The Hangman’s Daughter thd-1

by Oliver Pötzsch

  “Witches’ marks? What damn witches’ marks? Don’t talk nonsense, hangman.”

  The hangman was taken aback but did not let it show. Could it be that the soldiers had nothing to do with the marks? Had they been following the wrong track all this time? Did the Stechlin woman practice some witchcraft after all with these children?

  Did the midwife lie to him?

  Still, Jakob Kuisl continued to ask questions.

  “The children had a mark on their shoulders. A mark just like the ones witches wear. Did you paint that on?”

  There was a brief moment of silence. Then the devil burst out in shrill laughter.

  “Now I understand!” he cried. “So that’s why you locked up the witch! That’s why you all thought there was witchcraft involved! What a bunch of stupid moneybags you are in the end! Ha! The witch burns, and all is well once more. Amen. Three paternosters on top of it. Why, we couldn’t have concocted anything better than that!”

  The hangman thought frantically. Somewhere they had gone wrong. He had the feeling that the solution was very close. Just one more piece of the mosaic, and everything would fit together.

  But which piece?

  He had other problems for the moment. Where was Simon? Had something happened to him? Was he lost?

  “If I am going to go to hell anyway,” he continued, “why not tell me who employed you?”

  The devil laughed again.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know, eh? Actually I could well tell you but…” He grinned viciously, as if he had suddenly thought of something very funny. “You know a lot about torture, don’t you? Isn’t it also a type of torture when someone is looking for a solution and cannot find it? When someone still hopes to know the truth even when dying and yet cannot find it? Well, that is my torture. And now, die.”

  Still laughing, the devil feinted once, then twice, and was suddenly directly in front of the hangman. At the very last moment, Kuisl held his club against the saber. The blade still kept moving closer and closer to his throat. Standing with his back against the wall he could do no more than return pressure for pressure. The man before him had immense strength. His face came closer to Kuisl’s, and the blade with it. Inch by inch.

  The hangman could smell the wine on the other man’s breath. He looked into his eyes and behind them saw an empty shell. The war had sucked this soldier dry. Perhaps he had always been insane, but the war had done the rest. Jakob Kuisl saw hatred and death, nothing else.

  The blade was now only a hairbreadth away from his throat. He had to do something.

  He let his lantern fall to the floor and pressed the soldier’s head backward with his left hand. Slowly the blade moved away from him.

  I must…not…give…up…Magdalena…

  Shouting, he gathered the last of his strength and threw the devil against the opposite wall, where he slid to the ground like a broken doll.

  The soldier shook himself for a moment, then he was again up on his feet, saber and torch in hand, ready to strike again. The last of Jakob Kuisl’s courage seemed to fade. This man was invincible. He would always keep getting up. Hatred was releasing energy in him that normal mortals simply did not possess.

  Kuisl’s lantern lay in a corner. Fortunately it had not gone out.

  Fortunately?

  An idea raced through the hangman’s brain. Why hadn’t he thought of it earlier? It was risky, but probably his only chance. Without taking his eyes off the devil, he reached for his lantern, still flickering on the floor. When he had it in his hands once more, he smiled at his opponent.

  “Just a little unfair, isn’t it? You with your saber, me with my club…”

  The devil shrugged.

  “All of life is unfair.”

  “I don’t think it has to be that way,” said Kuisl. “As long as we have to fight, then at least under the same conditions.”

  And with that he blew on the lantern’s flame and extinguished it.

  His face was swallowed in darkness. He was no longer visible to his opponent.

  In the next instant he threw the lantern at the devil’s bone hand. The soldier cried out. He had not counted on such an attack. Desperately he still tried to pull away his hand, but it was too late. The lantern landed on the white bones and ripped the torch from its anchor. It fell to the ground where it hissed and went out.

  Blackness was so total that the hangman felt as if he had sunk to the bottom of a bog. He caught his breath and then threw himself with all of his strength on the devil.

  CHAPTER 15

  MONDAY APRIL 30, A.D. 1659 ELEVEN O’CLOCK IN THE EVENING, WALPURGIS NIGHT

  Magdalena, too, could see nothing but darkness. Her mouth was filled with the musty taste of the gag, and the ropes were cutting into her wrists and ankles, so that all she could feel was a slight tingle. Her head wound still hurt but had apparently stopped bleeding. A dirty linen rag prevented her from seeing where the men were carrying her. She was slung over the shoulder of one of the soldiers like a dead animal. On top of all of this, the continuous swaying was making her quite nauseous.

  The last thing she could remember was that this morning she’d left the town through the Kuh Gate. Where had she been before that? She had been…looking for something. But for what?

  The headache returned. She had the feeling that her memory of it was just beyond her reach, but every time she tried to grasp it, the headache struck her forehead like a hammer.

  When she had awakened the last time, the man her father called the devil was stooping over her. They were in some barn, and there was a smell of straw and hay. The man placed a piece of moss on her forehead to stem the bleeding, and with his left hand, which was strangely cold, he was caressing her dress. She pretended to be unconscious, but she could hear the soldier’s words quite clearly. He had bent down and whispered into her ear: “Sleep well, little Magdalena. Once I return you’ll be praying that all this may be no more than a dream…Sleep while you still can…”

  She had almost screamed with fear but had successfully continued feigning unconsciousness. She kept her eyes firmly shut. Perhaps that would give her a chance to escape.

  Her hope vanished when the devil bound and gagged and finally blindfolded her. Obviously he wanted to avoid at all costs her waking up and seeing where he was taking her. Slumped across his back, she had traveled through the forest for quite a while. She smelled the pines and the firs and heard the call of a screech owl. What time might it be? The cool air and the call of the screech owl made her assume that it must be night. Hadn’t the morning sun been shining before she was captured? Had she been unconscious for a whole day?

  Or longer, perhaps?

  She was trying to stay calm and not tremble, but she was beginning to panic. The man carrying her mustn’t notice that she was awake.

  At last she was rudely dropped on the forest floor. After a while, she could hear the voices of men approaching.

  “Here’s the girl,” said the devil. “Take her to the assigned meeting point and wait there for me.”

  Someone had brushed over her dress with a branch or something similar and pushed it up. She didn’t move.

  “Mmm, what a tasty morsel your girl is,” a voice said right above her. “A hangman’s wench, you say? And the playmate of that spindly quack…Oh, she’ll be delighted to make the acquaintance of true men for a change!”

  “You leave her alone, understood?” the devil thundered. “She belongs to me. She’s my personal revenge on her father.”

  “Her father killed Andre,” another deep voice said. “I’ve known Andre for five years. He was a good friend…I want to have fun with her as well.”

  “Right,” the first one piped up again. “You’re going to slit her open anyway. So why shouldn’t we get to play a little before that? We’re entitled to taking our revenge on that dirty cur of a hangman as well!”

  The devil’s voice took on a threatening undertone.

  “I say leave her alone. When I come back we�
�re all going to have fun. I promise. But until then, hands off her! She might know something, and I’m going to tickle it out of her. We’ll meet no later than daybreak at the assigned place. And now shove off.”

  She could hear footsteps crunching across the forest soil, slowly becoming fainter. Then the devil was gone.

  “Crazy idiot,” one of the soldiers murmured. “I don’t know why I keep standing for that sort of thing.”

  “’Cause you’re scared, that’s why,” the other one said. “’Cause you’re afraid he’ll beat you up just like Sepp Stetthofer and Martin Landsberger! May God have mercy on their black souls…We’re all of us afraid.”

  “Afraid! Nonsense,” the first one said. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do, Hans. We’re going to take the girl and clear out of here. Let Braunschweiger dig for his goddamned treasure by himself.”

  “And what if he does find it, eh? Let’s stay till dawn. What have we to lose? If he doesn’t return, so what? And if he shows up with the money, we’ll pocket it and leave. No matter what happens, I’m not going to travel with that chiseler anymore after tomorrow morning.”

  “Right you are,” the second man growled.

  Then he picked up Magdalena, who was still feigning unconsciousness, and flung her over his back. The swaying continued.

  Now, dangling from the man’s shoulders, Magdalena was racking her brains. What had happened before the devil knocked her out? She could recall having gone to market to buy food and drink for her father and Simon. There had been a talk with children in the street, but she couldn’t exactly remember what it had been about. After that, all that was left were shreds of memory. Sunlight. People gossiping in the streets. A ransacked room.

  Whose room?

  The headache returned, and it was so severe that for a brief moment Magdalena thought she’d have to vomit. She swallowed the pungent taste and tried to concentrate on where they were going. Where were the men taking her? They were walking uphill, she could tell that much. She heard how the man beneath her was panting and cursing. The wind was stronger now, so they must have left the forest. Eventually she heard ravens cawing. Something was softly whistling in the wind. She was beginning to have an idea.

  The men stopped, dropping her like a bundle of sticks. The ravens were cawing quite close by. Magdalena knew now where she was. She didn’t need to see it at all.

  She could smell it.

  The black shadow flew toward Simon, putting his hand over his mouth. Simon struggled, trying to free himself. Where was his stiletto, damn it? Just a moment ago he’d struck it against his flint, but now it was lying somewhere out there in the dark and beyond his reach. The hand on his mouth was pressing harder, so that he could hardly breathe anymore. Alongside him, Sophie began to scream again.

  Suddenly he heard a familiar voice right at his ear.

  “Shut up, for Christ’s sake! He’s right nearby!”

  Simon twisted and turned under the strong arm, which finally released him.

  “It’s you, Kuisl,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Shh.”

  In spite of the darkness, Simon could now distinguish the hangman’s massive form directly in front of him. It seemed oddly stooped over.

  “I got him…the lunatic. Think he isn’t…quite dead yet. Have to be…silent…”

  Jakob Kuisl spoke haltingly and with difficulty. Simon felt something warm dripping onto his left upper arm. The hangman was injured. He was bleeding, and it wasn’t just a small cut.

  “You’re wounded! Can I help you?” he asked, trying to feel for the wound. But the hangman gruffly brushed the physician’s hand aside.

  “There’s no…time. The devil can…be here any moment. Oohhhh…” He was holding his side.

  “What happened?” Simon asked.

  “The devil followed us…stupid fools that we are. I…put out his light and fled. But I also whacked him a couple of times with my cudgel. Dirty bastard, damn him. May he go back to hell, where he came from…” The hangman’s body shook. For a moment Simon thought he was trembling with pain, but then he realized that the huge man was laughing. Suddenly, the hangman fell silent again.

  “Sophie?” Jakob Kuisl asked in the darkness.

  The girl had been silent up to now. Now her voice came out of the darkness right next to Simon.

  “Yes?”

  “Tell me, girl, is there another exit?”

  “There…there is a tunnel. It leads away from this chamber. But it’s fallen in.” Her voice sounded different, Simon thought. More composed. She sounded like the orphan girl he had gotten to know on the streets of Schongau-a leader who was capable of mastering her fear, at least temporarily.

  “We did start clearing away the rocks, because we wanted to know where the corridor went,” she continued. “But we didn’t finish it…”

  “Then dig on,” the hangman said. “And light a candle, in God’s name. If this lousy rotten dog comes down we can always blow it out again.”

  Simon fumbled around on the ground till he found his stiletto, the flint, and the tinderbox. Soon, Sophie’s tallow candle was burning. It was just a tiny stump, but its dim glow seemed to Simon like broad daylight bursting into the darkness. He looked around in the chamber.

  The room wasn’t much different from the others they had been in before. He could make out the hole he had fallen through. Along the walls there were niches that looked like stone chairs. There were also small recesses for holding candles and the like. Above these, all sorts of alchemistic signs had been scrawled into the rock in children’s handwriting. Clara was lying in an oblong, alcovelike niche that looked something like a bench. The girl was breathing heavily and looked pale. When Simon laid his hand on her forehead he felt that she was burning hot.

  Only now did he notice the hangman leaning against the stone bench next to the sleeping Clara and ripping strips out of a piece of his coat with his teeth to bandage his broad chest. There was a red, wet stain on his shoulder too. When he saw Simon’s worried look, he only grinned.

  “Save your tears, quack. Kuisl’s not dead yet. Others have tried to do that before.” He pointed behind himself. “Better help Sophie clear the corridor.”

  Simon looked behind him. Sophie was gone. He looked again and saw that a second corridor led away from one of the niches in the rear. After a few steps it ended in a heap of rubble. Sophie was struggling to drag the rocks out. At one point, there was already a hole in the pile the size of a fist, and he thought he could feel a current of air coming through it. Where did this corridor lead?

  As he helped Sophie carry away the rocks, he asked, “The man who’s lying in wait for us down here. He’s the same as the man who chased you as well, right?”

  Sophie nodded.

  “He killed the others because we saw the men up there at the building site,” she whispered. “And now he wants to kill us as well.”

  “What did you see?”

  Sophie stopped in the middle of the corridor, facing him. The light of the candle was so dim that he couldn’t see whether she was crying.

  “This used to be our secret place,” she began. “Nobody knew it. Here we used to meet every time the other children attacked us. Here we were safe. That night we climbed over the town wall to meet in the well.”

  “Why?” Simon asked.

  Sophie paid no attention to the question.

  “We agreed to meet down here. Suddenly we heard voices. When we climbed out, we saw a man handing money to four other men. It was a small bag. And we heard what he said.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That the men were to destroy the building site. And if the Schongau workmen built it up again, they should destroy it again and again, until he told them it was enough. But then…”

  Her voice faltered.

  “What happened then?” Simon asked.

  “Then Anton knocked over a pile of rocks, and they noticed us. And then we ran away, and I heard Peter screaming beh
ind me. But I ran on and on until I reached the city wall. Oh, God, we should’ve helped him. We left him alone…” She began to cry again. Simon stroked her bedraggled hair until she calmed down.

  His mouth was dry when he finally said, “Sophie, this is important now. Who was the man who handed the others money?”

  Sophie was still crying silently. Simon felt the wet tears on her face. He asked again. “Who was the man?”

  “I don’t know.”

  At first Simon thought he hadn’t heard correctly. Only gradually did he begin to understand what she was saying.

  “You…you don’t know?”

  Sophie shrugged.

  “It was dark. We heard voices. And I did recognize the devil with the men, as he was wearing a red doublet and we saw his bony hand. But the other one, the one who handed them the money-we didn’t recognize him.”

  Simon almost had to laugh.

  “But…but then it was all for nothing! All the murders, and your game of hide-and-seek…You didn’t recognize the man! He only thought you did! All this didn’t have to happen-all this blood, and all for nothing…”

  Sophie nodded.

  “I thought it was all a bad dream that would pass. But when I saw the devil in town, and then when Anton was dead, I knew he’d chase us, no matter what we’d seen. So I came here to hide. When I arrived Clara was here already. The devil had nearly gotten her.”

  She started to cry again. Simon tried to imagine what the twelve-year-old had gone through in the past few days. He couldn’t. Helplessly he patted her cheek.

  “It’ll be over soon, Sophie. We’ll get you out of here. And then everything will be straightened out. All we have to do is…”

  He was about to continue when his nose caught a thin but pungent smell that made him stop.

  It was the smell of smoke. And it was growing stronger.

  Now they heard a voice somewhere above them. It was hoarse and shrill.

  “Hey, hangman, can you hear me? I’m not dead yet! How about yourself? I’ve made a nice little fire up here. The oil from your lamp and a few damp beams make great smoke, don’t you think?” The man above them faked a coughing fit. “All I have to do now is wait until you come crawling out of your hole like rats. Of course you can just choke down there as well. What’s it going to be?”