up. I have no idea who-perhaps it’s this Weidenfeld who keeps sending these cryptic letters… or perhaps some other complete lunatic. Who knows? But there are still a few things I don’t understand. Did you know, for example, that Andreas Hofmann had a secret alchemist’s workshop?”
“An alchemist’s workshop?” Gessner frowned.
The medicus nodded. “We found a secret room in his cellar where some kind of alchemical experiments were taking place. There were traces of a strange-smelling bluish powder that unfortunately, just like everything else down there, has by now been reduced to ash. Did you know about this room?”
The raftmaster was silent for a long time; he took a long swig of brandy before finally replying. “Hofmann actually was dabbling in alchemy,” he said. “I wasn’t aware of the secret room, but I suspected something of the sort. For years Andreas had been in search of this…” He paused briefly. “Well, of this stone they’ve all been trying to produce.”
“The philosopher’s stone,” Simon whispered.
Gessner nodded. “Exactly. He thought he was getting close to being able to turn iron into gold. Naturally, none of us believed him, and truthfully we even made fun of him a bit. It was just such a crazy idea, though perhaps there really was something more to it. A few days before he died he was hinting that he would very soon be a very wealthy man-”
“So maybe that’s what happened!” Simon leaped out of his chair and paced the little room excitedly. “Hofmann is on his way to creating something very valuable in his workshop-perhaps the philosopher’s stone even. Whatever it is, the Regensburg patricians are very eager to get their hands on it. They question him, but when he doesn’t give them what they want, they kill him and his wife-or have them killed. It’s a delicate matter-there may even be others we’re not aware of, all of whom are after the same thing. So the aldermen have to see to it that not even the slightest suspicion falls on them. That would explain why they lured Kuisl to Regensburg. They have to ensure everything looks like an ordinary robbery-murder. The whole thing really has nothing to do with the freemen at all!” Simon was worked up now. “Once the Hofmanns are dead, the patricians have the whole house ransacked. But they can’t find the philosopher’s stone, because Hofmann hid it down in his workshop!”
“So?” Gessner asked curiously. “Where’s this stone now?”
Simon settled back down on the crate and sighed. “We’ll probably never find out. Perhaps the stone is still down there; perhaps Hofmann hid it somewhere else. The bathhouse is no more than a heap of rubble and no one’s going to find anything there now. But I’m sure the strange powder has something to do with it.”
The raftmaster thought it over, nodding as he fumbled with his red bandanna. “You may be on to something, and I just may be able to find something in those ruins yet. I have my sources…” He fingered his jet-black beard. “If I learn anything, I’ll let you know. Are you still staying at the Whale?”
Simon shook his head. “That was too dangerous… for various reasons. No, for now we’re living with the beggars guild.”
“The beggars guild?”
“I have an agreement with the beggar king,” Simon replied curtly. “I heal his sick, and in return he guarantees our safety.”
“Hmm,” Gessner mused. “Not that it’s any business of mine, but does the beggar king know about the alchemist’s workshop?”
“We told Nathan about it,” Simon replied. “Why do you ask?”
The Regensburg raftmaster clicked his tongue. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t trust him further than I can spit. Nathan will do anything for money. How else do you think he and his people can tramp about here in Regensburg without anyone bothering them?”
“Do you think…?”
“I don’t think; I
“I never thought of that.” Simon frowned. “Perhaps you’re right and we should really consider a change in our accommodations.”
“You could hide out here at my place, if you like.” The raftmaster pointed behind him. “It’s as safe in here. No one will ever find you.”
“Thanks, but I think I have an even better solution,” Simon replied in a soft voice as he stood up.
“As you wish.” Gessner opened the bookshelf door. Light streamed into the room, nearly blinding Simon, who could only stand still for a moment, blinking.
“If you hear any news, by all means let me know,” the raftmaster said as he stood there bathed in the sunlight. “And as far as this room is concerned-” He pulled Simon close. “-you know nothing. Clear?”
Simon felt Gessner’s hot, brandy-soaked breath on his face. “My lips are sealed. Promise.”
“Good,” Gessner replied, patting the medicus on the shoulder. “Perhaps I’ll send you a crate of tobacco. Do you smoke?”
Simon shook his head with a smile. “Not me, but I know someone who would be more than happy with such a gift. First, however, we’ve got to save his life.”
11
REGENSBURG
NOON, AUGUST 24, 1662 AD
The stuffy air in the brothel’s hidden room was keeping Kuisl from getting the sleep he very much needed. Teuber had left him only a few hours ago, but the Schongau hangman felt as if he’d been in this hole an eternity. It didn’t stink of urine or excrement like the cell in the city hall, but there was no light here and no air, just Jakob and his thoughts.
He sighed and groped around him on the floor until he finally found a solid object. A carafe of wine! He almost knocked the vessel over but at the last moment was able to grab hold of it. Carefully he brought it to his lips, and as the cool, invigorating liquid wet his parched palate, fresh strength seemed to flow through his body. The wine was watery but nonetheless strong and numbing enough to make him drowsy.
Just as he was drifting off to sleep, a scraping sound echoed outside the room. The wine barrel blocking the entrance was being pushed aside, and by the light of the lantern the Schongau hangman saw Dorothea’s face, dripping with sweat. The fat procuress, who had evidently moved the makeshift barricade aside all by herself, was peering down at him now with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity.
“Just wanted to make sure you were still here,” she whispered. “And since you are, it couldn’t have been you then after all.”
“What?” Kuisl croaked, lifting himself to a seated position against the cool, damp wall of the tiny chamber. “What couldn’t have been me?”
“The murder in the bathhouse this morning,” Dorothea replied. “Or
Kuisl blinked in the harsh light of the lantern. “This morning? I don’t understand… Lisl and Hofmann… that was days ago…”
“You ninny,” the procuress replied. “I don’t mean Hofmann’s bathhouse but the bathhouse on Hackengasschen Street. The master baker, Haberger, was strangled there, and the bathhouse mistress, Marie Deisch, was found in a wooden washtub with her throat slit. So it really wasn’t you?”
The hangman shook his head silently.
“From the looks of you it’s actually pretty hard for me to imagine it,” Fat Thea said. “I don’t think you could even cut your own throat right now.” She placed the lantern on the floor and entered the dark chamber. “Lots of people sure would be happy if they could find someone to blame for all the murders happening around here of late. My girls don’t even dare set foot in the streets since this stranger’s been out on the prowl.”
“What stranger?” Kuisl asked hesitantly.
Fat Thea gave him a suspicious look. “Are you truly that dumb, or is this an act? For the last few weeks
