The hangman’s daughter flinched. Turning around, she saw only the raftsman Jeremias, who lay face-down in the water, blood forming a halo on the surface around him and a finger-length bolt protruding from his back. The two beggars alongside him lowered their clubs and stared down the long corridor. There, in the dim torchlight, stood a high official in a fur-trimmed cloak, his thinning hair hidden beneath a red hat.
Paulus Mamminger.
The Regensburg treasurer gave a sign to two guards at his side to lower their crossbows. Then he gazed reproachfully at the violent disarray in the well chamber. His voice resounded through the vaulted room like a clap of thunder.
“The game is up, Silvio Contarini! We know about your scheme. Come out now and surrender!”
“Never!” The Venetian, who like everyone else was bewildered by the new arrival, turned from Simon and retreated a few paces. He was immediately swallowed up in darkness. “A Contarini doesn’t surrender so easily! We’ll meet again, Mamminger, on the floor of the Reichstag, if not before!”
Silvio’s laughter mingled with the noise of the rushing water, which, as the many individual streams merged into one, generated an infernal uproar. For a moment they heard splashing in the distance; then the insane laughter that echoed back to them suddenly broke off.
In the meantime Simon had hoisted himself up onto the ledge, where, panting and gasping, he coughed up water and bile. Magdalena waded over and wrapped her arms around him.
“Simon, my God, Simon!” she whispered. “I thought you were dead.”
“And I thought this madman had actually poisoned you,” Simon gasped.
Magdalena wiped the last bits of ergot from the corners of her mouth. “I really made an effort not to swallow that stuff,” she said. “I guess we’ll find out in the next few hours whether I was successful. But for now let’s get out of this frigid water before you catch a chill and die on me.”
Supporting Simon, she waded through the pool toward Paulus Mamminger. The old treasurer blinked. It took him a while to recognize who stood before him-but then his face lit up.
“Ah, the mysterious beautiful woman from Heuport House!” he cried. “Tell me, how are you liking Regensburg?”
Magdalena wrung out her hair. “Too many lunatics in one place, if you ask me. And it’s too wet here.”
Paulus Mamminger laughed and handed her his cloak. “I’m certain you have some stories for me.” Then he turned to leave. “But I suggest we save that for the open air. It smells too much of death and madness down here.” A slight smile twitched on his lips. “Besides, I have to express my thanks to a loyal servant up there. I hope he’s satisfied with his reward.”
It was late afternoon when Jakob Kuisl returned to the raft landing in the little rowboat, knowing he wouldn’t be able to escape his fate this time.
A carnival-like atmosphere prevailed on the landing. A huge crowd had gathered, and guards were running about, trying in vain to shoo people back into the city. From the Wohrd a huge column of smoke rose into the sky, and piles of charred beams, some still smoldering, littered the ground. The sheds and mill wheels looked like bonfires among towering piles of collapsing boards, and the large grain mill seemed to have been swallowed up by the earth. Now the fire had spread to surrounding buildings, and the entire island was one raging inferno.
Spectators on the raft landing gawked at the scene as they would at a public execution. They cheered whenever a building collapsed and pointed excitedly at embers blowing their way. The watchmen, having already given up on saving the island, were now busy trying to keep the fire from spreading to the bridge, the other islands, and the city wharf.
When the guards finally noticed the small rowboat with its two passengers, they hesitated, whispered to one another, and pointed anxiously at the Schongau hangman tying the boat to a post on the wharf. Kuisl seemed as disinterested in the spectacle as any old fisherman from out of town. Finally the guards approached cautiously with pikes raised.
“The… monster!” one stammered. “Now we’ve got him! We must stay together! Or he’ll rip our throats right open.”
“He probably blew up the mill,” the second man whispered. “Ever since he’s been here, misfortune has come over this city like the Plague.”
Kuisl raised his hands to ward off the guards, but he was much too tired to resist them. He’d been racing so long now-first lugging the deathly pale Teuber almost two miles from Weidenfeld to the rowboat, then rowing back from Donaustauf against the current. The Regensburg executioner hadn’t regained consciousness after speaking his last words in the ruined village. Throughout the boat trip Kuisl watched blood seeping slowly through the moss, herbs, and bandages. Teuber’s face was waxy like a corpse’s, so Kuisl repeatedly checked to make sure his friend was still breathing.
“He needs help,” the Schongau hangman pleaded in a hoarse voice as he climbed out of the rowboat. Almost unconscious himself, he offered no resistance as the guards seized him and bound his hands and feet. “Bring Teuber to a surgeon,” he muttered, “a real one, or I’ll wring your necks. Do you understand?”
“Hold your tongue, monster!” one guard shouted, punching him so hard his upper lip split open and he fell to the ground. “Your game is over; you won’t get away from us again. That was you who did that to the mill, wasn’t it?”
As other Regensburgers began to recognize the man being led away, a murmur went up that gave way to cheers and shouting.
“The werewolf!” an old woman shouted. “The werewolf’s back! And look, he’s in league with our executioner! Throw them both on the mill-into the fire with them!”
“By Saint Florian, they should burn!”
“No, hang them instead! Right here!”
“Hold on, people!” one of the guards interjected. “We can’t say whether the Regensburg hangman-”
But his voice was drowned out by the crowd. People were already down by the great crane on the raft landing, tossing boat ropes over the crossbeams. They tied the rope into a noose and began to fashion a makeshift gallows. The first sticks and stones flew through the air now, and the guards, silent and pale, formed a circle around Kuisl and the Regensburg executioner, who was lying unconscious on the pier. They couldn’t hold off the crowd for long.
“Go get a city official!” a high-ranking officer shouted at the other guards as he braced himself against two farm workers who’d already drawn their knives. “If you can, bring Mamminger! Right away! Before they kill Teuber. Run! Get going, damn it!”
As one of the guards broke from the circle and ran toward town, the crowd amassed into one enormous, furious, screaming creature that charged the desperate bailiffs behind him. Kuisl looked out on the riotous mob, registering a cold, bestial look in their eyes.
This time the execution was his own.
“Nathan!” Simon cried as he stumbled out of the dark well chamber and into the bright daylight. “I should have known!”
The beggar king was counting out and distributing shiny coins to the beggars standing around him. Only reluctantly did he look up.
“Beg your pardon?” he mumbled.
“You told the treasurer we were here!” the medicus cried, kicking the beggar in the shins. “Who else do you work for? The kaiser? The pope? The Virgin Mary?”
Grimacing in pain, Nathan rubbed his shins. “If the price is right.” Finally, he grinned. “Be happy. Without the esteemed treasurer, you’d be fish food now. And your little sweetheart would no doubt be trapped in a fit of hysterical laughter, trying to claw her own eyes out, having gone stark mad. So don’t make such a fuss.”
“Great,” Simon muttered. “So we’ve been rescued from the well chamber only to be burned at the stake for arson and God knows what else. Thank you very much.”
Suddenly he felt the treasurer’s hand on his shoulder.
“We’ve been working with Nathan a long time,” said Mamminger, who’d emerged from the well chamber right after Simon. “He’s been keeping us up to date on what’s happened since you first sought refuge with the guild.”
