saw the cargo ships, tugging at their moorings, bringing stone from the Drachenfels for the new cathedral. Between there and Three Kings Gate he could just make out two more entrances in the wall, but they were bound to be barred. Cursing, he went back in and climbed out of the yard in the same laborious manner he had come in. In Bayenstra?e, panting and wheezing, he was close to giving up.
He looked around. The night watchmen patrolled here every hour. Their lantern was not to be seen. On to the next, then.
A pleasant surprise at last. Two worm-eaten planks were all that was left of the gate to the next yard. One wall less to climb over. Quickly he went in. Seeing nothing in the yard, he went to the door and pushed at it. It wasn’t barred and opened much more easily than he expected, so that he almost lost his balance and fell over. Steadying himself, he took out his torch as the door swung silently shut behind him. Once the tar was burning well he took a few steps forward.
In front of him was a large handcart. It didn’t look as if it belonged in this abandoned ruin and there were blankets strewn all over the floor. It made such a bizarre sight that he stood staring and it was a while before he sensed another noise apart from the howling of the wind. A faint whimpering, like a child or an injured animal. Hesitantly, he raised his torch higher and went around the cart. In the flickering light he saw a massive pillar. And another. And another.
The fourth pillar had eyes staring at him.
The girl had been tied to the stone with a large number of leather straps. She certainly wouldn’t be able to move a muscle. She had been gagged but not blindfolded. A mass of dark hair fell down over her forehead and onto her shoulders.
Despite the picture of misery she presented, Kuno let out a laugh of triumph. He rammed the torch firmly between the planks of the handcart, hurried back to the pillar, and untied the piece of cloth around her mouth. She spat out the gag herself.
“Oh, God!” she panted, then filled her lungs with air and coughed. “I thought I was going to suffocate.”
“What are you called?” Kuno asked in excitement.
“What?” She shook her head as if to clear it.
“That’s all right.” Kuno stroked her cheek reassuringly and took out his dagger. Quickly he began to cut through the straps tying her to the pillar. “Don’t worry, I’ve come to get you out. I’m a friend.”
“A friend?”
Her knees gave way, but Kuno caught her in time. She was still tied up with straps. Working calmly with his knife, he freed her legs, then her arms. She immediately tried to get to her feet and gave a loud groan. Her limbs must be completely numb.
“Wait, I’ll help you.”
“No.”
Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up by the pillar. “I have to do this myself. Who are you, anyway?”
“My name is Kuno.”
Quivering, she stood up and started to massage her wrists. She gave way at the knees again but managed to stop herself from falling.
“Did Jacob send you?” she asked, breathless. “Or Jaspar?”
“Jaspar?” Kuno echoed. Daniel had mentioned a dean and—“You mean the Fox?”
“Yes.” She staggered toward him and clutched him. “Where are they?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know. I don’t even know your name.”
“Richmodis. But then—”
“Do you think you can walk?”
“Just about.”
“Wait.” There were some poles leaned against one of the walls. “You need something to support yourself with.”
She saw what he was looking at and shook her head. “They’re no use, Kuno. They’re too heavy. I’ll manage.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. But how did you—”
“Later. We must get away from here.”
He hurried to the door. She was stumbling, but determined to keep up with him. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“I’ll take you to my house,” he said with a grin of satisfaction. “It’s just a short walk and the weather’s perfect, quite delightful. Take my arm.”
She smiled and Kuno opened the door.
Daniel was standing outside.
GODDERT
Goddert von Weiden felt as though he had been chopped up into pieces, then roughly sewn back together again. He hadn’t worked so hard for years. The bells were about to ring nine and he still wasn’t home. And as if that wasn’t enough, he was sopping wet. True, you could object that for the last two hours he had not so much been working as sitting drinking dark beer with one of his more generous customers. But they’d talked business, oh, yes, indeed.
You’re an old fool, Goddert told himself as he splashed his way through the mud toward the Brook. Who goes out in weather like this? He didn’t even meet a pig or dog. With every new torrent that poured over him he felt his rheumatism get worse and thought longingly of a warm fire and the contents of Jaspar’s cellar. Even the sound of his steps, the squelch as he pulled his feet out of the mud, seemed to mock him. Left, right, left, right—old, fool, old, fool.
Then he remembered Jacob and shook his head. Richmodis was right. What was he trying to prove? That the world would come to a standstill without Goddert von Weiden? Even more stupid was to try to compete with the younger man. No one else was interested and, anyway, he could only lose and make himself look ridiculous. No fool like an old fool.
He decided to apologize to Richmodis. He felt a flush of pride. Where was there a man big enough to ask his own daughter to forgive him? Then she’d tell him all the latest news about the strange story Jacob had got himself involved in, and he’d stretch out his feet in front of a roaring fire and thank God for the roof over his head.
His footsteps had stopped beating out “old fool.”
With rasping breath he plodded up the Brook to his house. The shutters were closed, no light could be seen through the gaps. Was Richmodis asleep already?
He went in. It was dark inside. “Richmodis?” he shouted, then clapped his hand to his lips. What a peasant he was. To wake the poor child. Then he remembered how busy he’d been all day. He’d earned some supper. And the fire was cold. What kind of way to behave was that, going to bed before your father had come home from a hard day’s work? She could at least have put a jug of wine out for him.
“Richmodis?”
He lit an oil lamp, then, grunting and groaning, went up to the bedroom. He stared in astonishment. She wasn’t there! She wasn’t home at all.
Of course she isn’t, you nincompoop, he told himself. She said she was going to see Jaspar, though what she really meant was that redhead. She’d still be sitting there, unable to tear herself away, while Jaspar kept refilling the glasses.
A cozy little party. A party without Goddert von Weiden?
Never!
Nodding sagely, he went back down, put out the lamp, and set off again.
THE WAREHOUSE
The man stood facing them with drawn sword. She had seen him before. His name was Daniel Overstolz. He had been a magistrate before Conrad von Hochstaden had broken the power of the patricians and redistributed the offices. Since then Daniel had the reputation in the city of being a philanderer who would chase after any skirt and was too fond of the bottle. He was seen often enough riding through the street with his cronies. The women liked him for his good looks and cheerful disposition, though he was also said to be heartless and not particularly intelligent.
