The Council of Twelve

by Oliver Pötzsch

  “So now it’s my fault?” Barbara flared up. Her face turned red with anger. “It still takes two to make a child. And I was so careful to . . .” She was shaken by violent sobs, and Georg held her tight.

  “Whatever happens,” he said gently, “we Kuisls stick together. You’ll see, something good might still come of all this. If this hadn’t happened, you’d have ended up a bitter, unmarried spinster like old Stechlin.”

  “And yet she has her own income and no man telling her what to do.” Barbara sniffed and wiped the tears from her face. “Not many women are as fortunate as her.”

  Georg smiled. “And what would you do for a living? Become an executioner? Well, if your sword arm is as fast as your mouth, you might just find a position. But I’ve never heard of a hangwoman.” Suddenly his face turned serious. “And not even a man can always rely on his position as hangman.”

  Barbara stopped dead in her tracks and looked at her brother. “What is it, Georg?” she said, glad to be changing the subject. “I could tell yesterday that something was up. Don’t you want to at least tell your twin sister?” She smiled sadly. “You know my little secret, after all.”

  Georg wrestled with himself for a few moments, then he sighed. “To hell with it! Why shouldn’t you know? The truth is . . . I can’t stay in Bamberg.”

  “Why ever not?” Barbara frowned. “Uncle Bartholomäus always said you’d take over from him.”

  “But he hadn’t reckoned with the city. The aldermen want someone else as his successor.” Georg clenched his fists. “Widmann from Nuremberg must have paid a lot of money to get the post for his nephew. Uncle Bartholomäus had hoped to change Widmann’s mind at the guild meeting.” He gave a tired laugh. “But after what happened yesterday, Widmann won’t be doing the Kuisls any favors.”

  “Oh God, Georg, I’m so sorry!” Barbara exclaimed. “I had no idea—”

  “It’s all right. Widmann is a bastard. He would never have changed his mind, because he hates Father.” Georg took Barbara’s hand again. “So you see, I don’t know what the future holds for me, either.”

  “But you can always go back to Schongau. Father would be so pleased.”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t want to go back, not after all these years. I’d always be under the old man’s thumb.” Georg shook his head angrily. “Even last night, when we walked back to Au from Deibler’s, he kept pushing for me to come home. If he knew there was no future for me in Bamberg, he’d move heaven and earth to get me back. But I don’t want to.”

  “Just like I don’t want to marry,” Barbara replied. “So stop telling me what to do.”

  Meanwhile, they had walked down Sendlinger Street and arrived at the executioner’s house by the city wall. Paul was playing with a bunch of street children with a hoop and a whip. It looked like he’d already found new friends in the Anger Quarter. When he spotted Barbara and Georg, he came running toward them.

  “Uncle Georg, Uncle Georg, did you bring me something sweet?” he shouted. “You promised!”

  “I knew I forgot something.” Georg slapped his palm against his forehead. “Or did I . . . ?” Grinning, he pulled out two candied apples, which Paul snatched from his hand with a cheer.

  “The second one is for your brother, understood?” Georg said. “Where is he, anyway?”

  “Peter came back from the Residenz with Father earlier,” Paul replied between mouthfuls. “He said he played with a prince. We laughed at him. Now he’s inside reading, as usual.”

  “And your father?” Barbara asked.

  “He went to Au to find Grandpa in a hurry. He was very excited. Apparently, there was another dead girl.” Paul giggled. “They drowned her like a kitten in a sack.”

  “Jesus, when will it stop?” Georg swore and shook his head. “And knowing our old man, he’ll already have stuck his nose in.”

  “And my Michl, too, unfortunately. It looks like all our men have gone insane.” Walburga was walking toward them from the garden, carrying little Sophia. The girl giggled happily when she recognized Barbara and held out her little arms. Walburga gave Sophia a loving look. “The world is bad, my darling. You’ll find out soon enough.” She turned to Barbara and Georg with an encouraging nod. “I bandaged her foot with arnica and lavender to soften the muscles. The poor girl will always have a clubfoot, but we can help make sure she won’t limp too badly later on.”

  Barbara smiled. She liked Walburga’s practical manner. And the tall hangman’s wife seemed to know just as much about herbs as her own father. Often, it was the wives of executioners who looked after the apothecary’s pantry at home and made sure patients were given the right medicine, but also talismans and love potions.

  “I sent your sister on a walk,” Walburga said. “I asked her to get me a few pills at the pharmacy. But most of all, I wanted to take her mind off things for a while. There are some excellent tailors in the Graggenau Quarter, and looking is free. The fabrics are truly exquisite. Speaking of fabrics . . .” She winked at Barbara. “There is a visitor in the garden who appears to have a gift for you.”

  “A gift for me?” Barbara frowned. “Who would give me anything?”

  “See for yourself.” Walburga gestured toward the back of the garden. “He wouldn’t come in. Said he wanted to wait for you outside.”

  Together with Georg, Barbara walked around the executioner’s house and there, on a bench beneath a frozen rosebush, sat Conrad Näher, the Kaufbeuren executioner. His hair was freshly combed, and he wore a shirt as white as snow underneath a coat with a fur collar. His face was red from the cold. When he saw Barbara and Georg, he rose with a little bow and handed Barbara a small parcel.

  “My dearest Barbara, may I offer you this little present as a token of my appreciation?” he said in a stilted tone. “You would make an old man very happy.”

  “Looks like Näher is serious,” Georg whispered to his sister. “Give the man a chance. He’s the most acceptable out of Father’s candidates.”

  Barbara sighed. “Looks like I don’t have much of a choice,” she replied quietly. She took the present, which was wrapped in leather. She opened it and found blue fabric shimmering at her. Barbara blinked.

  “That’s . . . ,” she began.

  “Real silk,” Näher finished for her. “Dyed with indigo from Western India. You could sew a scarf from it.” He grinned. “Of course, I realize that we dishonorable hangmen and their families aren’t permitted to wear such things, but it still feels nice underneath a coat. And since the elector forbade the import of silk from abroad, a piece like that is almost as precious as silver.”

  Speechless, Barbara ran her hand over the fabric, which was as soft as Sophia’s skin. She had never owned anything this beautiful. “Tha-thanks,” she said after a while.

  “I thought we might take a walk together?” Conrad Näher suggested. “To get to know each other. Or would you rather go to a tavern? I know a cozy inn where the keeper doesn’t look twice when a man like me turns up with a younger lady.”

  “Lady? No one’s ever called me that before!” Suddenly, Barbara had to laugh. She looked at Näher, standing in front of her expectantly. He was at least thirty years older than her, his belly bulging over his belt, his hair graying. But he was well groomed, had manners, and clearly knew how to make a woman happy.

  “Come on, have a heart,” Georg whispered to her. “Before the poor fellow dies pining for you.”

  Barbara stroked the soft fabric. Well, what did she have to lose? Getting to know him a little couldn’t hurt.

  “All right,” she said eventually. “Let’s go to your tavern. I could do with a mulled wine.” She pointed at Näher’s nose, red from the cold. “And you, too, before your sniffer freezes off.”

  She linked arms with Näher. His coat was warm, and he smelled pleasant.

  What do I have to lose? she thought again.

  They walked out into the streets.

  It was only a short walk from the Radl Inn to the Au s
ilk manufactory, and Kuisl had been given directions by Michael Deibler. Now he was standing outside the massive three-story building he had noticed when they first arrived.

  The hangman still couldn’t believe there was a manufactory of precious silk here in dirty Au, of all places. Kuisl had heard that the valuable fabric was made from the threads of some kind of caterpillar, originally in China, later in Venice and other places on the opposite side of the Alps. But in Bavaria? And on a large scale, with God knew how many weavers and a building almost as big as a cathedral?

  Well, at the end of the day it was no skin off his nose whether they were producing silk, shoes, or hangman’s nooses in this manufactory—he was here to find out more about the impaled girl, Elfriede Tanninger.

  Deibler was right: it had been bugging him that he hadn’t been voted onto the Council of Twelve for all those years. Now he finally had the chance to show those narrow-minded numbskulls that one could get further with brains and cunning than with forceps and thumbscrews.

  The hangman looked up at the narrow windows, most of which were barred. The gloomy building reminded him more of a prison than of a workplace. The entrance was a solid wooden door with iron hinges and a closed hatch at eye level. A bell chain hung beside it, and Kuisl pulled on it. He waited. When nothing happened, he pulled the chain again and again until the bell sounded like the Schongau parish church. Finally, he could hear shuffling footsteps.

  “All right, I’m coming!” a female voice called out. “Whoever’s outside better have a good reason for ringing like this—or else I’ll pull off your skin in strips!”

  Nice reception, Kuisl thought.

  The hatch opened, and the face of an older, heavily made-up woman appeared, eyeing him suspiciously. “What is it?” she asked harshly.

  “The Munich executioner sends me,” Kuisl replied. “Open up.”

  Jakob Kuisl knew the word executioner instilled fear in most people, and if it didn’t, they at least grew curious, which was the case here.

  “What does the hangman want from us?” the woman asked, a tad milder.

  “I’ll tell you when you open the door.”

  The woman thought for a moment, then a bolt was pushed aside and the heavy door creaked open. It was hard to tell how old the woman was. She was made up like a twenty-year-old, and her blonde hair was clearly a wig. But her wrinkles, the many missing teeth, and her entire dowdy appearance indicated that she was past fifty. She folded her arms on her enormous bosom and scrutinized Kuisl warily.

  “So, what do you want?” she asked.

  Kuisl pushed past her until he stood in the entrance hall, a bare chamber from which a staircase led upstairs. He could hear the rhythmic whirring and clattering of many individual apparatuses.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” the woman protested.

  “What I have to say isn’t for everyone’s ears,” Kuisl said. “It’s in your own interest. I’m Deibler’s new assistant. He sends me because the neighbors claim your girls were earning on the side as prostitutes. You know the hangman needs to know every whore by name.”

  This was a blatant lie, but it had the desired effect. The woman turned red and puffed up her cheeks. “What a load of nonsense!” she exclaimed. “This is a decent establishment. And the Munich hangman isn’t even responsible for Au.”

  “He is responsible when your girls go about their business in Munich. Like poor Elfriede Tanninger, for example, may God rest her soul.”

  As usual, Jakob Kuisl hadn’t really planned ahead, but instinct told him he’d have to push this old bag into a corner if he wanted to get anywhere. As expected, the woman winced when she heard the name of the impaled girl. He’d hit a nerve. But she quickly pulled herself together and lowered her head.

  “We heard what happened to poor Elfi,” she purred. “Terrible story. We always warned her against going with strange men. But that’s just what they’re like, young girls. Never listen to good old Mother Joseffa.” She peered up at Kuisl and twisted her mouth into a crooked grin. “Even though I was the one to get these girls off the streets.”

  And now you milk them for all they’re worth, Kuisl thought.

  “Did Elfi have any friends who can attest that she wasn’t a whore?” he asked.

  Mother Joseffa hesitated briefly, then nodded. “Wait here,” she said. She hurried up the stairs and soon returned with a young girl of about seventeen or eighteen years. She was pale and skinny, with straggly blonde hair and a dirty dress. She looked very afraid, but Kuisl couldn’t tell if she was scared of him or Mother Joseffa.

  “This is Eva,” Joseffa said, introducing the girl. “She knew Elfi well. They came from the same backwater. Schrobenhausen, wasn’t it, Eva?”

  Eva nodded timidly but remained silent.

  Pale, with straggly blonde hair, Kuisl thought. She could be the girl Captain Loibl was talking about.

  “You’re from Schrobenhausen?” he asked in a friendly tone. “I know the place. The knacker is a cousin of mine. A pretty little town. Is the huge linden tree by the well still standing?”

  A shy smile flashed across Eva’s face. The memory of her hometown seemed to reassure her a little. “Yes, it . . . it’s still there,” she said quietly. “Where we always used to dance.”

  “Elfi, too, I guess.” Kuisl winked at her. “And there’s a whole bunch of strapping young lads in Schrobenhausen. And they know how to dance. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

  “Yes, they do.” Eva smiled again. “But—”

  “Enough of this gossiping, we don’t have all day,” Mother Joseffa said. “The shuttle won’t move by itself. Go on and tell the man that Elfi was no whore.” She glared at the girl from the side. “Go on.”

  “Oh, no!” Eva shook her head. Her eyes were huge all of a sudden, glowing with fear. “She wasn’t. She just—”

  “Then go back to your place.” Joseffa gave the girl a slap. With one last pleading glance at Kuisl, Eva ran back upstairs.

  “That’s settled, then,” Joseffa said to Kuisl when the girl had gone. “Anything else?”

  Plenty, Kuisl thought, but he waved dismissively. “That should do it for now. But watch out. I may be back.”

  “Yes, yes, but for now you can go to hell.” With surprising strength for a woman, Joseffa pushed the hangman out onto the street. The door slammed shut behind him. Kuisl stayed where he was for a moment, thinking. Things were beginning to get more interesting than he’d expected. The old hag and the girl were keeping something from him.

  He was about to leave when he heard a whispering voice from above.

  “Hey, up here!”

  Kuisl looked up. It was Eva, standing behind one of the barred windows and waving timidly.

  “Do you really want to know what happened to poor Elfi?” she asked quietly. “Then look for a man with red eyes and white hair.”

  Kuisl winced as if he’d been hit.

  Master Hans, he thought. I knew it.

  “What about this man?” he asked hoarsely.

  “He hung around here after Elfi died. One day, he cornered Anni, wanted to speak about Elfi with her. I warned Anni. But she . . . she wouldn’t listen.” Her voice broke; tears were streaming down her face. “I think that creepy man promised her something. I don’t know what, but two days later, Anni was dead, too. They found her in the Au creek.”

  The dead girl from the creek, Kuisl realized. She also worked at the silk manufactory. And Mother Joseffa never said a word . . .

  “I’m scared I’m next,” Eva whimpered. “The three of us were friends. First Elfi, then Anni, and now—me?”

  “But why?” Kuisl asked. “Why would anyone want to kill you?”

  “I don’t know,” Eva whispered. “I only know that—”

  Suddenly her head disappeared from the window, and Joseffa’s shrill voice rang out. “What are you doing by the window, you little bitch?” she screamed. “You’re supposed to work, not look at the sky. Or were you talking to that man, hmm? Tell me,
what did you say to him? Speak up, hussy!”

  Kuisl heard a slapping sound, then crying.

  Eva didn’t come back to the window.

  Deep in thought, Jakob Kuisl returned to the Radl Inn. He needed a pipe and a beer and time to think. There were so many questions, and most of them revolved around this accursed silk manufactory. Kuisl didn’t think he’d find out by himself what went on behind those walls.

  But he had an idea who might be able to help him.

  That evening the Kuisls sat up until late at Michael Deibler’s table in the Anger Quarter.

  Jakob Kuisl and Georg were present, as there was much to talk about. Walburga had offered to look after the children. Once upon a time, the executioner’s house had doubled as a whorehouse and a place for gambling, and there were countless interesting items to be found in the attic and basement of the old building—yellowed books gnawed by mice, crates full of odds and ends, worn-out dresses and costumes, dice made of polished bone, and plenty of rusty forceps, chains, and thumbscrews.

  The latter in particular fascinated Paul, while Peter leafed through an old prayer book that appeared to have belonged to a rueful prostitute. Occasionally Magdalena could hear Walburga humming a soothing melody to Sophia somewhere upstairs, but other than that, it was pleasantly quiet. An icy February wind swept through the streets outside, but it was warm and cozy by the tiled stove in the living room.

  Magdalena had indeed enjoyed roaming the streets of Munich without Sophia that day. She and Barbara had almost fought in the morning. Her sister still didn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation and kept evading Magdalena’s questions. But her stroll through town had diverted Magdalena. She had even considered buying herself a new embroidered apron, but the price of eight silver pennies had put her off. Munich was incredibly expensive!

  At least there was good news about her sister now. Georg had told Magdalena that Barbara had met with Conrad Näher and hadn’t run away screaming. Näher had gifted her real silk for a scarf, and Barbara now wore it in the executioner’s house, looking pleased. It was a start, at least.