“You hire out your weavers as prostitutes to patricians,” Magdalena said, struggling against nausea. She tried hard to sound calm and confident. “Whoremongering is illegal. You’re earning your money through the misery of those girls.”
“Boo-hoo, how sad,” Mother Joseffa jeered. “Is that why you came to work here? To find that out?” She grinned wide enough for everyone to see her rotten black teeth. “Then you probably heard all about it from our girls. Agnes, Carlotta, and all the others . . . They earn more in one night with a client than in two weeks at the loom. Most women would do anything to be one of the chosen few.”
“Last time I spoke with one of your chosen few, all she did was cry and wipe the blood from her thighs,” Magdalena replied, full of hate. “Carlotta was still a virgin. So don’t talk to me about how kind and generous you are, or I’m going to puke.”
Joseffa shrugged. “We never dragged anyone to those houses, not Carlotta, not you. No one watched you when you walked to Pfundner’s. It was your decision, and you did it.”
“Oh, and in case you think you can tell your pathetic little story to the guards,” Uffele added, glaring at her, “remember who our clients are. Rich citizens, patricians, even a few courtiers . . . Rest assured, no one will believe you. Who are you, anyway? Did the guards send you? Loibl, perhaps? Are you sniffing around here on his behalf?”
Magdalena ignored Uffele’s questions. “Speaking of the court,” she said and pointed at the small spaniel, who was snoozing peacefully at Peter’s feet. All the other dogs had disappeared. “You stole the dog of the prince. The electress isn’t going to be pleased, and not even your oh-so-wealthy friends can help you. That alone should be enough to see you thrown into a dark hole and left to rot.”
“The dog just turned up one day,” Joseffa crowed. “Just like the other mutts. How were we supposed to know it was the prince’s dog?” She smirked and looked at Magdalena with wide eyes. “Bah! It’s just another story you made up.”
“We didn’t make up anything,” Peter said. “The electoral nursemaid stole the dog and gave it to her boyfriend. She told me so herself. And that boyfriend gave the dog to you. You knew very well it was the prince’s dog. You were probably going to ask for a horrendous ransom.”
“And you are going to tell on us at court?” Uffele jeered. “Who are you? The emperor of China? They wouldn’t even let you in the servants’ entry in your rags. Not even through a rat hole.” He wrinkled his nose. “You stink. Like all of you. You’re nothing but smelly little rats.”
“I know the prince,” Peter said coldly. “And believe me, I’m going to tell him everything. And you can count yourselves lucky if they hang you before drawing and quartering you.”
A certain tone in Peter’s voice silenced Uffele. Apparently, he wasn’t so certain anymore that Peter wasn’t telling the truth.
“You can believe my son,” Magdalena assured him. “Peter knows the crown prince. And he’s going to make your life hell—unless you do exactly as we tell you.”
“Who the hell are you?” yelled Uffele.
But Magdalena didn’t answer.
We are the Kuisls from Schongau, she thought. And we eat someone like you for breakfast, you slimy Munich fop.
“You’re welcome to doubt us,” she said after a while. “Or you cooperate. Then the crown prince might not find out who locked up his darling dog and almost let it starve.”
“Hey!” Schorsch called out. “That’s not what we agreed on. We want our reward.”
The other boys grumbled, and Magdalena raised a placating hand.
“You’ll get your reward. But now I finally want to know what the story is with the three girls. Anni, Elfi, and Eva. Two are dead, the third missing. Not to mention all the other girls that have been murdered in and around Munich for decades. What’s your connection? Spit it out.” She motioned toward the injured Paul, who was twitching in his sleep, and her voice became cutting. “My son needs a doctor. By God, if you don’t start talking right now—”
“All right, all right,” Uffele said. “I think I’m beginning to understand why you’re here. I’m guessing you’re a friend of the three girls? Well, I can tell you that we had nothing to do with the deaths of Anni and Elfi. I swear by everything dear to me. I also swear that we didn’t want to kill you. We only wanted to give you a fright and find out who sent you.”
“The oath of a swindler and a brothel keeper.” Luki laughed derisively, and the other boys joined in. “You can stick that up your ass.” He took a menacing step toward the director. “Speak up! You heard what Peter’s mother wants to know. Or would you like me to punch out one tooth after the other?”
Uffele hesitated. Then he looked at Mother Joseffa and gave her a nod. The old woman cleared her throat.
“It’s true,” she began. “Anni, Elfi, and Eva all worked as prostitutes. But not for long. The dimwits got pregnant. A poor young girl with a child and no husband . . .” She snorted. “In this city, you’re worth about as much as the dirt on the shoes of the rich. So we did what we always do in such cases. We helped those stupid girls. Only Eva didn’t want to let us help her at first. Said she wanted to keep the child and got more and more hysterical. In the end, she almost gave us away and we had to lock her up. But finally she saw sense and let us take her there. All in secret, of course—we put a blanket over her on the cart. We don’t want to risk our heads for a pregnant wench like her, after all. It’s enough that we have to spend a fortune on her.”
Magdalena held her breath.
“What . . . what did you do to her?” she asked hoarsely. “Where did you take the three of them?”
“You know, where girls like them can get rid of unwanted children,” Uffele replied. “We’ve been doing it for years. The girls lose the child, then they leave town and try their luck somewhere else. Girls like that come and go. The only thing that matters is that they shut up and don’t talk about us.” He shrugged. “To be honest, we never thought much about it. Until the thing with Anni and Elfi. But surely it was just a nasty coincidence.”
“Where did you take the girls?” Magdalena asked again, more urgently. A terrible thought had taken root in her mind. “Where?”
Mother Joseffa tilted her head with a wide grin. “To a place where we know it’s going to work. Believe me, there’s no better place for an abortion in all of Munich.”
15
OUTSIDE THE MUNICH EXECUTIONER’S HOUSE, NIGHT, FEBRUARY 7, AD 1672
AS THE CREAKING OF THE carriage wheels receded, Simon slowly walked toward the Deiblers’ house.
It hadn’t been easy to persuade Dr. Geiger’s personal driver to take him to this disreputable part of town. The man simply hadn’t been able to comprehend why someone would leave a masquerade hosted by the electress to visit the Munich hangman, and late at night, too. Geiger had joined Simon in the carriage but got off at his house.
In the pale light of the moon, the building appeared much eerier to Simon than in the last few days. The hangman’s house grew out of the city wall like a huge black boil. Behind it, Simon could see the outlines of the strange tower the people of Munich called Faustturm—fist tower—because of the shape of its roof. The trees and bushes behind the low wall looked like cowering trolls, just waiting to pounce on Simon.
Dull candlelight shone in the windows of the ground floor, so the Deiblers seemed to be home. Peter and Paul had probably come home by now, too, just like Barbara.
And Eva was probably still unconscious in the apothecary’s room.
Concern for Eva and his family had caused Simon to leave the ball abruptly and rush here as fast as he could—most of all, however, it was fear for his little Sophia. He’d decided to take his chances on his own, as he had no idea where Jakob Kuisl and Georg had disappeared to.
Simon opened the gate and walked down the icy path to the front door. His knocks echoed loudly in the stillness of night. Several cats meowed inside, but nothing happened. Simon knocked again.
“Anyone home?” he called out eventually.
Finally he heard footsteps in the hallway, the door was opened, and Walburga stood in front of him. The tall hangman’s wife looked exhausted, her usually tidy hair hanging down in a tousled mess. When she recognized Simon, she smiled. But it took her a few moments, as if she had to orient herself first.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said eventually. “I hadn’t expected you back so soon. Did you find Magdalena at the ball?” She looked around searchingly. “And where are Jakob and Georg?”
“They’ll be here soon,” Simon replied. He rubbed his arms, shivering. “May I come in?”
Walburga looked confused for a moment, then she gave a little laugh. “Of course, how silly of me. You must be freezing.”
She accompanied him into the living room. The cradle was still in the corner. Simon hurried over to it and saw, to his relief, that his daughter was peacefully asleep inside.
“She is such a darling child,” Walburga said next to Simon, looking adoringly at the little girl. “She’s like a ray of sunshine on these cold days. I’m truly glad to have her here.” Suddenly, she seemed very sad. “I was never granted the fortune of children of my own.”
“Where is your husband, Walburga?” Simon asked abruptly.
The hangman’s wife leaned down and brushed Sophia’s cheek. “He went back to Loibl. Said there was something else they needed to discuss. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
“And Peter and Paul? Barbara?” Simon grabbed her arm. “What about Eva?”
“Eva is sleeping just as peacefully as Sophia. The others . . .” Walburga pulled her arm free and sat down at the table. “I don’t know. It’s a”—she paused—“a strange night, isn’t it?” Then she jumped up again. “You must be starving. I’ll get you some soup—”
“I don’t need soup, Walburga. I need answers.” Simon gently pushed Walburga back into her chair and sat down beside her. “I have so many questions.”
The hangman’s wife looked at him blankly. She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and ran her tongue across her dry lips. “What do you mean?”
“Well, for example, I wonder whether Eva really did talk about a ball a few hours ago,” Simon replied. “I was under the impression that she was unconscious and unable to talk.”
Walburga smiled wanly. “I told you, she only awoke very briefly. Then she went straight back to sleep.”
“Well, unfortunately, we couldn’t find Magdalena at the ball. And I don’t believe she ever was there. Most likely, she’s still at the manufactory. But I met someone else at Nymphenburg Palace, the honorable Dr. Geiger. Do you remember what I told you about my visit to the lunatic asylum with Geiger? About old Traudel, who was saying all those strange things?”
Walburga frowned. “The crazy woman? You said she was crazy, didn’t you?”
“Yes, she’s crazy. But not so crazy that she doesn’t remember anything. She said she knew who’d been murdering all those girls for decades. And she said she promised not to tell. I wonder who she made that promise to.”
The hangman’s wife laughed. “Perhaps to Satan himself?”
“No, I believe it was someone who was at the asylum with her a long time ago. Someone who, unlike her, was released again. Perhaps because they had connections, or perhaps they were considered healed. I think that someone poured their heart out to Traudel back then.” Simon looked closely at Walburga. “Do you know what Traudel screamed over and over when we tried to calm her down? She screamed, ‘It’s your fault, all your fault,’ again and again. I think I finally know who she meant.”
“Is that so?” Walburga wet her lips again. “And who’s that?”
“Us men.” Simon paused for a long moment before continuing.
“Apart from Traudel, only men were in the room. Dr. Geiger, the guard, and myself . . . We men are to blame for everything. Isn’t that right, Walburga? Isn’t that what you told Traudel more than twenty years ago?”
Walburga didn’t reply, and Simon continued, more urgently. “It was you who shared her cell at the lunatic asylum. Dr. Geiger told me about it earlier. They keep a good record of their patients there. The warden told us so himself. That’s what gave me the idea to ask Dr. Geiger to take a look. The record also tells us why you were admitted back then. It was the death of your child. When it died so soon after birth, you were consumed by grief. Your husband took you to the asylum because he didn’t know how to help you any longer. His name is recorded, too.” Simon shook his head thoughtfully. “I wonder why he didn’t tell us about that. Was he embarrassed, or was it because he’s been suspecting something for a while?”
“Little Monika,” Walburga said suddenly. Her eyes became glassy. “Moni. We already had a name for her. I hope the Lord doesn’t let the unbaptized child suffer in purgatory for too long.”
“When I heard you’d been at the asylum with Traudel, several other details suddenly made sense to me,” Simon said. “The whole time I was wondering how all those murders were linked. They were all young girls, and the same amulet was found with each of them. We always thought it showed the Virgin Mary.” He pulled out the amulet he and Jakob Kuisl had found on Eva. “But then I remembered where I’ve seen this kind-looking woman before: in the Altenstadt basilica, back home in the Priests’ Corner, where the fourteen holy helpers are depicted. The woman on the medallion isn’t Mary, but Saint Margaret, the patron saint of pregnant women.”
Simon held up the amulet. It dangled right in front of Walburga’s nose now, but she didn’t seem to see it. Her eyes were focused on a point in the distance.
“A warning to the others,” the hangman’s wife whispered suddenly. “But they didn’t listen. No one listened to me.”
“You also wear an amulet like this, Walburga, don’t you?” Simon said softly. “You always hid it from us. But when we arrived home with Eva, you forgot to take it off. Probably because you were too surprised to see us with Eva—with the same Eva you had just buried alive.” Simon was still holding up the amulet, dangling it to and fro. “You quickly took it off, but I caught a glimpse of it. I thought it was just a talisman like so many women wear around their necks, what of it? I wondered why you tried to hide it.”
“Saint Margaret,” Walburga replied in a monotone, her eyes now following the pendulum. “Her own father reported her because she converted to Christianity. When the judge desired her, she rejected him. He threatened her, tortured her—but Margaret didn’t waver. She resisted man.”
“Unlike the poor girls who sought you out,” Simon said. “Right? You punished them because they were pregnant. Because they got involved with the devil in the shape of men.”
“Oh God, no!” Walburga shook her head vigorously. “Every child is a gift of God. It isn’t a sin to conceive one. But it’s a deadly sin to murder it. That’s why they deserved to die.”
Simon nodded, trying to understand what was going on in Walburga’s sick brain. She had deceived them for so long. Walburga, the child- and animal-loving hangman’s wife, who’d been present during almost all their discussions. Who had listened to everything. Who had a vast knowledge of herbs, poisons, and medicines.
And to whom the young girls of Munich had been coming for decades if they needed an abortion.
Walburga’s own child had died years ago. She had loved her more than anything in the world, and she hadn’t been able to conceive another. And then all those women flocked to her and asked her to kill their unborn children. The insanity that had probably always slumbered in Walburga must have broken out. Most likely, she’d already committed her first murders before she was admitted to the asylum, and she told old Traudel about them. The men were at fault, but the women who slept with them and now wanted to rid themselves of the unwanted fruit had to die. Because they were murderesses, in Walburga’s eyes. When they sought out the hangman’s wife and asked for a remedy against the unborn child, they signed their own death sentences.
Anni and Elfi must have come to Wa
lburga as well, just like the young patrician woman. And Eva?
“Where is Eva?” Simon asked again.
Walburga’s gaze suddenly focused again, and she looked at him sternly, like a forbidding mother goddess.
“She decided against the child and therewith for death. There is no way out. She is going to receive her just punishment. Just like the other one.”
“The . . . other one?” Simon frowned. Was there another woman locked up in the house?
Magdalena? Was that the reason why he couldn’t find his wife?
Simon’s hand went to the small knife he always carried with him. It was a stiletto that always served him well as a doctor. He had hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. Perhaps it had been a mistake not to tell anyone else of his plan. He should have told Dr. Geiger—but now it was too late.
“Who else are you keeping here?” Simon asked. His heart suddenly started to race, from the excitement of the last few hours. “Speak up. Before my father-in-law comes home and gets hold of you. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Walburga scrutinized him. “Hmm, I don’t think anyone’s coming,” she said after a while, almost to herself. “Or Jakob would have arrived long ago. No, you’re on your own. You had a suspicion, nothing else.” Then her face took on a look of surprise, as if she’d only just realized something. “And you don’t know that she’s pregnant, either, do you? You don’t know what she was going to do, that hussy.” She spat out the last word like a piece of rotten fruit.
“Who?” Simon croaked. “Who are you talking about?”
His heart was beating faster and faster, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Surely, it couldn’t still be the coffee. Or could it? He’d already felt a little dizzy at Nymphenburg Palace, slightly delirious. His thoughts had raced. But even now his pulse was speeding up. What was happening to him? He hadn’t touched anything in the executioner’s house; he’d had nothing to drink or eat. Had Walburga nonetheless managed to poison him? Just like she’d tried to do with his father-in-law? Simon thought of Kaspar Hörmann, the old drunkard, and his terrible death.
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