Death and the Devil

had just called midnight. In an hour the Franciscans, Benedictines, and Carmelites would be getting up for matins, to greet the new day with psalms and listen to readings from the Church fathers. Most of them with their eyes closed and snoring.

“Getting cold,” one said with a yawn.

“You should be glad,” said his comrade. “When it gets cold the thieves stay in the warm, the down-and-outs freeze to death, and the streets are quiet.”

The house entrances passed, solid blocks of darkness.

“Did you hear they found two dead bodies this morning? A whore in Berlich with a bolt through her eye and a man by the Duck Ponds, he had one through the back of his neck. Odd little things they were. Like a crossbow bolt, only somehow too small.”

“So what? Scum.”

“Still.” He shivered. “It’s odd.”

“I’m quite happy if they start cutting each other’s throats. Peace and quiet for us.”

“Sure, but who goes shooting these funny little bolts nobody’s ever seen before? The canon of St. Margaret’s mentioned the Devil. A possibility, don’t you think? Whatever, my parents are so scared they’ve shoved the table up against the door.”

“What’s the point?” The other man gave a harsh laugh. “Let the Devil come. We’ll keep our eyes open.”

The other grunted some kind of agreement. They rode on in silence, across Haymarket and down past the malt mill. The horse in front snorted. The man stroked its mane, muttering quiet words to calm it down, then resumed his sleepy posture, slumped slightly forward.

Urquhart watched them pass.

They had ridden so close by him he could have stretched out a hand to pat the horse’s flanks. His fingers touched the polished wood of his tiny crossbow. It was almost a caress.

Then he set off to check the churches where the homeless slept in the doorways.

13 September

PLANS

“Now I know what we’ve got to do,” said Jaspar, his cheeks bulging with currant porridge.

Jacob was clasping his head.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jaspar. “Ill again?”

“Drunk.”

“Stuff and nonsense. The drink was yesterday. Look outside. The sun’s shining, the Lord has sent us a new day and phenomenal new thoughts into my head, since nothing will grow on top.” He waved his finger impatiently over Jacob’s bowl. “What’s wrong? I get the maid to make us some sweet porridge that would have the emperor himself licking his lips and you sit looking at it as if the currants had legs.”

“It’s my stomach that feels as if it had legs.” Jacob groaned. There was a thumping above his head. Rolof was working in the loft and he was doing it noisily. Too noisily for Jacob’s state of health.

“The youth of today!” Jaspar shook his head. “Go out, if you must, and stick your head under the pump.”

“I didn’t see one.”

“Where do you mean? In the yard? My house does not have the luxury appointments of Goddert von Weiden’s. Just past St. Severin’s there’s—ach, nonsense Rodenkirchen, you jackass. You mustn’t be seen outside with that burning bush of yours. I’ll go and see if I can find a habit for you.”

He scraped up the last of his porridge, licked his fingers with relish, and smacked his lips. “Excellent. Come on, eat up.”

“I can’t.”

“You must, otherwise you’re out on the street.” He grinned smugly. “And that would be a pity when I’ve thought up such a splendid plan.”

Jacob took his bowl resignedly and set about it. Jaspar was right. The stuff not only tasted good, it did him good. “What plan?” he asked from behind two hands sticky with porridge.

“Simple. There were two witnesses, you say, who spoke of an accident. Assuming you’ve got the story right, they must be lying. But what do they get out of it? They could make a lot more of a lovely, dramatic murder, so why go for a common or garden-variety little slip? What do you think?”

“I don’t. My head won’t start working again till I’ve managed to force this unaccustomed treat down me.”

“But it sticks out like a sore thumb. Even Goddert would see something so patently obvious.”

“Right then.” Jacob pushed the bowl away and tried to think. “They lied, without any clear advantage to themselves. Unless, of course, they killed him.”

“Getting warm. But if I’ve got it right, you only saw one man on the scaffolding—we’ll assume it wasn’t the Devil. Where was the second witness?”

“There was no one else there.”

“Exactly. And our oh-so-willing witnesses didn’t kill anyone, either. But they’re in league with the murderer. Why? Because he’s paying them. They were waiting nearby to be on the spot as quickly as possible, ready to tell their story before the body was cold. And what does that tell us about the murderer, Fox-cub?”

Jacob thought for a moment. “He prepared his crime?” he conjectured.

Jaspar gave a little whistle of applause. “Not bad for a thick head. But I’d go even further and say that also he could afford Gerhard’s death. Bribery costs money. Of course, they might just have owed him a favor, but it makes no difference. Either way, the witnesses were bought. Now to my simple priest’s mind, a knave will be open to other pieces of knavery. A man who sells his word for money has also sold his honor, prostituted his soul. He can be bought again. For the highest offer.” He grinned. “How about making these so-called witnesses one ourselves?”

“With money? I’d have to rob a church first.”

“I wouldn’t be entirely happy with that,” said Jaspar drily. “I was thinking more of a pretend offer.”

Jacob nodded. “Of course. I go out and start asking for the witnesses to Gerhard’s accident. How long do you think I’d last?”

Jaspar rolled his eyes and sent up a short prayer. “Don’t act more stupid than you really are,” he said. “Do you think I’ve forgotten? Gerhard’s death will have been reported to the magistrates and they will certainly have taken a statement from the witnesses. Now it so happens that one of the magistrates, since Conrad got rid of the old lot, is a friend of mine. Bodo’s his name. He’s master of the guild of brewers, so you can see we have a common interest. I’ll ask him where we can find the pair.”

“The magistrates,” Jacob mused. That was good. “How soon can you see this Bodo?”

Jaspar spread his hands. “As soon as I want. Now if you like. He doesn’t live far away.”

“Good. Give me a habit or a hat, something to hide my hair. Then we can be off.”

“Keep your hair on, Fox-cub. You’re not going at all. You’re going to be so good as to chop the firewood in my yard.”

“But—”

“No buts. I do something for you, you do something for me.”

“I’ll do anything for you, but you’ve got to take me with you, d’you hear? Disguised and in your company, I wouldn’t be in any danger. After all, it’s a magistrate we’ll be talking to.”

“I hear you.” Jaspar sighed. “And I can see you doing something silly behind my back. I’ll send Rolof to fetch Richmodis, to give you a good reason not to do something silly.”

“I—” Did Jaspar say Richmodis? “All right.”

“You see?” Jaspar rubbed his hands. “Aren’t you lucky? Old Uncle Jaspar does the spadework for you and scatters the seeds of reason. You may thank me. If it leads to anything, you can still come along.” He placed his finger on the end of his nose. “Just a minute. There was something else. Something I needed to know? Damn, we