the court clerk was the official representative of the elector’s caretaker in town. And since the caretaker, Count Sandizell, rarely came to town-to say nothing of the elector himself-Lechner could rule like a king without a throne. He was actually only responsible for the elector’s interests but, through careful maneuvering, had always been able to meddle in the affairs of the town.
The hangman entered the town through the Lech Gate and turned right into the Hennengasse. Snowflakes were blowing in his face, making him squint. He stayed clear of the main streets, as he was not a welcome sight in town. The few people he passed in the driving snow looked away and made the sign of the cross, muttering. As executioner, Jakob Kuisl was not allowed to marry in the Christian church, would never receive a Christian burial, and his children would not be baptized. When he drank his beer in the dark taverns behind the Ballenhaus, he sat at a table by himself, ostracized. Nevertheless, people often came to him in secret to be treated for various ills or to obtain surefire magic amulets. Jakob Kuisl sighed. He had long ago given up trying to figure out human behavior.
Finally, the hangman stood before the ducal castle that directly bordered the western city wall. The building was in disrepair: One of the guard towers was missing a roof, and snow was falling directly onto the charred rafters. A bridge with rotting railings spanned a moat overgrown with weeds and led into the interior of the compound.
Just as Kuisl was about to cross the bridge, he heard a whinnying and hoofbeats. From the interior courtyard, a black steed emerged, heading right for the hangman at a fast gallop. The rider was dressed in a black habit and cowl that almost completely concealed his face. He seemed not to notice Jakob Kuisl and continued galloping directly toward him so that he could avoid a collision only by jumping aside at the last moment. A corner of the rider’s coat brushed Kuisl’s face, and just as the hangman’s nose detected the fragrance of an expensive, exotic perfume, the figure disappeared around the next corner. The hangman cursed the unknown rider, then continued the few steps across the bridge to enter the building.
Jakob Kuisl arrived at the clerk’s office on the second floor and was preparing to knock on the massive wooden door when he noticed that it wasn’t closed, just slightly ajar. The door squeaked as it swung inward, and in front of him sat Johann Lechner, armed with a quill pen and ink, reviewing some papers by candlelight while his right hand moved vigorously and erratically across the parchment. For a while, the only thing audible was the scratching of the pen.
“You can take a seat, Kuisl,” the clerk said finally, without looking up. His face was pale, almost waxen, an impression accentuated by his black goatee. He wore a flat, dark velvet cap and a plain jacket that was just as dark. When Lechner finally looked up, Kuisl found himself staring into two black eyes that seemed to be in constant motion and appeared remarkably large in relation to his narrow face behind his pince-nez.
“I said sit down,” the clerk repeated, pointing to a stool in front of the stained oak table that took up practically the entire width of the room. “I have a job for you.”
“Did you finally catch one of the bandits?” Jakob Kuisl grumbled, settling onto the stool. The wooden stool groaned under the weight of his massive frame but didn’t give way.
“Well, not exactly,” the clerk replied, playing with the goose quill in his hand. “That’s the reason I called you.” He leaned back in his chair. “As you may know, a group of citizens has been formed to hunt down this band of murderers, and I’d like you to lead them.”
“Me?” Jakob Kuisl almost choked. “But-”
“I know, as a hangman, you are dishonorable and cannot give orders to citizens,” the clerk interrupted him, “but they’re afraid of you, and they have respect for you. Those are pretty good qualifications for a leader. Besides, you’re the only one I would entrust with a job like this. Didn’t you kill that huge wolf just last year? And the matter with the mercenaries in the spring…You are strong and clever, you can fight, and you know this riffraff better than people like us.”
“Why don’t you appoint one of the aldermen as a leader?” the hangman joked. “They know how to push people around.”
Johann Lechner laughed. “You mean Semer? Or old Hardenberg? I might as well send my mother. Fat, effeminate moneybags! Even the Swedes wouldn’t have accepted them as hostages. No, Kuisl, you’re the one. You have proved often enough that you’re good for more than just stringing people up. And as far as giving orders…” He grinned at the hangman. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell the gentlemen that the executioner is calling the shots this time. It will be good for them. Do you still have your weapon from the war? You were in the war, weren’t you?”
Jakob Kuisl nodded. Images floated through his mind like poisonous clouds.
“Fine,” said the clerk. “The hunt will begin the day after tomorrow at eight in the morning. I’ve got to let everyone know first. Please show up at the marketplace at the appointed time. You’ll receive a half guilder each day, plus a guilder for each robber you catch.” Lechner hunched down again over his documents. “You can go now.”
Jakob Kuisl started to reply, but when he saw the intense expression on the clerk’s face, he knew objections were pointless. As he turned to go, he suddenly heard Lechner’s voice again behind him.
“Oh, hangman! One moment!” When Jakob turned around, he saw the clerk was staring at him directly through his pince-nez. “I’ve heard that the priest in Altenstadt passed away and that you yourself were there shortly thereafter. Did anything happen there that seemed…strange?”
The hangman cursed to himself. How had the clerk learned so quickly about the events in the St. Lawrence Church? Obviously, nothing escaped Lechner. Jakob Kuisl reflected for a moment and then decided to tell the truth.
“It looks like someone poisoned the priest.”
“Poisoned?” The clerk frowned. “Hmm, that’s not good news. But if I know you, you already have a suspicion about who it could have been.”
Jakob Kuisl shook his head. “No, sir. I have no idea.”
“That’s all right. The people of Altenstadt need to figure that out themselves.” He frowned again. “Do you think maybe the fat priest just overate again?”
“No, sir. I believe-”
“Believing is something you do in church,” Lechner interrupted him. “I want you to concern yourself only with this band of murderers out there.
Jakob Kuisl remained silent.
“I want to know if that’s clear.”
The hangman nodded and, without another word, disappeared into the dark hallway. Behind him, he could once again hear the scratching of the quill pen.
Furtively, the clerk carefully extracted a document from the pile of papers he had concealed just before the hangman entered, and glanced at it once more. The seal seemed genuine, and the man who had delivered the letter believable.
Lechner scratched the tip of his nose with the goose feather. It wouldn’t be wise to refuse the request of such a powerful person, even if he couldn’t figure out the meaning of this official document. Lechner actually wanted only to ask the hangman about the murder of Father Koppmeyer, but the stranger he’d just seen made it unmistakably clear that further investigation into the Koppmeyer case was not desired. To support his demand, he had left behind a tidy sum. Lechner toyed nervously with the coins in his desk drawer. They felt cool and solid. The money would come in handy for necessary repairs in the city, above all to the ducal palace, which was in a pitiful shape. And the stranger had held out the prospect of more money if the hangman kept his mouth shut…
Just the same, it troubled Lechner. Why would such a powerful person be interested in preventing the Schongau hangman from snooping around in Altenstadt? Well, Lechner would have to make his own inquiries, and in the meanwhile, he’d just have to keep the hangman busy doing something else. Lechner chuckled to himself. The idea that Jakob Kuisl would soon be bossing around the fat old aldermen was just too precious. That alone was worth the little lie.
Benedikta was waiting impatiently in the driving snow in front of the Goldener Stern Tavern, just next to the Ballenhaus. Her horse, a splendid sorrel, pranced around nervously. When the merchant woman caught sight of Simon, a narrow smile crossed her lips.
