The Werewolf of Bamberg

12

BAMBERG, NINE O’CLOCK AT NIGHT, NOVEMBER 1, 1668 AD

Up on the Cathedral Mount, the fog had been getting thicker and thicker. The damp air made Magdalena’s clothes cling to her, as if trying to prevent her from getting any closer to her father and uncle.

Matheo was imprisoned in St. Thomas’s in the Old Residence, a huge enclave on the cathedral square surrounded by high walls on all sides. Years ago, kaisers, kings, and bishops had resided there, and meetings of the parliament had been held there as well. Now the Old Residence was not much more than a large horse barn and arsenal, but the meeting room for the city council, and the former main room of the castle, gave evidence of the great power centered there in the past.

The three of them passed by a chapel recessed into the wall, then snuck quietly by the council chamber until they reached the so-called Schöne Pforte, which served as the entrance to the old enclave. During the day, there was much hustle and bustle as people entered and left-workers, coachmen, and soldiers on patrol on the opposite side, where construction was proceeding on the bishop’s new residence. But at night, and in the heavy fog, practically no one was around-just two lonely guards stood watch at the gate, tightly clutching their halberds as if struggling not to keel over with boredom and exhaustion. The only light was a single lantern hanging on a hook on the wall, swaying back and forth in the wind. The cathedral bells struck the ninth hour.

“We have to get by the two of them, we can’t avoid that,” whispered Bartholomäus, sweating profusely under his werewolf costume. “And then there are probably some more guards inside-I have no idea how many tonight. I hear that the captain has a unit he can call up for special occasions. If they’re busy down in the city now, perhaps we’ll have an easier job of it.”

“One thing at a time,” Jakob grumbled, turning to Magdalena. “It’s important to get to them before they can sound the alarm, or our beautiful plan is going to fall apart at the very beginning. Is there anything you can do to distract the fellows for a while?”

Magdalena smiled and batted her eyelids. “That shouldn’t be too hard for me.” She swayed her hips suggestively from side to side. “What do you think?”

“For God’s sake, don’t overdo it,” her father scolded. “What would Simon think? A little flirting should be enough.”

“Believe me, a little flirting won’t get very far with these men. I’ll have to pour on the charm.”

Without any explanation, Magdalena pulled a yellow scarf out from under her jacket and tied it around her head. Adeptly, she pulled her bodice down so far that her breasts almost popped out.

“Damn it, girl, you’re not going to-” he started to say.

But Magdalena had already stepped away from the wall and started sashaying toward the entrance. Soon she stepped into the light of the lantern, and the guards looked at her suspiciously.

“Hey, you,” they called to her. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you know it’s way past curfew?”

“Some people don’t even start work until after curfew,” she cooed, smiling and swaying her hips as she drew closer. Only then did they see the yellow scarf over her head that identified Magdalena as a whore. The fatter of the two guards grinned lewdly.

“Aha, Hans, just look, we have an important visitor,” he said, bowing slightly. “It looks as if the beautiful lady has lost her way. The Rosengasse is, as far as I know, down below near St. Martin’s.”

“That can happen easily with fog like this,” said his colleague, a pimply youth who surely had not yet touched many women in his young life. Lewdly he stared at Magdalena’s low neckline. “But since she’s already here. .”

“You know, we could arrest you and throw you in the dungeon,” the fat man said to Magdalena, shaking a finger at her in jest. “Fortunately, there’s already someone there whom you surely don’t want to meet, unless you like to have sex with animals.” He let out a dirty laugh.

“I’d much prefer a couple of strapping lads,” she replied, fluttering her eyelids. “What would you say if I gave you two handsome boys a special price, hmm?” She stroked her bodice, and the young man gaped, sheep-like, at her.

“Well, we’ve got to stand guard here until the shifts change,” he said hesitantly. “Maybe later. .”

“Later, I’ll be back to turning tricks on the Rosengasse.” Magdalena smiled. “Besides, who’s going to notice? I hear that the captain and the other guards are down at the castle. They just left you two poor devils up here?”

“You forget our three colleagues in the Old Residence,” the fat man chimed in. “But you’re right, it’s not fair. The people down below are having a party, drinking and watching the play, and we’re standing around here in the damp and the fog, tired and ready to drop.” He grinned. “Ah, but I know what we can do. One of us will stand here to guard the gate while the other can go over to the little alley next to the cathedral with you and see what you have to offer. We’ll switch off.”

Magdalena gave him her sweetest smile. “What a wonderful idea. I should have thought of that. So, which of you two handsome lads will go first?”

Even before she asked, she was sure it would be the fat one. She walked ahead, swinging her hips back and forth while the heavy man followed, groaning and snorting. He left his halberd behind, leaning against the wall.

The guard grinned expectantly. Soon, he was sure, he’d get to use his other lance.

In the meantime, skinny Hans remained standing in front of the gate, imagining vividly what he would soon be doing with the woman.

Hans was seventeen years old, and actually he’d never seen a naked woman before-with the exception of his mother, of course, a fat old linen weaver, but that wasn’t a pretty sight. With trembling lips, he imagined the shapely woman with the wild black locks and how he would soon slip his hand under her skirt. What would he find down there? Friends had told him the strangest stories about the female sex organs; they spoke of a quick little mouse hiding there, but they were probably just pulling his leg. Well, he’d soon find out. Hans had five kreuzers in his pocket, and that should suffice for a first voyage of discovery.

He listened anxiously, full of expectation for his turn that was about to come. Suddenly he heard a muffled cry that probably came from fat Jonas, his father’s friend and colleague. Was that part of this great secret? People shouted when they made love-he’d heard that also from his mother, who, in years past, had rolled around with his father under a sheepskin blanket in the room. It was the only heated space in the house, so the eightmember family had to use it as a common bedroom. Their parents’ bed was separated from the children’s beds by nothing more than a thin curtain full of holes, and sometimes Hans had the feeling that his mother was crying with pain. Now, too, what he heard were not shouts of rapture, but rather. . panic? Yes, they were clearly cries of horror. Was that also part of the game? And what were they doing there all this time?

Shivering, Hans rubbed his cold hands together. A year ago, when he’d taken this job with the city guards, he thought he’d find real adventure. But for the most part what he did was pick up drunks in the streets and stand guard for hours on end until his feet were killing him. And if the captain was putting together an elite squad for some secret mission, as he had just a few days ago, Hans naturally couldn’t be part of that. It was driving him mad.

Hans was just wondering whether to leave his post for a moment, to see if everything was all right, when he heard a scraping sound behind him, as if someone in large boots was shuffling over the pavement. Was it that fat Jonas? That was strange, since he had gone off in the other direction. So who. .

Hans turned around and let out a long squeal. Actually, he tried to scream, but what was standing in front of him was so horrible that his voice failed.

It was a huge, hairy creature with a foul odor, towering two heads above him. With dead eyes it stared down at him as a deep growl and then human sounds escaped from its lips.

“Ach. . curses. . I can’t see. . damn!”

Hans whimpered, his hand went limp, and he dropped his halberd on the ground. He hadn’t understood exactly what the monster said, but there was no doubt in his mind that this creature in front of him was the slender lad imprisoned in St. Thomas’s, changed back into the monster who’d killed so many people and now had escaped the dungeon. Surely he’d already killed fat Jonas and the prostitute as well, and now it was his turn.

“Please. . please spare my life,” he whimpered, throwing himself down in front of the werewolf. “In the name of all fourteen holy saints in our hour of need, please. .”

He got no further, as a shadow swept down on him. Suddenly Hans felt something soft placed over his face with a strong, bitter taste.

The thought raced through his mind: The werewolf’s jaws. He’ll rip my lips off and eat them. Oh, Holy Mother of God. .

Then he felt heavy and sank into a dark fog that smelled of old, musty animal hides. The werewolf had swallowed him whole.

“Damn! That could have easily blown up in our faces. Why didn’t you get rid of the fellow sooner?”

Jakob stood next to his brother, pointing at the unconscious guard at their feet.

“Because I can’t see a damn thing under these hides,” Bartholomäus replied. “Just be happy I found his face so I could put the sleeping sponge over it.”

“Pull yourselves together, both of you. Do you want to wake up everyone in the Old Residence?”

It was Magdalena, approaching them from the narrow alley and speaking in a hushed voice as she glanced around. The two brothers looked quite fearsome, like two demons wrestling for dominion in an endless battle in hell.

Or like two old grouches always criticizing each other, she thought. When this is all over, I hope I won’t have any Kuisls to put up with for a while.

But then it occurred to her that she was, in fact, a Kuisl herself.

How did Father put it in the forest yesterday? You can’t pick your family. .

After Magdalena had lured the guard into the lane, her father had come down on him like a ton of bricks. The guard could only utter a brief cry before Jakob pressed the sleeping sponge in his face. The guard had twitched and moaned briefly but then fell silent. The potion seemed to have worked. But then they heard the other guard wailing and crying and ran over to the gate, where Bartholomäus had already gotten things under control.

“Well, so far so good,” Jakob said with satisfaction, turning to his brother. “I hope you remembered the keys.”

They were standing in front of the so-called Schöne Pforte-“beautiful gate”-made of stone and surrounded by several figures and statues of Mary. On the left, next to the larger gate, which was intended for wagons, was a smaller gate. Bartholomäus searched under the furs and finally fished a rusty set of keys out of his pocket.

“These keys are for the gate, St. Thomas’s Chapel, the torture chamber, and the dungeon down in the city,” he whispered. “They’ll take us anywhere we want to go, but you still have the guards, and I just don’t know how many of them there are.”

“The fat guy mentioned three guards at the Old Residence,” Magdalena whispered.

Jakob cursed. “That’s one too many, unless-” He stopped short, then pointed at the whore’s cloth in Magdalena’s hair.

“Give it to me-it’s a thorn in my side, in any case.”

She handed him the kerchief, and he quickly opened the pot of henbane and dunked the cloth in it. Finally, he gave it back to her. “If things really get tough, you’ll have to take on one of the guards yourself. With this, you won’t need to use your wiggling behind and fluttering eyelashes.”

She smiled as he handed her the sharp-smelling cloth. She noticed before that the sight of his daughter as a whore had enraged him. Still, Jakob had to admit to himself that her plan had worked. His grumbling and growling now was just a peculiar, Kuisl-like compliment.

“Once I unlock the door,” Bartholomäus warned his two companions in a low voice, “you’ll have to work fast. The guardhouse is over on the right, behind the gate, and it’s quite possible the guards are still around. The next building on the street is the Chapel of St. Thomas, and that’s where we have to enter. Are you ready?”

Magdalena and her father nodded, and Bartholomäus silently entered through the small gate.

Sebastian Harsee’s fingers dug like claws into Simon’s arms, and his face was only a hand’s breadth away. With madness in his eyes, he glowered at Simon as the spittle dripped in long strings from his teeth. Simon struggled to keep his distance from the crazed bishop. Was he mistaken, or were Harsee’s teeth in fact longer than before? Perhaps it was just that the muscles in his face were in spasm and his lips contorted in a horrible grin.

That must be it, Simon thought. There must be some logical explanation. Or is this perhaps a nightmare? Was Barbara’s appearance on the stage just a hallucination?

Once more the suffragan bishop let out a ghastly howl. He seemed to be trying to seize Simon, who finally managed to pull himself free of the quivering creature, gasping, as what almost looked like a magical circle formed around them. Behind Simon, people were shouting and screaming, frantically trying to escape through the narrow entranceway into the courtyard, and somewhere there was the sound of a window breaking. He grabbed hold of one of the chairs, stood up, and tried to catch his breath.

Not until then was Simon able to think through everything that had happened. Until just a short while ago, he’d been standing up in the gallery of the Geyerswörth dance hall with Samuel, staring in disbelief at his fifteen-year-old sister-in-law in her debut performance as an actress. He had to admit that Barbara was excellent in her role, though they could never allow her father to hear about this activity. And right in the middle of the thunderous applause, the suffragan bishop had collapsed. Simon had rushed forward with Samuel to help, and then his worst fears were realized. Sebastian Harsee had turned into a werewolf!

“My God, who would ever have thought this possible?” asked Philipp Rieneck, pointing with a trembling finger at Harsee, who was still convulsing on the floor. “Dear Brother Sebastian is himself a werewolf. Holy Mary, help! Who else in Bamberg has the devil taken away?”

He looked around in a panic as half-crazed citizens, clerics, and courtiers ran screaming past him.

“Guards, guards, over here!” Rieneck shouted shrilly. “Help your monarch!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Simon could see his friend Samuel stuck in the crowd, desperately trying to make his way to him. Further behind, Martin Lebrecht, captain of the city guards, appeared with sword drawn, accompanied by two anxious-looking guards.

“Here is the werewolf!” Rieneck shouted. “Come here, quickly! Kill him!”

At the same moment, Sebastian Harsee began to howl again and froth at the mouth, which made his lips look more and more like those of a wild beast. He tried to stand up but couldn’t. Panting and twitching, the suffragan bishop lay on the floor, groaning like a dying animal.

“Doctor, Doctor, do something,” shouted Johann von Schönborn, standing petrified beside his colleague. “Whatever is wrong with this man, he urgently needs your help.”

“He doesn’t need any help-he’s a werewolf!” Rieneck shrieked. “Quick, Captain, get rid of him before he can destroy any others.”

In the meantime, Samuel had succeeded in getting to the howling suffragan bishop, but so had Martin Lebrecht. The captain of the guard raised his sword and was about to strike, but Samuel held him back.

“Stop!” he shouted. “Can’t you see he no longer poses any danger?”

In fact, Harsee’s convulsions had diminished. He struggled so hard to sit up one more time that Simon feared he might break his back-then he finally fell silent. The wound on his head, evidently caused by his fall, was no longer bleeding so hard.

“Is he dead?” Philipp Rieneck asked anxiously after a few moments.

Carefully, Samuel leaned down to the sick man and listened to his chest. He shook his head.

“It looks like he’s lost consciousness, though his eyes are wide open. So it could also be a spasm, and he’d be able to hear everything around him just as if he were fully awake.”

“What a dreadful thing,” Simon whispered.

In the meantime, the theater had emptied out, broken shards of glass and crockery lay all around, the curtain in front of the stage was torn, and the actors had all vanished. Through the broken windows, excited voices and the shouts of the city guards could be heard coming from the courtyard below.

Bishop Johann von Schönborn turned to Martin Lebrecht, who had put his sword back in its sheath.

“It appears you will no longer be needed here,” said the Würzburg bishop, who, in contrast to his colleagues, had settled down somewhat. “It would be best for you to go outside and calm people down.”

“At your command, Your Excellency.”

Lebrecht saluted, then withdrew with the two visibly relieved guards and headed down to the courtyard. Once all the men had left, Philipp Rieneck turned to his colleagues and addressed them in a trembling voice.

“For a long time now,” he began hesitantly, “I’ve had my doubts about these werewolf stories and thought it was about time for good Brother Sebastian to get hold of himself. I didn’t stop him because. . because. .” He fell silent.

Because you don’t give a damn about this city, Simon thought. The only thing you care about is your menagerie and your mistresses.

“But I must confess that Brother Sebastian was right,” Rieneck finally continued in a firm voice. “And what’s worse, this werewolf seems able to turn even honorable people into werewolves.” He shuddered with horror. “If he can take away my God-fearing suffragan bishop, he can even take me. . and. . you, too.”

He pointed at Johann Schönborn, who frowned and stepped back a pace, as if fearing that the pure terror that had seized his colleague might be contagious.

“I’ll admit I don’t have any explanation for this, myself,” said Schönborn, shaking his head and pointing at the paralyzed body of the suffragan bishop, whose wide-open eyes were still staring blankly into space. “Only the learned doctors can help us here. What do you think, Master Samuel?”

“It’s surely too early for a definitive diagnosis,” replied Samuel, still kneeling next to the sick bishop and checking his breathing and heartbeat. “But judging from the way the suffragan bishop was twitching and thrashing about, it could be epilepsy, or perhaps these spasms can be attributed to St. Vitus’s dance.”

“Do you think Harsee has caught St. Anthony’s fire?” Simon asked.

The medicus had seen that illness many years ago in Regensburg. A bluish mushroom that sometimes grew on grain could cause hallucinations, spasms, and sometimes paralysis that could lead to death. Simon looked down in horror at the contorted face of the suffragan bishop, who seemed to be staring back up at him.

“St. Vitus’s dance can have many causes,” Samuel explained, “including angel’s trumpet and other magical herbs. Sometimes people dance around in a religious ecstasy, but some people say the twitching comes from a spider bite, for example, from a tarantula-”

“The wound on his neck,” Simon interrupted excitedly. “Do you remember? Could that be a spider bite?”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Samuel pulled down Harsee’s robe at the collar and took another look at the wound with the red halo. “No doubt it’s a bite,” he said with a frown, “but for a spider it’s really too big, and besides, there are no tarantulas here. As far as I know, they are found much farther south, in southern Italy.”

“Aha, then he was no doubt bitten by a werewolf,” Rieneck cried out. “Did you see Brother Sebastian’s teeth? They were pointed and long. And foam was dripping from them onto the ground.”

“That can be caused by cramps,” Samuel assured him, “which distend facial skin, giving the impression that the victim has long teeth.” He stood up and wiped his hands on his jacket. “I can’t tell you any more now, but we should keep a close eye on him.” He shrugged and turned to Simon. “Can you help me take care of him?”

Simon had gone to fetch a jug of wine and a piece of fabric from the theater curtain to wash Harsee’s head wound and apply a temporary dressing. As he approached the sick man with the jug, something strange happened. Suddenly the suffragan bishop once again started quivering, tossing his head back and forth, and rearing up as if the very sight of the wine was painful to him.

“See! A sign,” Philipp Rieneck said. “He is terrified on seeing the blood of our Savior. Sprinkle him with holy water so he will lose his power. With witches that’s supposed to be a surefire method.”

Now Johann Schönborn also seemed uncertain. “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he mumbled. “Perhaps we really ought to try using holy water.”

“Nonsense.” Samuel’s voice was so low that the bishops couldn’t hear him, but he turned to Simon, frowning.

“I must admit this is strange,” he said softly. “As I told you, he refused to drink anything yesterday.”

“Indeed.” Simon nodded, thinking. “He wouldn’t drink a thing, and for that reason I don’t believe he went into convulsions on account of the blood of our Savior. See for yourself.” He looked around until he found a half-filled jug of beer and approached the sick man, who once again started to quiver and writhe around. After a while, Simon put the jug down again and turned to the two astonished bishops.

“Since transubstantiation and communion has never taken place with beer, I can only assume that he’ll react that way toward any kind of liquid.” He smiled wryly. “It appears he would react that way even if it was apple juice.”

“But why?” asked Johann Schönborn, shaking his head. “This is all very mysterious.” He turned to Samuel and looked at him sternly.

“Before the performance, you said you had certain suspicions concerning this werewolf. I think it’s time for an explanation, my dear Doctor.”

Samuel took a deep breath. “Well, it seems that. .,” he began hesitantly, “some of the, uh. . literature suggests that-”

At that moment there was a loud clap of thunder and then shouts of terror from the crowd out in the courtyard. Prince-Bishop Philipp Voit von Rieneck fell to his knees and folded his hands in prayer.

“Holy Mother of God!” he wailed. “Now we’ve angered the heavens as well with your heretical scholarly words. Will this madness ever cease?”

Up in the old castle, three other guards experienced the worst nightmares of their lives that night.

Outside it was cold and damp, and the guards had decided to while away the hours of their shift in a friendly game of dice in the guardhouse. The captain was down below in Geyerswörth Castle, and the second in command had the job of guarding the bishop’s palace. So who was there to tell them they couldn’t enjoy one or two little games and a well-deserved beer?

“Here’s to fat Jonas and the kid, freezing their asses off out at the gate,” said red-haired Josef with a grin, lifting his mug. Earlier, he’d been able to get hold of a keg of strong, malt-flavored Märzen beer. “Brrr, on a night like this I’m glad at least I didn’t pull guard duty down in the cathedral square.”

“Do you think there’s really a werewolf prowling around out there?” asked the second guard, a pale, pasty-faced fellow whose eyes kept flitting anxiously back and forth.

“Hah, I’ll bet you’re shitting in your pants, Eberhard.” With a loud laugh, Josef wiped the beer foam from his lips. “Haven’t you heard? We have the werewolf in custody, and he won’t attack anyone now.” He lowered his voice. “But just between us, if you ask me, this fellow in St. Thomas’s is no werewolf. Just look at him-such a wimp, crying his eyes out and praying to all the saints. And you think that’s a werewolf? I’ll eat my dick if-”

He stopped short on hearing a sharp knock at the door.

“I hope to hell that isn’t the captain checking things out,” grumbled Manfred, who, as the eldest, was in charge. A former mercenary in the Great War, Manfred had known some tough taskmasters, and Captain Martin Lebrecht, though considered very cordial, was known to be a snoop. He had this special unit you could be assigned to at any time. .

“Quick, hide the dice and the keg,” he ordered in a whisper. Then he went to the door, slid back the bolt, and carefully pressed the door handle. A cold blast of air ripped the door open, but there was no one there.

“Is someone there?” Manfred called out into the darkness. When there was no answer, he turned back to his buddies with a grin. “It’s probably just fat Jonas trying to play a trick on us. Just wait, I’m going out to whip his fat ass. I’ll be right back.”

He stomped out and was soon swallowed up in the darkness. For a while, the two others heard his footsteps; then there was a thud, and something fell clattering to the ground.

“What. . what was that?” Eberhard asked anxiously.

“Aw, probably just the wind,” Josef replied. “What else could it be?” But his voice sounded far less confident than before. “Manfred?” he called loudly. “Manfred? Hey, damn it, where are you?”

With a groan, Josef stood up, straightened his armor, and staggered to the door, muttering a stream of dark threats. “I’m telling you, if you guys down at the gate are messing around with us, you’ve got something coming to you. I’ll stick my halberd into you where the sun don’t shine, and then-”

He’d just reached the open door when a huge, black shadow swooped down like a bird, pulled him to one side, and disappeared with him into the night. Moments later there was a muffled cry, followed by a gurgling sound, and then silence. Everything happened so fast that Eberhard only now comprehended what he’d just seen. He held his hand to his mouth, trembling.

Good Lord in heaven, the shadow had a fur pelt. A wolf’s pelt.

Now he heard the sounds of steps approaching the door.

“Oh, my God!”

Eberhard dug his fingers into the top of the table as an enormous beast entered the room. It was so large it had to stoop to get through the door. All the light in the room came from a single flickering candle, and Eberhard could only guess at the size of the monster, but he saw claws, he saw the fur, and he saw the head of a wolf.

“The werewolf,” he moaned. “He. . he. . escaped.”

“And now he has come to get you and take you with him to hell,” the monster growled.

Then it roared and attacked the screaming guard.

Jakob removed the bitter-smelling cloth from the mouth of the unconscious night watchman and stowed it away carefully in the bundle he’d brought along. They mustn’t leave anything behind that would give them away.

“What do you think? How much time do we have?” asked Magdalena, entering the guardhouse and looking around carefully.

Jakob shrugged. “No idea. Perhaps until the next hour strikes, or less. It’s hard to measure out an exact dose, and the guards at the gate outside will naturally wake up sooner.”

“Time is short.” Magdalena tugged at her father’s pelt and ran out into the courtyard with him. “So let’s hurry over to St. Thomas’s.”

Outside, the two other guards lay on the ground not far from a fountain. Magdalena was relieved she didn’t have to press a cloth over anyone’s mouth. The men would probably have put up a fight, and the anesthesia wouldn’t have been as effective-but Uncle Bartholomäus and her father had done their work with the same calm, quick, and almost-painless perfection they employed as executioners beheading criminals.

“You could have left out the last part,” Magdalena whispered as they ran along.

Her father looked at her, perplexed. “Which part?”

“Well, that bit about hell. Who told you werewolves can talk?”

“Who told you they can’t, hm?” he replied with a grin. “You told us yourself to play our roles to the hilt, and I like to play the role of the bad boy.”

In the meanwhile they’d reached the tower of the old cathedral of St. Thomas, a tall structure with a wooden stairway leading to the upper floors. Bartholomäus waited impatiently with his lantern in front of the solid doorway on the first floor.

“There you are,” he snapped. “I was beginning to wonder if you were having a beer with the guard.”

“Believe me, when this is all over I’m going to have more than one,” Jakob replied. “Now open up.”

Bartholomäus pulled a key ring from his pocket and unlocked the iron bars reinforcing the solid oak door. They were confronted with the nauseating stench of feces, mold, and rotten food. Magdalena turned up her nose and followed Bartholomäus, who held up the lantern to show them the way. Behind them, Jakob ducked and entered the room.

“This used to be a chapel,” Bartholomäus whispered, “but for many decades it’s been used as a dungeon while the bishop prefers to come to St. Catharine’s Chapel on the floor above to pray. Sometimes he must hear the cries of the prisoners from up there, but that doesn’t seem to upset His Excellency.” He looked around the dark vault, and then in a slightly louder voice said, “Matheo? Can you hear me? Where are you?”

“Here. . here I am,” came a weak voice from a corner in back. Bartholomäus raised the lantern, and now Magdalena got a better look. It was a low, vaulted stone room with soot-smudged walls covered with messages from innumerable prisoners. In the filthy straw covering the floors, rats squeaked and fled into the dark corners. There were massive, chest-high wooden stocks with two holes on the top and two on the bottom-and in the last stocks, just beyond the light from the lantern, something was moving.

“They locked the fellow in the stocks,” Jakob growled. “They must be pretty damn afraid of him-though from what I’ve heard, he’s just a little squirt.”

As they approached the last stocks, Magdalena could finally make out Matheo. He was even thinner than she remembered-his shirt and trousers were ripped, there were bloody welts all over his body, and his right eye was swollen shut. His hands and feet had been placed in the holes in the wooden block and chained together, so that the boy could scarcely move and his back was twisted into an unnatural position. A chill went down Magdalena’s spine. How long had Matheo been in the stocks? A day? Two? He had to be suffering great pain.

“Have you come. . to get me, . Hangman?” he asked in a broken voice. The block was positioned in such a way that he couldn’t see who had just entered the dungeon.

“Yes, I’m coming to get you,” Bartholomäus replied, “but not for the gallows. This is your lucky day, young fellow. See for yourself.”

“What. . what do you mean?” Matheo gasped.

Bartholomäus stepped forward, and only now could the boy see the Bamberg executioner. The young man uttered a faint cry.

“I’m dreaming. .,” he said in a fading voice. “I must be dreaming. Oh, God, that’s not possible.”

His head fell to one side, and his eyes stared blankly into space.

“You idiot,” Jakob snarled at his brother. “Couldn’t you have told him you’re only wearing a disguise? Look what you’ve done. Who’s going to explain that to Barbara?” He rushed forward and held a finger to Matheo’s jugular. “Lucky for you,” he said, “the boy is simply unconscious. With the way you look and smell, he could have just as easily had a stroke.”

From under his pelts, Bartholomäus growled disdainfully. “It’s probably better this way. If he were awake he’d just make trouble for us. And given how light the prisoner is, I wouldn’t mind carrying him all the way to Würzburg.”

“It’ll be enough if we just get him to your house,” Magdalena said. “And now, let’s get out of here before the guards outside wake up.”

“Not so fast. First we have to take care of the necessary hocus-pocus.”

Jakob put down his bundle, took out a few little containers, and in a few hasty strokes sketched a black hexagram on the floor with a piece of coal.

“The Seal of Solomon,” he whispered in a feigned tone of piety. “A powerful magic symbol, at least if you believe in it. It’s said Solomon used it to conjure up angels and demons. So why not a werewolf?”

In the middle of the star-shaped seal, Jakob placed a wooden dish that he filled with yellow kernels, then set fire to it with a burning stick of kindling. The contents began to give off clouds of smoke.

“My God, what a smell,” Magdalena said, coughing and holding her hand over her mouth and nose. “Is that really necessary?”

“You can’t cast the spell without sulfur. An ancient witch’s rule.” Her father blew a puff of air into the bowl, and another cloud of smoke rose toward the ceiling. “Believe me, in my life I’ve had to question a lot of witches, and at the end they always mention sulfur-not because it’s the truth, but because that’s what the inquisitor wants to hear. Sulfur goes with Satan like holy water goes with the dear Lord.” He stood up and wiped his hands on his stinking fur cloak. “Bartholomäus, you can carry the little shrimp,” he said. “Magdalena, take the lantern. I’ll wait at the gate outside for our big surprise.” He grinned. “We don’t want the guards to forget our werewolf.”

They exited the dungeon, though the way out was hard to find because of all the smoke. The unconscious guards were still lying outside in the courtyard alongside the wolf’s carcass that Jakob had been wearing earlier. Once again, Magdalena admired the impressive specimen her uncle had been able to trap. Rigor mortis made the animal appear even larger than it already was.

“We’ll put him right under the gate,” Jakob said, “along with a nice little farewell gift.”

They ran across the courtyard to the open gate, where Jakob set the carcass down and unpacked another little container, which, like the previous one, had a wax seal. This one, however, had a little hole in the side with a fuse sticking out. The hangman looked around and then set the container down in the courtyard, far enough from the unconscious guards and the wolf cadaver.

“We want to make sure they have a story to tell about their terrifying battle with the beast from hell. Hand me the lantern,” Jakob said, turning to Magdalena.

Carefully, Jakob lit a stick of kindling and held it to the fuse, which immediately started hissing, the spark quickly approaching the container.

“And now, we must all run quickly!” he said. “I was almost going to say like the devil.”

When they’d gotten halfway across the cathedral square, there was a thunderous explosion behind them, and shortly afterward they heard the cries of the guards.

They ran as fast as they could until they reached the foot of the cathedral mount. Gasping for air, Bartholomäus directed Jakob and Magdalena into a narrow, unlit side street, where he finally placed the still-unconscious Matheo on the ground.

“How is he doing?” Magdalena asked softly.

“Better ask how I am doing,” Bartholomäus groaned. “The kid is heavier than I thought.”

Her father bent down to the injured boy and examined him quickly. “The guards gave him a terrible beating, and the stocks have crushed his joints,” he said finally. “Also, he badly needs a cup of wine to get his strength back, a little black currant salve, and something to eat. But he’ll survive.”

And in fact, at that moment, Matheo began groaning and moving restlessly back and forth.

“Can you hear me, Matheo?” Magdalena asked. The boy nodded hesitantly, and she continued. “It’s me, Magdalena, Barbara’s sister. We rescued you from the dungeon.”

“But. . but the werewolf. .,” Matheo murmured.

“That must have been just a bad dream,” Magdalena replied, not wanting to go into a long explanation.

Far above them on the cathedral mount, excited shouts could still be heard, but they were soon drowned out by Bartholomäus’s loud laughter.

“Be quiet,” Jakob whispered to his brother. “We’re far from being out of the woods yet. If they catch us here wearing these pelts, you might as well start drawing and quartering yourself right now.”

“Oh, come now.” Bartholomäus waved him off dismissively. They’ve got other concerns up there.” He grinned and nudged his older brother. “I’ve got to admit I had no faith in your plan, but it really worked. With all this hocus-pocus, no one will figure out that I opened the dungeon for you. And perhaps the good citizens of Bamberg will be satisfied with their dead werewolf.” His eyes sparkled merrily. “That reminds me how when we were kids we stole three skulls from the Schongau City Cemetery and put them in the windows of the pastor’s house. Do you remember? You spoke in a deep voice, and I-”

“Do you hear that?” Magdalena interrupted.

Bartholomäus listened, then he frowned. “I hear shouting. So what?”

“Yes, but it’s not coming from the cathedral mount but from the city,” Magdalena answered. “Something must have happened there.”

“Damn, she’s right.” Jakob quickly took off the stinking pelt. “Quick, get out of these rags before the people discover us. It sounds like perhaps a fire has broken out, and then the whole city will wake up.”

After some hesitation, Bartholomäus also removed his wolf costume. They wrapped everything up in a big bundle that Jakob tucked under his arm.

Magdalena bent down again to Matheo, who seemed to be falling back to sleep. “Can you walk?” she asked with concern.

When Matheo nodded, she turned to the two Kuisl brothers. “It would be best if you could support him on both sides, like a drunk. That way we won’t attract so much attention.”

With Matheo in the middle, they slowly walked down to the end of the lane, then turned in the direction of the Michelsberg, where everything was still calm and dark. Soon they arrived at the muddy towpath along the Regnitz. Jakob took the bundle with the pelts, old rags, and empty containers, and threw it as far as he could out into the river, where it bobbed along on the surface for a while and finally sank.

“I feel much better now,” Jakob grunted, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I sweated like an old pig under that pelt.”

“We just need to make sure nobody smells us,” his brother replied with a grin, “or they’ll put us in a dog kennel.”

In the meantime, Magdalena had walked out onto a rickety dock and stood looking over at the eastern part of the city.

“Geyerswörth Castle is brightly lit,” she whispered excitedly. “That’s where all the noise is coming from. But I don’t see a fire anywhere.” She sighed. “I hope nothing has happened to Simon at that bishop’s reception.”

“Well, at least the boys are safe at home with Georg,” her father replied in a reassuring voice. “They probably went to bed long ago. Let’s hurry home to Bartholomäus’s house, and perhaps on our way there we’ll learn what happened.”

With the groaning Matheo between them, they hurried along the towpath toward the lower City Hall Bridge, where, despite the late hour, they could see a number of people running back and forth. The shouts had now become much louder.

“At least we won’t have to worry that someone will stop us for being out after curfew,” Bartholomäus grumbled. “It looks like all of Bamberg is out and about.”

Up on the bridge, the Bamberg executioner stopped the first passerby he met. It was one of the guards responsible for keeping order in the eastern parts of town. He was running with a lantern in his hand toward the city hall.

“Hey, Paulus!” Bartholomäus called out to him. “What’s going on? No decent Bamberger can sleep with all this noise.”

The guard stared at him absentmindedly. He didn’t seem surprised that the city executioner was up at this late hour, nor did he wonder about the groaning lad in the dirty clothing who was supported on the other side by another huge man. Evidently he had other things on his mind at the moment than lecturing an apparently drunk fellow who had no doubt just been sick to his stomach.

“Haven’t you heard?” the guard snapped. “In Geyerswörth Castle, the suffragan bishop himself turned into a werewolf and is attacking one citizen after the other! The news is spreading like wildfire. I’m going to get reinforcements to try to calm people down. Everybody is going wild.”

“The. . the suffragan bishop is a werewolf?” Magdalena couldn’t contain herself. “Who told you that?”

“On my honor, I saw it myself,” he affirmed. “I was in the dance hall with our captain when the beast-” He stopped short. “Excuse me, naturally I meant the suffragan bishop. . Well. . When he attacked a friend of our city doctor.”

“A friend of the city doctor?” Magdalena gasped. “Was it perhaps a little guy with a feather in his hat?”

“Uh, yes.” The guard finally seemed to notice her. “Do you know him? He must be a stranger here-I’ve never seen him before. Well, now that the werewolf has bit him, it’s probably curtains for him.”

“Bitten by the werewolf? My God, we’ve got to get to the castle right away and-” Magdalena was about to run away, but her father held her back.

“You’re not going anywhere like that, and certainly not alone,” he whispered to her. “As a dishonorable person you can’t enter the castle, anyway. If worse comes to worst they’ll suspect you of being in league with the devil. Look around. The whole city is in an uproar. We’d best get Matheo to a safe place and see if the children are all right.”

Magdalena stopped to think. She would, in fact, have difficulty getting into the castle, and besides, Simon had told her that Samuel had introduced him as a famous and widely traveled scholar. Even if she succeeded in getting through to Simon, she could hardly say she was his wife. In addition, she was worried about the children. The whole city seemed seized by panic, and she could only hope Georg hadn’t let the boys out of his sight.

“Very well,” she responded hesitantly. “Let’s first go have a look at the children.”

They all ran over the bridge together, leaving the befuddled watchman standing there, wondering what this strange group was up to. From all sides, curious people came toward them heading for the brightly lit castle. Others seemed to just have come from there and were excitedly telling their fellow citizens what they’d seen.

“I swear by Saint Barbara, our dear suffragan bishop turned into a terrifying werewolf,” a stout, elderly woman cried out, raising her hands imploringly toward the night sky. “I saw it with my own eyes-he has long teeth and even longer claws, and now he’s out in the city looking for victims. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Get yourself and your children to safety. Pray, or we will all be lost!”

Some of the braver young men had armed themselves with cudgels, pitchforks, and burning torches and were heading toward the castle.

“We must help the guards kill the beast,” one of them was shouting, evidently one of the journeymen of the dyer who had his workshop down by the river. “Up on the cathedral mount, the guards have already killed another werewolf-a huge beast. The battle must have been awful.” Magdalena saw that the journeyman was one of the men who’d nearly lynched the salesman the day before. In a raucous voice he was trying to stir up his friends.

“Surely we’ll find even more werewolves in the city,” he cried. “Follow me, friends!”

The grim-faced young men marched past the three Kuisls and the semiconscious Matheo without paying any attention to them.

“Good Lord, has everyone gone mad?” Jakob Kuisl murmured. “If the city guards don’t step in, they’ll all kill each other.”

“Your beautiful plan is all shot to hell, in any case,” Bartholomäus snapped. “With the suffragan bishop and the dead wolf up in the palace, all hell has broken loose here, no thanks to you. I’ll no doubt have more torturing and executions than I can handle. Why did I ever get involved in this?”

“No one could have foreseen that on this very night the suffragan bishop would go mad,” Jakob shot back. “But at least in all the turmoil no one will suspect you gave us the key to the dungeon.” He glared at his brother. “Besides, now you can’t blame yourself for not having done enough. Isn’t that what you always wanted-to be a good executioner? Now you can prove it.”

“Hah, you’ve still got the same fresh mouth as always. Just wait, I’ll. .”

Bartholomäus prepared to take a swing at his brother but noticed at the last moment that something was standing between them: Matheo. With a grunt of disgust, he lowered his arm.

“Once again I have to wonder why I ever invited you to my wedding,” Bartholomäus grumbled. “I hoped you would have changed, Jakob, but you’re still the same old smart-ass.”

Jakob spat on the ground. “Don’t forget you’re not the one who invited me, but Katharina, because she wanted to have peace in the family.”

“Well, she sure made a mess of it.”

Magdalena turned her eyes away while the two men bickered back and forth. Finally she’d had enough.

“For God’s sake, can’t you ever think about anything but yourselves?” she asked. “May I remind you that you’re carrying a wounded man who needs your help and probably has a headache listening to all your whining?”

“You don’t talk to your father that way,” Jakob growled, but now in a calmer voice.

“And you don’t talk to your brother that way, either,” she replied. Bartholomäus started to snicker, but she glared back at him. “That goes for both of you.”

Silently they continued through the dark city, along the foul-smelling city moat, while the shouts behind them gradually faded away. Finally they arrived at the executioner’s house, which lay in total darkness. Magdalena looked up suspiciously at the second-floor windows.

“It looks like Georg has already gone to bed,” she said with a frown. “There’s no light up there.”

They opened the door and stepped inside. The house was cold, with only the odor of dead ashes in the air.

“Georg?” Magdalena called out. “Peter? Paul?”

When there was no reply she took the lantern and ran upstairs-but soon returned.

“They’re not here,” she said. “Where in the world can Georg have gone with the children? I hope nothing has happened to them.”

Nor to Simon, she thought suddenly, and a chill ran down her spine. Only then did it occur to her how bitter cold it had become in the last few hours.

“Perhaps Georg took the children to the castle to see what’s going on there,” said her father, trying to console her. But he, too, seemed slightly shaken.

Magdalena nodded hesitantly. “Well. . maybe you’re right. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

They lit a warm fire in the stove and sat down at the table. Jakob busied himself with the injured Matheo, who seemed to have a high fever and kept waking up, screaming, from bad dreams. The hangman gave the young man some strong brandy mixed with valerian and Saint John’s wort until Matheo finally calmed down.

Bartholomäus huddled down on the long bench, cracked his knuckles, and kept looking at the executioner’s sword hanging, as always, in the devotional corner of the room alongside the crucifix.

“How many werewolves do you think they’ll catch tonight?” he asked in a soft voice. “How many men and women will scream their confessions to me on the rack that they’re in league with the devil? How many will I have to put to the stake?”

“Perhaps now you have a better understanding of why I left Schongau back then,” Jakob said as he placed a bandage on Matheo’s ankle coated with a yellowish, pleasant-smelling ointment. “I always preferred healing to killing and torturing.” He chuckled. “But they give us people to heal only after we’ve inflicted pain on them.”

Bartholomäus shook his head. “It wasn’t right, Jakob, and you can’t make it better with the same old explanations. You had responsibilities then, as the eldest. We were helpless, and you abandoned us.” He stopped short. After a while, he continued in a soft voice, staring blankly into space.

“I always loved animals more than people. Their souls are good-without malice or hatred. My first wife, Johanna, was just like that, like a sweet little fawn-not the brightest, but sweet. When she died on me, of consumption, I thought there was nothing more to come. . but then came Katharina.”

Again there was a long pause.

“You will marry Katharina, it will all work out,” said Magdalena, trying to console him as she anxiously awaited the next ringing of the cathedral bells.

Where are the children? she wondered. Where is Simon?

Bartholomäus laughed out loud. “Do you think Katharina will still want to marry me if I turn into a killer? Up to now I’ve only had to deal with thieves and robbers. There was a woman who killed her child; I managed to arrange for her to be beheaded rather than drowned miserably like a cat. But what we’re facing now will be bad, very bad. Many innocent people will die, just like back during the witch trials. .” Once again his gaze wandered over to the executioner’s sword with the strange sharkskin handle.

“As the story goes, the Bamberg executioner at the time, a certain Michael Binder, went mad after all the torturing and burning,” he said in a flat voice. “One day he just left town and vanished, and that’s why his position was open for me. Who knows, perhaps after all this I’ll turn as mad as Binder and disappear in the forests. Then your son Georg will be the new executioner.” He gave a bitter laugh. “It will start all over again, an eternal cycle. We take the guilt upon ourselves until we can no longer stand it.”

“Unless you step out of the circle,” Jakob murmured. “I at least tried, back then. But I came back.”

In the silence that followed, the only sound was Matheo’s occasional restless moaning. Finally, Magdalena stood up and paced aimlessly back and forth in the room. The far-off sound of bells could be heard from the cathedral.

“It’s midnight, and Georg and the children still aren’t here,” she said, hugging her freezing torso. “We don’t know how Simon is, either. We should go out and look for them. But where? In the castle? It seems to have calmed down a bit there. Just where could they-”

She stopped short, and suddenly her eyes lit up. “I know!” she cried out. “With old Jeremias in the Wild Man, of course. The children so enjoyed being with him yesterday. Perhaps Georg couldn’t figure out what to do with the two rascals, so he went there with them. And then they forgot what time it was.”

And then they met Barbara there, she was thinking. That’s got to be it. Georg found his sister again, and they lost track of the time.

She still hadn’t told her father where Barbara was staying. She wanted to keep her promise until Matheo was brought to safety.

“Still in the Wild Man at midnight?” Bartholomäus shrugged. “Do you really believe the kids are there?”

“Well, it’s at least a possibility.” Magdalena hurried to the door. “I’m going to go there right now-”

“How often do I have to tell you you’re not going anywhere alone tonight?” her father interrupted gruffly. “God knows what these self-appointed guards are doing now. If you go at all, I’m coming along.”

“I thought you were going to the castle to look for Simon there,” Magdalena replied.

Bartholomäus stood up. “I can do that.” He nodded toward the sleeping Matheo. “I’ll just take the lad here up to the bedroom. With his fever and all the brandy Jakob gave him, he’s sure to sleep soundly for a few hours, then we’ll have to think about what to do with him later.”

Magdalena looked at her uncle gratefully.

“Thank you,” she said.

Bartholomäus smiled, but his eyes looked sad.

“This is perhaps the last time for a long while that I’ll be able to do something good. I hope God will remember me for this later on.” He gestured impatiently. “And now let’s get moving before I change my mind.”

Magdalena nodded to him and then disappeared into the night.

Meanwhile, Georg was dreaming of dark malt beer flowing slowly from a giant barrel and spreading across his head. All he had to do was open his mouth and the delectable fluid would completely fill his body.

But then the color of the beer suddenly changed-instead of brown, it was now red, and Georg could taste blood. He was in danger of choking to death on the huge stream of blood, and now through the deluge of red he heard cries, someone seemed to be calling to him. Then he felt someone shaking him roughly, the blood disappeared, and all he felt was a pounding in his head. “Hey!” he heard a voice saying. “Wake up, we’re closing, let’s go, you drunk.”

Georg opened one eye and stared into the pasty face of the tavern keeper, who suddenly looked as old and fat as he remembered her from earlier that night.

“Get out, boy!” she yelled. “Get out of here before people start wondering what happened to you. All hell has broken loose outside.”

“Hell. .,” he mumbled, nodding slightly. Like hell-that’s how he felt at the moment.

“They caught a couple of werewolves in the city,” the woman continued. “One of them, they say, is the suffragan bishop himself. The whole city’s gone crazy. So move along.” She gave him a shove, and he almost fell off the bench. “I want to close before one of these self-appointed guards shows up and starts wrecking my place.”

“Werewolves. . Suffragan bishop? I don’t understand. .” Georg struggled to get up from the table and staggered toward the door. The tavern was deserted, and only a few puddles of beer were there as a reminder of the earlier crowd of partiers. Georg almost fell over once, but the tavern keeper caught him and helped him get his balance.

“You’d better stay on the main streets,” she told him, “or find a few other late-night revelers to take you home. It’s a strange night. God knows who or what is lurking around out there.” She crossed herself and closed the door behind him, and Georg found himself alone on the street.

He took a few deep breaths and rubbed his tired eyes. The cool night air helped him sober up a little. There was a small fountain at the next corner, and he staggered toward it. First he just splashed a little cold water on his face, then he stuck his head all the way in, like an ox at a trough.

The stinging cold water brought him more or less back to his senses. He shook the water from his hair, then cautiously looked around the deserted streets. The only light he could see came from the second floor of the tavern. Everything else lay in darkness.

Georg frowned. The bar woman had said something about captured werewolves. Maybe one of them was the wolf’s carcass that his father, Uncle Bartholomäus, and Magdalena had left behind for the guards up in the old castle. So it seemed Matheo was able to escape. But what about the other werewolves, and what did that all have to do with the suffragan bishop?

He heard loud voices in the distance, perhaps night watchmen calling to one another. Georg shook his head, still clouded by alcohol. It would be best for him to pick up the children and get home as fast as possible, and. .

Georg’s heart skipped a beat as he remembered how he’d gotten to the Blue Lion. He’d left the boys with Jeremias. That was hours ago. Unless he was really lucky, Magdalena had long since come back home and would be sick with worry. She’d scratch his eyes out if he told her what happened. There was nothing he could do about that-it was the price he’d have to pay for getting drunk. At least the children were in good hands with Jeremias.

Jeremias.

Georg was about to continue on his way toward the City Hall Bridge when he stopped again. The name of the old custodian started him thinking. One thought that had been stirring in his alcohol-befuddled brain suddenly popped out. Standing there at that moment, in the cold autumn night, with freezing hands and water streaming from his hair, it all became clear.

He had seen something.

Something very suspicious that now, after the fact, brought all the pieces of the mosaic together to form a clear picture.

Jeremias. . the children. . the sword. .

Georg began to run.

In her cold, dark prison, Adelheid, the apothecary’s wife, made preparations for her imminent death.

She knew her death would come, sooner or later, in the form of that man whose hood she had ripped off the day before in her escape attempt. She just didn’t know the exact hour.

Or how she would die.

Her heart raced as she thought of all the instruments she’d seen in the torture chamber that had brought death to so many others before her. The rack, the sharp-pointed cone, glowing hot tongs, bronze boots, arm and leg screws. . Which one would the man use first? Which one last?

The candle had gone out hours ago, and since then the man hadn’t brought a new one. Darkness enveloped her like wet, black soil, and she felt as if she’d been buried alive. By now, she was sure her prison had to be somewhere in the forest. From time to time, as if through a heavy woolen blanket, she could hear the muffled chirping of birds and, when the wind was blowing especially hard outside, the cracking of branches. Since her eyes could see virtually nothing, her other senses had become all the more intense. She could smell the hard dirt floor, the mold on the walls, the tiny feces that the mice left in their nests and passageways. Sometimes she even thought she could hear the sound of roots growing all around her-a constant cracking and crunching-but that was probably her imagination.

Then there was the cold. In their house in Bamberg, the Rinswiesers had a cellar where they stored beer and other perishables. In the winter, Adelheid’s husband cut blocks of ice from the frozen Regnitz, which he stored deep under the house to keep things cool. Adelheid called this the ice hole, and it was as cold there in the middle of summer as in mid-February. She never stayed longer there than absolutely necessary.

And now she’d been lying here for many days in just such an ice hole. And it would probably be her grave.

She was surprised that the man hadn’t returned. There was still a tiny spark of hope in her. She couldn’t stop thinking how the man had cried the day before-an almost childlike sobbing. Or was that already the day before yesterday? It seemed he’d intended to take her to the horrible torture chamber, but then he’d changed his mind. When she recovered consciousness, she found herself tied to the bed like an animal awaiting slaughter. Her throat was sore from the leather noose he’d used when he almost strangled her, and it was hard for her to swallow. The clay cup next to the bed had fallen to the floor, so she was tormented with a terrible thirst that got worse by the hour. But until now, he had spared her. Why?

Suddenly the thought came to her that perhaps the man hadn’t spared her at all, but had chosen the worst of all tortures for her.

He’d just let her rot away down here, in this icy hole.

In her dark, cold grave.

“Help! Help!” she screamed. “Is anyone there? Anyone at all?”

But her throat was so sore and dry that her cries turned into a muffled rattle. She coughed and vomited sharp, acidic mucus.

I’ll slowly freeze here, dying of hunger and thirst. How long will it take? Two days? Three? Longer?

She struggled to sit up, but the leather straps were tied so tightly over her chest they took her breath away every time she moved.

Adelheid closed her eyes and tried to stay calm. She wasn’t dead yet, and she would fight to the end. There was still hope. If the man left her down here to die like a wounded animal, it would be the end for her, but if he came back, she would appeal for his sympathy. He had cried. She didn’t know why, but he had feelings. Since she’d seen his face, he was no longer a monster, but a person. Perhaps at that moment he’d viewed himself again as a person. Did he perhaps regret what he had done?

On the other hand, Adelheid also knew he couldn’t really allow her to live now. She had seen his face, she would recognize him.

If only for that reason, she had to die.

“Help!” she cried again but stopped when the pain in her throat became too severe. She broke out sobbing, though she knew that the tears were draining the last bit of fluid from her body.

How long would it still be? How long? How-

Suddenly, through her crying and wailing, she heard a soft sound. Adelheid froze in shock. Yes, something was there. Definitely. A scraping and scratching, and it came from somewhere above her.

“Is someone there?” she asked excitedly.

The scratching continued. Now she realized it came not from the ceiling, but from near the top of the wall. Was someone digging down to her? Had they finally found her?

“Here!” she cried out in a hoarse voice. “Here I am! Here-”

What happened then made her fall silent for a moment.

Something up there was growling loudly and deeply. There was an ugly rattling and a deep rumble, as if the mythical Cerberus, the hound of hell himself, had awakened from a long sleep.

My God, the monster! It’s outside. It’s digging down to me.

Adelheid held her breath. The scratching and scraping, which until just a moment ago had sounded so promising, suddenly had become an evil sound from the bowels of the earth.

Then she noticed a slight brightening in the room. It took some time for her to realize that a tiny ray of moonlight was coming from the same corner as the sounds, through a slit in the wall. Evidently there was a window up there that had been covered by soil, and now someone or something was digging its way down to the window.

Again she heard the terrifying growl.

She cringed. If it was an animal, it had to be very, very large, and it was trying to dig its way down to her.

The beast. God in heaven, protect me. Holy Saint Georg, protect me.