“Wh—what is it?” stammered Hans.
Before Albrecht could reply, Dietrich whispered, “It is a Hand of Glory,” never taking his eyes from the thing. He reached for it. “May I?”
Albrecht grinned broadly and gestured towards the object. Dietrich picked it up gingerly and turned it, admiring its every aspect and detail.
“How did you come to possess this?” Dietrich asked Albrecht in amazement.
“I made it,” Albrecht replied smugly, taking his seat again. Dietrich glanced across the table at the hexenmeister and cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. He set the thing down gently on the table.
“I will ask you once again, Herr Albrecht. How did you come to possess such a thing? Where did it originate?” Dietrich’s voice was quiet but firm. “Do not lie to me, hexenmeister, or you will regret it.”
Hans continued to stare in disbelief at the thing of which Albrecht was so proud and Dietrich so amazed. It was a human hand, standing upright on the severed stump of its wrist, smelling strongly of death and vinegar and lemon. The fingers were stiff and upright. Affixed with melted wax to each fingertip was a stubby candle. The wax dribbled down the fingers onto the knuckles. Although no blood seeped from the hand, a slight pool of something clear seemed to ooze from the stump. Unable to contain himself, he reached out and delicately touched his fingertips to the liquid. From sniffing, and then hesitantly licking a drop, it seemed to be nothing more than water and herbs used to pickle vegetables.
Albrecht swallowed and glared at Dietrich, clearly angry at having his word doubted. “Perhaps you have heard of our killer-priest here in Prague, Herr Dietrich?” he snarled.
Dietrich nodded, never taking his eyes from Albrecht’s. “I am familiar with Father Conrad who served at Our Lady of Tyn,” he answered slowly.
“The killer-priest was himself killed nearly four months ago,” Albrecht informed them.
“I had heard stories to that effect,” Dietrich agreed.
“It is a sad tale,” observed Albrecht. “After he killed Lucrezia the prostitute in the church, he was confined to the rectory by the archbishop. But one night, before returning to bed for his second sleep, a householder near Our Lady of Tyn Church looked between his shutters and saw the priest standing in the alleyway, staring at Lucrezia’s window. The householder looked again the next night, and again the priest stood below the window of the whore. It became known throughout the neighborhood that each night Father Conrad would slink behind the church to keep his vigil at that girl’s window. If anyone had been anxious to kill the killer-priest, it was easy enough to know where to find him.
“No one wanted to touch Father Conrad’s body after his murder,” Albrecht continued his tale. “Both because he had killed that prostitute and because he was a murder victim himself. No one wanted to wash the body or prepare it for burial lest they be tainted with his sin. I was able to convince the Franciscan brothers and fathers at St. Jakub’s Church—where the butchers’ guild meets—to allow me to wash and prepare the corpse and—for a few coins—some young men brought the body here for me to deal with. It was a simple matter for me to remove his left hand and replace it with a wax effigy, which no one saw in any case, his hands being folded together and wrapped in his shroud. I then pickled the hand and attached the candles, as you see.” He gestured to the Hand of Glory again.
“Is it not fitting that the priest who was so concerned with driving sin and evil from Prague should lend his hand for such a purpose?” The hexenmeister chuckled.
Dietrich nodded. “Father Conrad was indeed anxious to restore purity and innocence to the city here. Not only did he kill that prostitute, I saw him lead that old woman to her death and watch her burn for witchcraft. How is it that you escaped his watchful eye?”
Albrecht shrugged his shoulders and glanced nervously around the room. “Father Conrad was too busy denouncing Bohemian witches and Italian prostitutes to notice a poor German hexenmeister right behind his church.” He looked at Dietrich again. “I might have also employed a small diversion or two to avoid his scrutiny.”
Dietrich nodded again. “I had always understood that such a Hand should be made of the left hand of a convict still hanging on a gallows,” he began.
“Yes, but it is difficult for someone like me to obtain such a thing,” Albrecht admitted. “I am too old to climb around a gallows and cut down bodies or cut off hands as they still swing. Such behavior would be noticed and I could not risk paying some young man with a talkative mouth to do it for me.” He glanced at Hans. “I took advantage of the opportunity that presented itself. I believe that the Hand I have made will work as well as any hand made from the body of a hung convict. After all, the priest was guilty of at least two deaths, was he not? His own murder could be seen as a form of execution, can it not? Even though everyone thinks he was killed by thieves,” Albrecht added hastily.
Dietrich rubbed his chin thoughtfully and stared at the Hand. “I see the candle stubs have been lit. Have you tested it?”
Albrecht shook his head. “No, I have not. I simply used what small candles I had available.”
“I could not purchase such a thing without verifying its efficacy.”
“I understand.” Albrecht licked his lips. “I will go with you and we can all three verify the power of the Hand that I have made before settling on a suitable price.”
“What is such a Hand capable of?” burst out Hans. The two older men chuckled.
“A thing like the Hand of Glory is powerful,” Dietrich turned him. “A thing whose power is such that I doubted a hexenmeister as lowly as Herr Albrecht here could have fashioned it,” the master thief admitted, glancing towards Albrecht. Albrecht scowled. “Nevertheless,” Dietrich returned his attention to Hans, “the Hand of Glory is a magical tool which opens any lock its candlelight falls on and renders immobile all in the house so entered. It is rumored,” Dietrich glanced back at Albrecht, “that a Hand of Glory is also capable of rendering the one who carries it invisible.” Albrecht stared into a corner of the room, seemingly deaf to the discussion.
Hans’ mouth dropped. “We could become wealthy by using such a thing!”
Albrecht nodded, interested in the conversation again. “Precisely, young Hans. By using the Hand, we could all three become wealthy.”
“All three?” interjected Dietrich. “I thought you wanted a suitable price for it. For all that, why offer it to me at all? Why not use it yourself?”
“I am too old to wander the streets at night,” Albrecht hunched his shoulders and peered at his guests. “Winter is coming.” He coughed. “The chill seeps into my bones as it is, without my going out into the night to prowl the alleyways of Prague. I had thought to sell you the Hand outright, but I think a suitable price might be difficult to arrive at. Such a large sum might be more than you can afford to pay all at once. So I would also consider sharing the Hand with you if you will share the profits of its use with me.”
Dietrich sat quietly. He picked up the Hand again, testing how securely the candles were attached to the fingertips. “Let us test it,” he suggested again, “and then decide.”
“Agreed!” Albrecht stood quickly, bumping the table and rocking the chair behind him. He reached toward Dietrich, as if to take the Hand from him, but Dietrich held it close and shook his head.
“No, hexenmeister. My young apprentice shall carry the Hand,” Dietrich announced, standing and handing the implement to Hans, who reached for it, trembling. Holding the hand by its stump, Hans was both nauseated and fascinated by the thing.
“Light it,” Dietrich ordered. Scowling, Albrecht reached for the closest of the candles he had lit earlier and then lit, one by one, the short candles atop the fingers of the Hand. Hans stood still, staring at the thing in his grasp, the five wicks blossoming into tiny flames that swayed in the air. Albrecht extinguished the other candles in the room and then all three men stepped into the night.
“I will lead the way.” Dietrich took control of the
expedition and the men set out in single file, Hans behind Dietrich, with Albrecht limping and struggling to keep up. Hans shielded the five burning candles as well as he could with his other hand, lest the breezes of the night extinguish the flames.
Dietrich led them across the courtyard and down one of the broader streets that led away from the Ungelt. Several grand houses lined this street. All were silent, shrouded by the night. A dog barked in the distance once or twice and an owl fluttered through the air but otherwise they seemed alone in the world, the only inhabitants of Prague awake and active.
Dietrich stopped before the wooden gates of one of the houses and pulled Hans up next to him. Dietrich tested the gates by pushing on them. Joints groaned and hinges creaked but the doors refused to move. No keyhole was visible and Hans guessed that the gate was locked by bolts on the other side.
“Run the candlelight of the Hand down the center of the gates,” instructed Dietrich quietly, glancing up and down the street to be sure no one else was coming. Albrecht huddled close to Hans and Hans, holding his breath, reached towards the top of the gates. He held the Hand there a moment, allowing the candlelight to seep between the wooden doors. Then he lowered the Hand slowly, hoping that the candlelight was finding its way between the planks.
He caught his breath and almost dropped the Hand! He clearly heard the sound of a bolt on the other side of the doors sliding back. Dietrich and Albrecht smiled at each other and nodded. Hans continued to lower the Hand and heard another bolt slide back. Dietrich pushed gently on the gate nearest him with one hand and it opened. Standing aside, he gestured for Hans and Albrecht to enter. He followed them, pulling the gate shut behind him.
They stood in the courtyard of the house. A carriage stood in the center of the cobblestone court. Stables could be seen to the left and the door into the house lay ahead. A horse moved in the stable and a stable boy muttered in his sleep. The intruders remained still, and quiet descended again.
Dietrich pointed at the door into the house.
“Go ahead, boy,” he instructed Hans. “Unlock the door and go into the house. There should be some silver candlesticks on a table near the entrance. Or maybe a silver pitcher and ewer on a sideboard. We have only your hands, so take what you can carry easily without dropping the Hand of Glory. Then come back to us.”
Hans nodded and strode across the courtyard. Nervous sweat dripped into his eyes, making it difficult to see. This door had a keyhole below its ornate handle. He leaned over and held the Hand near it, allowing the candlelight to wash over the ironwork. He heard quiet sounds as if a key were turning in the lock and the door opened slightly. He slipped inside and stood a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the inner gloom of the entryway.
Dietrich had been correct. Both a pair of candlesticks and a pitcher in a ewer stood on a table across from the door. He thought a moment. He could only carry one thing in his free hand. Which object was the most valuable? He reached for the pitcher and turned to go.
“Stop! Thieves! Stop!” A voice rang out in the night. Hans froze and nearly dropped both the pitcher and the Hand.
“Stop! Put that down!” The command rang loudly and clearly. Had they been discovered? Had the hexenmeister’s craft proved inadequate? Escape seemed impossible. He stood rooted where he was, waiting for the footsteps, the dogs, the cudgel that were doubtless on their way.
But silence reigned over the house. No barking dogs, no servants with clubs, no furious householder appeared. Hans finally dared to peer out the door into the courtyard. Nothing. He stepped out into the night again. Still nothing.
Then he realized it had been Dietrich’s voice he had heard. Dietrich—standing with Albrecht near the gates to the street so they could slip away undetected if his cries had wakened the household—had been testing the power of the Hand to see if the household had indeed been rendered immobile. Even as he realized that he had been used by the other men as a farmer uses an expendable donkey or tool for a dangerous task, Hans heaved a huge sigh of relief, unaware that he had been holding his breath until then. He wiped his forehead with his jacket sleeve, nearly knocking himself in the face with the pitcher he held, glinting in the flickering light of the Hand. He made his way across the courtyard to the gate where Dietrich and Albrecht stood waiting.
“Excellent work, boy!” Dietrich clapped Hans across the shoulders. “Well done! Well done, indeed!”
“The Hand works well, does it not? Just as I promised?” Albrecht demanded.
“Yes, yes, just as promised,” Dietrich turned to exit the gates, one arm still draped across Hans’ shoulders as he took the pitcher with his other hand.
“We will certainly come to a satisfactory understanding to share the Hand, will we not?” Albrecht hustled after the other two. “You see the skill with which I crafted the Hand? You must appreciate that, yes?”
“Yes, yes, a satisfactory understanding,” agreed Dietrich, his head already filling with plans to use the Hand to enter the grandest homes of Prague. This was the opportunity he had long dreamed of; a thief with a Hand of Glory would be nearly unstoppable. But there was something about the Hand, and Albrecht himself, that Dietrich did not trust. He realized, for one thing, that even as they walked back through the streets to Albrecht’s shop and Hans continued to hold the Hand with its burning candles, he could see Hans. His apprentice had not been rendered invisible by the magic of the Hand.
“This is also a dangerous thing to be found concealed in one’s room by a chambermaid,” he admitted to himself, considering what to do with the thing next. And if its magic should fail, Dietrich did not want to be the one holding it at the critical moment. Just as he had used Hans tonight to test the power of the Hand, he resolved that it would always be Hans who carried the Hand and risked discovery if the magic should unravel.
At the door of the shop, Albrecht reached to take back the Hand from Hans, who looked to Dietrich for instruction before releasing his grasp. Dietrich nodded, and Hans allowed Albrecht to take it. The hexenmeister blew out the five candles and turned to enter the shop. “I shall expect you again tomorrow night?” he asked Dietrich hopefully.
“You may expect us again tomorrow night.”
The next night, Dietrich led them to a squat building near the back of the Ungelt district. Hans recognized it. There was a shop on the ground floor and above it were two floors with several small apartments, each rented by a handful of young men like himself, laborers who hoped to make their fortune in the thriving marketplace of Prague but who as yet had found only work for a few days or hours at a time. It was crowded and dirty inside.
“Herr Dietrich, why come here?” whispered Hans. “There is nothing worth taking. I know many of the men who rent lodging here. They have nothing. What little they do have, they should be allowed to keep,” he added, remembering his recent experience as a member of that company of young men. He held the Hand away from his face so his breath would not extinguish the candles.
“Heh? Nothing worth taking here?” Albrecht pushed his face between the other two men. “Yes, then why come to this place?” He turned to Dietrich reproachfully.
“Because one of the young men who lodge here came into some small wealth today,” Dietrich told them. “He was hired by a merchant to deliver a cartload of goods to a merchant in Kutna Hora. The merchant has hired this young man before and trusts him. Alas for them both.” Dietrich chuckled. “The merchant gave the youth a purse of coins to pay for food and lodging along the road and for purchase of new goods from the merchant in Kutna Hora to deliver for sale here in Prague.”
“Where is this purse, then?” demanded Albrecht. “Where is it and how do you know all this?”
“I know all this, hexenmeister, because I watch and I listen,” retorted Dietrich. “That is all that need concern you. As for where the purse is, that is simple.” Dietrich bent his head around Albrecht and addressed Hans as if the third man were not there. “The young man, perhaps a friend of yours, is a rather simple m
an and hid the purse for safekeeping under a loose floorboard just inside the apartment. All you need do is enter the apartment above the shop, pry up the floorboard, and retrieve the purse.” He pulled a small iron bar out from under his cloak and inserted it through Hans’ belt. “Use this for the floorboard and all should go well.”
“What about the noise?” Hans couldn’t help worrying about the unmistakable sounds of pulling up a floorboard. “Won’t it wake the rest of the house, even if the householder and lodgers in that apartment remain asleep from the Hand?”
Albrecht shook his head. “Not at all, not at all, young Hans,” he urged in a soothing voice. “The Hand of Glory should render the entire building helpless, just as it did last night.”
Hans was not entirely convinced. “True, the Hand prevented my discovery by either the horse boys in the stable or the family and servants in the house but these are all distinct apartments, not rooms of a single home.”
Dietrich guided the Hand of Glory to the door of the building without waiting for whatever questions might next form in Hans’ thoughts. The candlelight fell on the keyhole and Hans recognized the “click” of the lock opening. The door, not otherwise securely fastened, sprang open.
“Up the stairs and to the left,” Dietrich reminded his apprentice, giving his shoulder a push. Hans stumbled into the darkness and up the first few stairs. He made his way up, cringing each time a stair groaned under his weight. He looked up into the bowels of the house, expecting some reaction, but none came.
Reaching the first landing, he found the expected door to his left; a hallway turned to his right. He brought the Hand to the keyhole of the door he had been instructed to enter and, amid the nightly groans and wheezing of the house, heard the lock spring open. He pushed the door and entered the apartment.
Using the light of the Hand’s candles, he examined the boards beneath his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he had the impression that the apartment consisted of this, the principal room, and another smaller room to the side from which came the sound of snoring. There seemed to be cots along the walls in the principal room, each filled with the indistinct forms of sleeping men. Rhythmic breathing filled Hans’ ears. One of the men rolled over in his sleep, muttering as if speaking to a character in his dreams.
Come Hell or High Water: The Complete Trilogy Page 34
