The medicus decided to pay a visit to Gessner at the raft landing. While there was some danger in going down to the Danube, where so many city bailiffs were afoot, he was willing to take the risk.
Simon turned around, hurried northward past the bishop’s court, and entered a labyrinth of small lanes. Finally, between two buildings, he spotted the river flowing lazily by. At the noon hour there was almost no activity on the raft landing. Most freight had been unloaded in the early morning, and the raft attendants and laborers were dozing now in the shadows of crates, bales, and barrels, waiting for the sweltering noon heat to pass. A single rope hung down from a wooden crane over the Danube, swaying calmly back and forth in the breeze. The air smelled of fish, river water, and freshly cut firs, and the stench of the city was not quite so strong here. Simon felt he could breathe freely for the first time in a long while.
He asked one of the dozing workers where he might find the raftmaster and was directed to Gessner’s office in a small building next to the lumber-loading dock. As he strolled along the fortified jetty, Simon noticed for the first time just how vast the Regensburg harbor actually was. This stretch of river that ran along the city wall extended from the boat landings east of the Stone Bridge almost as far as the western boundary of the city. On his way down to the lumber dock Simon passed the wine-loading dock, dotted with respectable middle-class inns; salt-storage depots as big as barns; and innumerable mooring posts encrusted with mussels. Finally, huge piles of boards and timber came into view. A dozen day laborers were busy stacking planks and wet pieces of driftwood, some as long as a yard, that they had fished out of the Danube. Not far from here stood the raftmaster’s house-a low, lopsided shed built directly onto the jetty that looked as if at any moment it just might collapse.
Simon was about to knock on the door when he noticed it was already ajar. He carefully pushed, and it swung inward without a sound, revealing a rough-hewn table covered with an assortment of stained documents in the middle of a pleasantly cool room. Shelves built into the back wall overflowed with sealed, rolled parchments. But there was no sign of Gessner.
Simon was turning to leave when he heard a sudden clatter, a loud crash like the sound of a crate falling. The noise came from the other side of the shelves; evidently there was another room somewhere behind the office, a kind of storage room, he supposed, but inaccessible from the office directly.
Was there perhaps an entrance around the back of the building? Puzzled, the medicus left the way he came in and walked briskly around the little house. Gessner had to be working in the adjoining room, and when he finished stacking his crates, he’d surely be able to answer a few friendly questions over a glass or two of wine. All of a sudden Simon felt incredibly thirsty. The heat was bringing on a hangover-Brother Hubertus’s wheat beer must have been stronger than Simon first assumed. He had to get out of the sun, now! Where was the other damned entrance? Could he have overlooked it? To be sure, he walked around the building again, with the same result.
There was no other entrance.
Simon hurried back inside. Only now did he realize that the size of the little office didn’t correspond to the exterior dimensions.
It was considerably smaller.
Simon held his breath, listening closely. He could definitely hear the muffled sound of crates being moved around.
As Simon cautiously approached the wall on the other side of the room, he noticed a gap between two shelves. He reached in, pulled on one of the boards, and to his surprise the entire left wall-with its shelves and everything on them-swung silently away, revealing a windowless room piled high with crates and sacks. Gessner stood with his back to the entrance, building precarious towers of some large containers. By the light of a lantern on the floor Simon could see that some of the crates had been opened. Inside, dried brown leaves were gathered into bundles and tied with fine thread. The medicus instantly recognized the bundles’ scent as one he knew so well from the Schongau hangman’s house, though Simon had never before smelled it as strongly as here.
Tobacco.
Now Gessner turned around, his look turning quickly from frank astonishment to outright anger. “What in hell’s name are you doing here, you nosy little quack?” he snarled, reaching for a hatchet on his belt. “I don’t recall having invited you.”
“Uh… excuse me,” Simon stuttered, “I was looking for you, and the door was open…”
“Certainly you don’t mean this door.” The raftmaster pushed him rudely aside and slammed the wall of shelves shut behind him. The darkness in the room was now almost palpable, mitigated only in part by the small lantern on the floor. By its flickering light Gessner’s otherwise sympathetic features now appeared very threatening.
“You’ll keep this little secret to yourself, won’t you?” the raftmaster whispered. “One hand washes the other, as they say. I told you about the patricians’ plans, so
Simon nodded eagerly. Despite his fear, he couldn’t resist looking around with curiosity. When Gessner noticed Simon’s gaze, he reached into a box for a few of the brown, curled leaves. He crushed them between his fingers and held his hand out to Simon to smell.
“Expensive West Indian tobacco,” the raftmaster said, taking a seat on one of the large wooden crates. With an impatient gesture, he motioned for Simon to do the same. “There’s no better ware to smuggle right now. Tariffs are higher than ever, and therefore so are my profits.” He shrugged apologetically. “A Regensburg raftmaster struggles to make ends meet. Taxes are eating me alive, lumber thieves steal the privy seat right out from under my ass, and just two years ago a blasted flood washed my whole house clear away. So, I’ve had the new one built to order, so to speak, exactly the way I wanted.” He winked, gesturing toward the wooden partition.
With a sudden creaking sound, the secret door opened a crack. In the dazzling sunlight Simon could make out only the outline of a very large figure.
“Is everything all right in there?” a deep voice barked.
Gessner raised a reassuring hand. “We have a visitor, big fellow. But don’t worry. I’ve got it under control. You may leave.”
“You sure?”
The raftmaster nodded impatiently. “Yes, I’m sure.”
With another soft creaking sound, the door closed again. Gessner reached into another crate and fished out a bottle of brandy, which he proceeded to uncork with his teeth. He took a long swig before offering the bottle to Simon, whose hangover had started bothering him again.
“No, thanks,” the medicus mumbled. “My head… is a bit thick today.”
The raftmaster shrugged and took another slug.
“This is contraband, too,” he muttered, licking his lips. “But tobacco is better-easier to stash away, and there’s more profit in it.”
He cast a suspicious side glance at the medicus. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are? If I hadn’t recognized you right away, you’d be nailed up inside a barrel, floating down the Danube by now. What are you doing here, anyway? Didn’t I tell you you’d be better off back in your little Bavarian cow town with that little girl of yours?”
Simon sighed deeply. “As it turns out, that girl of mine just happens to be the daughter of the Schongau hangman, who’s due to be hanged, broken on the wheel, or even drawn and quartered right here in Regensburg. Magdalena is hell-bent on doing everything to save him.”
“And you, too, I suppose? This girl has you on a pretty tight leash.” Gessner grinned and poked Simon in the chest. “But you can forget about all of that-Kuisl is as good as dead.”
“There may still be a way out,” Simon said. “Something’s not quite right with your assumption that the aldermen are behind all this.”
“I don’t see the problem,” Gessner said. “It’s obvious. The patricians want their revenge on us, the freemen, so they had Hofmann stabbed to death and went looking for a scapegoat. And then Kuisl came along at just the right time.”
“All this trouble to get the Schongau hangman to Regensburg-the letter, the forged will, the trial. Why would the patricians do all that, cook up something so elaborate?” Simon persisted. “Just for revenge?”
“So what do
Simon shrugged. “I don’t know. Someone who’s obviously trying to get revenge on Kuisl must have set this all
