coming, trust me.” The raftmaster laid a powerful, tattooed arm around Simon’s shoulders. “It’s possible then that we’ll need the help of people like you.”
The raftmaster stood up and clapped his hands. Two hooded men emerged from behind the sacks where Gessner and Simon were just sitting; clearly they had been waiting there the entire time.
“If you and your girl insist on staying in Regensburg, concern yourselves with the poor and don’t meddle in things you can’t change,” Gessner said, turning toward the exit with his guards.
Without another word, he disappeared among the sacks of grain, and the clattering and grinding resumed as the mill lurched to life once more.
Magdalena wandered aimlessly through the narrow city streets. She didn’t want to return to the Venetian’s ball, and the hooded man was probably waiting for her at the Whale. He’d likely discovered by now where she was staying. Where could she possibly go?
Scared, she kept running along until the rows of houses on either side ended and the starry night sky opened above her. Without realizing it, Magdalena had ended up in the cathedral square. Like the fingers of an enormous, admonishing god, two steeples rose up into the night sky, towering over an architectural profusion of bays, turrets, balustrades, columns, and gargoyles. On the broad staircase leading up to an entrance some fifteen feet above, a number of dark figures loitered, evidently intending to camp out on the worn stone stairs overnight. Otherwise, the square was empty.
All at once the hangman’s daughter felt extremely weary. Her feet hurt from running, her dress hung around her in tatters, and she’d cast off the red velvet jacket as she ran. She looked like a cheap whore fleeing her last customer after a couple of hours of hard work.
Without giving it another thought, she headed toward the steps of the cathedral in search of a spot where she could spend the night. More than once she had to step over snoring people huddled close together to ward off the cool night air. Some who were still awake eyed her distrustfully-beggars clothed in rags, many with soiled bandages on their feet and arms. Others had poorly healed stumps for legs and hobbled around on crutches. As Magdalena passed by, they scuttled toward her like huge beetles.
“Hey, pretty one,” one of them simpered. His face was pitted with deep pockmarks, and he was missing his right leg. “How about doing an old soldier a favor and warming him up a bit? I’ll give you some of my wages for it.” He shook a little tin plate containing a few rusty coins.
“Leave her alone, Scarface,” a toothless woman next to him chimed in, grinning at Magdalena through several layers of grimy rags. “The lady’s much too fine for the likes of you. Aren’t you, darling? You’ll put out only for them fancy city guards.” She cackled like a hen and thrust her hips suggestively. “Haven’t you heard it’s dangerous here in town these days for pretty whores like yourself? The reaper’s makin’ his rounds, pluckin’ up your kind and draggin’ them off in his cart.”
Magdalena cursed herself for thinking she’d find a place to sleep around the cathedral, but now it was too late to run away. If she showed so much as a hint of fear, she didn’t doubt these creatures would descend on her like a murder of crows. So she moved on silently.
“Stay here with us where it’s safe!” the old soldier cawed hoarsely. “There’s no harm in it. If I throw in another kreuzer, maybe you could keep the two of us warm at the same time. What do you say, Karl?”
A young fellow with a dumb stare giggled like a child as spit drooled out of the corner of his mouth. “Cou- cou-could be, Pe-Pe-Peter,” he stuttered, sidling over to Magdalena on his knees.
“One more step, dummy,” the hangman’s daughter warned him, “and I’ll slash your face so good you’ll look like your pockmarked friend here. Now go away!”
“No way, darling,” the veteran said. “Here’s your chance to make some money.” He reached for her dress and tried to pull Magdalena toward him-a miscalculation, as he learned all too soon. The hangman’s daughter kicked the stump of his leg so hard he collapsed, whimpering and rolling around on the cathedral steps.
“She’s attacked Peter Pockmark!” the old woman cried. “She’s stuck a knife in his chest, the little slut!”
“Nonsense!” Magdalena shouted. “All I did was-” A brass plate struck her in the face, sending her staggering backward. Out of the corner of her eye she could see three more beggars running down the steps toward her now, swinging their crutches like halberds and not looking the least bit hobbled or lame. Magdalena leaped over Peter Pockmark, who still lay groaning on the steps, and ran through the cathedral colonnade. Perhaps she’d come across a doorway and find refuge inside the church.
She ran past stone columns, saints, and gargoyles. At every turn someone seemed to lie in wait, and she could hear footsteps rapidly approaching from all directions. She found a narrow doorway, but just as she grasped the door handle, she felt the heavy weight of a hairy arm on her shoulder. She spun around, prepared to fight to the bitter end, but a voice whispered in her ear.
“Don’t move an inch, girl. I’ll take care of this.”
In front of her stood an older man with a bandage over his right eye, whom Magdalena instantly recognized as the blind beggar Simon had cured in the city square.
“I’ve been looking for you all night,” he whispered, eyeing her reproachfully from head to toe. “The way you look, it’s high time I found you. Your friend is worried sick.”
Meanwhile, Reiser turned to face the motley band that had gathered at the side door ready to attack the hangman’s daughter with crutches, stones, and rusty plates.
“Listen up! This girl is one of us!” Reiser shouted. “She belongs to the young medicus who’s already done so much to heal many of our brothers and sisters. And she stands under the personal protection of the beggar king-so leave her alone!”
“She-she nearly killed Peter Pockmark,” the old woman retorted in a faltering voice. “And she offended us, the fresh whore!”
A murmur went up in the crowd, accompanied by a handful of stones that flew through the air.
“The little slut ought to be glad we’re looking out for her!” replied a hunchbacked man on crutches. “Especially these days with a monster on the loose snatching up whores and ripping their bodies to shreds. She can at least lie down with us a while in thanks. It’s only just!”
“You want to explain that to Nathan?” Reiser snarled, glaring at him menacingly. “Do you want to tell him what’s just and what’s not?” He turned then to the others. “Shall I tell Nathan you’ve no more interest in obeying his orders? Shall I do that?”
The hunchback cringed and crossed himself. “We didn’t mean it that way. We just thought-”
“Now then-seems there’s no problem after all.” Reiser took the astonished Magdalena by the arm and led her slowly down the stairs. “I’m taking this girl to Nathan now,” he informed them in a booming voice, “and I do hope no one attempts to interfere.”
The beggars muttered and grumbled but stood aside, forming a passage just wide enough for Magdalena and her rescuer. Disgusted, the hangman’s daughter noticed some of these wretched creatures licking their lips and gesturing obscenely, but no one moved an inch from his place as they passed.
“All right now, back to bed with you all,” Reiser said to the crowd once the two of them had made their way down to the cathedral square. “And be quick about it before the guards come and drive you out of here with their pikes. Whoever’s feeling sick or in pain can come to the guild house tomorrow, and the doctor will take care of you all, provided you keep your hands off his girl.”
The old beggar pulled Magdalena into a narrow lane. For a time she could still hear the mumbling crowd behind her, and then the nightmare was over.
At that same moment, just a few blocks away, Satan was forcing Katharina’s thighs apart, digging into her back with his claws. For more than a week now she’d been awaiting her fate in a daze. She’d long since lost the ability to distinguish between dream and reality.
Katharina felt sharp needles pierce her flesh; she could smell her own blood. She punched and she clawed, but the hairy, foul body bore down on her, pinning her to the ground until a searing pain spread between her legs. She could almost taste the oily, musky sweat of a rutting goat trickling down her body. For a single moment she opened her eyes to see three black-robed priests in her cell, pointing at her.
Their eyes flashing like embers, the men metamorphosed into a trio of nude virgins before her eyes as they
