosopher’s stone? He had to be sure, but how? Suddenly he recalled the little herbarium on the kitchen windowsill. His heart pounding, Simon ran through the brew house, opened the kitchen door, and reached for the tattered book. He lit a tallow candle with trembling hands and sat down at the table. In the flickering light he flipped through the pages until he came to one illustration in particular. Below it a few lines were written in cautionary red ink.

  The medicus almost burst into hysterical laughter, but fear seized him first. The idea was so monstrous, so insane, that at first he couldn’t believe it, but bit by bit the scattered tiny tiles of the mosaic began coming together; an image was beginning to form. He tore the page out of the herbarium and stuck it in his jacket pocket.

  Finally Simon thought he knew what this damned powder was and where he might find more.

  Much more.

  Magdalena took the scarf from her shoulders and wrapped it around her head. She walked stooped over so that from a distance she’d look to passersby like a harmless old woman. She knew full well this disguise wouldn’t help much. After all, it was the middle of the night, when even old women were forbidden to be out in the street. All the same, she felt safer this way.

  She scurried westward under the arched bridges but decided to avoid the main entrance of the bishop’s palace, where guards were likely still on the lookout for her. She took a detour instead, approaching the cathedral square from the opposite side.

  At last she came upon the Heuport House. The building, grim and menacing, rose up before her with nothing of the charm and nobility it emanated in the light of day. In the darkness it looked more like an impregnable fortress.

  Magdalena rattled the handle of the towering double door, if only to make sure it was locked, as she expected. Hesitantly she reached for a bronze knocker molded in the shape of a lion’s head and pounded with all her might. Once-twice-three times, the knocks echoed in her ears like a blacksmith’s hammer. If she kept on, she’d wake all of Regensburg.

  A window on the second floor finally opened on a maid’s pinched face. She wore a white nightcap and squinted wearily down at Magdalena. This was the same maid who’d looked at her so crossly on her last visit. When she recognized the hangman’s daughter on the street below, the maid’s eyes flashed.

  “Go away!” she sneered. “There’s nothing for you here, my dear.”

  She thinks I’m a whore, Magdalena thought in despair. This cut her to the quick. Do I really look like a whore?

  “I must speak with the ambassador,” she replied, trying not to sound overbearing. If the maid didn’t let her in or alerted the guards, all would be lost. “It’s an emergency; please believe me!”

  The servant girl eyed her skeptically. To Magdalena the woman’s gaze was nearly palpable; she could almost feel the woman’s eyes looking her up and down. “The master isn’t home,” she replied finally, but less condescendingly this time. “He’s over at the Whale playing cards, as usual. Don’t waste your time-he’s likely found someone else to sit in his lap.” She spoke the last sentence with a certain smugness.

  Magdalena sighed. She should have figured as much. Naturally Silvio was camped out at his favorite tavern.

  “Thanks,” she said, turning to leave. Suddenly she turned back around. “Uh, if I don’t run into Silvio, could you please-”

  The shutters banged closed.

  “Silly old goose,” the hangman’s daughter grumbled. “No doubt your master’s thrown you out of his bed more than once, you flat-chested, bitter old broomstick!”

  But the cursing didn’t help. The window remained closed, and with a sigh, Magdalena set out for the Whale.

  The tavern lay east of the little bridges, not far from the bishop’s palace, so again she decided on a detour through one of the unguarded back alleys. At last the warm, inviting lights of the tavern appeared in front of her. With candlelight emanating into the street through its bull’s-eye windows, the Whale was like a guiding light in the dark-the only place in Regensburg with any life at this hour. Magdalena surmised the innkeeper had to pay the city a pretty penny for that privilege-an investment that paid for itself, if the loud singing and laughter inside were any indication. The door swung open and three raftsmen lurched out, evidently having spent their last hellers on drink. Babbling noisily, they staggered off in the direction of the raft landing.

  Magdalena bit her lip. Did she dare set foot in the lion’s den? There probably wasn’t another woman in the place, with the exception of the innkeeper. Were she to go prancing in, she’d surely attract everyone’s attention, not least that of the guards, who might in fact already be waiting for her inside. All the same, it was a risk she had to take.

  She tightened the black scarf around her head once more, took a deep breath, and opened the door. A warm wave of all kinds of odors assailed her: sweat, brandy, tobacco, smoke, and the stale residue of some kind of stew. Every last seat in the sooty low-ceilinged taproom was occupied. Raftsmen, workers, and young bull-necked journeymen sat, foaming mugs before them, singing, playing cards, and throwing dice. In back, in his usual stove-side seat, the Venetian ambassador was busily rolling dice with three rather coarse men. Compared to his simply clad companions in their linen shirts and leather vests, the Venetian was nothing less than a colorful bird of paradise. He wore a red shirt decorated with white ribbons and a very high collar; wide, flared trousers; and, on his head, a dashing musketeer’s hat complete with a plume of feathers. Silvio was either winning at the moment or so deeply engaged in his game he didn’t seem to see the young woman in the doorway.

  The other men, however, hadn’t failed to notice Magdalena. Some of the workers stared at her lustfully, while others whistled or ran their tongues over the dark stumps of their teeth.

  “Hey, sweetheart!” a potbellied, curly-haired raftsman bellowed. “Not satisfied with the day’s earnings? Then come have a seat here with me and give my beard a stroke or two.”

  “Let her have a stroke of something else, Hans!” his companion shouted, wiping his fat lips with his shirtsleeve. “Come over here, girl. Take that ugly scarf off and show us what you’ve got!”

  “Off with the scarf, off with the scarf!” some men at a neighboring table began to shout. “We want a better look at the lady, ha-ha!”

  A loud crash and the sound of breaking glass interrupted the jeers. The crowd grew silent and turned toward Silvio, who stood now on the stove-side bench and looked almost meditatively at the broken bottle in his hand. He raised the bottleneck to the dim overhead light so the rough, razor-sharp edges sparkled menacingly.

  “Con calma, signori!” he said softly. “The gentlemen will not lay hands on a signorina. Especially not when la bella signorina in question stands under my personal protection.” He smiled at Magdalena and pointed to the chair next to him. “I implore you, have a seat and make yourself-come si dice-at home.”

  “Hey, dwarf!” growled a fat raftsman struggling to his feet. “Who the hell do you think you are…?” Two other men restrained him, whispering something in his ear. The fat man turned white and sat back down quietly. Evidently his comrades had explained just who the hell indeed the ambassador was.

  “Grazie for understanding, everyone.” Silvio bowed slightly. “And now, innkeeper, a barrel of brandy for the entire house! To the signorina’s health!”

  Guarded cheers came from the tables, and the threatening mood dissipated quickly like an unpleasant odor. The brandy made the rounds, and over and over the men toasted Magdalena, whom they had to thank for this welcome gift. Silvio’s three roughneck companions carried on their card game without him, drinking freely of the brandy, apparently having quickly lost interest in the beautiful new arrival.

  “Nice to see you again,” Silvio whispered, still smiling at the crowd, very much like a little king graci
ously accepting the homage of his subjects. “I thought you might forever be angry with me on account of that kiss. I shouldn’t have done that, but where I come from-”

  “Forget it,” Magdalena interrupted gruffly. “To be brief, Simon and I need your help. May we stay a while at your house?”

  The Venetian grinned from ear to ear. “I would be delighted! I never understood anyway why a bella donna such as yourself elected to sleep in the gutter with beggars and thieves. Is your proud little companion in agreement with this, then?”

  Magdalena didn’t hesitate. “He has no choice.”

  Silvio smiled. “Ho capito. You are wearing the pants, it seems-that’s the expression, isn’t it?” Then his face turned serious. “But I can see in your face that something’s the matter. Tell me, what’s happened?”

  “The baldheaded murderer,” she whispered. “He’s on our heels, all on account of a powder!”

  “Powder?” Silvio squinted at her, perplexed.

  “We found some powder in the bathhouse owner’s secret alchemist’s workshop,” she whispered. “Half of Regensburg is apparently trying to get their hands on it. And the baldheaded man wants to silence us because he thinks we know too much! We need a place to hide-you’re our only hope!”

  “And your father?”

  “He’s already…” Magdalena stopped short. A premonition told her they were being watched. She raised her head to look around. Most of the men seemed to have forgotten Magdalena and were back to playing cards and drinking. In a far corner of the room, however, a cloaked figure stood out from the rest of the men.

  The man, who had pulled his cowl down over his face, sat sipping from a little tin cup. As he wiped his thick lips with his sleeve, his cloak slipped back a bit to reveal a bald head. On the back of his head he wore a white bandage.

  Magdalena flinched. It was the same man she’d hit over the head with the statue of Saint Sebastian in the cathedral!

  “Look!” she whispered to Silvio. Throwing caution to the wind, she pointed at the stranger. “I’ll be damned; the bastard’s followed me!”

  Now the Venetian recognized the man as well. Their eyes met; the stranger rose and slowly moved toward their table. His movements reminded Magdalena of a deadly poisonous snake.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Silvio whispered, standing up abruptly from the table. He pulled Magdalena along, and together they made their way through the boisterous crowd. The stranger followed, jostling men to his right and left to catch up with them. Several drunk patrons shoved him in return, and an uproar broke out. For a moment the stranger fell to the ground, out of view, but he appeared again like a ship’s sail on a rough and stormy sea.

  By now Magdalena and Silvio had reached the exit. Turning around for one last look, the hangman’s daughter saw the bald stranger drawing his rapier. With loud shouts the men scattered, opening a path through which the man came running toward them.

  “Quick, let’s go!” Silvio shouted, pulling her out into the alley. “We have no time to lose!”

  The stranger followed just a few steps behind and seemed to be calling something out to them, but Magdalena couldn’t hear anything over all the noise.

  Breathlessly she staggered into the street.

  Despite the almost impenetrable darkness, Silvio found his way through the city as if he were a native. He led Magdalena into a narrow side street, which they ran down together while, behind them, they could hear the stranger’s pounding footfalls on the hard-packed ground. At some point Magdalena thought she heard at least two more sets of feet, and it sounded as if they were gaining on them. Had their pursuer called for reinforcements? In their last two encounters with this man she and Silvio had escaped by the skin of their teeth. If he had help this time, they didn’t stand a chance.

  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.”