“He wants something more. He wants to torment me as long as he can. Look.” Kuisl handed the paper to Teuber. Squinting, the Regensburg executioner read the few lines, whistling softly between his teeth.
“Is it true what it says here?”
Kuisl’s lips became as narrow as the edge of a knife. “I–I don’t know,” he said finally. “To find out I’ll have to pull out each and every one of the bastard’s fingernails, one by one. And if he’s indeed a ghost, I’ll whip him straight back to hell.”
Teuber frowned. “But where are you planning to look for him? You have no idea where this damned Weidenfeld could be. Besides, I still don’t understand what this name is supposed to mean. That’s not the third inquisitor’s name. He goes by-”
“You idiot! You dumb ass!” Kuisl exploded. “You still don’t get it? Weidenfeld is not the name of a
Silence fell between them; only the shoveling of the gold diggers behind them was audible.
“A… place?” Teuber shook his head in disbelief. “But…?”
“Look here.” Kuisl pointed to the first line on the tattered sheet. “‘Greetings from Weidenfeld,’ it says, just as in the first letter he sent to Magdalena. It’s a greeting from a
“So Weidenfeld is a battlefield?” the Regensburg executioner asked.
Kuisl gazed absently into space. “Not a battlefield, but a bad place, a wicked place. I tried to banish it from my mind forever, but it has been haunting me for years; I buried it but couldn’t banish it. When I opened the letter last night, it all came rushing back.”
Teuber’s eyes widened. “By all the saints, I think I’m beginning to understand. The second line of the letter-”
“I must go,” Kuisl interrupted gruffly. “At once. He’ll be waiting there for me.”
He began to climb over the muck toward the hole in the city wall but slipped suddenly and landed again on his injured shoulder.
“Damn!”
“Wait!” Teuber ran after him. “You’re injured, you have no weapon, and you don’t even know your way to Weidenfeld from here. If you-”
“Let me go! You don’t understand!” Kuisl drew himself up and continued to march to the top of the trash heap. Behind the ruins of the wall the Danube sparkled like a green ribbon in the sunlight, and soon the Schongau hangman disappeared through the ivy-covered breach in the city wall.
“I don’t
But no answer came from the other side. Teuber sighed, then hesitated a moment before ascending the pile of garbage.
“You’d better not believe I’ve risked the life of my entire family just to watch you die now, you bastard! Just hold on; I’m coming, too!”
Moments later he disappeared from sight.
The gold diggers shook their heads, picked up their shovels, and got back to the work of ridding the city of trash. Today was shaping up to be sultry and foul.
Simon stood in the shadow of a huge salt warehouse next to the boat landing, waiting nervously for the Stone Bridge to open. His heart was pounding as he watched the bridge guards slowly open the gate.
Just like Jakob Kuisl and his daughter after him, Simon had made his way through the hidden corridor into the storage room and out into the city from there. He had hoped he might find Magdalena somewhere in front of the bishop’s palace, but she was long gone. Only a short while ago this might have infuriated him, but now he was relieved. He knew where he could find her-at the home of that smug Venetian dwarf. There, at least, she’d be safe. And, considering what he now had in mind, it was best he acted alone.
Simon took the quickest way he knew through the city to the place he figured he could pick up the trail of the mysterious powder. The streets were still completely dark and deserted at this hour. Now, as he stood at the gateway to the Stone Bridge, waiting what seemed an eternity for it to open, his patience was put to the test.
While Simon drummed his fingers against the stone wall, he studied irritably the guards who calmly slid open one bolt after another. Why couldn’t these bastards hurry up? The fate of the city probably stood in the balance, and these half-drunk provincial constables couldn’t get their asses moving! Now Simon noticed he’d been chewing his fingernails for some time.
Ultimately the medicus had to admit he was happy Magdalena had gone to stay with Silvio. The situation was just too dangerous, and no one could predict who or what really awaited him where he was headed. Simon could only hope it wasn’t too late. Still, he couldn’t be the only one who’d come to this conclusion, could he? The ramifications of this powder’s existence were so great, so monstrous, so obviously horrible, that he couldn’t possibly be the only one to whom it had occurred by now. Simon breathed a sigh of relief. Evidently the conspirators hadn’t yet set their plan into motion. Of course, he first had to make sure his assumption was correct. If he was right, he’d go straight to the powers that be and…
Simon was painfully aware that city treasurer Paulus Mamminger was one of the most powerful men in Regensburg. Whom could Simon trust, then? It still wasn’t clear what Mamminger’s role was in this game, to say nothing of Nathan or the baldheaded murderer! For that reason Simon hadn’t taken the secret tunnel under the Danube. Nathan and his henchmen could very well be lying in wait for him there, their pockets lined by powerful men to whom Simon was no more than a pesky bug to be squashed.
The medicus bit his lip. He had to figure out whether his hunch was right before he could determine just whom to trust.
At last the guards managed to open the gate, and along with a dozen shopkeepers, farmers, and day laborers, Simon headed across the Stone Bridge. With fifteen arches, it spanned the river to the other side, where the Electorate of Bavaria began. In the slowly lifting morning fog, the medicus could see that the customs barrier on the other side was now raised. Walking briskly, his head bent, he hurried past the guards. The day before, Simon had found in the brewmaster’s room a brown felt hat, which he now drew down over his face. He could only hope the guards were too tired to look closely.
It seemed to work. He didn’t hear anyone call out after him, so, breathing deeply, he continued over the bridge, glancing over the railing at eddies that formed between the artificial islands. Rafts and fishing boats glided under the arches and then passed by the Lower Wohrd Island.
His goal was almost within reach.
About halfway across the bridge Simon caught sight of a wooden ramp that led to the larger island, the Upper Wohrd. A little house with a clock tower stood at the entry to the ramp. Here a city official leaned back on a bench, eyes sleepy and small, taking pleasure in the first rays of morning sun.
Simon slowed his pace to avoid arousing suspicion.
“What business do you have on the Wohrd?” the bearded guard asked gruffly. “You don’t exactly look like a miller or carpenter.” He squinted beneath his helmet as he eyed Simon. “You look more like a pen pusher to me.”
Simon nodded. “That I am.” He casually produced the tattered page he’d torn from the brewmaster’s herbarium. In the shadow of the gate’s parapet, it was just about impossible to make out anything on the page. Simon held his breath and prayed the guard would fall for the cheap trick. “The Wohrd miller is behind on his taxes, and I’m here on behalf of the city.”
“Let me see that.” The bailiff tore the paper from Simon’s hand and studied it carefully.
“Fine. You may pass.” The bailiff pompously handed the paper back. “Looks all right to me.”
Simon nodded respectfully, suppressing a grin. This man was illiterate! Not even the drawings on the back
