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 Butten.” 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, from 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.”
Kuisl’s gaze wandered aimlessly over the city wall as if he sensed something lurking behind it.
“Since last night I believe I know, too. If it’s who I think it is. But it’s not possible…” He hesitated. “He sent me a letter-a letter from a dead man.”
“Weidenfeld?” Teuber asked incredulously. “But…”
“Weidenfeld, ha!” Kuisl took out the crumpled note he had discovered in his breast pocket just two hours before. “The bastard was inside the bishop’s palace! At first I thought I was dreaming-until I found this letter.” Gingerly he held up the paper as if it were poison. “He must have brought it to me while I was sleeping. He probably bribed the guards and managed to slip in unnoticed. Or he’s a ghost.” His face darkened. “This man is dead. I killed him with my own hands. It’s impossible he’s alive.”
“Ghost or no ghost,” Teuber retorted. “If vengeance is what he’s after, why didn’t he simply slit your throat while he was inside the bishop’s palace?”
“He wants something more. He wants to torment me as long as he can. Look.” Kuisl handed the paper to Teuber. Squinting, the Regensburg executioner read the few lines, whistling softly between his teeth.
“Is it true what it says here?”
Kuisl’s lips became as narrow as the edge of a knife. “I–I don’t know,” he said finally. “To find out I’ll have to pull out each and every one of the bastard’s fingernails, one by one. And if he’s indeed a ghost, I’ll whip him straight back to hell.”
Teuber frowned. “But where are you planning to look for him? You have no idea where this damned Weidenfeld could be. Besides, I still don’t understand what this name is supposed to mean. That’s not the third inquisitor’s name. He goes by-”
“You idiot! You dumb ass!” Kuisl exploded. “You still don’t get it? Weidenfeld is not the name of a man; it’s the name of a place!”
Silence fell between them; only the shoveling of the gold diggers behind them was audible.
“A… place?” Teuber shook his head in disbelief. “But…?”
“Look here.” Kuisl pointed to the first line on the tattered sheet. “‘Greetings from Weidenfeld,’ it says, just as in the first letter he sent to Magdalena. It’s a greeting from a place! The names of all the battlefields I ever fought in were scratched on the walls in that cell: Magdeburg, Breitenfeld, Rain on the Lech, Nordlingen… and Weidenfeld. He’s the one who inscribed them down there to torment me. He even gave the dates, damn it!” Kuisl closed his eyes as if he were trying to remember something. “P.F.K. Weidenfeld, anno domini 1637. How could I ever forget that day! It’s the day he died.”
“So Weidenfeld is a battlefield?” the Regensburg executioner asked.
Kuisl gazed absently into space. “Not a battlefield, but a bad place, a wicked place. I tried to banish it from my mind forever, but it has been haunting me for years; I buried it but couldn’t banish it. When I opened the letter last night, it all came rushing back.”
Teuber’s eyes widened. “By all the saints, I think I’m beginning to understand. The second line of the letter-”
“I must go,” Kuisl interrupted gruffly. “At once. He’ll be waiting there for me.”
He began to climb over the muck toward the hole in the city wall but slipped suddenly and landed again on his injured shoulder.
“Damn!”
“Wait!” Teuber ran after him. “You’re injured, you have no weapon, and you don’t even know your way to Weidenfeld from here. If you-”
“Let me go! You don’t understand!” Kuisl drew himself up and continued to march to the top of the trash heap. Behind the ruins of the wall the Danube sparkled like a green ribbon in the sunlight, and soon the Schongau hangman disappeared through the ivy-covered breach in the city wall.
“I don’t understand? You damned thick-headed fool! Who do you think you are? My priest?” Teuber picked up a handful of rocks, then debris, and flung them through the hole in the wall. “You shameless good-for-nothing! Just how do you think you’re going to fight this devil all by yourself? He’ll tear you to pieces before you can utter an Ave Maria. Don’t you see you’re playing right into his hands?”
But no answer c
ame from the other side. Teuber sighed, then hesitated a moment before ascending the pile of garbage.
“You’d better not believe I’ve risked the life of my entire family just to watch you die now, you bastard! Just hold on; I’m coming, too!”
Moments later he disappeared from sight.
The gold diggers shook their heads, picked up their shovels, and got back to the work of ridding the city of trash. Today was shaping up to be sultry and foul.
Simon stood in the shadow of a huge salt warehouse next to the boat landing, waiting nervously for the Stone Bridge to open. His heart was pounding as he watched the bridge guards slowly open the gate.
Just like Jakob Kuisl and his daughter after him, Simon had made his way through the hidden corridor into the storage room and out into the city from there. He had hoped he might find Magdalena somewhere in front of the bishop’s palace, but she was long gone. Only a short while ago this might have infuriated him, but now he was relieved. He knew where he could find her-at the home of that smug Venetian dwarf. There, at least, she’d be safe. And, considering what he now had in mind, it was best he acted alone.
Simon took the quickest way he knew through the city to the place he figured he could pick up the trail of the mysterious powder. The streets were still completely dark and deserted at this hour. Now, as he stood at the gateway to the Stone Bridge, waiting what seemed an eternity for it to open, his patience was put to the test.
While Simon drummed his fingers against the stone wall, he studied irritably the guards who calmly slid open one bolt after another. Why couldn’t these bastards hurry up? The fate of the city probably stood in the balance, and these half-drunk provincial constables couldn’t get their asses moving! Now Simon noticed he’d been chewing his fingernails for some time.
Ultimately the medicus had to admit he was happy Magdalena had gone to stay with Silvio. The situation was just too dangerous, and no one could predict who or what really awaited him where he was headed. Simon could only hope it wasn’t too late. Still, he couldn’t be the only one who’d come to this conclusion, could he? The ramifications of this powder’s existence were so great, so monstrous, so obviously horrible, that he couldn’t possibly be the only one to whom it had occurred by now. Simon breathed a sigh of relief. Evidently the conspirators hadn’t yet set their plan into motion. Of course, he first had to make sure his assumption was correct. If he was right, he’d go straight to the powers that be and…
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