Regensburg the hangman had noticed that the damage from the Great War in that part of town hadn’t all been repaired. The fortifications outside the city were in dreadful shape. Gaps and cracks yawned in the stone, and grass grew thick and wild over the ruins, an indication that the city didn’t have the money to rebuild at present. Perhaps there was even a gap somewhere in the city wall itself…
Just as Kuisl was preparing to leave, he heard the sound of crunching gravel behind him. Darting aside, he lost his balance and fell painfully onto his shoulder. Once he’d picked himself up again, he saw a small stooped figure in front of him, holding his hands up as if in surrender. The man wore ragged trousers and a shirt so soiled its original color was now impossible to discern. He was barefoot and as gaunt as a mangy dog, and over his long, stringy hair he wore a straw hat held together by a single leather band.
“For the love of the Virgin Mary, please don’t hurt me!” the little man pleaded, squeaking like a ferret. “I mean you no harm. Teuber sent me!”
“Teuber? How in the world…?” Only now did Kuisl notice that the tattered creature in front of him reeked like a manure pit. And at once it became clear to the hangman what color the man’s shirt actually was: the man must have literally bathed in manure.
“And how would Teuber know where to find me, huh?” Kuisl growled, raising his hand menacingly. “Tell me the truth or else…”
The little ferret cringed. “We’ve been watching you since you left the bishop’s palace. By order of the hangman. He said we’re to bring you to him.”
“But I’m…” Kuisl began.
The ferret winked his cagey little eyes. “You almost got away from us. Thank God one of us saw you down by the bridges. An interesting passageway, that one. We-”
“Make it brief,” the hangman interrupted. “Just tell me who you are.”
For the first time the little man grinned. He was almost toothless; only a single rotted black stump was visible behind his chapped upper lip. “Me? You mean
Kuisl stood still for a moment, his mouth hanging open. “The gold diggers…?”
The ferret turned away. “Come along; you’ll see.”
Kuisl hesitated before following the stooped little creature. The hangman thought it highly unlikely this was a trap. No one knew about his connection with the Regensburg executioner, and a simple shout or wave would have sufficed to summon the guards. Why would this stinking ferret take the trouble to lie to him?
Kuisl’s companion scurried northward along the city wall, looking cautiously in every direction as they progressed. Few people were about at this early hour of the morning, but every single one of them gave this dirty little man a wide berth.
After a while Kuisl noted that the houses they passed looked poorer and poorer. Most, in fact, were no more than makeshift cottages nestled close to the city wall. Garbage piled up in the streets, and sewage flowed in broad streams through the ditches dug into the street for precisely that purpose. From time to time Kuisl and his strange companion had to wade ankle-deep through the mud and manure where skinny, ragged children were using pebbles for a game of marbles. A cart loaded with animal carcasses and manure, driven by another dark figure, passed by. The ferret turned to Kuisl and winked.
“This has never been a good part of town, down here by the city wall, but ever since the war folk like us have had it all to ourselves.” He giggled and pointed at his nose. “We’ll be there in a second. Just have to follow the scent, ha!”
At long last they reached the far end of the city. Here the western and northern city walls met in a sharp angle. Kuisl was relieved to notice a breach in the wall not far away, which had been filled in with something recognizable only on closer examination-something that caused Kuisl involuntarily to hold his breath.
A mountain of putrid wet garbage at least fifteen feet high.
Recoiling, Kuisl held his hand over his mouth and nose. He could make out the decaying carcasses of chickens, cats, and dogs scattered among the garbage-there was even an entire pig here with fat white maggots crawling out of its empty eye sockets.
On the top of the mountain of garbage stood Philipp Teuber, arms akimbo, grinning.
“So we meet again, Kuisl,” his voice boomed. “No doubt you’ve never in your life seen so much trash.” The Regensburg executioner carefully climbed down the slippery slope, his boots sinking in almost to his knees. “It’s not like this in your little Bavarian village, is it?”
“Something to be proud of, you old knacker!” Kuisl turned away, disgusted, but with a thin smile on his lips. His former torturer had become a true friend. “I should have known you’d never leave me in peace.”
Kuisl looked around cautiously to make sure no one had followed him. Out of the corner of his eye he spied a few men with soiled scarves over their mouths standing not far from him and shoveling excrement from a cart. The ferret was among them. Alert gazes seemed to be watching him with interest.
“You can trust them,” said Teuber. “If any of them betrays you, I’ll break every bone in his body and toss his corpse onto the pile like a dead animal to rot alongside the others.” He smiled. “And besides, you’re one of us, a hangman without honor, just like the whores, beggars, street performers, and knackers. We all ought to stick together.”
Kuisl pointed at the slimy mountain, from which pieces kept breaking off and sliding to the ground. “What are you going to do with all that stuff? Bury it?”
Teuber shook his head and pointed behind him. “From here the rubbish goes right into the Danube, a few cartloads of it every day. The city pays us well for our work.”
“Us?”
The Regensburg executioner spat noisily. “All I do is bring it here. The real work is done by the knackers and the gold diggers. They empty the sewers and bring the mess here.”
Kuisl looked down at his feet, where iridescent yellow sewage ran over his leather boots.
“Pure gold,” Philipp Teuber added, pointing at the pile of garbage fermenting in the rising sun. “I think it was a Roman kaiser who once said that gold doesn’t stink. Believe me-without my men the city would choke on its own filth.”
“How did you find me?” Kuisl asked abruptly.
“After you fled Fat Thea’s place, city hall really gave me hell,” Teuber said. “I think the noblemen know it was me who helped you break out of the jail, but they can’t prove it.” He tapped Kuisl on his bandaged left shoulder. “It’s all better, isn’t it? I told you, my remedy-”
“Be quiet you wise-ass,” Kuisl interrupted. “Finish your story.”
Teuber caught one of the many bluebottle flies that buzzed around the trash heap and crushed it between his fingers. “The whole city knows you were hiding out in the bishop’s palace,” he finally said. “It was clear that you’d have to get out at some point, so I asked my gold diggers to keep an eye out. They see more than any soldier does; plus they manage to keep out of sight themselves.” He wiped the sweat and dirt from his forehead. “But that won’t do you any more good than it’s done already. You’ve got to get out of here, and fast.”
“There’s one thing I have to do first,” Kuisl replied.
“I know what you have in mind, and that’s why I brought you here.” Teuber looked Kuisl in the eye before he continued; his words were measured. “I now know who the third inquisitor is. Fat Thea told me.”
Kuisl’s gaze wandered aimlessly over the city wall as if he sensed something lurking behind it.
“Since last night I believe I know, too. If it’s who I think it is. But it’s not possible…” He hesitated. “He sent me a letter-a letter from a dead man.”
“Weidenfeld?” Teuber asked incredulously. “But…”
“Weidenfeld, ha!” Kuisl took out the crumpled note he had discovered in his breast pocket just two hours before. “The bastard was inside the bishop’s palace! At first I thought I was dreaming-until I found this letter.” Gingerly he held up the paper as if it were poison. “He must have brought it to me while I was sleeping. He probably bribed the guards and managed to slip in unnoticed. Or he’s a ghost.” His face darkened. “This man is dead. I killed him with my own hands. It’s impossible he’s alive.”
“Ghost or no ghost,” Teuber retorted. “If vengeance is what he’s after, why didn’t he simply slit your throat while he was inside the bishop’s palace?”
