The devil shook his head.
“Not quite, hangman. The children had bad luck. They had been hiding down here when we received our instructions and the first portion of our money. Moneybags was afraid they might have recognized him. He gave us the order to make sure they would never talk.”
The hangman winced.
So the children had known the devil’s employer, the patron! They knew who was behind all of it!
No wonder they didn’t dare return to town. It must have been a very powerful man, someone they knew and someone they knew people would be more inclined to believe than themselves. Someone whose reputation was at stake.
Time. He needed more time.
“The fire at the Stadel, that was pure diversion wasn’t it?” he said. “Your friends set the fire while you slipped into town to steal away Clara…”
The devil shrugged.
“How could I have gotten to her otherwise? I kept my ears open. The boys were easy. After all the little rascals were hanging around outside. And sooner or later I would have caught that redheaded girl too. But little Clara was sick. She had caught a cold while snooping around, poor darling, and she had to stay inside…”
He shook his head compassionately before continuing.
“And so I had to figure out a way to make sure the dear Schreevogl family would leave their foster child alone at home. It was clear that this patrician had goods stored down in the Stadel. And when it burned, he and his servants came running immediately just as I expected. Unfortunately the little brat still got away from me, but now I’m going to get her. That is…as soon as I’m finished with you.”
He feinted a move with his saber but remained standing where he was, as if trying to seek out his opponent’s weak point.
“And the witches’ marks? What are those all about?” asked Kuisl, speaking slowly and without leaving his post in front of the exit. He had to keep the other fellow entertained. Talk, continue to talk until Simon finally came to his aid.
A shadow of confusion passed over the devil’s face.
“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
