The Beggar King

to ward off evil spirits. “You’ll drive a man crazy with your superstitious blathering.”

All of a sudden he stopped. To their left a narrow, overgrown path-more like a deer trail-led off into the forest. They’d almost overlooked it. On closer inspection they spied a border stone among the leaves and rotting branches. And next to that, half rotted and buried in foliage, were the remains of a wayside cross.

Kuisl picked up the splintered crucifix and leaned it almost reverently against the stone.

“Weidenfeld,” he murmured. “We’re on the right track.”

They headed down the path, making their way with difficulty through fallen trees and dense undergrowth. Freshly broken branches indicated someone had recently passed this way. The air filled with the odor of mushrooms, decay, and rotting wood, and all they could hear now were their own footsteps and muffled breathing.

After a good quarter-hour the forest brightened and a sunny clearing with tall bushes and young trees opened before them. It took Kuisl a while to realize this grove concealed the remnants of houses. Nibbling on a hazelnut bush that grew out of a crumbling well, a deer caught sight of the two intruders and bounded away, leaving behind it a deep silence that took Kuisl’s breath away.

Weidenfeld…

His mind awash in memories, the hangman looked around. Roofs had collapsed, scorched beams rose out of the ground; all that was left of the houses were piles of stones among which blue forget-me-nots were growing. In the town center a street was now overgrown with ferns and wild grain, and a little tower rose up over a pile of stones in the distance. Crooked mossy gravestones reminded Kuisl that at one time a village church must have stood there.

High in the tower, in a burned-out window, a man sat, legs dangling over the ledge. He beckoned to them, but instinctively the hangman took a step backward.

How is this possible? From what hell has he returned?

The man who sat there cackling like an old hag, his lips twisted in a wolf-like grin… this man had been dead for almost thirty years.

Almost prancing, the Venetian ambassador circled Simon and Magdalena, who were both bound with heavy ropes on the floor of the mill.

“Simon, Simon,” Silvio Contarini said, dabbing the sweat on his forehead with a white lace handkerchief. “You put me in a difficult position. You tell me what I should do with you now. I most certainly have a use for your charming companion-but for you?” He shook his head. “All three of you ought never to have left Schongau-you, honorable medicus; the bella signorina; and her hulk of a father, as well. But now isn’t the time for regrets. How did you ever find out about our hiding place? Speak up now. Or will I have to fill your throat with flour to get you to talk?”

Simon tried to pull his arms free, but the boat ropes were as tight as iron clamps. He turned his eyes to Silvio’s servants, seated in a corner of the mill drinking brandy. In the meantime three enormous fellows had joined them. Like their comrades, they wore soiled leather vests and trousers spotted with mud, and Simon thought he’d seen one or the other before, working as day laborers on the boat landing.

All five cast fierce looks at the medicus who’d killed their friend. Simon was sure an excruciating end awaited him if he couldn’t come up with something quick. What in the world had he gotten himself into?

“It was just a guess, but it turns out I was right!” he panted, red with effort. Despairing, he stared up at Silvio, who still regarded him like some annoying insect. “Where else could you have milled such a huge quantity of grain?” He struggled to loosen the fetters, then sank back onto the floor.

“When I realized the milled powder was ergot, I remembered just how much of it we saw down in the little bathhouse laboratory,” he continued. “Of course, it was nothing but ash by the time we found it, but there must have once been hundreds of pounds of it. To grind so much flour, you’d need a big mill, and someplace out of town, where you could go about your work undisturbed. The mill on the Wohrd!”

“Hmm, not bad.” Silvio considered him with interest. “But couldn’t it have also been a mill somewhere outside of town, in a suburb perhaps?”

“The sacks gave you away.” In spite of his desperate situation, Simon almost laughed when he saw the Venetian bite his lip. “I was here not long ago, and the linen sacks in the bathhouse cellar were the same as the ones here-gray-white and tied with black rope. And only this morning did the thought occur to me… What have you done with the Wohrd miller? Did you bribe him, or kill him?”

Silvio shrugged. “That wasn’t necessary. He is one of us, and in our blessed brotherhood each of us has his duty.” Now he counted off with his fingers: “The bathhouse owner, Hofmann, was responsible for growing the pure ergot; a few loyal farmers cultivated it; the miller on the Wohrd ground it; and the baker mixed it into his dough. Each among us knows his place.”

“But it’s unfortunate that Hofmann and Haberger had their sudden qualms of conscience,” Simon replied defiantly. “So they had to be eliminated.”

Silvio scowled. “Sad, yes, but those were precautionary measures and couldn’t have been avoided. Our cause is much too important; there’s no place among us for ditherers.” The Venetian ambassador bent down to stroke Magdalena’s hair. “The only thing we were missing was a test subject for the ergot. We tried it out on rats and cats at first.” He smiled. “And, admittedly, with highly satisfactory results. The animals began to quiver and run in circles, though unfortunately some died. I then found some young girls willing to sacrifice their bodies for science.”

Magdalena shuddered. “The prostitutes who vanished,” she gasped. “That was you! You fed them more and more ergot until they died! You probably locked them in your cellar and fattened them up like cattle.”

Silvio frowned. “What an ugly thing to say. Honestly, I didn’t want to see them die. Insanity is enough for us; we’ll happily leave mass murder to the military. It’s just that we haven’t yet fine-tuned the dose; though this time around I’m sure we’ll get it right.” He stroked Magdalena’s hair. “One final experiment and we’ll have it.”

Simon remembered the strange cages they’d found down in the alchemist’s workshop, the buckets of dirt in the courtyard, the herbarium upstairs in the pharmacy… Hofmann’s house had been one gigantic laboratory! Simon wondered whether the bathhouse owner had known anything about the experiments on prostitutes. Perhaps that was the real reason Andreas Hofmann wanted out.

“You cloven-hoofed devil! You’re completely mad!” Magdalena spat in Silvio’s face, causing the rouge on his cheeks to run. “You hope to poison a whole city-men, women, and children! Who are you? Some kind of religious zealot? A groveling papist who can’t live with the fact that Regensburg is a Protestant city? Or maybe you’ve dipped into the ergot yourself.”

“The time of the nobles and the patricians is over,” the ambassador began smugly, wiping the spit from his face with his lace handkerchief. “The time has come for free working people, the workers and peasants.” He raised his voice so that even his men across the room could hear him. “The prophets have proclaimed the year 1666 the year of Christ’s return, and we shall prepare a dignified reception for our Savior. When the entire city has gone mad, we freemen will take command of Regensburg, and soon-”

But Simon didn’t allow him to finish. “Enough of this foolishness!” he spit out. “The return of Christ! Free working men! Nobody’s going to believe that! You’re a smug little nobleman yourself, and you’re proposing the freemen wipe all nobles off the face of the earth. You can’t be serious! You’ve got something else in mind, Silvio Contarini.” His lips twisting into a grimace, Simon looked the Venetian up and down. Silvio’s face was now strangely rigid.

“I saw through you long ago,” Simon continued. “You don’t give a rotten fig for religion, for ordinary, hard- working people; it’s all politics for you, or at least whatever you consider politics to be.”

“So, if he’s not one of the crazy freemen, or some heretic who’s out to get the rich,” Magdalena began disbelievingly, “then what-”

“The Reichstag!” Simon interrupted. When once again the monstrousness of Silvio’s plan became clear to him, he shuddered. “He wants to poison the entire Reichstag!”

Magdalena’s mouth fell open. “Poison the Reichstag?”

The Venetian ambassador glanced quickly at his five helpers. The brandy was still making its rounds among them, and they didn’t seem to be paying particular attention to the conversation across the room. “Nonsense!” Silvio whispered. “Nonetheless, I’d be very much obliged if we might continue our discussion in a somewhat softer tone. The men here are simple raftsmen who don’t take any special interest in politics.”

All of a sudden Simon thought he saw his chance. “If we promise not to tell a single soul about your real