The Poisoned Pilgrim

15

ANDECHS, NOON ON SUNDAY, JUNE 20, 1666 AD

Shortly before the noon bells, pilgrims gathered on the square in front of the church, though many had been there since dawn. Amid the tightly packed crowd were brightly colored flags showing the coats of arms of many cities and villages. Simon stood wedged among a few pale, exhausted city people from Munich and a crowd of pilgrims from Augsburg who kept reciting the Lord’s Prayer and Ave Maria endlessly in their Swabian dialect. By now, over a thousand pilgrims must have crowded into the little square, and below the monastery even more were pressing up the narrow road. The pilgrims kept looking up toward the bay window of the church where the Three Holy Hosts were to be displayed at noon.

Jakob Kuisl stood alongside Simon, yawning. As so often in the past, he’d spent half the night wandering through the forest, thinking, and hadn’t returned to the knacker’s house until the early morning hours. In his black coat, the hangman tried to seem as inconspicuous as possible amid all the worshippers-which, in view of his size, was a rather hopeless undertaking. Nevertheless, Simon had been unable to dissuade him from attending the “Weisung,” or display of the hosts. Later they planned to attend mass, then join the crowd of pilgrims and monks circling the church with the monstrance. Both men still hoped something would happen that day to help them in their search.

Simon rubbed his reddened eyes sleepily. He’d been summoned by Count Wartenberg in the early morning hours. Though he was convinced he was heading for his own execution, his fears had proven groundless. The Jesuit’s powder seemed to have worked. The boy’s fever had broken, and he was clearly on the road to recovery. When, once or twice, the count gave Simon a sidelong glance, the medicus feared his search of the study the day before had in fact not escaped notice. And when the count patted him on the shoulder, Simon had to be careful not to wince.

A sudden pain brought the medicus back to the present-a pilgrim had accidentally stepped on his foot. Simon suppressed a curse and turned to whisper to his father-in-law. “What are you going to do if someone recognizes you now?” After Magdalena told him of their unhappy confrontation with the Semers, Simon reckoned that the hangman’s cover would be blown at any moment. “You could at least have put on a less conspicuous coat. Didn’t you say yourself that the monastery bailiffs are out looking for you?”

“Nonsense,” Kuisl growled, pulling his collar a little tighter. “They really have better things to do today than to look for some no-account Franciscan monk. Just see for yourself what’s going on here.” With a sweep of his powerful arm, he indicated the crowds of pilgrims all around singing hymns and growing larger by the minute. The smell of incense was so strong it almost made him dizzy.

“We can only hope the sickness going around isn’t as contagious as I feared,” the medicus murmured, “or all of Bavaria will catch it.”

Indeed, pilgrims seemed to have come from the farthest corners of the electorate and beyond. Simon could hear dialects from Swabia, Franconia, the Palatinate, and Saxony, and even a few foreign languages. The thought that the pilgrims might carry the disease back with them to their cities and villages made the medicus queasy. With everything going on, Simon still hadn’t had time to ask Jakob Schreevogl what he’d learned the day before in the tavern.

“Damn. I think it’s a good thing Magdalena isn’t here with the children,” Kuisl said. “The kids would be trampled to death or get lost.” Restlessly he shifted from one foot to the other, and Simon couldn’t repress a smirk. He knew from long experience how Kuisl hated large crowds. He preferred the silent forest, with just a few birds chirping in the trees.

“Magdalena wanted to talk with the abbot again,” Simon replied. “Perhaps he knows something that will help us in our search.”

“Today? No chance.” The hangman spat on the ground, just missing a little old woman nearby who glared back at him. “Why would the abbot have time for someone like Magdalena at the Festival of the Three Hosts?”

“I had a long talk with her last night,” replied Simon. “She met Maurus Rambeck recently in the monastery garden, and he told her the prior would have the honor of presenting the hosts this time.”

“An abbot who passes up the most important festival of the year?” Kuisl screwed his eyes up suspiciously. “Isn’t that a bit strange?”

“The matter with his brother really upset Maurus Rambeck. It’s completely understandable if he doesn’t feel like conducting a mass.” Simon shrugged. “In any case, Magdalena hopes to meet with the abbot again today in the monastery garden. He seems to be there quite a bit.”

Kuisl sneered. “And he wants to have a nice chat there with none other than my daughter? Dream on, son-in-law.”

“Your daughter, as you know yourself, is very persistent,” Simon said with a grin. “I have no doubt on Judgment Day she’ll even get an audience with all the archangels, if only she leaves them alone after that.”

A murmur suddenly went through the crowd. Simon looked up to see the prior on the balcony below the little bay window. Though the roof was still covered with scaffolding, the work on this important part of the monastery was already finished.

With a sublime mien, Brother Jeremias raised a silver object. The pilgrims on the square below fell to their knees, lowering their heads reverently. From the corner of his eye, Simon watched the old woman next to Kuisl turn up her eyes and tip to one side, where her elderly husband took her in his arms tenderly. Shouts and cries could be heard everywhere.

“The sacred hosts. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the sacred hosts. God bless us all.”

Simon and the hangman fell to their knees, too. The medicus could feel a warm tickle pass through him at the sight of the praying masses. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and his eyes teared up in the heavy clouds of incense. He had never been an especially devout person, especially in contrast to his wife, whose idea it was to go on this pilgrimage. But now, among the crowd of young and old who had traveled so far to view the three consecrated oblates in the silver bowl, a shiver ran through him, too. Even Kuisl seemed moved. His eyes narrowed to little slits as he stared up at the balcony where the prior had just spoken the benediction.

“Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater,

et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus…

In the name of the Father, son, and holy spirit…”

The crowd bowed even deeper, prostrating itself on the ground; some cried, while others laughed hysterically or beat their backs and chests wildly.

Only Kuisl continued staring up in fascination at the balcony.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Simon whispered. “So much faith… one could almost-”

“Spare me the nonsense,” the hangman interrupted. “I know only too well how the Catholics attacked the people of Magdeburg with spears and swords, their eyes gleaming and hands dripping with blood. If anyone wants to pray, he should do it in the silence of the church and not carry on like people at a county fair.” He pointed up at the monstrance the prior was still holding up like a flaming sword. “I’ll bet the real hosts aren’t in there, in any case.”

Simon grinned. “And I thought you had just had an epiphany.”

“What God and I have to discuss we will do alone, privately. You can believe-”

Suddenly there came shouting nearby that sounded different from the other pious cries. Simon was startled to see two men approach through the crowd, flanked by four Andechs hunters armed with spears and crossbows.

The fat man in their midst was none other than the Schongau burgomaster, and at his side, his son grinned triumphantly at the sight of the hangman.

Quickening their pace, the two were only a few dozen yards away from Simon and Kuisl.

“Ha, Kuisl! I knew it,” Karl Semer shouted so loudly that many of the pilgrims turned around to look. Even the prior up on the balcony paused briefly in his benediction.

“Rotten hangman,” the burgomaster shouted. “Your head sticks out of the crowd like a flagpole, and this time you won’t get away. Seize the heretics and the false monk.”

The bailiffs pushed their way through the protesting crowd toward Simon and Kuisl.

“Well?” Simon hissed. “I warned you, but no, you wouldn’t listen. The two troublemakers must have seen you from up there,” he continued, pointing at windows in a wing of the monastery where some of the better-off pilgrims were housed. “What in heaven’s name shall we do now?”

“What else?” The hangman pushed aside some of the pilgrims in the crowd, forming a little passageway. “We’ll run, and we’ll see who’s faster-the Schongau executioner or the fat old burgomaster and his bowlegged son. Remember, I was a hangman when that puffed-up little windbag was still shitting in his diapers.”

Cursing softly, Simon ran after him as the Semers’ wild cries rang out behind.

Magdalena strolled cheerfully with her children through a fragrant field of flowers behind the monastery. The sun had reached its zenith and shone down warmly on the fields, sending the last of the morning dew skyward in a soft haze.

She was humming quietly to herself. At breakfast in the knacker’s house, Simon had been noticeably attentive. He’d stroked her hair from time to time, letting her know he still loved her. After all their years together, all the arguments and worries, he seemed to be the right man for her, after all.

Despite Simon’s warning about possible infection, Magdalena had finally visited the clinic that morning with the children to help Jakob Schreevogl care for the patients. She intended to be there for the presentation of the hosts, but when she saw the huge crowd, she decided spontaneously not to meet Simon and her father until later, at the mass. First she wanted to see whether she’d assumed correctly that the Andechs abbot would indeed spend some time in the monastery garden that day, as well.

“Water! Lots of water! The man will squirt Mama until she’s all wet,” Peter shouted, holding her hand and hopping up and down excitedly as the stone wall at the forest edge finally appeared.

Grinning, Magdalena recalled how, just two days before, the mythical creature spat a cold stream of water in her face and how she, in a rather unladylike fashion, fell backward on her rump.

“Oh, but this time the man is going to make you all wet,” she said, teasing the boy as she pressed the latch on the gate. Secretly she worried that the iron gate might be locked this time, and was pleased when it opened with a soft creak.

Just as on her last visit, Magdalena smelled the exotic fragrance of herbs and flowers. The children ran ahead, shouting, and had soon disappeared among the climbing vines, little walls, and flower beds. From time to time, Magdalena could hear them giggle, and a smile passed over her face. This really was an enchanted place, like one of those forest clearings where fairies and sprites danced-a world far removed from the horrors taking place outside the garden gates.

Expectantly, she approached the middle of the garden where the faun stood staring back at her between a few stone benches, just as it had the last time, with a fresh grin.

On one of the benches sat the Andechs abbot.

He appeared deep in thought, and for a moment, Magdalena thought he might have even fallen asleep. But then Rambeck, aroused by the shouts of the children, raised his head and turned toward Magdalena. When he recognized the hangman’s daughter, he smiled wearily.

“Ah, the young lady from Schongau who’s so interested in herbs,” he said, gesturing for her to take a seat beside him. His eyes radiated a dark melancholy that Magdalena didn’t remember from her last visit. “Do have a seat, and tell me which healing plant you would recommend for melancholy. Certainly you know some magic herbs.”

“Well, valerian, St. John’s wort, and melissa can help with melancholy,” Magdalena replied, bowing slightly before sitting down beside the Andechs abbot. “But best of all, as far as I know, are friends and a good conversation.”

Maurus Rambeck laughed bitterly. “I’m afraid I don’t have any friends at the moment, so we’ll have to settle for conversation.”

“Your Excellency,” Magdalena began hesitantly, “I’m terribly sorry about what happened to your brother. I-”

Rambeck waved her off. “It’s perhaps better this way-it at least puts an end to the waiting and worrying. The last time we spoke I already suspected Markus was dead.”

“Markus?” The hangman’s daughter frowned.

“That used to be his name. When he became a monk, he took the name Virgilius, after the famous Salzburg bishop and scholar.” The abbot crossed himself hastily. “We were both old men. Now, in God’s unfathomable will, he has passed away before me, and I will follow him someday.”

“You were very close, you and your brother?” Magdalena asked cautiously.

The abbot nodded. “Markus was the younger of us two, and as a child, I often had to take care of him. He always had crazy ideas.” A narrow smile appeared on his lips. “That ne’er-do-well simply dropped out of the university in Salzburg and started drifting around… Rome, Madrid, Paris, Alexandria. He was even in the West Indies. I thought I’d never see him again, but then one day he showed up here at the monastery, and I did what I could for him as a simple monk. He seemed…” The abbot hesitated, “well, to have pulled himself together again. But I was wrong.”

The abbot paused for a long time, staring into space. “Sometimes I think all this struggle for knowledge doesn’t really make us happy,” he said finally. “On the contrary, it moves us away from God, from our simple, childlike faith. Markus never had that faith, not even as a monk; he was always restless and at war with himself.”

The sound of bells could be heard far off, mixing with the singing of the faithful.

“Do you hear that?” the abbot asked. “People singing and praying, and they are happy. They don’t need automatons or music boxes, and they don’t want to hear that the earth is a sphere revolving around the sun in an endless universe. All they want is to eat, drink, love, and believe.” He sighed and stood up. “But perhaps we’re living in a new era; as people struggle increasingly for knowledge, they move farther and farther from God.”

Lost in thought, the abbot smoothed down his robe, stared for a while at the grinning faun, then turned from the statue, shaking his head.

“I’ll tear down these idols,” he said softly. “As well as the statues of the Greek gods in the grotto that spin around, playing that cheerful music. Things like this turn us away from the true faith. Perhaps that will bring an end to the curse.”

Nodding once more to Magdalena, he moved toward the exit slowly, like an old man. “Farewell, hangman’s daughter,” he murmured as he opened the gate. “I’ll join the others now in the square as a simple believer and pray. You should do the same.”

He looked up one last time, tears shining in his eyes. “Don’t stay too long in this garden,” he warned her. “Believe me, something terribly evil is lurking here.”

The gate creaked closed, and soon the abbot’s footsteps died away. From far off, the sound of the singing pilgrims rose and fell in unison, in a monotonous hum.

Magdalena pulled herself together and looked at the faun. It grinned and appeared to be looking back at her, almost as if it wished to tell her a secret.

Forget the old fool. Stay here with me. I’m not evil, only a stranger. Just like you, hangman’s daughter.

Despite the warmth of the June morning Magdalena began to shiver. The fragrant herbs and flowers, the little walls, the climbing peas and beans suddenly didn’t seem as friendly and inviting as just a few minutes ago. The nasturtium seemed to writhe about like a snake, and the lizards scurrying over the stones cast sly glances at her; indeed the entire garden suddenly seemed strange and threatening. And something else was troubling her.

She heard the humming of the bumblebees, the chirping of the sparrows in the bushes, the rustling treetops in the nearby valley, and the splashing of a distant fountain.

What she didn’t hear were her children.

My God. Don’t let it have happened.

“Peter? Paul?” she cried anxiously into the rampant greenery. “Where are you?”

There was no answer-only the peaceful hum of bumblebees.

“Children!” Her voice took on a shrill tone now. “Mother is looking for you. Say something!”

Still no answer. Magdalena picked up the hem of her skirt and ran along the little walls, past the climbing trellises that formed a labyrinth here. She slipped, skinning her knee, but felt no pain. Only one thought swirled through her head.

The children are gone. The sorcerer has the children.

She continued calling out. Several times she thought she caught sight of a shadow darting behind a bush or climbing trellis, but when she approached, there was nothing there but more gates and bushes-all the way to the walls at the end of the garden. She ran to the grotto where the statues of the ancient gods were standing in a circle, but the children weren’t there, either.

Finally she hurried to the front gate and ran out into the flowery meadow. The gentle, soothing songs of the faithful could still be heard at the monastery, now mixed with the high, shrill voice of a single monk. The presentation of the three sacred hosts was nearing an end.

“Peter! Paul! My God, say something!”

Magdalena looked around frantically for the heads of the little children amid all the tall flowers and wild grain in the meadow; she cried and fumed as tears of desperation and fear ran down her cheeks.

But her children were nowhere to be found. Finally, after turning around to glance at the enchanted garden one last time, she ran back to the monastery. She had to find her husband and her father. Perhaps they could help. Perhaps the two children had simply run over to the church looking for their grandfather. Perhaps everything would be all right. Perhaps.

Deep down, Magdalena knew her children were lost.

The church square overflowed with people as Simon stumbled over a sack of mortar left behind by the workers; behind him he could still hear the angry shouts of Karl Semer.

“Stop! Stop those two! They are dishonorable liars and charlatans!”

The medicus held his breath. The many pilgrims around him seemed puzzled. A moment ago, they’d been engrossed in devotions to their god; now reality intruded in the form of two men struggling to make their way through the crowd. Simon could see the bearded head of the Schongau executioner bobbing up and down among all the pilgrims about twenty steps in front of him. The hangman simply shoved the astonished bystanders aside like stalks of corn in a field, and because of his size, he made faster progress than the slender medicus. Simon could hear people shouting at him in astonishment, but no one tried to stop the huge man.

“Kuisl, wait for me, for God’s sake. Just wait!”

Simon cursed under his breath as he got up, pushing aside a heavy man blocking his way. Next to him, a woman shrieked as her rosary fell from her hand.

“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to-” Simon started to apologize when a young man punched him in the face.

“You fresh little pansy, who do you think you are, pushing my fiancee?” the broad-shouldered young fellow growled. He tried to grab the medicus by the collar, but Simon wriggled away, finding a narrow path through the crowd. He was horrified to see that his distance from his father-in-law had grown. By now, Kuisl had reached the edge of the square and was about to flee through the little gate down into the Kien Valley.

“Kuisl! Wait!”

Breathlessly Simon rushed past a group of pilgrims from Landshut, bumping into their praying leader and sending him sprawling and shouting to the ground with their banner. The richly embroidered flag, which weighed at least thirty pounds, fell on two old women, covering them like a huge bed sheet. Out of the corner of his eye, the medicus could see the two women wailing and struggling to get free from the heavy banner.

Finally Simon reached the wall separating the church square from the forest. Looking back, he was relieved to see that the two Semers were also having trouble making their way through the dense crowd. He was about to heave a big sigh of relief when he spied two of the Andechs hunters coming toward him. The bailiffs had decided not to try to make their way through the crowd in the square but to run around the edge, where there were fewer people. Now the men ran toward Simon, grinning. One already had his crossbow in hand, and the other lowered his spear menacingly.

“In the name of the monastery, stop at once,” the guard with the crossbow ordered.

Simon paid him no heed but turned and ran toward the gate through which Kuisl had just disappeared. There was a soft whirring sound, then a bolt slammed into one of the trees directly above him.

And all this because, once more, my stubborn father-in-law won’t listen to me, he thought grimly. Now we’re probably both being sought as false monks. The Weilheim executioner won’t have to complain about a lack of work.

Simon slipped through the open gate and turned right onto the path along the monastery wall. Soon he saw St. Elizabeth’s Chapel in front of him and a path leading down a steep slope into the forested Kien Valley on the left. Turning around, he was horrified to see the hunters had followed him, joined by four others, and were approaching in long strides.

The path continued along the edge of the gorge; to his right were fields and farmland. Where should he go? If he ran out into the open country, the hunters would shoot him down like an animal, but the way into the forest was blocked by the gorge. If he continued running along this path, the bailiffs would likely catch up with him soon. Unlike the slender Schongau medicus, they looked strong and athletic; laughing and shouting, they seemed to enjoy the hunt.

“Look how he runs,” shouted one, alarmingly close by. “Like a rabbit, a frightened little rabbit. Hey, stop, you coward! We’ll catch you anyway!”

The path now took a turn, and for a brief moment, Simon was out of their line of sight. As he desperately looked around for a place to hide, a hand shot out from behind a rock at the edge of the gorge and grabbed him by the collar. Waving his arms around helplessly, he was dragged behind a huge boulder.

“Damn, just what the-” was all he could say before hairy fingers grabbed him by the throat, silencing him.

“Shut your mouth and stop flailing around. You dance around more than a billy goat.”

Simon relaxed when he recognized the voice of his father-in-law. Crouching behind the rock, they were dangerously close to the gorge: only a few fingers’ breadths stood between them and the steep gorge falling a hundred feet down to the river. Kuisl continued to hold Simon tight in his grip, but looking down at the steep slope at his feet, Simon raised no objection.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from the presentation of the hosts?” Simon gasped as he tried to get a firmer footing on the narrow ledge. “Now we’re both wanted, and I really don’t know how I’m going to get out of this mmmmmm.”

The hangman held his hand in front of Simon’s mouth as the steady pounding of the bailiffs’ footsteps approached along the path. Simon could hear their breathing, and for a moment, he felt like an animal at bay. But then they passed, and soon Simon and Kuisl could hear only the twittering of the birds.

Kuisl had closed his eyes. Now he turned silently to Simon.

“There were only two of them,” he whispered. “No doubt the other two are looking for us behind the other boulders along the path. They’ll be here soon. We have no choice but to head down into the gorge.”

“Down?” Simon looked at him in horror, pointing at the cliff that fell off steeply into the gorge. “Do you mean down there?”

“Of course, you idiot. Where else? It isn’t as bad as it looks. There are little trees you can hold onto all the way down.”

Simon couldn’t help thinking of the window ledge outside the count’s office where he’d been standing the day before. Now he would have to tempt fate again. He was a good swimmer, and narrow subterranean passageways were no problem for him, but he’d always had a great fear of heights. And this one was particularly high.

“This… this is at least sixty feet up,” he objected, looking down suspiciously into the dark gorge, whose bottom was only vaguely visible among firs and beeches.

“Come now,” the hangman said under his breath. “Shall I tell Magdalena you met your end as a yellow-bellied coward on the gallows?”

“All right then… very well.”

Simon turned to face the cliff and slowly slipped into the gorge. Once he’d found a foothold in a crack in the rock, he reached out for a small fir growing on the slope, then took a step toward a ledge farther off.

“If you keep going like that, you won’t reach the bottom until St. Martin’s Day,” Kuisl said, watching him from up above. “Hurry up. After all, I have to come down behind you.”

“I’d be glad to let you go first, my dear father-in-law,” Simon hissed.

“So you’ll fall down on top of me? Thanks very much, but I’d prefer to stand guard for the time being up here.”

Simon took a deep breath, then started climbing down the cliff again. He was beginning to get the knack of it-in fact it wasn’t as hard as he’d feared at first. There were plenty of ledges, bushes, and trees to hang onto.

When he got about halfway down the cliff, he took a break, wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked up, where he could just make out Kuisl as a dark little figure between the rocks.

Still gasping, Simon reached for another little fir when suddenly he heard a loud ominous crack.

The tree above him gave way.

Another crunching sound followed; then Simon slipped. The earth below him gave way as pebbles and small rocks fell noisily down into the gorge. Up above, he saw the angry face of his father-in-law.

“Watch out, you idiot,” Kuisl hissed before realizing how desperate Simon’s situation was. The medicus only had the small fir to hold onto, and bit by bit, the roots were pulling out of the cliff. The bottom was still fifty feet below.

“Wait, I’ll-” Kuisl began.

But at that moment, the rest of the root ripped out and Simon fell downward, screaming and thrashing wildly.

The landing was less painful than he feared. The forest floor was covered with old leaves, and a gentle slope at the bottom ensured the landing wasn’t too abrupt. He turned head over heels a few times, rolling like a little human avalanche into valley and finally coming to rest next to a large beech.

Carefully Simon checked his arms and legs. Nothing seemed broken, though his jacket was ripped in several places and there were some scrapes and bruises on his face and back.

Just as he was about to call back that everything was all right, he heard cries at the top of the cliff. Squinting, he could see vague movements far up on the ledge where Kuisl had been standing. More shouting followed, along with what sounded like clanking weapons. Evidently there was fighting up there.

“Kuisl! My God, Kuisl!” he shouted. “What’s happening?”

In the next moment, it occurred to him how stupid his question was. Evidently the hunters had found the hiding place and were engaged in a fight with the hangman. And Simon was standing down below, where he couldn’t do a thing.

After waiting at the base of the cliff for a long time, not knowing what to do, he heard another shout, and moments later, a body came tumbling down, landing right in front of him. Simon cringed. Before him lay one of the Andechs hunters, his head twisted at a strange angle from the fall, a crossbar bolt embedded in his shoulder. He quivered briefly one more time, then his eyes took on the glassy sheen the medicus had seen so many times on dying men.

Wonderful, Simon thought. Now we’ll be sought not just as charlatans and false monks but as murderers, too. And all I wanted to do was to go on a pilgrimage.

“Damn, Simon, run. Run to Magdalena.” Kuisl’s voice boomed down into the valley and tore him from his thoughts. Simon looked up once more, but the figures had disappeared. Presumably the fight had moved back onto the path. Some of the hunters could already be looking for some way to get down to him.

Simon hesitated. Should he really abandon his father-in-law? Of course, he wasn’t much help to him down here either. Kuisl was right-they had to warn Magdalena. After this, the guards would surely be looking for her, as well. Were the Semers perhaps already on the way to the knacker’s house? Magdalena had suggested they all meet there again after the mass.

One last time Simon looked at the battered, twisted body of the Andechs hunter at his feet. He stooped down, closed the corpse’s eyes, and said a short prayer.

Then he ran through the dark valley past firs, beeches, and steep cliffs. He planned to make a wide circle around the monastery to reach Andechs and the knacker’s house. Perhaps it wasn’t too late.

Simon worried less about his father-in-law. This wasn’t the hangman’s first fight. No, Simon’s greater worry was that, in this situation, the hangman might commit a few more mortal sins.

Like a bear held at bay by a pack of hounds, the hangman stood on the tall rock, kicking at the hunters to fend them off.

The bailiffs had arrived just moments after Simon slid down the slope. They must have been somewhere close by and heard Simon’s shouts. Now three of them surrounded the boulder and lunged at Kuisl with spears; the fourth ran back toward the monastery, Kuisl assumed, for reinforcements.

As he continued kicking, he could see out of the corner of his eye one hunter put down his spear and reach for a little crossbow at his side. Kuisl cursed softly-up here on the rock, he was an easy target for a marksman; he’d be brought down like a wounded boar. Kuisl had no time to think, though. At the same moment, another bailiff was climbing up the rock with a dagger.

Cautiously the man got up onto the slippery, moss-covered boulder and tried to stab Kuisl in the side with his long-handled knife. The hangman dodged, grabbed the bailiff by the waist, and lifted him, screaming and thrashing about wildly, toward the archer: a living shield. At the same moment the bolt whizzed toward him, hitting the man in the shoulder. The hangman cringed as he felt a searing pain around his waist. He thought he’d been hit by a bolt, as well, but then he realized he’d only pulled a muscle and knew his back would be hurting for a day or so.

Damn, he thought. I’m getting too old for this nonsense. It’s time for the young folk to deal with these bailiffs, robbers, and insane murderers.

Kuisl released his hold, and the injured guard fell to the ground, slipping toward the cliff only a few feet away. Frantically he tried to dig his fingers into the rock, but the porous stone began to crumble. For one last moment the hangman could see the horrified face of the injured man, and then he fell, shrieking, into the gorge.

By God, I swear I didn’t want that to happen, Kuisl thought. But, unfortunately, no one will believe that.

He called down loudly to Simon to run as fast as possible to warn Magdalena, but he had no idea whether the medicus even heard him, or whether he was injured or even dead. Moments before, Simon had shouted something, but since then, Kuisl hadn’t heard a word. But now Kuisl had no time to lose. The archer on the path below was cranking the handle, winding another bolt into his crossbow, which Kuisl figured would take just a few seconds.

Shouting, he hangman leapt from the boulder and charged the three men. They instinctively withdrew, and this short moment gave him enough time to dash off down the path toward the monastery. Another bolt whizzed past his head before he reached a bend in the path and was out of his pursuers’ sight for a moment.

There was no one on the path in front of him, but close behind he could hear the shouts of the three bailiffs. It would be just a matter of seconds before they would appear behind him again.

As he looked around anxiously, he spotted a nearby alder tree, just on the other side of the wall, with a thick bough projecting over the path.

Kuisl sprinted, jumped up, and clutched the branch, which creaked menacingly under the sudden weight. Then he pulled himself up, clenching his teeth, balanced himself on the branch, and ran over the fifteen-foot wall of the monastery. Without looking down, he jumped over the side, his black coat fluttering like the wings of an enormous bat.

And not a moment too soon.

As Kuisl rolled down the embankment wet with dew, he could hear furious shouts from the other side of the wall. Had they seen him jump? He held his breath, but the men kept running, and soon silence returned.

Breathless, the hangman looked around. He was in the monastery cemetery. Graves with wooden and stone crosses dotted the broad grassy area toward the monastery, and in the center was a round well that he remembered from his previous visit-the same one from which they’d fished the burned corpse of the watchmaker two days before.

Crouching over, Kuisl ran along the graves while organ music sounded from the church. Evidently the service of thanksgiving to honor the sacred hosts was underway.

Once more the hangman observed the fresh graves of the two novitiates Coelestin and Vitalis; and not far from there, the mound marking the grave of the third older monk who had died more than a month ago. The footprints had disappeared, but the earth still looked as fresh as if it had been turned over just a few days before. Kuisl thought about the handkerchief with the initials that he and Simon had found next to the grave.

Was it possible a bloodthirsty golem had defiled the corpses here?

He shook his head as he continued past the well and a few more stone crosses, finally arriving at the oldest section of the cemetery. The crosses here were crooked, weathered, and partially covered with ivy. Faded Roman numerals indicated which people had passed away many years ago.

Kuisl remembered Simon’s stories about the destruction of the castle. It wasn’t until two hundred years later that the Augustinians had founded this monastery. Later still came the Benedictines. Some of the graves here must have dated from that period. Or were there perhaps other, even older, graves?

Again his gaze wandered over the cemetery’s crosses and circular well. As so often happened when he was about to come upon some connection, some missing piece of a puzzle, something troubled him. But whatever it was, it was still beyond him, in his subconscious, and had not yet come to the surface.

The graves…

Sighing, he finally gave up. There were too many other things to clear up at present. He could only hope that Simon had managed to escape and warn Magdalena in time. Kuisl absolutely had to speak with the two of them. Perhaps by that time, whatever was rumbling around so deep in his subconscious would come to light. But how could he get in contact with his daughter and son-in-law? He couldn’t go back to the knacker’s house. Surely the two Semers would be lying in wait for him there with a few guards. So where should they meet?

Kuisl thought about this for a moment before breaking out into a wide grin. The perfect place had just come to mind.

If Magdalena was really his daughter, she’d know where to find him.

Nearly blind with anxiety, Magdalena ran across the field of flowers, along the gorge that led down into the Kien Valley.

Her children had disappeared. Perhaps this lunatic had already seized them. Some madman had already tried to kill her several times, so why wouldn’t he go after her children, as well? Magdalena still hoped the two boys had just run off and were playing somewhere nearby. She worried most about the steep rock slope nearby and decided not to tell Simon and her father yet, but to first have a look along the edge of the gorge.

“Peter, Paul? Can you hear me? Are you here?” Her voice echoed across the deserted valley. Wherever she looked, she saw rocks and ragged boulders that looked like petrified trolls amid the stunted pines and spruce, like man-eating ogres whom God had punished long ago for their transgressions.

Did the trolls eat my children, as well?

She continued past some thorny bushes blocking her view into the valley. Looking down, she saw one of the Andechs hunters dressed in green several yards below, running toward the monastery along a path that skirted the edge of the gorge. She was about to call for help when the man encountered two other bailiffs. Gesturing wildly, the little man stopped to tell them something, but from where she stood above the trail, Magdalena could understand only a few words.

“The false monk… chasing… fleeing with this bathhouse doctor… need reinforcement…”

The false monk? The bathhouse doctor?

Magdalena could feel the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She knew only one false monk and one bathhouse doctor in Andechs: her father and Simon. What in God’s name had happened? Evidently her father had been found out, and these men were chasing him and Simon.

She crouched down behind one of the hawthorn bushes and waited. She couldn’t hear a word of their conversation, but all three of them went back in the direction the first bailiff had come from.

Magdalena’s head was spinning. Did she dare to keep calling for the children? It was possible the hunters would hear her and recognize her. As they knew she was the wife of the Schongau bathhouse surgeon, it seemed a better idea to steer clear of the bailiffs.

Anxiously she gazed across the valley one last time. She saw rocks, trees, bushes, dead wood…

But no children.

Practically numb with despair, Magdalena bit her fist. The pain helped her to think clearly, at least for a while. She needed help, and the only two people who came to mind other than Simon and her father were Graetz and Matthias. Taking a deep breath, she turned and ran back across the meadows and fields until she arrived at the dirt path to Erling. Her heart was pounding in her chest and every breath was painful, but still she ran on and on. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she could see the knacker’s house between two other farmhouses at the forest edge.

Suddenly she stopped.

Suppose the hunters had already been here? The two Semers at least knew that the Kuisl family was living here. Still, the ramshackle cabin at the forest edge seemed quiet-there was no one in the little vegetable garden; only a few goats were tethered there, grazing in the meadow next to the stable. Smoke rose from the chimney, suggesting someone was home.

Magdalena struggled to make up her mind, then finally ran toward the house. She had no other choice. She would never find her children by herself. Hesitantly she knocked on the door.

“Graetz, are you there?” she asked softly.

She was about to knock a second time when the door swung open and the knacker appeared, visibly shaken.

“Thank God, Magdalena,” he cried with relief. “You’re finally back. Hurry, come in.” Graetz looked around suspiciously in every direction, then pulled the hangman’s daughter into the bedroom and barricaded the door.

Magdalena was horrified to see the chaos in the little room. The table, bench, and chairs were knocked over; the large heavy chest in the corner had been broken into; and torn clothes and broken dishes lay strewn all over the room.

“Those fat moneybags from Schongau were just here with two bailiffs,” Graetz said right off, pointing at the destruction all around. “They left no stone unturned here. No stone!”

Magdalena could see the veins in Graetz’s brow turn red and swell up, and his whole body started to tremble. “Asked me where your father and Simon were. But I didn’t tell them a thing. I told them to first prove that Kuisl had stayed here.” His face turned red with rage.

He picked a chair up from the floor and sat down, exhausted. “They can do this to us poor people,” he wailed. “They took off with all my wife’s dowry, God rest her soul. She’d turn over in her grave if she knew that.”

“Graetz,” Magdalena said, still struggling for breath from her long run. “I need your help. The… the children are gone.”

“The children?” The knacker looked at her, puzzled. “What do you mean, they’re gone?”

Magdalena had to struggle to get ahold of herself as tears ran down her sweat-stained cheeks. “I… I was over in the monastery garden with them,” she blurted out. “They were playing in the garden, and then suddenly they were gone. I think they’ve fallen in the gorge, perhaps, or… or that this madman has abducted them.”

“Do you mean that sorcerer? Why would he do anything like that?”

In short, broken words, Magdalena told the knacker about the attacks on her and about what she feared.

“I think the sorcerer doesn’t like our snooping around here,” she said excitedly. “He tried to kill me a few times already, and now he’s probably taken my children.”

Just as Graetz was about to reply, someone pounded on the door again. The knacker cringed.

“Good Lord, I hope it isn’t those scoundrels again,” he cursed. “Be careful. If they’re still looking for your father, be prepared for a few unpleasant questions. It would be best for now if the bailiffs don’t even see you.”

He motioned to Magdalena to slip into the next room, but the hangman’s daughter just shook her head.

“If it’s really them, let it be,” she said softly but with determination. “Just let them in. They won’t keep me from looking for my children.”

Shrugging, Graetz went to the door and opened it a crack. When he saw who was standing there, he breathed a big sigh of relief.

“Ah, it’s just you, Matthias. Come in. We have-”

Suddenly he stopped short. Looking down, he saw that Matthias was holding a folded note in his hand. The assistant’s face was expressionless; only his lips trembled slightly.

“What’s wrong, Matthias?” Magdalena asked, moving closer. A wave of apprehension came over her. “What’s that in your hand?”

“Mmmm … aaa … eena.”

She looked at him, confused.

“What are you saying?” she asked.

“Mmmm… aaa… eena… Mmmm… aaa… eena,” he kept saying in a monotone, then walked up to her hesitantly and handed her the note. Only now did Magdalena understand he was trying to pronounce her name.

“The… the letter is for me?” she whispered, her heart beating wildly.

The mute assistant nodded and handed her the letter with a slight bow.

Opening the letter, she found only a few scribbled words, but they were enough to knock the wind out of her. She fell back onto the chair, as white as a ghost, staring down at the note.

It was a short, evil poem.

Sleep, baby, sleep, your mother likes to peep.

She snoops and noses far and near;

that’s not so good for baby dear.

Sleep, baby, sleep.

Bye, baby, bye, your grandpa likes to pry.

If he won’t let this habit be, the sorcerer will strangle me.

Bye, baby, bye.

“What’s wrong, Magdalena?” Graetz stepped closer, looked over her shoulder, and made out the few words while the hangman’s daughter sat there, petrified.

“My God,” Graetz gasped finally. “You were right. This madman has indeed abducted the boys.” Angrily he turned to his assistant. “Where did you get this letter?” he shouted. “Tell me right now who gave it to you.”

Matthias opened his mouth, struggling to be understood. “Aaa-annn,” he said.

“A man?” Magdalena asked hopefully. “What kind of a man, Matthias?”

“Aaaarrrzzer Aaannn. Aaaaarrrrzzzer Aaaann.”

“Confound it! Speak clearly!” Graetz said, furious. “Who was it?”

“I’m afraid we’re not going to get very far like this,” said Magdalena, swallowing hard. She was so concerned about her children that she could hardly think straight. Once more she studied the black lines. The letters were smudged; a few drops of ink had run down the paper leaving spots that reminded her of blood.

Sleep, baby, sleep, your mother likes to peep.

Suddenly Magdalena remembered that, even though Matthias couldn’t speak, he could write. Frantically she looked for a quill pen and an inkpot among the clutter on the floor. When she finally found them both undamaged in a corner of the room, she turned the paper over and handed it to Matthias with the writing implements.

“Write on the back who gave you the letter,” she asked him.

Matthias nodded and smiled wanly; then he scribbled a few lines on the stained note and handed it back to Magdalena.

Quickly she scanned the words he had written in an elegant, flowing script.

A man wearing a black robe and a hood gave me the letter at the entrance to the monastery. He told me to bring it to the daughter of the hangman from Schongau, but I don’t know who the man was.

The tall, thickset man looked back at Magdalena expectantly, like a little dog looking for some praise.

“Thank you, Matthias,” Magdalena said finally as she folded the note and tucked it in her skirt pocket.

“Can it have been a monk?” she asked. “After all, he wore a black robe. Tell me, was it one of the Benedictines?”

The assistant shrugged and grinned sheepishly. “Ahnaa reallli…”

“You don’t know, you idiot?” Graetz chimed in impatiently. “But the voice-did you recognize the voice?”

Matthias seemed to be struggling inside, rocking his head of red hair back and forth. But he didn’t say another word.

“Good God,” Graetz fumed, grabbing his assistant, who was almost two heads taller than he, by the collar. “If you don’t open your mouth right away-”

“Let him be,” Magdalena interrupted. “Clearly he doesn’t know, and you can’t beat it out of him. We’ll just have to think of something else.” Her lips tightened and a renewed determination flashed in her eyes. This so-called sorcerer had abducted her children to silence her and her father. Unconsciously she clenched her hands into tight little fists. At least now the uncertainty had passed. She knew what had happened to the two children-and she could act.

“First I have to find my father and Simon,” she finally said in a near whisper. “Father will know what to do; he has always found a way out.”

“But what if the bailiffs have already picked him up?” said Graetz.

“Father?” Magdalena smiled wearily. “It would take more than a few dumb Andechs hunters. I’ll bet anything that he and Simon have escaped. The only question is where they are now.” She stopped for a moment to think. “People are searching for them all over Andechs, and they wouldn’t come here to Erling. So there has to be a place outside the village that both my father and I know…” Suddenly her face brightened. “Of course. It’s possible,” she cried out. “In any case, it’s the only place I can think of where we can all get together for a quiet chat and certainly no one will disturb us. In Schongau, I sometimes meet him there, too.”

She turned to the puzzled knacker and asked him the way.

Graetz nodded hesitantly. “If I know your father, you could be right. He was always a bit…” He grinned in embarrassment. “Well, strange.”

He quickly explained how to get there, then turned to his assistant, who was standing off to one side looking sad and depressed, and patted him on the shoulder.

“Don’t take it the wrong way, Matthias,” he said, trying to cheer him up. “I didn’t want to offend you. You’ll see, the children will show up again, and then you can play with them. Everything will turn out all right.”

A smile spread over Matthias’s face. He wiped his huge hands on his knacker’s apron, then bowing clumsily several times, backed out the door.

“A poor fellow,” Graetz sighed. “What he might have amounted to if those mercenaries hadn’t cut out his tongue.” Then he turned back to Magdalena. “I’m going now to visit a few people nearby whom we can trust,” he said in a conspiratorial tone. “The gravedigger, the shepherd, the barber down in Herrsching, the coal-burner down at Ramsee… all of them dishonorable.” He laughed briefly. “There are more of us than most people know, and together we’ll find your family.”

Magdalena squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Graetz. I’ll always be grateful to you for this.” Then a fierce look of determination came into her eyes. “And now I’m going to look for my father,” she said softly but firmly. “Believe me, that damned sorcerer will come to regret ever picking a fight with the Kuisls.”

Magdalena headed toward Machtlfing, a small village about two miles away. She avoided the main road and stayed in the shadows of the blackberry and hawthorn bushes as she hurried along, her skirt blowing in the wind. It was early afternoon, and the sun was almost uncomfortably hot. Towering thunderheads appeared in the west; a storm was brewing.

Graetz had described the hill to her exactly. It lay partially hidden in the forest behind the so-called Backerbichl, or Baker’s Hill, but even though the knacker had given her only a rough idea of where it was, she couldn’t have missed it. On the crest of the hill surrounded by low-lying bushes were the decaying remains of a wooden frame. At one time three stone pillars had stood here in a triangle connected by wooden beams. One of the beams had fallen to the ground years ago and was rotting away now, and a second leaned precariously against a weathered column. Nevertheless it was easy to see what this structure had been many years ago.

Magdalena was standing in front of the Erling gallows hill.

The path was overgrown with weeds and bushes, and she struggled to make her way to the top. Graetz had told her that this had been an execution site since time immemorial, though nowadays hangings were done in the nearest large town, Weilheim, where the district judge resided. Only during the Great War were deserting mercenaries and rebellious farmers occasionally still strung up here. Now, Magdalena couldn’t keep thinking of the father of mute Matthias, who had been hoisted into the air, writhing and twitching in view of his son. “Riding the wind” is what people called such a degrading scene. Sometimes death took up to a quarter hour.

Magdalena hoped fervently she’d find her father and Simon up here. Both of them knew about the Erling gallows hill, as Graetz had often told them about it. Only a short distance from the highway, it served as a warning to travelers. In recent times, though, bushes and small trees had started growing on the hill. Since the rotting corpses of thieves and highwaymen often dangled from the scaffolding for months, the stench, especially in the summer, was so strong that no one wanted to live there; the nearest house stood hundreds of yards away. The gallows hill, moreover, had always been thought to be cursed, so people avoided it-making it a perfect place, therefore, for a secret meeting. Magdalena prayed her father had thought the same way.

Full of anticipation, the hangman’s daughter struggled the last few yards to the crest of the hill. A few hungry crows sat on the rotted beams, looking at her distrustfully. Finally, they took flight and, cawing loudly, headed toward the Kien Valley. Thorny blackberry bushes had grown over the rotted wood, bees hummed, a rabbit hopped off into the underbrush, and suddenly Magdalena understood why her father sought out such places to meditate.

The hectic hubbub of human activity suddenly came to a halt here. The ghostly silence created space for dreaming, meditating, and deep thought.

She looked around but couldn’t see anything unusual. A wagon rumbled along the back road a few hundred paces to her left, and in the distance she could see the monastery in the milky blue sky of early afternoon. Had she been mistaken?

Suddenly she heard a rustling behind her. She turned around to see the Schongau hangman standing alongside a hawthorn bush, casually brushing thistles off his coat. He had appeared like a ghost out of nowhere.

“Father,” she cried with relief. “I knew I’d find you here.”

“Smart girl.” Kuisl grinned. “You’re my daughter, after all. We have to talk. I…” Seeing fear in her eyes, he stopped short.

“What happened?” he asked, approaching her warily.

“Peter and Paul… They’ve disappeared.” She had trouble not screaming. “The sorcerer has abducted them.”

With trembling hands, she pulled the note from her skirt pocket and handed it to her father. When Kuisl read it, his hand closed so tightly around the paper it seemed he was trying to wring blood from of it. His face was ashen, and his voice soft and flat.

“He’ll regret that,” he whispered. “By God, this scoundrel will regret it. No one abducts the grandchildren of the Schongau hangman unpunished.”

Magdalena sighed and struggled to get ahold of herself. “Wild threats don’t get us anywhere either,” she said with determination. “First we have to put our heads together and decide where the children might be. I just can’t understand how they could disappear so suddenly. One moment they were in the garden, and then in the next…” Suddenly she looked around. “And where is Simon? And what have the two of you been up to? Half of Andechs seems to be looking for you two now.”

“Unfortunately we lost sight of each other,” the hangman grumbled, looking a bit embarrassed. “Those damned Semers recognized me in the church square.”

He told her about the presentation of the hosts, their flight afterward, and the fight at the edge of the gorge.

“But Simon is alive,” he concluded, trying to calm her fears. “I heard him calling from down in the gorge.” But then he frowned. “Strange that he didn’t show up again later.”

“Perhaps the bailiffs picked him up,” Magdalena said, shaking her head. “In any case, we’ve got to think of something. The sorcerer made us an offer if we stop looking for him…”

“And do you trust him?” Kuisl spat contemptuously on the ground. “After everything this madman has done? He won’t help us at all. He’ll never let the children go. Not even if we promise to return to Schongau at once. He’s taken his hostages, and when he has what we wants, he’ll wring their necks like two young rabbits and laugh.”

“You… you mustn’t say that,” Magdalena was close to tears again. “If it’s true, then my boys are lost.”

The hangman stared into space, cracking his knuckles. Magdalena knew this habit all too well, one of his usual rituals before an execution.

Or when he was thinking hard.

“If the children are still alive, they’ll be crying and whining,” he finally said softly. “He’ll have to take them someplace where no one will hear them. I’m sure that scoundrel is somewhere in those passageways beneath the monastery-a perfect hiding place if you have two screaming youngsters. And if he doesn’t come to us on his own and hand them over, then we’ll have to go to him.” Once again he cracked his knuckles. “We’ve got to smoke him out like a badger in its hole, or send the dogs in after him. I’ll chase this sorcerer until his guts hang out his mouth.”

“Even if the children are somewhere down there,” Magdalena replied, running her hand through her black hair despairingly, “you forget we still don’t know where the entrance to these passageways is. It seems it was shown on Count Wartenberg’s map, and it’s a shame my husband didn’t bring it with him; all he can remember are those strange Latin words. ‘Hic est porta ad loca inferna’… whatever that means. It’s enough to drive you crazy.”

“What did you just say?” The hangman stared at Magdalena now as if she’d turned into some strange creature of the forest.

“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled. “It’s enough to drive you crazy, because-”

“No, no. The Latin phrase before that.”

“‘Hic est porta ad loca inferna.’ Why? That’s the sentence Simon told us about.”

“No, that’s not right.” The hangman broke out in a smile like that of a young boy who’d pulled off a prank. “You misquoted. Simon told us the words on the map were ‘Hic est porta ad loca infera.’ That would mean, ‘This is the entrance to the subterranean places.’ But you just spoke of the ‘loca inferna.’ It’s possible your scatterbrained husband misread it-after all, the writing was a bit hard to decipher. Why couldn’t your sentence be correct?”

A slight premonition came over her. “And… what would my sentence mean?” she asked softly.

The hangman picked at his teeth for a while. He loved to torture people by drawing out his answers. He’d been doing it to Magdalena since she was a child.

“Magdalena, Magdalena,” he grumbled finally. “I thought I had taught you a little Latin. ‘Hic est porta ad loca inferna’ means Here is the gateway to hell.” Once more he passed his hand through his scraggly beard, before continuing smugly. “And as the good Lord will have it, I think I know where this gate to hell is.” He smiled. “What do you say, hangman’s daughter? Are you ready to descend into the underworld with me?”

For what felt like the tenth time, Simon slipped on wet leaves, skidding down one of the innumerable slopes in the Kien Valley.

He felt like a bug in a sandpit. Wherever he looked, huge boulders towered up behind the beeches and firs, and between them thickets of thorny shrubs barred the way. Slopes that at first appeared gentle suddenly turned into deep morasses. Simon’s jacket as well as his expensive petticoat breeches from Augsburg were torn in several places, and his boots oozed with mud. No doubt they were ruined, just like the rest of his expensive clothing. But that was the least of his problems.

The medicus was lost.

He’d intended to go just a bit farther down the valley and then make a wide circle back to the knacker’s house in Erling, but again and again, his way was blocked by boulders, steep slopes, and swampland, and he was forced to make detour after detour. Now he had completely lost his bearings in the dark forest.

Simon looked around in despair. Somewhere high above, he could hear the faint sound of bells ringing; that had to be the monastery, but the direct path up the slope was too steep. Moreover, Simon was trying to avoid running into the guards again. On his left, Kien Brook plunged into a natural basin and, from there, farther down into the valley. On the right, cliffs rose up, and the longer Simon looked at them, the more they seemed to be man-made. The walls were too smooth; some of the rocks near the top resembled battlements, staircases, and walkways. The whole formation reminded him of a huge, ancient castle, or perhaps the remains of a castle that had long fallen to ruin.

The castle of the Andechs-Meranier?

Simon shook his head. In the gloomy light of the forest, his imagination was already playing tricks on him. Some of the boulders had seemed like petrified gnomes, towers, or dragons. Exhausted, he passed his hand over his dirty brow, cursed, then moved on.

Why did he have to get lost? By now the bailiffs had surely reached the knacker’s house and found Magdalena. What would they do with the daughter of a man wanted for burglary and possibly murder? Surely the men had more in mind than to politely ask questions and let her go. The two Semers, in any case, were itching for revenge after the knacker and the hangman’s daughter had shown them the door during their recent visit.

Simon hurried along, turning southward where he suspected Erling had to be. Unfortunately progress along the path in this direction was especially difficult, and he often had to fight his way through knee-deep piles of leaves, bushes, and dead wood. It almost seemed the thorny branches of the thistles and blackberry bushes were reaching out to grab him and hold him back.

Simon cursed and was trying to tear himself once more from thorns when he looked up and suddenly saw an especially impressive boulder towering above him. The huge stone was at least forty feet high with a gnarled linden tree growing on top. Not far from it was a circle of stones looking almost like the remains of a huge castle stronghold. There was a faint odor of smoke in the air.

The medicus held his breath. Fire meant that people were nearby-perhaps the Andechs hunters or highwaymen looking for an easy target to rob here near the monastery. In any case, Simon hoped to avoid them.

He listened intently but couldn’t hear anything suspicious, just the twittering of the birds and the constant rustling of the treetops.

He was about to move on when he suddenly heard a strange noise that sounded neither human nor animal in origin.

It was a sad melody coming from a music box, a long-forgotten love song echoing strangely from the cliffs in the middle of the forest.

Astonished, the medicus stopped in place. This was the same sound he’d first heard a week ago in the watchmaker’s house, the same song Magdalena had told him about. She’d heard it while walking along the path in the forest below the monastery just before she’d been shot at. It was the sound of the automaton.

Simon stood still for a while before daring to move. The soft sound seemed to coming from behind the column of rock. With bated breath, he crept along the wall until he finally came to an entrance to a cave. In front of the cave were the smoking remains of a fire, a dirty wooden bowl, and a clay cup, but nothing more. Simon listened.

The sound clearly came from inside the cave.

His heart began to race. Was it possible? Had he in fact found the entrance to the subterranean passageways beneath the castle? And what should he do now? He was on the way to warn Magdalena, but this was presumably the hiding place they’d been seeking for so long: the sorcerer’s hiding place.

The hiding place where Brother Laurentius was turned into a piece of charred flesh.

Simon hesitated. He was alone; if anything happened to him, there would be no one to help. Certainly it would be better to go to Erling first and look for his father-in-law. They could come back here together and…

And if I can’t find the hiding place again?

Simon stared ahead, weighing the options. The fire had burned down and seemed not to have been stoked for several hours. The person guarding the cave must have left some time ago. This would probably be a good time to at least have a quick look.

Carefully Simon pulled a half-burned branch from the fire to light his way into the cave. The entrance wasn’t large, just a yard or so wide, and empty except for a few piles of dirty, smelly straw. He stooped down and stepped inside for a closer look.

He groped his way through a corridor, damp and blackened by smoke, looking for anything suspicious. In one corner lay a crumpled and tattered woolen blanket, and on his right, at eye level, there was a small, faded picture of the Virgin Mary. Finally, on one of the piles of straw, Simon found a crucifix made of two twigs tied together and a chain with shimmering pearls, which seemed strangely out of place in this squalid setting. Was this cave a sort of chapel? Who lived here? In the darkness before him, he heard the sad melody of the music box again, much closer now than just a few minutes ago.

As he held his makeshift torch out in front of him, he could make out the entrance to a tunnel through the rock in the back wall.

That’s where the melody was coming from.

With a pounding heart, he entered the narrow passageway. There was no straw underfoot now, just hard-packed soil, and the ceiling was so low he had to stoop. Soon he came to a place where worn steps led downward. Simon decided to go only a few more yards and then turn around and look for Kuisl. His assumption had been correct-this was in fact the entrance to the ancient castle catacombs.

He couldn’t resist a smile. The hangman had cursed him for falling asleep at the bedside of the dying Laurentius, but now he could show his father-in-law that he was useful after all. He would guide him down here, and together they would-

It took Simon a moment to realize what had interrupted his stream of thought.

The music had stopped.

Now, he heard shuffling footsteps approaching from down below.

“Is… someone there?” he called hesitantly into the dark passageway.

For a while there was only silence, then a hoarse laugh. Simon squinted, trying to make out something. He realized too late that, even though he was blinded by the light of his torch and couldn’t see more than about fifteen feet in front of him, he himself was quite visible.

At that moment, there was a whirring sound and something bored into his neck. Horrified, the medicus dropped the torch, but before he could pick it up again, he felt the ground give way beneath him like quicksand. The corridor expanded into some enormous space, and his legs collapsed beneath him like thin, rotted twigs.

He didn’t even feel the back of his head hit the hard ground, though from the corner of his eye, he could see two mud-spattered leather boots walking toward him. The stranger kicked him hard in the head, opening a large wound over his eyebrow. The world slowly closed in around him as blood ran down over his eyes like a red curtain.

Behind that curtain was nothing but darkness.

The sorcerer bent over his victim and tested the artery in his neck. Hearing the calm heartbeat, he stood up, astonished at how differently people reacted to poison. Judging from the medicus’s small stature, he’d expected the man to die at once, but this sliver of a man from Schongau had an astonishing constitution. The stranger knew now he’d need at least twice this dose for the hangman.

But perhaps that wouldn’t even be necessary.

The sorcerer smiled. The medicus falling into his trap hadn’t been part of his plan, but he was glad that from now on he would have to deal only with the executioner and his daughter. And he’d already made sure those two wouldn’t get in his way any longer. His helper had set the plan in motion.

Stepping out in front of the cave, he looked up at the heavens. On the western horizon, clouds towered up, forming gigantic castles in the sky. Then there was a vibrant whirring sound in the air that he knew only too well.

The right moment was at hand; now his waiting would finally be over.

Humming softly, he returned to the cave and cast a curious glance at the motionless figure of the medicus staring up at him with glassy eyes.

Did he recognize him?

Learned men had told him long ago that the poison he used made the body rigid, hardened it without interrupting the thought processes. Though the medicus’s face was just a frozen grimace, the victim was screaming and raging inside.

Still humming to himself, the sorcerer tied a rope around the medicus’s feet and pulled him behind him down the dark corridor like a piece of dead meat.

Surely the children would be happy to see their father, even though in his present condition he was nothing but a stuffed doll.

An automaton, just like the other.

The sorcerer chuckled. Perhaps he would try out a little experiment on the bathhouse doctor.