and the Fox, for example, forgot to mention the two dead bodies in the bathhouse. I’d prefer to see Urquhart myself.”
“Too risky. It was bad enough bringing him to the house.”
“I—”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have thought of a better idea. Send one of the servants to go with him, no, better get him just to tell Urquhart the way—and hand over a supply of leather straps,” he added with a humorless smile. “Hostages are best when they’re tightly tied to one’s interests.”
“He’ll make sure of that.” Matthias grinned.
“I hope so.” Johann ran his fingers through his hair, then went back to his desk. “With all this to worry about, the work’s just piling up,” he moaned.
“Perhaps. But it’s worth it.”
“Yes, you’re right, of course. See the necessary steps are taken. I’ll inform the others.”
In the doorway Matthias turned around. “By the way, Kuno wants to come back,” he said hesitantly.
Johann looked up. “Did he tell you that?”
“Yes. Just now.”
“And what did you say?”
“I sent him away. Although—” Matthias frowned. “Perhaps it would be better to send him straight to hell.”
“I didn’t hear that,” said Johann grimly.
“No? Oh, well,” said Matthias, “a time and place for everything, eh, Johann? A time and a place for everything.”
THE LIVING DEAD
Thrrummp!
A hole in the road. Full of water.
Jacob would have liked to be able to feel his body all over. He had the suspicion his breastbone had slipped down to somewhere near his pelvis. For the time being, however, he had to abandon his efforts to free his fingers from the grip of the planks above. As long as the cart was still moving, there was nothing for it but to wait patiently and pray to some saint or other who had been in a similar situation.
He was sopping wet. Windmills were whirling inside his head. No saint had ever been through anything like this. They were grilled over a low flame, boiled in extra-virgin olive oil, cut up with red-hot pincers, or pulled in all directions at once by four horses. None had ever gone to heaven via a cart shaft. It was ridiculous.
Jacob stared at the planks. By now he knew every line and curve of the grain. His imagination turned them into rivers through a dark forest, into unmade roads like this one, pitted and fissured; the panorama of wormholes became a hellish, crater-pocked landscape and the knothole a mysterious land beyond human knowledge. You didn’t realize what there was in a simple piece of wood until you were forced to stare at it from close proximity.
After what seemed like an eternity he heard the carter shout, “Whoa.” As far as he could tell from his admittedly restricted viewpoint, there was nothing around that suggested human habitation. He saw the carter’s legs as he jumped down. They moved away, parted. There was a splash as a stream of urine hit the ground.
Jacob tried once more to free his fingers from the planks. He went about it systematically this time, one by one, instead of trying to pull them all out at once. He began with the little finger of his left hand, twisting and jiggling it, freeing it little by little until it was released. One out of ten! At least it was a start. If he could get one out there was hope he might eventually be able to resume an upright posture.
He just had to keep on twisting and jiggling.
The relieved carter came back, climbed up into his seat, and urged the horses on. He would have to make do with just the little finger for the moment.
Some time later Jacob saw walls along the side of the road. Once he briefly heard voices. Then, with a repeat of the nerve-jangling noises, the cart turned off to the right onto a flat area, where it halted. Clearly it was likely to be a longer stop this time, since the carter had disappeared into a building a few yards away.
Patiently Jacob set to work. Now that he no longer had to brace himself against the swaying and shuddering of the cart, it turned out that things weren’t as bad as he thought. The remaining fingers of his left hand did cling rather obstinately to the planks, but once they were free, the right hand slipped out by itself and Jacob fell off the shaft onto the dusty ground.
With a sigh of relief, he lay there, trying to recover. Then he examined his hands. His knuckles hurt and were bleeding, but he didn’t care. He had escaped and that was the only thing that mattered.
Only—escaped to
Like a little mouse, silent and on all fours, he crept out from under the cart and surveyed the terrain. His first impression was of a spacious courtyard or, rather, a gently rising square ending a little way ahead in an ivy-covered wall with closely planted trees behind. On the right was a long row of low buildings, not dissimilar to a monastery dormitory, with a wide entrance leading into a still larger open space. Beyond it the squat tower of a small church could be seen, also surrounded by trees. From the closest building, where the carter had gone, Jacob could hear the faint sound of voices.
He walked around the cart and saw a wall with a gate, through which they had evidently come.
A gate that two men were just closing.
He quickly pulled the hood back over his head. He couldn’t make out what kind of building this was. It didn’t seem to be a monastery, nor a village or hamlet, and the walls were too low for a castle compound. The men wore cloaks and hoods, but they weren’t monks. His preferred option was to run away, but that was no longer possible. The two men could turn at any moment. Better to take the bull by the horns.
Assuming a dignified priestly posture, he went over to one of the cloaked figures and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said.
The man turned around.
Jacob recoiled in horror. He was staring at a decaying skull without nose or lips. Where the left eye should have been was a hole gleaming with yellow pus. The other was regarding him expressionlessly.
Unable to repress his retching, he took another step back.
The being stretched out something toward him that had perhaps once been a hand and came closer. Unarticulated grunts came from its throat. Now the other man had joined them. A tangle of beard covered his face, which was unmarked, apart from a few weeping patches. With a suspicious look, he watched Jacob as he staggered back, unable to take his eyes off the horrifying figure. Then he burst out into harsh laughter.
Slowly they came toward him.
Jacob turned and ran toward the church, where a few men and women were standing, talking quietly among themselves. As he approached they looked up at him.
Ravaged faces. Missing limbs.
At that moment the door of the building where the carter had gone opened. A man whose legs ended at his knees crawled out to see what was going on. Laboriously he struggled in Jacob’s direction. The two from the gate were catching up with him while the group by the church prepared to encircle him. Desperately Jacob searched for an escape, but wherever he looked the place was bounded by walls. He was trapped. They had surrounded him, were ready to fall on him, tear him to pieces, transform him into one of them. Jacob’s head was ringing. He stumbled and fell to his knees.
One of the men opened a hole of a mouth with spittle dribbling out, and squatted down. “Can we help you?” he asked politely.
Help? Jacob blinked and looked around. Regarded dispassionately, one could hardly say they had surrounded him. On the contrary, they were observing him timidly and keeping their distance.
Again the bearded man from the gate laughed. “Hannes always gives them a fright the first time,” he roared. It didn’t sound at all threatening, just amused and friendly. The strange grunts were still coming from the faceless man’s chest, but now Jacob realized he was laughing, too, the laughter of a man with no mouth, probably no tongue.
The bell inside Jacob’s head stopped ringing. “Where am I?” he asked, getting back to his feet. He could feel his heart beating at the top of his chest, just below his throat.
The two men exchanged puzzled glances, then looked at Jacob again. “You’re in Melaten. How can you not know the leper colony, since you came here yourself?”
