The Werewolf of Bamberg

8

THE STREETS OF BAMBERG, EARLY MORNING, OCTOBER 30, 1668 AD

Magdalena hurried through the narrow streets of Bamberg, pondering the dreadful news. Young Matheo was suspected of being the werewolf everyone had been looking for. At the breakfast table, she had looked into her sister’s eyes and seen how her world was collapsing. She could understand Barbara’s anger and grief all too well, and she knew how mercilessly the wheels of justice would start turning now. For Matheo to have even the slightest chance, they’d need to quickly find the real beast and inform the council. Was that even possible?

With a billowing skirt, she ran along the foul-smelling city moat and from there southward through the Lange Gasse, where at this hour crowds of merchants and farmers were coming from the Green Market. She made her way past market women hawking their wares and coachmen loudly cursing their horses until she finally reached the harbor and the wedding house. She suspected Barbara would seek shelter with the actors. There was no one else in the town that she knew, and ever since Barbara had helped Sir Malcolm and his colleagues in the performance the day before, they were on friendly terms.

Magdalena ran up the stairway to the wedding house, taking two steps at a time. When she arrived, breathless, at the top, she found the actors gloomily sitting around on the floor among ransacked piles of boxes and crates. The floor was covered with costumes, some of them ripped apart; one of the backdrops had been slit lengthwise, and everywhere there were the muddy shoeprints of the guards, who had wreaked havoc like marauding bandits.

When Sir Malcolm raised his head and saw Magdalena, he smiled sadly.

“Ah, see who’s here-the beautiful hangman’s daughter,” he said in a melancholy singsong. “Well, I fear we shall not be able to perform for you today, my dear,” he lamented, pointing to the chaos all around them. “First, we shall have to clean up here, and then we’ll see if we can ever play again in Bamberg.”

“What happened, anyway?” Magdalena asked, still out of breath from running.

“The guards came this morning and turned everything upside down,” Markus Salter explained in a tired voice, crouching down on a trunk next to the producer. He was even paler than usual, and there were dark rings under his eyes. “Each of us has his own trunk where he can store his costumes and belongings,” he continued. “They ransacked everything, and in Matheo’s trunk they found the wolf pelts. I have no idea what the lad was planning to do with them.”

“Did he admit that they’re his?” Magdalena asked.

Markus shook his head. “No, he denied everything, and to tell you the truth, I can’t make any sense of it, either. But the guards didn’t care, they just took him along, and now I hear there are a number of witnesses who claim to have seen him in town dressed as a werewolf.”

Sir Malcolm sighed. “Yes, it looks like the boy has a dark secret, a dark soul that he concealed from all of us.”

“Are you saying you really believe that Matheo has something to do with this beast?” Magdalena looked at Malcolm wide-eyed, but he just shrugged.

“Who can look into another man’s soul? I only know I have to protect my troupe. If we’d defended Matheo, they would have taken us all along. We still have the blessing of the prince-bishop, but that can quickly change-particularly now that this cursed Guiscard has arrived in Bamberg with his own troupe.” Sir Malcolm rolled his eyes, then he intoned in a dramatic voice: “Sometimes a person must be sacrificed for the good of the rest, do you understand? I think we should soon dedicate a play to Matheo, some heroic epic, perhaps Henry the Fifth.”

“But. . but. . that’s disgusting. Is that what you all think?” Magdalena looked around, horrified, but saw only indifferent expressions. Some of the actors turned away and stared at the floor, as if there might be something interesting to discover there. Only Markus Salter returned her gaze.

“I’m afraid Sir Malcolm is right,” he said finally in a soft voice. “There’s nothing we can do to help Matheo, and remember, these wolf pelts were in his trunk. None of us can figure out how they got there.”

“Haven’t you wondered if someone might have planted them there?” Magdalena replied sharply. “Possibly the guards themselves, because they had to find someone to blame. And who would be a more obvious choice than a dishonorable foreigner whom nobody will miss?”

Icy silence followed. Magdalena waited awhile before continuing. “Actually, I’m not here for Matheo, but for my sister. I already know that my father is not at all happy about how close Barbara and Matheo are. Now tell me the truth-did she come here to hide out?”

Sir Malcolm shook his head. “Unfortunately, no, though she would be welcome here any time. I must tell you honestly that we offered her a job yesterday. The girl has real talent. And now, since Matheo. . uh. . is no longer with us, we need someone for the women’s roles.”

“You did what?” Magdalena caught her breath, realizing what Barbara had meant with her strange, veiled hints. “Do you idiots have any idea what my father will do to you if he hears about that, you. . you. .” She shook her head, unable to say another word. Then she stormed out of the hall.

When she was already on the stairway, she heard a voice behind her.

“Magdalena, wait!”

Markus Salter came running after her. “I saw your sister,” he called. “She was down in front of the wedding house, and it looked like she was coming up to see us, but then she suddenly turned around and went over to the Wild Man. Maybe you’ll find her there.”

“The Wild Man?” Magdalena frowned. “What in the world does she-” But then she put her hands to her head. “Naturally. Why didn’t I think of that before?”

She was about to hurry on when Markus put his hand on her shoulder.

“Magdalena, believe me,” he pleaded, “I am very sorry about what happened to Matheo. And your assumption is correct. The trunks were in the room next door, and the guards could easily have put the pelts into Matheo’s chest.”

“If they were in the next room, anyone could have done it,” Magdalena mused. Then she stopped short. “Just a minute. Sir Malcolm spoke about this other troupe of actors. I wonder if one of them could have planted the pelts in Matheo’s chest in order to do away with a troublesome competitor?”

Markus Salter nodded hesitantly. “You’re right, I didn’t even think of that. Sir Malcolm and Guiscard Brolet had a nasty fight yesterday, and Matheo was also involved in it. This French tramp and plagiarist certainly wouldn’t stop at treachery in order to get us out of the way.” His face darkened “I’ll go and talk with Sir Malcolm about that right away-though I doubt he’ll go to the prince-bishop to plead Matheo’s case. What proof does he have that Guiscard is the culprit?”

Magdalena sighed. “You’re right, that will be difficult.” Suddenly an idea came to her. “Oh, and by the way, did they find your dear little pet, the ferret, in their search?”

“Juliet?” Markus smiled. “Fortunately not. The guards were so happy to find the wolf pelt that they got a bit careless after that.” He looked darkly at Magdalena. “But you won’t go to Sir Malcolm or the city guards-”

“Believe me, Master Salter,” Magdalena interrupted, “at the moment I have much more important things to do than worry about a pet ferret. And now, please excuse me, I’m looking for my sister.”

She found Barbara sitting on a bed in the little room occupied by the custodian, right next to the tavern, leafing through a dog-eared copy of Shakespeare’s works translated into German. It seemed almost as if Barbara had been expecting her sister. She closed the book and looked at her with sad, red eyes swollen from crying.

“This Shakespeare really knows how to make someone cry,” Barbara said softly. “This play is about Romeo and Juliet, who come from two quarreling families, the Capulets and the Montagues. The lovers die at the end, because they can’t marry. Perhaps that’s the way it has to be with a great love.”

Magdalena sat down beside her sister and hugged her. She could imagine how Barbara felt. No doubt this Matheo was her first real love, and now he was locked in a dungeon and could expect a slow, painful death. Magdalena doubted this was a good time for her to become involved in a book of tragic love stories.

“I spoke with Father,” she said. “He promised he’d do everything he could to gain Matheo’s freedom.” That wasn’t quite the truth, but she was certain God would excuse this little white lie.

Barbara shrugged defiantly. “Hah! What can he do? He’s not even from around here. The only ones who can torture people here are my uncle and Georg.”

“You know what Father can do. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s helped an innocent person obtain justice. And Georg, too, is going to talk to Uncle Bartholomäus.”

Barbara looked at Magdalena hopefully. “Then. . then you also think Matheo is innocent?”

“Of course. We all think so. The family will not abandon you.”

Magdalena was embracing her sister again when suddenly the door opened, and in the doorway the scarred face of Jeremias appeared. Magdalena flinched at the sight of the terrible scars. At the old man’s feet, his crippled dog danced around and then hobbled toward Barbara to lick her hand.

“Ah, I see the two ladies have already found each other,” Jeremias said with a smile, his mouth twisting into a horrific grimace. Then he turned to Magdalena. “I found your sister in the yard, crying, and offered her my room as a temporary refuge. I hope that’s all right.” He pointed to some vials standing on a shelf in his tiny, cramped room. “I gave her a little Saint John’s wort and valerian, to calm the nerves.”

“Do you know anything about medicine?” Magdalena inquired curiously.

Jeremias rocked his head from side to side. “Well. . a little. One learns all sorts of things in a long life.” He made a mournful face. “In any case, it’s a sad story your sister told me. The poor lad.”

Barbara started to cry again, and Jeremias stroked her hair sympathetically. “Well, it’s not the end of the world-there’s still time to do something. There’s a regular, prescribed procedure in a trial. First, there’s the accusation. Then, the hangman shows the accused the instruments of torture, probably several times. That’s the first stage, and then-”

“Thank you,” Magdalena interrupted, fearing that Jeremias was about to explain all the details to her sister. “We know all about the different stages of torture-after all, we come from a hangman’s family.”

“Oh, excuse me, I forgot.” For a moment it appeared that Jeremias was about to say something else, but then he just gave a kindly smile. “Well, then there’s nothing I have to tell you. I just wanted to say there are still some things that can be done. You mustn’t give up hope-ever.” He sighed. “Though this accusation is especially serious. The whole city is already swept up in this madness. A werewolf?” He shook his head. “As if Bamberg hasn’t already had enough bloody trials.”

“You mean the witch trials held here forty years ago,” Magdalena replied. “Were you in Bamberg at the time?”

Jeremias nodded grimly. “I was a young man then, and I saw things. .” He paused, as if trying to shake off some terrible memory, and then continued. “It always begins with just one incident, but then it’s like an avalanche, more and more cases, and finally half the city is condemned. That’s the reason they had the accursed Inquisition House built, with its dungeons, torture chambers, courtrooms, and a chapel for the last confession. Above the entryway was the statue of Justitia, as if there was ever any justice in that dreadful place. It was always a question of power.” He shrugged. “A wave of prosecutions is just what the powers wanted in order to dispose of their enemies.”

“What do you mean by that?” Magdalena asked, frowning.

“Well, back then it didn’t only affect the poor and the dregs of society-there were many decent patricians among them, even a chancellor and some mayors with their wives and children. Entire families of city councilmen were wiped out. Looking back now, it’s clear that it was mostly a redistribution of power.” Jeremias walked over to the birdcage in the middle of the room and tossed a few crumbs to the sparrows. “When positions became free, others could move up, do you see? The dead person can no longer be a troublesome competitor.” He brushed the remaining crumbs from his scarred hands.

“Do you think something like that could happen again?” Barbara gasped. “Then Matheo would be just the first pawn in the game, with many other higher-placed people to follow.”

Jeremias shook his smooth, oval head. “I didn’t say that. But in any case, two venerable councilmen-Herrs Schwarzkontz and Vasold-have already disappeared. Who knows, perhaps soon a patrician will be suspected of being a wolfish magician and tearing his own colleague to bits. Some people would be very happy if that happened.”

“You forget that this time, a lot of very strange things have happened,” Magdalena replied. “Corpses with severed body parts have been found, and many people have also seen this beast. It’s different this time. There is something or someone prowling around out there-so there’s every reason for people to start looking for a perpetrator.”

“You’re right, I’m just talking nonsense.” Jeremias bent over to pet Biff. “Anyway, we ought to be thinking about your sister instead of those dark, forgotten times.”

“I’m not going back, if that’s what you mean,” Barbara said, crossing her arms defiantly in front of her chest. “Not until Father really tries to get Matheo released.” She glared at Magdalena. “And if you squeal on me and tell Father where I am, then. . then I’m leaving with Sir Malcolm and the other actors, going far, far away, and never coming back. Because I’ve got-”

“Talent, I know,” Magdalena sighed, finishing the sentence. “For something or other.” She stood up and stroked her little sister’s hair again.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just tell Father you are well, and if I know him, he already has a plan to help you.” She looked sternly at Barbara. “But do me a favor, will you? Don’t read so much of this sentimental nonsense. It’s not good for you. You are Barbara Kuisl and not a princess or noble lady. Do you hear me?”

As the morning fog began to rise over the Bamberg Forest, a solitary person could be seen trudging determinedly down the muddy road. The few people coming toward him looked down and passed without greeting. The man didn’t look like anyone who would return a greeting, in any case: his whole being exuded something threatening and unapproachable.

Jakob Kuisl was angrier than he’d been in a long time. To make matters worse, he’d forgotten his tobacco in the Bamberg hangman’s house. He was actually supposed to be helping his brother clean the city moats, and that would have been his chance to tell Bartholomäus about the lad that he and Georg would soon be torturing. But the fast-moving events required intensive thought, and that was something he could best do in the forest-if necessary, even without tobacco.

The Schongau hangman was torn in two directions. He no longer had much interest in hunting down scoundrels and solving crimes, especially in a city that was no concern of his. Besides, he’d become too old for such adventures. In his recent fight with the Bamberg street mob he’d been able to hear his own bones creaking. He wished he could just leave town immediately, along with his whole family, and return to Schongau. But now his beloved Barbara, his youngest child, had run away, and Jakob knew that the little one was just as stubborn as the rest of the family, and she’d carry through on her threat. Barbara wouldn’t return to him until he’d helped this rascal Matheo. But how, for God’s sake, could he do that? Who or what was this monster lurking around Bamberg?

Jakob was certain that something was out there. There were missing people, severed body parts; people had seen a furry monster in the streets; and he himself had come upon the horribly disfigured corpse of the young prostitute whose attacker had evidently tried to rip out her heart. The strange musky odor emanating from the corpse allowed only one conclusion: the girl had, in fact, been attacked by a wild animal.

Was that possible?

And then there was that man he’d seen the day before, in front of the furrier’s house, who had presumably bought five wolf pelts there. Was it conceivable that the stranger had dressed up in these wolf skins to spread panic in the city? Or was the secret hidden somewhere here in the Bamberg Forest, where Jakob had actually seen a strange, large beast two days ago? But above all, could the limping stranger have been his brother? Afterward, Magdalena had also said that she thought she’d seen the man somewhere before.

To find an answer to this last question, the Schongau hangman had set out into the forest after breakfast to pay another visit to the knacker’s house.

A thin column of smoke rising above the trees showed him the way, and after a good hour he finally reached the fenced clearing. A cool breeze was blowing, and Jakob was glad Katharina had given him one of Bartl’s old coats the night before, after he’d lost his own in the waters of the Regnitz.

Just as before, a fire was burning in front of the huge log house and Aloysius was apparently boiling the bones of some carcass. The wind turned suddenly, and Jakob held his nose in disgust. To the right of the log house was the dog compound. The dogs had scented the new arrival much earlier and now broke out into loud barking, jumping up against the fence.

“Good day, Aloysius,” Jakob called out amid the racket. “What you’re stirring there stinks all the way to Bamberg.”

The hangman’s journeyman looked at him suspiciously, then set down the stirring pole and wiped his hands on his apron.

“The master’s not here,” he grumbled without responding to Jakob’s remark. “He’s over in the city cleaning out the moats.”

The hangman saw the innumerable pockmarks on the man’s face, only partly concealed under his stubbly beard, and couldn’t help remembering how, just a few days ago, Bartholomäus had suggested his servant as a possible husband for Barbara.

Well, perhaps a better choice than some vagrant actor.

“I know Bartl isn’t here,” Jakob replied. “I’m just looking for some sweet cicely that Katharina needs to make cakes for the wedding. Do you have any idea where I can find it?”

“Recently, it’s been dangerous to go out there alone to search for herbs,” Aloysius said. “Lots of wolves out there.” He turned his head to one side and pointed to a few stiff carcasses lying nearby on some pine branches. “I caught these right around here with a few wolf traps. You’ve got to be really careful. .” His words hung in the air like a vague threat.

He’s not as dumb as he looks, thought Jakob.

With a shrug, the hangman walked over to the dog compound, where the bloodhounds and mastiffs had calmed down a bit. They ran nervously back and forth behind the fence, and some whined while others growled at the visitor.

“Nice dogs you have,” Jakob said with admiration. “Well fed and cared for-and smart. I bet they can be easily trained. They belong to the bishop, I’ve heard. Does he ever take them out hunting?”

Aloysius nodded silently.

“It’s really a shame. They ought to be taken out more often,” the hangman continued after a while, then he cast a conspiratorial glance at Aloysius. “It’s a big forest here. One could easily take them out hunting without the sovereign getting wind of it. Bears. . wolves. . deer. . Come now, tell me-don’t you and Bartholomäus itch to take them out sometimes?” He paused for a moment. “Or perhaps. . someone else?”

“Only the lords are permitted to go hunting,” Aloysius answered stiffly, as if reciting the words from memory. “Poachers are hanged. As an executioner you really should know that.”

Jakob nodded. “Of course, of course.”

He walked along the fence, examining the mastiffs that, with their black, shining pelts and red chops, looked like the hounds of hell.

“Besides, all the dogs are branded with the bishop’s seal,” the servant continued, his voice now sounding a bit nervous. He walked over to Jakob and pointed to one of the young hounds lying near the gate, panting. When it saw Aloysius, it came over to him, whimpering happily, and licked his hand. The seal of the Bamberg prince-bishop was indeed branded on its right side near the foreleg: a lion and a diagonal line.

“Each of the dogs is branded like that soon after birth,” Aloysius explained. “The bishop’s master of the hunt carefully records all the new births. They’re an expensive breed, and he can’t miss a single one.”

“Are you trying to say it’s impossible to steal these dogs?” Jakob inquired.

The servant grinned. “Precisely. It can’t be done. When a nobleman loses one of his charges in the hunt to a bear or a boar, we hear about it and take charge of replacing it. There are strict procedures for all that.”

“Well, too bad,” Jakob said, shrugging. “I thought I might be allowed to take out a few dogs-”

“Out of the question,” Aloysius interrupted. “And now, excuse me, I have to go back to my bones.” Suddenly he stopped, and a grimace spread across his face. It took a moment before Jakob realized it was a smile.

“They say your younger daughter is a real beauty,” Aloysius said, now in a much milder tone of voice, “and the master tells me she still doesn’t have a husband. I’d like to meet her sometime. Perhaps we can talk about that during one of our hunts.” He broke out in a loud, nervous laugh, and Jakob felt goose bumps rising on his neck.

Maybe the actor isn’t such a bad choice, after all, he thought.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he replied.

Aloysius nodded, then returned to his simmering kettle and left the hangman by himself. Jakob examined the bloodhounds and mastiffs a bit longer, then finally strolled toward the log house and the buildings behind it. Immediately Aloysius stopped stirring the kettle.

“What are you doing there?” he asked suspiciously.

“Well, I thought you might have some more dogs in back to admire,” Jakob replied with feigned innocence.

“These up here in front are all we have. The only thing in back is the place we bury the waste. It’s not a good place-it stinks to high heaven.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I won’t bother you any longer.”

The hangman raised his hand in farewell, then headed through the front gate and back onto the path heading toward the city. Singing an old army song from his mercenary days, he trudged on.

His visit had gone differently than he’d expected, but he’d learned a few things. He hadn’t asked about the branding marks, but Aloysius was eager to tell him all about them, as if quickly trying to dispel any suspicions. And why had he flared up when Jakob wanted to see the building in back? Was something hidden there?

Something smells bad here, and it’s not just the garbage.

He had gone about a half mile when he met a group of men coming toward him from the city. They were carrying scythes, pitchforks, and clubs, marching in step like a group of soldiers. As they drew closer, Jakob could see they were simple Bamberg workers, but their stride had something pompous about it, something artificial, as they looked all around from side to side where the dense stands of firs formed a barrier.

Jakob stepped to the side of the path to let the group pass, but the first man suddenly stopped and looked at him suspiciously. Only now did the hangman see they were the same men who had chased the unfortunate shepherd through the city two days before. The man in front was the wagon driver whom Jakob had beaten over the head with a club at the beginning of the fight.

“Who are you and what do you want?” one man asked in a loud, brash voice.

Jakob sighed under his breath.

Well, isn’t this just great. This is the last thing I need.

“You know who I am,” he answered. “I had the pleasure of meeting you a few days ago-so stop this nonsense and let me by, or we’ll both do something we regret.”

The tall, broad-shouldered wagon driver acted as if he hadn’t recognized Jakob until then.

“Ah, of course,” he exclaimed. “The brother of the Bamberg hangman, how delighted I am to see you again.” He turned around to his friends. “Standing here all by himself, he doesn’t look so big, does he? Almost as if he’d shrunk.”

The men laughed, but their leader stood up straight and threw out his chest.

“We’re the Bamberg citizens’ militia,” he declared. “If the city council and the bishop can’t do anything to protect us from this werewolf, we have no choice but to do it ourselves.”

“And that’s the reason you’re running around like rabbits in the forest?”

“You’ll soon regret your fresh remarks,” the man hissed. “We’re looking for suspicious characters-charcoal burners, shepherds, people who steal wood. . The forest is full of such riffraff, and it’s quite possible a werewolf is hiding among them. They can change their appearance. But with holy water, we will be able to view their true form.” He shook a little bottle hanging on his belt as if it were a deadly weapon. Then he jutted out his chin in a defiant gesture and demanded, “So tell me again. What are you doing here?”

“I went to visit the knacker. Is that forbidden?”

The man grinned. “No, it’s not forbidden, but it makes you look. . suspicious.” He stepped closer to Jakob and began sniffing.

“Do you smell this, too, men?” he asked with a sneer. “It’s the smell of a wild beast, of dirt and feces, and hm. . yes, a bit like sulfur. Phew!” He held his nose tightly. “So this is either a werewolf or a hangman who’s never taken a bath.”

While the men grumbled, Jakob closed his eyes and tried to keep a cool demeanor. He couldn’t let them get under his skin, though he suspected the wagon driver wouldn’t stop needling him. The last time, Kuisl had sent the powerful man sprawling to the ground with a single blow and made him look foolish in front of his friends. The wagon driver wouldn’t pass up this chance to pay the hangman back in kind.

So let’s get it over with.

Jakob reached for the cudgel hanging on his belt. There were six of them, but if he was fast enough, he could get the best of the leader and perhaps one or two others. Then he could seize the moment of surprise to flee into the forest. But he wasn’t as fast as he used to be, and once again he could feel the ripping of his tendons as if on a rack. Probably they’d catch him, and then-

“What a lovely autumn day,” a loud voice behind him suddenly proclaimed. “Much too lovely for a quarrel. Don’t you think so, men?”

He turned around and saw his brother coming down the path from the knacker’s house.

But how. .

By now, Bartholomäus had already reached the group of men and placed his arm around Jakob in a friendly gesture.

“My brother came to visit me in the forest,” Bartholomäus said. “Is there a problem?”

The wagon driver and the other men were clearly disappointed. They could have easily done away with Jakob; he was from out of town and no one would miss him. Bartholomäus, on the other hand, was known in town. If he disappeared or was beaten, there would be unpleasant questions.

“We have the right to question any suspect,” the leader snapped. “Your brother is a dubious character; we don’t want him in our city. We want him out of here.”

“If anyone should get out, it would be you,” Bartholomäus shot back.

The wagon driver picked up his cudgel and seemed about to throw caution to the winds. “You damned bastard,” he shouted. “I’m not going to let some dishonorable person-”

“Just stop, Johann,” one of the men interrupted. He was an older farmer with small, rat-like eyes that darted around nervously. “I wouldn’t take on two hangmen. That can only bring bad luck. It’s bad enough that we had to come across them here in the forest.”

He turned away and murmured a quiet prayer. Now the other men hesitated as well, and some in the rear made a sign to ward off curses and bad magic.

Jakob grinned. Even back home in the Priests’ Corner, there were many superstitions concerning the executioner. Now, for once, it seemed to be an advantage to be a social outcast allegedly in league with the devil.

“Your friend is right,” he growled. “If anyone touches me, they will have seven years of bad luck in everything they set their hands on. Their children will become sick and their wives will be dry and infertile, I swear to you as surely as I am the accursed hangman.” He stepped forward with a threatening look in his eye, and the men murmured to each other anxiously. Their leader, the burly wagon driver, also seemed uncertain.

“Very well,” he said. “Today I’ll just give you a warning. But if we meet alone in the forest again-”

“That’s enough, you windbag, now step aside.”

Jakob squeezed past him and left with his brother. Soon they were alone on the path through the forest.

Bartholomäus shook his head. “‘Your children will become sick and your wives dry and infertile’? How did you think up that nonsense?”

Jakob grinned. “Should I have painted my face black and shouted boo to scare them? Sometimes it’s an advantage when the people are afraid of you. You probably know that just as well as I do, Brother.”

Bartholomäus chuckled, then he looked suspiciously at his brother. “Aloysius says you’re asking dumb questions,” he said. “Why?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing in the forest when you should be in town cleaning out the moats?”

“That doesn’t concern you.” Bartholomäus suddenly turned and hobbled along ahead, as if trying to avoid bothersome questions. “Georg has already started shoveling, and there’s enough time for me to take a break.”

“Forget about the shoveling. There are much more important things to do.”

Something in Jakob’s voice caused Bartholomäus to stop in his tracks. He turned around to Jakob, who told him briefly about the alleged werewolf Matheo and his relationship to Barbara. Bartholomäus frowned, and Jakob thought he detected a nervous twitch in his eyes.

“And the girl just ran away on you, and you don’t know where?” Bartholomäus finally asked with a sneer.

Jakob nodded. “She won’t come back unless I help her Matheo. I know myself that’s impossible, but I have to at least show her I’ve tried a bit.” He sighed. “You and Georg are going to start torturing the boy soon, and you know there are ways to postpone the torture or at least make it bearable. Potions, certain methods. .” He paused, waiting to hear what his brother had to say.

Bartholomäus scowled. “You really expect me to help you, with everything there is between us?”

“You won’t be helping me, you’ll be helping Barbara. She’s your niece, after all.” Jakob stopped to think for a moment, then continued. “Besides, I can hardly believe that Katharina would want to see a member of the family refuse to attend your grandly announced wedding out of defiance or grief. What do you think?” He looked at his brother innocently. “Shall I tell your fiancée you refuse to help Barbara?”

“You bastard,” Bartholomäus hissed. Then he took a deep breath and answered, “Very well, then, I’ll see what I can do. For the sake of Katharina and her family.”

He turned away and hobbled down the muddy path, dragging one foot behind the other like a reluctant animal. But then he turned around again to his brother with an angry look.

“And you will stop meddling in other people’s business. What I’m doing here in the forest is my concern. Understand? Otherwise, I’m going to hurt this Matheo so that he whimpers and howls like a real werewolf.”

“I hope your relationship with the prince-bishop is as good as you told me,” Simon said as he strolled along the east side of the Bamberg Cathedral with Samuel. On their right was a large market square surrounded by a number of half-finished buildings that would eventually be part of the prince-bishop’s palace. Workers hauled sacks of mortar and lifted large blocks of stone with pulleys onto the shaky scaffolding. Sweating profusely, horses pulled a cart of plaster up the steep hill leading to the cathedral for the ornamental plasterwork.

It had been Simon’s idea to pay a visit with Samuel to the prince-bishop. Perhaps the only way to postpone the trial would be for the prince to intervene. Simon didn’t believe there was much hope, but they had to seize every possible opportunity to save Matheo-and Barbara. Samuel was skeptical at first, too, but finally his friend had persuaded him. It was already late afternoon, a milky autumn sun hung low over the city walls, and the forests and swamps in the distance were shrouded in fog.

“Well, ever since I started caring for the bishop’s concubine, and above all for his persistent digestive problems, I’ve actually become something like a friend to him,” Samuel replied after they’d gotten past the noisy building site. He sighed deeply. “Alas, the word friend doesn’t mean very much to Prince-Bishop Rieneck. His best friends are still the animals in his menagerie. To be honest, he’s not much of a ruler, and the suffragan bishop long ago seized control over spiritual matters.”

Simon looked downcast. “Then I see a gloomy future in store for Bamberg. This Sebastian Harsee seems to me to be a real fanatic.”

His friend nodded. “Harsee’s father was one of the driving forces in the witch trials-and even back then, Harsee himself was heavily involved, as well. In Harsee’s eyes, Bamberg is a den of iniquity that needs to be cleaned up. He’d like to make it into a sort of City of God, full of well-behaved, timid believers who go to church and praise the Lord all day long. But don’t underestimate him. He’s very intelligent and, above all, very hungry for power.”

Now they had gone around to the back of the cathedral. Behind it was a park in a little hollow surrounded by a high wall. Just as at Geyerswörth Castle, there were neatly trimmed bushes and hedges and an artificial waterfall pouring into a basin, and from that into little brooks and canals. Here and there were individual cages and aviaries of different sizes, from which could be heard chirping, warbling, screeching, snarling, and an occasional growling.

“The prince-bishop’s menagerie,” Samuel said to his astonished friend as he pointed to the cages. “Here’s where the bishop spends most of his time. If you have a request, this is a good place to ask. He’s usually in a happy mood here.”

As they walked along a small gravel path winding its way down to the little valley, Simon was amazed to see the many creatures in the cages and aviaries. There were gaily colored birds of paradise with long, bushy tail feathers; a brown bear running around in circles; strutting peacocks; tame dwarf deer; and strangely wrinkled lizards, with round shells, that scurried away. An enclosure with a dead tree in the middle seemed to be empty, but in the next cage, fuzzy little animals were screeching, shaking the bars of their cage, and glaring at the curious-looking two-legged creatures. They looked like little people, and their faces reminded Simon of skulls painted with chalk.

“For heaven’s sake, what is that?” he asked with a mixture of astonishment and horror. “I’ve never seen creatures like that.”

“Oh, those are called squirrel monkeys,” Samuel explained as they continued down the path. “They come from the New World and are presents from Elector Ferdinand Maria of Bavaria. The bishop also has a few capuchin monkeys and some great apes that are sometimes brought to state functions to entertain the nobility with their climbing and dancing. At present Rieneck is trying to acquire something called a rhinoceros-a monstrous animal. The king of Portugal once had one, but it unfortunately drowned in a storm at sea. And there’s also here a-” Samuel stopped short, as another cage, full of pheasants appeared behind a bush trimmed into the shape of a sphere. In front of the cage, wearing a purple cape, stood a powerful-looking figure throwing feed to the birds.

“Ah, that’s His Excellency,” the doctor continued, turning to Simon with a determined look. “It’s now or never. Let’s hope the bishop has had a good day.”

Two armed guards suddenly appeared from behind the bushes, and when they caught sight of the strangers they reached suspiciously for their halberds. But now the bishop had also seen Samuel and Simon. He gave them a friendly smile and waved for the guards to leave.

“You fools! Can’t you see this is my very honorable personal physician? Leave us alone.” He put down the silken feed bag he’d been holding and reached out his hand with the bishop’s ring. “Master Samuel, what a pleasure. I hear that the mercury treatments you prescribed are working wonders for my beloved Francesca. I’m very grateful.”

“But I am indebted to you for permitting me to act as personal physician to such a magnanimous ruler.” Samuel bent down to kiss the bishop’s ring, then glanced at his friend as a silent admonition to show his own reverence.

“Well, I see you have brought your esteemed colleague,” Rieneck said, continuing to smile as Simon put his lips to the gold signet ring. “I hope he is enjoying his stay with us in Bamberg.”

“Ex. . extremely,” Simon croaked, struggling to his feet. “A beautiful city, and the new archbishop’s palace up on the cathedral square will soon be the jewel in your crown.”

God, what drivel is coming from my mouth, he thought. Must one be such a bootlicker to serve the mighty?

The bishop nodded. “Indeed it is beautiful, though some unfortunate incidents have marred its beauty recently.” He turned to Samuel. “I have heard a suspect has already been found in this werewolf matter-a fellow from one of these groups of itinerant actors.” He shook his head. “What do you think of it, Doctor? Did your commission come to the conclusion that he really is a werewolf?”

Suddenly, the squirrel monkeys behind them let out such a loud scream that Simon winced.

“That’s exactly the reason we wanted to speak with you, Your Excellency,” Samuel began in a somber tone. “In our opinion, it is very doubtful that the suspect is guilty. This troupe of actors had not even arrived in the city at the time of the first missing-persons cases. The only evidence is a few wolf pelts they found in the young man’s room. That’s all.”

“Hm, I think Harsee views it differently. He thinks that questioning the lad would lead us to other werewolves.”

“I, on the other hand,” said Samuel, “fear a mass panic like what we saw at the time of the ill-fated witch trials. The boy will name everyone he can think of. The citizens are already troubled enough; we shouldn’t be too hasty.”

Philipp Rieneck seemed lost in thought for a while, then reached for his silk bag of feed and went back to caring for his pheasants, uttering comforting cooing sounds from time to time.

“I’m extremely saddened that the guards seized this actor,” he said after a while. “I had been so looking forward to a performance by the troupe in Geyerswörth Castle, especially since the Bishop of Würzburg announced he would be stopping by for a visit the day after tomorrow. But if even more actors-”

“The boy is innocent, without question,” Simon replied, then was shocked to realize he’d just interrupted a real live prince-bishop. Rieneck looked at him indignantly.

“I’m certain that the Inquisition Commission just founded by Suffragan Bishop Harsee will come to a different conclusion,” His Excellency replied coolly. “And if my information is correct, the good bishop did not request your participation, nor that of City Physician Samuel, in this narrower circle that will decide who is to be tortured.”

“But you will make the final decision,” Samuel answered gently. “All we ask of you is to postpone the torture a bit. We are in the process of collecting evidence that can lead us to the real culprit.”

Simon swallowed hard. Up to now, all he had told his friend was that they were hoping to save an innocent person from the claws of justice. Samuel had really stuck his neck out far in making that last assertion. It was clear to Simon that his friend was risking the loss of his good reputation and perhaps even his position as the bishop’s personal physician.

“The real culprit?” Rieneck frowned. Suddenly he seemed unsure of himself. “Do. . do you have any suspicions regarding this beast? Do any of the witnesses claim to have seen anything else?”

“You know that I don’t have a very high regard for these so-called witnesses,” Samuel replied. “The night watchman was drunk as a skunk, and the rest is probably just idle talk. In my opinion, they’re just figments of the imagination on the part of a few pompous idiots. We have some missing people here, and someone is responsible for their abduction. It isn’t necessarily a werewolf.”

“Not a werewolf? Well, if you think so. .” The bishop continued feeding the pheasants, but evidently he was mulling it over. Finally he turned back to his guests with a broad smile.

“Perhaps you are right, Doctor. If this young fellow is questioned, he’ll probably accuse his colleagues of being werewolves just to save his miserable life, and I can forget about my visit to the theater. Since my good friend Johann Philipp von Schönborn, prince-bishop of Würzburg, is unfortunately no friend of the Inquisition, we shall have to postpone the torture until after the performance.” Then he threw the bag away and rubbed his chubby hands together. “In addition. .” He hesitated briefly, then continued animatedly. “In honor of the bishop’s visit, there won’t be just one performance, but two. After all, he’s a real imperial elector.”

“Two performances?” Samuel asked, confused. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Rieneck gave a sly grin, like a small child. “Well. . I was foolish enough to give permission to another theater troupe to take winter quarters in our city. The manager comes from the beautiful country of France and somehow was able to wrap me around his finger with his sweet, honeyed words. Supporting two troupes of actors in a modest bishopric like Bamberg is clearly beyond our means. Our suffragan bishop Harsee is at times a bit zealous and keeps pestering me about the first group.” He rolled his eyes, but then nodded cheerfully. “So therefore, we will have a contest. Two performances, one by each troupe, presented for His Excellency the Würzburg bishop and all the citizens of Bamberg. The troupe that gives the better performance will be permitted to remain in the city. What do you think? Isn’t that a splendid idea? It kills three birds with one stone: I politely dismiss one of the two groups, impress the elector, and gain the good favor of the Bambergers. For years they’ll remember this friendly gesture by their monarch.”

He scrutinized his guests’ faces like a cook who had just suggested an especially strange menu.

“Ah, a splendid suggestion, Your Excellency,” replied Simon. “So there’s some hope for Matheo?”

The bishop frowned. “Who is Matheo?”

“The young lad sitting in the dungeon accused of being a werewolf,” Samuel explained.

“Ah, I see. Well, yes, then he will be spared until after the performance, as I said-an acceptable solution for all concerned.” The bishop seemed extremely pleased with himself and turned to Samuel with a smile. “I owe it to you for having suggested this marvelous idea, Doctor. It will be a great pleasure for me to greet you and your friend at the performance.”

He reached for his sack again, dismissing his guests with a wave of the hand without even looking at them again. “And now, farewell. I must go to feed my dear monkeys. This menagerie takes a great deal of my time.”

“Damn it! You know where Barbara is. Now tell me right away, or. .”

“Or what?” Magdalena gazed at her father serenely. “Are you going to torture me on the rack if I don’t tell you? Pull out my fingernails or put on the thumbscrews? Hm?”

“I’d be happy just to give you a good spanking, and it’s too bad you’re too old for that now.”

Grumbling, Jakob waved her off and fell into a gloomy silence. He leaned back on the wooden bench in the Bamberg hangman’s house, lit his pipe, and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. A steady rain pounded against the closed shutters.

Simon, sitting next to Jakob, tried again to calm them down. He had returned from his audience with the bishop several hours ago, and now night had fallen. “Magdalena promised Barbara not to tell you where she was hiding out,” Simon said in a pleading voice. “If she breaks that promise and you bring Barbara back here by force, she’ll run away again the first chance she gets. That’s pointless.”

Jakob remained silent, clouds of tobacco rose like bad spirits toward the ceiling, and a tense atmosphere reigned all around the table. Magdalena could scarcely bear it.

Why must Father always be so stubborn? she thought.

The aroma of ham, beans, and millet still hung in the air, and the large pan from which the whole family had scraped the last bits of supper stood empty in the middle of the table. The children, Peter and Paul-the only ones in the group who were not dejected-were playing with the cat on the living room floor, which was strewn with rushes. From time to time, Simon had to step in when they pulled the cat’s tail or held a burning stick of kindling against its fur.

During the meal, Jakob had kept quizzing Magdalena, hoping to find out where her younger sister might be hiding, but she had remained stubbornly silent. Meanwhile, Bartholomäus, chewing loudly and smacking his lips, polished off the rest of the stew without saying a word. Magdalena was certain that Katharina would cure him of these bad manners after the wedding, but for now his fiancée demurely spent the nights near the harbor gate with her father.

After a while, Georg cleared his throat. “My uncle and I were in the dungeon of St. Thomas’s chapel next to the cathedral late this afternoon,” he began in a confident voice, trying to cheer everyone up. “That’s where they put the prisoners who are especially important to the bishop. We took a quick look into Matheo’s cell, and he’s doing well, considering the circumstances. If what Simon said before is correct, then nothing will happen for the next few days. But of course the boy is terribly frightened.”

Simon had already told the rest of the family about the prince-bishop’s plan to schedule a competition between the two groups of actors, and also that Matheo’s torture would not begin until after the decision. In that respect, Simon’s visit with the bishop hadn’t been entirely in vain, even if Magdalena knew they had won just a brief reprieve.

“Were you allowed to speak with Matheo?” she finally asked her younger brother.

Georg shrugged. “Only very briefly. He swears he’s innocent, but he suspects someone-”

“Guiscard and his troupe, I’ll assume,” Magdalena interrupted. “That’s not so implausible. After all, Matheo had a fight with his men the day before, and the room with the actors’ chests was accessible to anyone. Guiscard no doubt hopes that others in Sir Malcolm’s group will be suspected of being werewolves-especially since Matheo will soon be tortured.” She turned to her uncle. “Will you help us delay the torture until we’ve found the true culprit?”

Bartholomäus wiped the remains of the stew out of his beard and grinned scornfully. “Ha! Do you really think you can run around through the streets of town and catch this werewolf. . or whatever it is out there. . and you’ll get your Matheo back?” He shook his head. “You can forget about that. Even if you found out who or what was behind all these missing-persons cases, the hunt will go on. That’s what happened during the witch trials. Now the big cleanup is at hand.”

“And you’ll make good money because of it, won’t you, Bartl?” said Jakob from behind a dense cloud of tobacco. “Every burning at the stake will bring you at least twenty guilders. Tell me, was this fine house bought with the death of all those witches back then? Was it one of the many buildings standing empty because their owners are no longer alive? A good deal for a hangman-isn’t that so?”

“How dare you!” Bartholomäus pounded the table so hard that the two boys were frightened and ran over to their mother. His voice trembled slightly, and once again Magdalena noticed that her uncle wasn’t really the tough fellow he sometimes pretended to be. “Who the hell are you to pass judgment on me, Jakob?” he raged. “You’ve killed at least as many people as I have.”

“Not one of them was a witch, Bartholomäus. Everyone I executed died for a good reason-or if not, at least I didn’t extend their suffering unnecessarily. Can you say that of yourself?”

Bartholomäus clenched his teeth. “Damn it, I had nothing to do with those damned witch trials. I came to Bamberg just after that. The job was available because. . because the old hangman simply ran away, disappeared without a trace after he’d tortured and executed hundreds of people.”

“And still, his work clings to you like a curse,” replied Jakob.

Suddenly Bartholomäus leapt up and seemed about to grab his brother by the throat. “Ha! That’s him! The big, smart-ass brother,” he shouted, “who could do everything better. If you’re so damn smart, Jakob, so self-satisfied, then tell your loving children the story of how you ran away. Do you know how old I was then, Jakob? Or have you forgotten? Twelve! Our sister, little Elisabeth, was just three. And you just ran away, abandoned us.”

“I had my reasons.”

Magdalena looked at her father and frowned. Jakob suddenly looked unsure of himself, nervously sucking on his pipe.

“Abandoned?” she repeated. “You never told us what happened when you left Schongau, Father. Why did you-”

At that moment there was a loud pounding on the door.

Everyone held their breath for a moment, then Bartholomäus shouted, “Who’s out there?”

“It’s me, Katharina. Please open the door. I. . I. .”

Her voice failed and turned into a long, wordless lament. Bartholomäus jumped up at once and hurried to the door. He opened it and she rushed into his arms, sobbing. She was soaked with rain and completely out of breath, as if she’d run all the way.

“What happened?” Bartholomäus asked in a hoarse voice. For the first time, Magdalena saw something resembling fear in his eyes. When she didn’t answer but just continued sobbing, he began to shake her. Now the two boys started to whimper and whine.

“Katharina, just tell us!” the Bamberg hangman shouted over the general commotion. “What the hell happened?”

“They. . they’ve forbidden it,” she finally gasped. “Simply forbidden!”

Bartholomäus looked at her, perplexed. “Who has forbidden what?”

“Oh, God, I think I know,” Magdalena whispered to Simon, who, like all the others in the room, was staring in bewilderment at the large woman.

“What do you think? The wedding feast,” Katharina replied in a choked voice. She pulled out a large handkerchief and blew her nose loudly. “Those fine people in the city council have turned down our celebration in the wedding house. My. . my father just returned from the city hall, where they gave him the news. A dishonorable executioner may not celebrate a wedding in a public building, on orders from the suffragan bishop.”

“That damned Harsee,” Simon mumbled. “I should have guessed. That bigot thinks the world will come to an end if someone has a party.”

For a moment there was silence in the room, except for Katarina’s muted sobs and the whining of the two boys. Bartholomäus shook his head with obvious relief.

“My God, and I thought. .,” he groaned. Then he looked sternly at his fiancée. “Why didn’t you wait until tomorrow to give us this news? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to run through the streets after nightfall? God knows what might have happened.”

“But don’t you understand what that means, Bartholomäus?” Katharina lamented. “We have to call it all off. The musicians, the food, the wine, the table decorations. .”

“Then just celebrate here in the hangman’s house,” suggested Jakob, still sitting on the bench smoking. “Just like me and my Anna. Anyway, it’s a lot nicer and cozier. Who needs all this pomp and ceremony?” He shook his head. “They didn’t forbid the marriage, just the celebration in the wedding house, right?”

“I’m reluctant to agree with my brother, but in this case he’s right,” Bartholomäus grumbled. “All this celebrating is so garish, anyway. We’ll just uninvite most of the guests and you can cook a tasty stew for us, there will be one or two mugs of beer, and then. .”

Whatever else he had to say was drowned out by Katharina’s renewed sobs. The two Kuisl brothers looked at each other, at a loss, and Georg frowned as well.

“I’m afraid you men don’t understand,” Magdalena said. She rose to her feet and embraced her future aunt, who again broke out sobbing. “Katharina has already put a lot of time and effort into preparations for the wedding feast. This rejection is a slap in the face to her. Just having to uninvite all the guests offends her sense of pride.”

“She’ll have to get used to that if she marries into the family of a hangman,” Jakob growled.

“Is there no chance we can persuade the council to change their mind?” Simon asked, but Bartholomäus waved him off.

“You can forget about that. The council will never get involved in a controversy with the suffragan bishop on such a trivial matter.”

“Trivial?” Katharina glared at him. “This is no trivial matter. My God, it’s our wedding,” she shouted, her face darkening. Magdalena had never before seen her so angry and determined. “In any case, I’m not going to celebrate my wedding in this stinking room-at least not until we’ve tried everything else,” she said, ready for a fight. “I’ll ask my father to bring up the matter again. Maybe. . maybe we’ll have to take the small room in the Wild Man. That would be a compromise, but we’ll just have to postpone the wedding until that’s all straightened out. Perhaps the suffragan bishop is just upset now about this werewolf, and soon-”

“Postpone?” Jakob took the pipe out of his mouth. He looked a little pale. “You mean to postpone the wedding? We can’t just stay in Bamberg forever.”

“If what I’m hearing is correct, you’ll have to stay around here longer anyway, on account of your stubborn daughter,” she replied stiffly. She had apparently regained her former self-confidence. “It’s no longer a question of a few days, more or less.”

She turned to her future husband. “I’m going to spend the night here in your room-without you, as is proper-and you’ll move upstairs to the attic. Tomorrow we’ll figure out what to do next. And Bartholomäus,” Katharina said, taking the hem of her skirt and wiping the remains of the stew from the beard of the astonished hangman, “you need to take a bath more often, or you’ll be going to bed alone even after our wedding, as well. Good night to you all.”

She sniffed once again, wiped the last of the tears from the corners of her eyes, then, holding her head high, walked into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

Jakob grinned and winked at his brother. “You know what, Bartholomäus?” he said as he lit his pipe again. “I like your fiancée. She’s just like my Anna, God bless her soul. Why should you be any better off than I was?”

About an hour later, Simon and Magdalena lay upstairs in the attic, listening to the snoring of Jakob and Bartholomäus coming from the next room. Peter and Paul were sleeping next to them on a straw mattress and pillows filled with horsehair. In the darkness, Simon could just see their outlines. The older boy clung to the younger one, as if trying to shield him from all the dangers of the world.

It was in such moments that Simon thought of little Maria, who had been taken from them so soon, and he suspected that Magdalena did, as well.

She had propped herself up on the bed and was watching the children, lost in thought. After a while, she whispered, “I hope Katharina can still have children despite her age. She’d really be a good mother.”

“Sure. . sure. .” Simon nodded, half dreaming. There was something he absolutely had to discuss with Magdalena. He didn’t know if this was the right time, but perhaps there really was no suitable time for it.

“This wedding. .,” he began hesitantly. “The fact that Katharina is now putting it off is. . ah, so unfortunate-”

“But completely understandable,” Magdalena interrupted. “If it were me, I’d try everything before I’d celebrate here in this stinking hole. Remember our own wedding, after Secretary Lechner had given his permission as representative of the elector?”

Simon couldn’t suppress a smile. Their wedding had been possible only because he’d given up his status as a doctor in training. Only as a simple bathhouse owner was he allowed to take the hangman’s daughter as his wife. They’d had to celebrate in one of the simpler taverns in Schongau, not in the refined Star, but they did it nevertheless in good style with a lot of wine, a roast suckling pig, and a half dozen musicians. The party had cost a fortune, and because of it Simon had had to sell a few of his beloved books.

“I can really understand Katharina,” Magdalena continued. “Bartholomäus is just as uncouth as our father. No doubt both of them would rather have just two guests-a big keg of beer and a pot of onion stew. Then at least they wouldn’t have to strike up a conversation.”

Simon sighed. “But your father is right. We can’t stay here forever. We’ve already been away for more than a month. In the meantime my patients will start going to the new doctor in town, and if I don’t go home soon, they’ll never come back and I can close my bathhouse.”

Magdalena looked at him darkly. “What are you trying to say? That we shouldn’t stay for the wedding?”

“Ah, well. .,” Simon waffled. “If it’s going to go on much longer, then I do think, in fact, that-”

“That’s out of the question.” Magdalena lay back down on the bed. “Until Barbara is back, we can’t leave, and Barbara will hide out until Father can think of something to do for Matheo.”

“Do you realize what that means?” Simon could feel the anger welling up inside him. Didn’t anyone ever think of him? “Both your father and I have work to do in Schongau,” he grumbled. “Do you want us to lose our jobs? Have you even thought about what Secretary Lechner will say if his hangman and the local bathhouse owner stay a few more weeks here in Bamberg?”

Magdalena tried to calm him down. “It doesn’t have to be weeks more. Katharina didn’t ask for more than a few days’ postponement, and Father will never go without Barbara, that’s for sure.”

“Well, great.” He groaned as he sank back into the pillows. “Every day here costs me a fortune. Why do we always get mixed up in these crazy adventures? All I want is to be an ordinary, respectable bathhouse owner.”

“Evidently God has other plans for you.” Magdalena grinned and kissed his forehead, but then she turned serious. “I want to know what it was that came between Father and his brother back then. Whatever it was, it really hurt Bartholomäus.” She sighed. “Sometimes I think I really don’t know my father.”

“You’re not the only one. Nobody knows him.” Simon took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “He probably doesn’t even know himself.”

The old patrician’s house at the foot of the cathedral mount groaned and moaned like a huge animal. In the last few hours the rain had increased, and the wind had gotten stronger, periodically rattling the shutters as if loudly demanding entry.

The home’s owner, Agnes Gotzendörfer, sat alone in the living room, wrapped in heavy woolen blankets. It was a cold night at the end of October, and the wet logs burning on the hearth gave off only a small bluish flame. Agnes’s legs were suffering from gout, and the constant clattering of the shutters got on her nerves.

The old patrician’s widow had never liked this house-it was too large and drafty, and the stone flooring in the entryway and kitchen was cold as ice even in midsummer. In addition, it was hard to find servants, as the simple folk were still firmly convinced the old house was haunted. Agnes used to just shake her head at those superstitions, but on nights like this, she herself believed in evil spirits.

Especially since these nightmares had come to torment her.

Her late husband, the once so influential city councilman Egidius Gotzendörfer, had acquired the property at a bargain price more than thirty years ago. It was one of the houses standing empty after the great wave of persecution and the subsequent witch trials. Once it had belonged to the Haans, a venerable patrician family in the city. Dr. George Haan had advanced to the position of chancellor, and the family had owned several properties in the city, but suddenly the Haans had been suspected of witchcraft, and one by one the hangman had tortured, beheaded, and burned the family at the stake.

Quite a few people claimed to know for certain that the family’s souls still wandered restlessly through the house. And in fact, for several weeks Agnes had felt pursued by these souls. She saw them in her dreams, and was chased and tortured by them. As a child, Agnes had always feared ghouls and ghosts, the horrible bands of murdered people who, especially on raw winter nights, swooshed through the air with their dogs, horses, and other beasts.

In her nightmares, these creatures reached out for Agnes and dragged her down through a whirling vortex into the deep.

Another strong gust of wind shook the shutters, frightening the old woman. Agnes Gotzendörfer lived alone in this huge house; her children and other family had all died or moved to other cities. Lisbeth, the only maid, had long ago gone to bed. She was a lazy, garrulous old maid, but the only person who’d agreed to work in the haunted house. Agnes couldn’t stand her, but at the moment she wished Lisbeth were here to keep her company. Normally the nearly-eighty-year-old woman felt more or less secure here in her own four walls, but now a cold fear was creeping up her spine that even all her blankets couldn’t keep out.

Just an hour ago, long after the night watchman had announced the curfew, Agnes had heard quick footsteps in front of the house, and through a slit in the shutters she recognized Katharina, the daughter of the city scribe Hieronymus Hauser. Agnes’s husband, Egidius, had often called upon the young Hieronymus to take minutes of the meetings, so Agnes also knew his chubby daughter. What was the woman doing in the street at this hour? Agnes had heard she would soon be marrying the Bamberg executioner, a gloomy fellow who, it was said, drank the blood of his victims and sold magical amulets.

Perhaps even some that could turn their owner into a werewolf?

Agnes felt a chill and huddled down even deeper into the woolen blankets on her armchair. Her maid had told her that in the marketplaces the only thing people talked about was this horrible werewolf. It was said to have killed a countless number of people, and evidently a militia had already assembled since no one trusted the city council or even the bishop anymore. Agnes knew that Lisbeth liked to exaggerate, but she herself had heard of the missing people from other patrician widows she had spoken with. Among the missing were Klaus Schwarzkontz and Thadäus Vasold, two old city councilors her husband had known before his death ten years ago. They had sat together on various commissions and had both gotten rich, powerful, and fat. It seemed that the werewolf would stop at no one, and stole and ate everything it could catch-rich and poor, young and old, men and women. . It was quite possible that fat Katharina would be next. Why did that stupid woman have to run through the streets at this hour? It would be her own fault if-

A soft rapping interrupted Agnes Gotzendörfer’s thoughts. At first she couldn’t say where it was coming from-her hearing wasn’t what it used to be-but when she finally figured it out, the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

The knocking came from one of the shutters.

It was one of the shutters facing the street. The knocking grew louder, so that Agnes could no longer brush it off as a figment of her overworked state of mind.

Knock. . knock. . knock. .

“Is someone there?” she called out in a hoarse voice that broke apart and crumbled like an old, moldy rag. But even as she spoke those few words, she had a suspicion that no one would answer. Instead, the knocking began again.

Knock. . knock. . knock. .

She closed her eyes, struggling to think as her heart pounded wildly. She’d better call Lisbeth-but Agnes knew the maid was a deep sleeper and her bedroom was on the top floor, just underneath the roof. Agnes would probably have to go up and get her, but she was eighty, and going up stairs was getting harder for her by the week. The stairway was steep, the steps smooth, and just last month she had slipped and barely managed to grab the banister in time.

In her nightmares, Agnes saw the shadows of restless spirits trying to push her down the stairway, again and again.

Knock. . knock. . knock. .

When the knocking resumed, Agnes made a decision. She would look through a slit in the shutters and see who or what was outside, then she could still decide whether to call for help. She really had nothing to fear, as there were thick bull’s-eye windowpanes between her and the street, and beyond them, solid iron bars to protect the property from burglars. Only then came the shutters. No one, nothing, could break in here.

Agnes pushed her blankets aside, rose from her armchair, and hobbled carefully on her swollen legs toward the window. Her heart was pounding so hard that her chest ached. As she approached the window, she thought she heard a faint sound, like long nails scratching against the shutter.

Or claws?

Trembling, she summoned up all her courage and opened the window just a crack, carefully reaching through the iron bars until she felt the bolt for the shutters. Pushing it aside, she looked out into the night through a narrow slit. In the pouring rain and darkness, it wasn’t possible to see anything clearly. She squinted. And only then did she see it, standing a few steps in front of the bars, as if behind a clouded lens. The thick window glass distorted it somewhat, so it looked grotesquely large, much larger than a man. In fact, there didn’t seem to be much that was human about it.

What in the world. .

The next moment, the window with the bull’s-eye windowpane exploded into a thousand pieces. Rain poured into the room, the curtains fluttered like flags in the wind, and behind the bars and the wide-open shutters, a monstrous creature, like something from a nightmare, rose up.

Agnes’s nightmare.

The creature was a man, and yet not a man; it seemed to walk on two legs, but hair covered its entire body and it had a monstrous head atop a neck that was far too small. She peered into the dead eyes of a bear, or was it a wolf? Atop its skull was a set of horns dripping dark water-or blood-and below the head it had the black, soaked pelt of a horse or dog.

The creature looked as if the devil had cobbled together all the animals of the forest into one evil creature, in defiance of God.

And it let out a howl, high-pitched and loud.

Finally it raised its huge paws and reached through the bars toward Agnes Gotzendörfer. In its right paw it held a mangled human hand that had been chewed off.

Thoughts flashed through the widow’s mind: The creature from my nightmare. The ghosts of those who have been murdered. They are back. The beast has come to take me away.

That was too much for the old noblewoman. Her heart, which had been beating so strongly, suddenly stopped, and blood rushed through her skull like a raging, black torrent. She felt one last, stinging pain, then collapsed on the ground, lifeless, like a puppet.

The beast growled and rattled the bars for a while, as if trying to break them in two, but finally it gave up and slunk away through the alleyways, where it soon disappeared in the raging storm.

As the storm subsided, a few drops of rain, blown into the ancient house by a final gust of wind, fell onto Agnes’s face, twisted into a frozen grimace of terror.

Then, once again, silence fell over the house.