“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 behind 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?”
Meanwhile Jakob Kuisl had followed them to the corridor. Dirty strips torn from his coat were wrapped around his torso. Simon couldn’t see blood anymore. The hangman put his finger to his lips.
“You know what, little hangman?” the voice said again, somewhat closer. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m coming down. Smoke or no smoke, I’m not going to miss this chance…”
“Hurry up,” Kuisl hissed. “I’ll go to meet him. Simon, you’ve got to carry Clara. If you can’t clear the corridor quickly enough, or if it’s a dead end, come after me.”
“But the devil?” Simon began.
The hangman was already hoisting himself into the hole that led out of the chamber.
“I’ll push him down to hell. Once and for all.”
Then he disappeared in the shaft.
Magdalena was lying on the ground, unable to move. She was still blindfolded, and the gag in her mouth barely allowed her to breathe. Her nose detected a faint smell of decaying flesh. Something was squeaking at regular intervals. She knew it was the chain that the hanged man was suspended from. Her father had usually seen to it that these chains were always well oiled, but after several months’ exposure to wind, snow, and rain, even the best-oiled chain would eventually rust.
Georg Brandner, on whose remains the ravens were feeding up there, had been one of the many robber chiefs in the area. Toward the end of January, he and his gang had finally fallen into the trap set up for them by the bailiffs of the Elector’s secretary. The robbers and their whole extended family, women and children, had dug themselves into a cave in the Ammer Valley. After a three-day siege they finally surrendered. They’d negotiated with the bailiffs safe conduct for their families, and they’d given up without resistance. The young robbers, children all of them, had their right hands chopped off and were banished from the country. The four main perpetrators were hanged on the gallows hill of Schongau. There wasn’t much of an audience there. It was too cold for that. The snow was knee-deep. Therefore there was some dignity in the execution. No hurling of rotten fruit and not much abusive language. Magdalena’s father made the men climb a ladder one by one, tied a rope around their necks, and pulled the ladder away. The robbers kicked their legs for a little while and wet their breeches, and that was that. The families of three of the men were permitted to cut them down and take them home. Brandner, however, was left hanging in chains as a warning. That was almost three months ago. At first, the cold had preserved him rather well.
