A few steps away Magdalena noticed a gaunt figure about to disappear in the crowd with her sack under his arm. She jumped up and took after him.
“You blasted thief!”
Simon joined the chase, and together they ran through the crowd, bumping into travelers disembarking from their rafts, arms loaded with crates and sacks. Magdalena heard shouts and splashing behind her but had no time to turn around. The thief was already almost out of sight. Her dress fluttered behind her like a flag in the wind as she desperately tried to catch up with him. That bag contained everything connecting her to her home in Schongau, including a little faded portrait a peddler had once made of her mother. She mustn’t lose it!
The thief was running along the edge of the landing now where, away from the crowds, he could run faster. Simon had chosen the same path and was right on the man’s heels, followed close behind by an angry, cursing Magdalena. As they approached a line of storage sheds, the thief made a sharp turn toward a stack of logs and crates. On the other side a narrow lane crowded with carts, carriages, and people led into the city. If the thief got that far, they would certainly lose him!
At just that moment Simon stumbled over a rope on the ground and fell to his knees as Magdalena rushed past him.
“Stop, thief!” she shouted. “Stop him!” But the few raftsmen and dock workers standing among the stacks only glanced at her indifferently.
The haggard thief swung the sack over his head triumphantly as he clattered onto a pile of logs. Just as he reached the top, a figure appeared from the right. He had jet-black hair tied into a ponytail, and the muscles on his tanned upper arms rippled like little balls under his skin. He grabbed the bottom-most log with both hands and pulled it out from under the stack with one powerful tug. The logs on top came loose and started to roll, crashing down in all directions.
The thief teetered briefly like an acrobat on a rope, then fell with a cry and lay pinned between the logs, moaning.
The black-haired man reappeared from behind the piles where he’d taken refuge from the avalanche. Magdalena at first guessed he was in his early thirties, but as he drew closer, she could see he was considerably older. Folds had formed around the corners of his mouth and piercing blue eyes, lending him a mature and stately appearance. He wore a simple leather waistcoat over his bare upper body; his only adornment was a red cloth knotted around his neck. In his enormous hands Magdalena’s sack dangled like a little toy.
“I believe you’ve lost something,” he said, tossing the bag to Magdalena. “And as far as this fellow is concerned…” Grabbing the nearly unconscious thief, he dragged him to the edge of the landing. “A cold bath sometimes works wonders.” With a wide swing, he threw the howling man into the Danube. When the man resurfaced, he floundered until the current carried him away at last.
“Don’t worry,” the man said. “He can swim. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to cool off this hothead. He’s just a little miscreant with whom even the hangman doesn’t want to dirty his hands. But I won’t tolerate thieves on my wharf. It’s bad for business.”
With a smile he approached Magdalena and held out his hand. A few tattoos adorned his muscular upper arm, among them some kind of sea monster emerging from a wave.
“My name is Karl Gessner,” the man said with a broad grin that revealed nearly perfect white teeth. “I’m the city raftmaster. Sorry that your stay in Regensburg has gotten off to such a bad start, but at least you have your bag back.” He pointed to Simon, who had finally gotten up and came hobbling over. “I hope your friend didn’t get those bruises on his face around here. You’re probably new in town and looking for work. Is that right?”
“It’s possible,” Simon said abruptly.
The raftmaster grinned. “I can sense that from three miles away, against the wind. If you wish, you can earn a few kreuzers from me today. Here on the docks there’s always something to do. Lugging crates, caulking boats, tying logs together for the rafts…” Gessner whistled through his fingers, and several laborers came running over at once to help him restack the fallen logs.
“Thanks, but-” Magdalena began, but Simon interrupted.
“Believe me, that wouldn’t be a profitable deal for you,” the medicus replied, wiping the dirt from his trousers. “My hands are more suited to holding a pencil or a pair of tweezers than heavy barrels. But if one of your workers happens to have an infection in his leg or stomach pains, we’d be happy to show our appreciation for your kindness.”
Gessner clicked his tongue. “A traveling barber, then! Well, I’d advise you to watch that the guards don’t catch up with you. They don’t much care for quack doctors.”
“Simon is no quack doctor,” Magdalena said firmly. “He studied in Ingolstadt.”
“All right, fine, I didn’t mean to offend your friend,” the raftmaster said, trying to calm things down. “A physician with medical training is always welcome here. Perhaps I even have something for you…” He shook his head from side to side, thinking. “There’s a tavern not far from here. It’s called the Whale, and it’s just the right place to go if you’re new in the city. That’s where everyone in Regensburg goes who’s looking for work. I’ve even seen traveling bathhouse journeymen there. Just say that Raftmaster Gessner sent you and you have my recommendation.” He winked. “I can trust you, can’t I?”
Simon raised his hand solemnly to give his word. “I swear we’re not quacks-you have our word on that.” He smiled and bowed slightly. “Our deepest thanks. It’s always a blessing when a person has someone he can trust in a strange city.”
“Maybe we’ll meet again sometime at this-uh-Whale,” said Magdalena, tossing her sack over her shoulder after checking to see that nothing was missing. “But first we’re going to visit my aunt. She’s the wife of the bathhouse owner Andreas Hofmann. You don’t happen to know her? I hear she’s seriously ill.”
The blood drained instantly from Gessner’s face, and his whole body seemed to turn to stone. For a moment he was speechless.
“You-you-are…?” he stammered.
Magdalena looked at him anxiously. “Is there something wrong?”
It took a moment for the raftmaster to get a hold of himself again. When he pulled himself together at last, he laid his hand on Magdalena’s shoulder. “You’ve chosen an unfortunate time to come to Regensburg.” The words came out slowly and ominously. “It’s said that your aunt…” He faltered.
“What’s wrong with my aunt?” said Magdalena, pulling away from the raftmaster. “Out with it!”
Gessner shook his head sadly. “I don’t know all the details-perhaps it’s best you have a look for yourself. Josef!” he waved one of the laborers over. “Take these people to the Wei?gerbergraben. Right now!”
The man nodded and turned to leave. Again Magdalena tried to get the raftmaster to talk, but he turned aside, busily hammering heavy nails into a barrel.
“Come on,” said Simon, nudging her gently. “We’re not going to learn anything more here.”
Magdalena turned away, her mouth set, and followed Simon and the workman as they disappeared down a narrow lane. As they left the dock area, though, they heard the raftmaster’s voice behind them.
“God be with you!” Gessner called after them. “And remember the Whale! Perhaps you’ll find someone there who can help you.”
A few blocks away the harsh reality awaited them.
As the two breathlessly approached the bathhouse, they could see right away that something wasn’t right. The entrance was blocked with a heavy chain and guarded by a grim-faced watchman, halberd in hand. Curious onlookers were milling about in the street, whispering to one another, while their close-lipped guide cleared out without another word to Simon or Magdalena about Lisbeth Hofmann.
The hangman’s daughter tapped one of the bystanders on the shoulder and pointed at the building. “What happened in there? Why is everyone standing around gaping?” she asked as casually as possible, though she couldn’t keep her voice from trembling. A white-haired old man in front of her had a sparkle in his eyes that betrayed something had happened here and, thank God, it hadn’t happened to him.
“The bathmaster and his wife,” he whispered. “Found in a pool of their own blood. It happened almost a week ago, but the house is still under guard. There’s something strange going on here.”
Magdalena’s face went ashen. “Are the bathhouse people dead, then?” she asked hoarsely, as if she didn’t already know the answer.
The man giggled like a child. “Dead like two old nags at the slaughterhouse. They say the blood ran ankle- deep in there. Must have been an awful mess.”
