The Werewolf of Bamberg

16

THE RIGHT BRANCH OF THE REGNITZ, EVENING, NOVEMBER 2, 1668 AD

Night was falling as the small group approached the wooden bridge that separated the city from the gardens around St. Gangolf to the north. Earlier, the Kuisls had paid a visit to Aloysius’s house and armed themselves. Jakob and Bartholomäus had picked out some heavy cudgels made of ash wood, Georg and Magdalena each carried long hunting knives that Aloysius had given them, and Simon took Bartholomäus’s old wheel-lock pistol that was so rusted it could probably only be used as a club. Only Jeremias remained without a weapon.

“My appearance is all the weapon I need,” he said with a grin as they walked along the pier in the rain. “Wait and see-when that fellow spots me in the dark, he’ll take off like a shot.”

“Maybe we should have brought along Bartholomäus’s execution sword,” Magdalena said, taking a dubious look at her rusty hunting knife. “It looked sharper than this old bread cutter.”

“To do what? Chop wood?” her father said with a smirk. “Only a woman would make a suggestion like that. Out on the battlefield, a large two-hander like that might be useful-I had one once myself-but not in this dense forest and swamp. If we’re going to storm the house, I’d rather have a cudgel.”

He swung his club around menacingly, and Magdalena instinctively stepped back. She hated it when men showed off with their weapons. On the other hand, she did feel a bit safer with the hunting knife in her hand. She couldn’t help thinking how this nice fellow Markus Salter had probably killed seven people.

And soon, perhaps, two more.

Earlier, when Magdalena had said good-bye to her two boys, she’d wondered briefly if she really should go along. It would be dangerous, and as a woman she wasn’t much use in a fight. But then she thought of Barbara, and her mind was made up. She could never sit idly at home while her sister was in mortal danger.

So she gave each of the boys a kiss and told them she had to go along with Father and Grandfather to look for Aunt Barbara. The children had looked at her with serious expressions, as if they understood how important and dangerous this mission was.

“Then will Barbara come back again?” Peter had asked in a soft voice.

Magdalena had nodded and held her boys closely so they would not see the tears in her eyes. “Of course,” she whispered. “You’ll see-by tonight she’ll be lying in bed beside you again and singing you a song. Now be kind to Aunt Katharina and help her bake cookies. That will surely make Barbara happy when she comes home.”

She’d wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, then followed the others out into the damp and gloomy streets.

In the last light of day, Magdalena caught sight of the massive wooden pilings that supported the magnificent Sees Bridge. The posts stood on islands of gravel surrounded by dark, swirling water. At the first piling they came to, there was a long rowboat rocking in the gurgling stream with someone standing in the boat, waving for them to get in.

“It’s lucky for us that Answin is out on the north branch of the river today,” Bartholomäus said, waving to the old ragpicker. “I told Aloysius to let him know we needed his boat.”

“Answin?” Simon asked hesitantly. “Isn’t he that corpse collector you were talking about?”

Bartholomäus nodded. “Exactly. But I can put your mind to rest-there are no other passengers in the boat at the moment-at least no dead ones, if that’s what you were thinking.”

Answin threw them a rope from the boat, and Jakob and Bartholomäus pulled it ashore. One by one they stepped over the side and took their seats in the boat.

“What a lovely bunch you’ve put together, Bartholomäus,” said Answin, smirking at his new passengers. “A cripple, a giant, a dwarf, a wench, and a scaredy-cat. Are you going to the circus?”

“Who’s the dwarf?” Simon whispered in Magdalena’s ear. “Does he mean-” But Bartholomäus quickly replied, cutting him off.

“You can’t always pick your comrades-in-arms,” the executioner replied with a grin. “Anyway, each one of them is better than a drunken city guard.” Then he continued in a serious tone. “We’re looking for my future father-in-law and my niece. If you can help me today, I’ll be indebted to you.”

Answin waved him off. “Just invite me to your wedding, that will be enough. And when you have time, tell me what the hell is going on here.”

“We’ll have plenty of time for that as we head upriver,” Bartholomäus replied. “Now cast off-we’re on our way to Wunderburg.”

They had to row against the current, but in November it was not very strong. Besides, Jakob, Bartholomäus, and the bull-necked Answin were all strong rowers, moving them along with vigorous strokes toward their destination.

Bartholomäus briefly told Answin, in words interrupted by vigorous tugs on the oars, where they were going and what they planned to do. Magdalena looked out at the rain-soaked countryside slowly disappearing in the fading light of day. As soon as they passed the city walls, the area turned swampy, traversed by many little canals, pools, and streams through the peat bogs. The fog-enshrouded Bamberg Forest extended down to the river, with willows and misshapen birches reaching out greedily toward the water. From far off came the mournful howl of a lone wolf, and instinctively Magdalena cringed.

On their way to the Sees Bridge, Magdalena and Bartholomäus had told the others about their discovery of the baboon that had broken out of its pen. They felt reassured now that there was no actual werewolf prowling around, but that didn’t make the locale any less sinister.

And the most evil animal is still man, Magdalena thought.

After a while, they turned into a small tributary almost completely concealed in the reeds. Low-hanging branches brushed against Magdalena’s face. Now it was so dark that even the trees on the nearby shore were visible only as dark outlines. Just the same, Answin seemed to know exactly where he was headed.

“There used to be a little dock here, when Wunderburg was still a suburb,” he said in a soft voice, “but since the war, the forest has slowly reclaimed the area. But this is still the best way to approach the old hunting cabin. Aha!” He stopped short and pointed ahead into the darkness with his oar. “It seems we’re not the first to take a trip here today.”

Magdalena squinted and now saw another boat tied up at the shore. Answin steered his boat right alongside, and everyone got out. Bartholomäus limped over to the other boat.

“Just look here,” he mumbled after a quick inspection. He held up his right hand and rubbed his fingers together. “There’s blood on the boat box.” He cautiously opened the box and stuck his head in for a look. “Here, inside, as well. I’d say we’re on the right track.”

Magdalena heard a soft grinding sound, and it took a while before she realized it was her father, standing right next to her, grinding his teeth.

“I’ll kill him,” he whispered under his breath. “Very, very slowly. And it will hurt very, very much.”

“But I don’t think our werewolf killed his prisoners here in the boat,” Jeremias said, apparently having heard Jakob’s whispered words. By now he was more or less sober again. “That isn’t the way he’s been going about it. He wants to torture them slowly, just the way I tortured his relatives back then. We can only hope he hasn’t gotten that far yet.”

Magdalena felt like she would vomit. What, in God’s name, was that madman doing with her sister?

“Then let’s not waste any time,” she said, looking around. “Where is this damned hunting lodge?”

Bartholomäus pointed to a narrow deer path leading into the forest. “It’s not far now. We’ll have to keep quiet if we want to surprise the fellow.”

“I’ll stand here by the boat and wait for you,” Answin said. “Forgive me, but I have a wife and five hungry young mouths to feed, and they need their father to come back home alive. Besides. .” He hesitated for a moment. “Well, there are stories going around about this house that I don’t like. It’s said the master of the hunt back then was a bad character-he had his own way of dealing with poachers. Some of them vanished and were never seen again. So watch out that the same doesn’t happen to you.”

Bartholomäus nodded. “Thanks, Answin, we’ll take care of ourselves. Just one last favor, please. If you hear me shouting, then something has gone wrong. Please alert the city guards.”

“We should have done that before,” Simon replied gloomily, “but once again, no one wanted to listen to me.”

“Exactly. So let’s go.” Jakob took the lead, and the others followed him into the dense forest.

As soon as they were under the tree cover, Magdalena could hardly see her hand in front of her face. The rain came pouring down. Nevertheless, she had refrained from lighting the lantern so as not to alert Markus Salter any sooner than necessary. After a while the undergrowth disappeared, and they entered a part of the forest with tall-standing firs and scattered birches, and the view improved. Somewhere an owl hooted, but otherwise all they heard was the sound of the pouring rain and their own steps through the damp, moldy leaves. Repeatedly they had to find a way around swampy pools of water.

They had made their way perhaps a stone’s throw or two from the river when Jakob suddenly stopped and pointed ahead of them through the trees, where the outlines of a large building surrounded by a low wall became visible.

“Is that it?” he whispered to his brother, who had come up from behind.

Bartholomäus spat on the ground. “That’s it. It looks dark in the house, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. There are a few cellar rooms whose windows were all boarded up long ago. Let’s sneak up a little closer and perhaps we’ll be able to see something else.”

“I’ve seen enough,” Jakob hissed. “My Barbara is in there, so I’m going to get her and bring her out.”

“Father,” said Georg softly, having approached from behind without their noticing, “it doesn’t make sense for you to just go bursting in. Salter could hold Barbara hostage or even kill her. So let’s see if there isn’t some way we can get in without being noticed.”

Jakob grunted, which was apparently tantamount to a concession. They passed through a rusty gate in the crumbling wall, then crept toward a large thornbush just a few steps from the building.

Magdalena could see now that it must have once been a stately hunting lodge. It was two stories high and built of sturdy pine and beams of dark oak on a stone foundation. The remains of a terrace extended along one side of the building, ending in a neglected, overgrown garden of fruit trees and overturned statues. Shingles had fallen off the roof and some of the siding had broken away, but the building still looked huge and solid.

Like a gloomy old castle, Magdalena thought, with an evil witch living inside.

Some of the stories she read to her boys told of terrifying witch’s houses, mostly small and dilapidated, but for the first time Magdalena had the feeling that such a house really existed.

And it was a very, very big one.

Suddenly something strange happened. The rain stopped, and a strong wind arose, howling and whistling as if to warn the house of possible intruders. Magdalena began to shiver, and not only because of the cold. She remembered what Answin had just told them.

There are stories going around about this house that I don’t like.

“The front door appears to be locked,” Jeremias whispered, pointing to the massive two-winged portals leading from the terrace into the house. “But a few of the windows are open. Besides, there’s probably a back door for the servants, which they can-”

He stopped short on hearing a long, drawn-out scream that chilled Magdalena to the bone.

“Barbara!” Jakob howled, standing up from where he was crouched behind the bush.

“For God’s sake, be quiet,” Bartholomäus hissed. “We’re trying to surprise him, so-”

But the Schongau hangman had already stormed off like a mad bull toward the building.

“Stop this jackass before he ruins everything,” Bartholomäus demanded, turning to Magdalena. “You may be the only one he still listens to.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” Magdalena mumbled, closing her eyes briefly and saying a quick prayer.

Then she ran off after her father.

Barbara froze when she heard the bolt on the cell door being pushed aside. Drenched in rain and sweat, Markus Salter stood before her in the doorway with that familiar sad smile on his face-only now he didn’t appear melancholy anymore, but simply crazed, like a dark angel that had just fallen from heaven.

“It’s time,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Let’s get it over with.”

Without another word, he went over to Adelheid Rinswieser and loosened her shackles in a few places. He lifted her up, almost tenderly, until she was finally standing-unsteadily, as her feet were still bound. He held a gleaming dagger up to her throat.

“Now, very slowly, we’ll go over to the other room,” he ordered her. “Please don’t resist, or I’ll have to hurt you prematurely, and I don’t want to do that.”

Adelheid cast a final, warning glance at Barbara, then disappeared with Markus into the corridor. Barbara heard a high-pitched, anguished shout-not a woman’s voice but that of a man.

After some time, Salter returned alone. He removed Barbara’s shackles and helped her up.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“I’m restoring the balance of justice,” he said. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. That’s what it says in the Bible.”

With astonishing strength, he pulled Barbara down the dark, stone corridor to another room illuminated by torches. Instinctively she let out a little cry. Adelheid Rinswieser had not exaggerated.

Spread out before her was a veritable nightmare.

Barbara had seen the torture chamber in the Schongau dungeon and had even helped her father clean up a few times. But this was something different. The room did not look like an ordinary torture chamber, but one dreamed up by a madman.

Or a demon.

There were the usual instruments like the rack, a rope and pulleys, tongs, thumbscrews, a “Spanish rider,” and, in the far right-hand corner of the room, a brazier that gave off an almost sickening warmth. Scattered among them were strange objects that Barbara had never seen before: a bloodstained wooden device, spherical on one end and coming to a sharp point on the other; a tub filled with a whitish liquid; a cage in the shape of a head; and a few iron boots inlaid with spikes and screws. Other instruments were so bizarre that Barbara couldn’t figure them out even after studying them. Strewn around the room were bales of hay with reddish-brown spots where blood had congealed on them.

The worst, however, were the paintings on the cloth panels that hung from the ceiling like backdrops in a theater. They reminded Barbara of paintings of hell depicting tortured sinners bleeding from their many wounds, their mouths open in silent screams. They stared at Barbara from every corner of the room-hasty sketches of human cruelty, like the first building plans for a new cathedral. Everything in this room expressed a single human feeling.

Pain.

Lying on the rack, moaning and in chains, was Hieronymus Hauser. The old scribe appeared to be unconscious. His eyes were closed, and he quivered like a fish on dry land, but he was still alive. Crouching along the opposite wall on a bale of straw was Adelheid Rinswieser, shackled, and with a leather cord around her neck attached to an iron ring in the wall. She was staring straight ahead, but Barbara could see that her whole body was trembling with fear. Barbara was still so paralyzed by the horrible sight that she was completely void of all emotion. Like a lamb being led to slaughter, she let Markus Salter guide her over to the wall, where he gently pushed her down to the floor and tied her, as he had Adelheid, with a strap. With other ropes, he tied her feet and hands. Then he stood up and approached Hieronymus Hauser on the rack, while continuing to smile gently at the two women.

“We are coming to the end of the performance,” he said softly. “The scale is tipping back into equilibrium.” He passed his hands playfully over the wheel used to tighten the chains at the head of the rack. “I asked Malcolm to have my play performed, but no matter how often I asked, he wouldn’t. It’s too bad; it would have been a great success, a very great success. Do you know what is the driving force in every good play?” He looked at the two women questioningly. When they didn’t respond, he continued. “Love and revenge. Everything else is derived from those two. All of Shakespeare’s great tragedies are based on it. My play begins with love and ends in revenge-a great deal of revenge. Do you want to hear a summary?”

“I do,” Barbara whispered, hoping to put off the inevitable for a while. “Tell us.”

“Well, the play is about a young boy born into a large, happy family-father, mother, aunts, grandparents. His grandfather is none other than the Bamberg chancellor himself. The boy is safe and secure in the arms of his mother. That’s the end of the first act, the end of love.” Salter’s smile died like the light of a candle that was suddenly snuffed out. “Because now, a few powerful people want to destroy this family, an ice-cold calculation based on their sheer lust for power. They have a diabolical plot, and the little boy watches as first his grandmother, then his mother, are convicted of witchcraft and tortured, and their bodies burned. He clings desperately to his father, but he, too, is executed as a warlock, as is his grandfather, the Bamberg chancellor. The boy is four years old, and bit by bit his world crumbles. As soon as he seeks comfort in a new family member, that person, also, is cruelly tortured and killed. He goes to live with his uncle and his aunt until they, too, are taken away by the executioner. In the end, the boy is completely alone. That’s the end of the second act.” Salter paused and stared blankly into space.

“From this boundless sorrow, a much stronger feeling emerges,” he finally said in a monotone. “Hate. Even before he says his last farewell to his tortured aunt, bleeding from her many wounds-she is the last close relative he had in Bamberg-she gives him the names of those who were paid blood money for destroying his family. He will never forget these names, not a single one.”

Tears gleamed in Salter’s eyes as he slowly continued turning the wheel of the rack. Each time, Hieronymus Hauser moaned loudly.

“Harsee, Schwarzkontz, Vasold, Gotzendörfer, Herrenberger, Hauser, Schramb, Braun.”

On hearing the last name, Adelheid Rinswieser let out a muted cry. “My God, Braun! That’s my father.”

“The orphan is brought to the Carmelite monastery on the Kaulberg,” Salter continued without paying any attention to the moaning and shouting. “The monks there don’t care for him. They believe he is a witch’s offspring. They torment him with words and prayers, they beat him day in and day out, they lock him in a cell deep underground. And there he recites the names of the guilty like a prayer. Harsee, Schwarzkontz, Vasold, Gotzendörfer, Herrenberger, Hauser, Schramb, Braun.” Salter started slowly turning the wheel again while the moans of the nearly unconscious scribe grew louder. “But one day the boy discovers an escape route through a mountain of sand. .”

“The crypt under the monastery!” Barbara gasped. “You already knew about it and that’s why you went there to find shelter.”

Markus Salter didn’t even seem to hear her. He just kept going on and on. “So the boy flees from the monastery, and once he’s out he learns that the last of his relatives has been killed, to wipe out any trace of the crime. There is, however, a distant relative, an uncle in Cologne, who takes him in. He begins his studies at the university there, and he takes on the name of his uncle in order to forget, but he can’t get these names out of his mind. Harsee, Schwarzkontz, Vasold, Gotzendörfer, Herrenberger, Hauser, Schramb, Braun.”

The next time Salter turned the wheel, Hieronymus Hauser let out a shriek, a high-pitched, anguished cry, almost like that of an animal.

Barbara closed her eyes, but she couldn’t escape the screams.

“Why me?” she shouted. “What do I have to do with it?”

Markus Salter just smiled.

“Can’t you see, Barbara? You’re a hangman’s daughter. Your family, too, assumed part of the guilt back then, which you must atone for now. The needle on the scale is swinging back to the middle. We are approaching the last act.”

When he turned the wheel the next time, the victim’s joints cracked sharply, and Hauser’s scream no longer sounded human.

Magdalena rushed toward the building, where her father had already arrived and was pounding on the door. She could still hear the horrible screams coming from inside. Behind her, above the sound of the storm and wind, her uncle was shouting.

“No, Jakob! Don’t do this!”

But the Schongau hangman paid no attention to him and kept slamming his body against the massive door, which did not yield an inch. “Damn it! It’s locked,” he cursed as Magdalena ran up to him. He kicked the door several times, but it didn’t move.

“Stop, Father,” Magdalena pleaded. “You won’t get anywhere that way. We must pull ourselves together-”

“Barbara!” Jakob shouted, as if he hadn’t heard his elder daughter, and kept hammering on the door. “Can you hear me? Are you inside?”

Hearing no answer, the hangman raced along the front of the house without another word, until he reached a boarded-up window. With his huge hands he seized the boards, ripped them off the house, and soon had an opening large enough to enter.

“You. . you stubborn damned ox,” Magdalena shouted. “At least wait until the others get here.”

But Jakob paid no attention to her. He heaved himself up onto the sill and disappeared inside the building, from which a muffled, drawn-out moaning could be heard. Magdalena by now was certain that the cries were not coming from her sister. But who, then? Perhaps Hieronymus Hauser? She briefly thought she heard another female voice, but she could have been mistaken.

Desperately she looked around for her comrades-in-arms. Georg, Simon, and Bartholomäus were approaching, but Bartholomäus was having a lot of trouble running across the slippery ground with his stiff leg. Only Jeremias was still hiding behind the thornbush, staring out anxiously at them.

“Isn’t that just wonderful,” Bartholomäus snorted when he finally arrived. “In all these years your father hasn’t changed at all. He just plunges ahead, hell-bent, come what may.”

“Well, at least he ripped out a hole in the wall first,” Simon said, pointing at the opening. “You might call that progress.”

“But what the hell shall we do now?” Magdalena scolded. “Nobody knows what to expect inside.”

“I’m afraid your father has made that decision for us. Now all we can do is act fast and pray.” Bartholomäus was already hoisting himself onto the sill, and despite his handicap, he was astonishingly nimble. He pointed at Simon, who was standing next to the window holding his wheel-lock pistol, uncertain what to do. “You’ll stay out here with Jeremias in case the fellow somehow gets away from us. Do you at least know how to use that weapon?”

Simon looked at it doubtfully. “Uh, my father-in-law gave me a quick explanation earlier. I think it’s loaded, but-”

“Fine, then everything is all right.” Bartholomäus slipped into the house.

Once again there was loud moaning from the depths of the house, and by now it no longer sounded like a human wail. Magdalena looked at Simon, who was staring at the pistol as if it were a poisonous snake.

“You probably won’t even need it,” she reassured him, “and if you do, just hit the fellow over the head with it.”

“Magdalena,” Simon pleaded, “don’t go in there. It’s enough that your father and your uncle and Georg are risking their lives.”

Magdalena hesitated, but then she stood up straight. “Simon, you don’t understand. My little sister is somewhere inside there, in the hands of a madman. I can’t stay outside. If anything happens to her, I’d never forgive myself.” She attempted to smile, but it looked strained. “Everything will work out-you’ll see.”

Then she climbed in after Georg and her uncle.

Inside it was as dark as in a rotting coffin. Magdalena thought she saw some dust-covered furniture wrapped in blankets, and some places on the walls were a bit lighter than their surroundings-presumably doorways leading to other rooms. A few steps in front of her, she could see the outlines of her uncle and her brother.

“If your father hadn’t been so stupid as to come crashing in here, we could have lit a torch or a lantern,” Bartholomäus hissed. “Now we’re standing here blind as bats. Why couldn’t he wait for us?”

“His daughter is being held captive in there, and perhaps being tortured. Don’t forget that,” Magdalena chided him. But silently she had to admit that her uncle was right.

Sometimes Father is like a little boy, just a lot stronger and with a lot less common sense.

She had just reached one of those lighter sections along the wall, which did, in fact, turn out to be an open doorway, when she heard a rumbling and crashing somewhere in the building. There were more screams, but this time she couldn’t have said whose voice it was. Near the back of the building, someone shouted Barbara’s name, followed by silence.

“That was Father, I’m sure,” Georg said excitedly. “Then he’s already found Barbara!”

“It sounded more like something happened to him,” Bartholomäus said as he rushed into the next room. “That’s what he gets for being so impatient.”

Magdalena followed him, squinting as she groped her way forward. They were standing now in a sort of reception room or parlor; the main entrance was visible on the left. A faint ray of moonlight fell through a crack in the entrance, and the wind rattled the boarded shutters. In front of them, emerging from the shadows, a rickety stairway led up to a balcony, underneath which there were two other doors, both open.

“And now what?” Magdalena asked. “We have no idea where Father is. Perhaps he’s already headed off in another direction.”

“I’m telling you, we need a light,” Bartholomäus grumbled. “I left my lantern outside with Jeremias. I can still get it and light it.”

“We don’t have time for that-let’s just keep going straight back.” Georg turned to the door on the right underneath the stairway; it appeared to lead to the back of the building. “One way is as good as the other. If we don’t find Father there, we can always-”

A sudden sound caused Magdalena to spin around, and, looking up, she saw something black swooping down on her and Georg. At the last moment, she threw herself to one side, dragging her brother along with her. There was a crash, and Georg let out a loud shout.

“Damn it!” he gasped. “What is that? That hurts like the devil!”

Magdalena, beside him, smelled a sharp, biting odor that made her cough. Choking, she turned and bumped into something metallic.

“Be careful, that’s lime!” Bartholomäus shouted. “It seems there was a tub of it up there that fell down. Quick, get away. The stuff is as sharp and biting as devil’s piss.”

Magdalena felt a burning spot on her hand. Quickly, she rubbed it against her skirt, and the stinging subsided. Then she moved cautiously away from the balcony and was just barely able to make out Georg and Bartholomäus standing along the wall on the opposite side of the room.

“I nearly tripped over something,” Georg whispered as he also rubbed his hands. “I think there was a wire leading up to the balcony. That bastard set traps here to scare off intruders.” Then he turned toward his sister. “I have to thank you. If you hadn’t pushed me away, I’d probably be blind now.”

“So would I,” she mumbled.

Magdalena couldn’t help thinking of Jeremias and his scars. If she or Georg had gone just one step farther, they would have ended up looking just like him.

Did our werewolf use this caustic treatment on his victims? She shuddered. Is that how he disposed of them?

“We’ve got to be careful,” Bartholomäus said. “Perhaps my brother ran into a trap like that a few minutes ago. God knows what’s still in store for us. From now on, we’d better think about every step we take.”

They passed through the door on the right, under the stairway, into another dark room that seemed just as large as the first and led them to two more hallways. By now, Magdalena’s eyes had grown accustomed enough to the dark that she could see more than just outlines. The walls were lined with deer antlers covered with dense cobwebs, and alongside them, in wooden frames, faded paintings so horrifying that even the marauding Swedish mercenaries didn’t want to take them along. Something scurried between their feet, squeaking-a rat or mouse that they had startled.

Again there was a loud scream. The voice seemed to be both nearby and very distant, and Magdalena’s heart skipped a beat. Then she heard her father calling.

“Good Lord,” she whispered. “If we want to help Barbara and Father, we’d better hurry. I’m afraid we have to just not worry about other traps.”

They all ran to the next door.

“Barbara? Where are you? Barbara!”

Jakob’s voice rang through the dark rooms and hallways of the old hunting lodge. The hangman had stormed blindly into the building and had made it through the first room when he realized he had badly miscalculated. He should have waited for the others, as now he had to fend for himself. But he couldn’t hesitate a moment longer now that he’d alerted Barbara’s abductor of his presence. He was struggling to think it all through, clearly and precisely, as he always did, but his fear for his daughter’s welfare made it impossible to think straight. Where had this madman hidden her?

Barbara, my little Barbara. .

He groped through the darkness randomly, running through rooms, falling over rotted pieces of furniture, getting to his feet again, and kept looking. Strange beasts lurked in the corners-or were they just wardrobe closets and chests? He felt as if he was in a dream. He continued onward, through doors and corridors. Once, next to his feet, he heard a metallic snap, which he ignored, and another time a voice calling. It sounded like his brother’s voice, but perhaps it was someone else. Perhaps the madman?

Barbara. . Where is Barbara?

By now he’d gone almost all the way through the first floor of the house; he had to be somewhere in the back of the building. He bumped into a table, hard, and there was a tinkle and clatter of broken dishes. As he was about to turn back to the rooms in front, he saw what looked like a black, square-shaped opening behind the table. He approached it cautiously and saw it was the entrance to a stairway leading to the cellar. The wooden hatch was open, as if someone had just entered the staircase.

The cellar. I’m on the right track.

His suspicions were confirmed when he heard shouts again from down below. He had already entered the stairwell when his sensitive nose detected an odor he knew only too well. Something was burning down there, and he was sure it was no cozy fire in the hearth.

Grimly he reached for the oak cudgel he’d been carrying on his belt and hurried down the steps. Now that there was not even a ray of moonlight coming through the cracks in the walls, it was as dark as the inside of a coffin. The stinging odor became stronger now and his eyes began to tear up, but still he continued running down the dark, steep stairs.

Suddenly he felt pressure on his right shin, then something thin and very hard cut through his trousers. A searing pain passed through his leg, as if someone had struck it with a whip. Thrashing about, he staggered like a shot and wounded bear, trying to grab onto the wall to keep his balance, but it was like trying to stop a mighty oak from falling after it had been severed at the root. He plunged down the dark staircase, turning head over heels several times on the way down.

A wire was the thought that flashed through his mind. It must have been a wire. This devious bastard, this-

Then he landed hard at the bottom and darkness flooded over him like a warm bath.

Hieronymus Hauser writhed in pain on the rack and screamed like a lunatic while his torturer watched him with interest. Barbara and Adelheid lay shackled in a corner, paralyzed by the horror taking place before their eyes.

“Is that the way my grandfather screamed, back then?” Salter asked, turning the wheel a bit tighter. “Tell me. You were there. You were the scribe and wrote everything down so carefully. Did you make a note of how long he screamed, how loud, how shrill? Did you? Tell me!”

“Oh, God, please stop,” Hauser whimpered. “I was just the scribe. I. . I had no choice.”

“Yet you took the blood money, didn’t you?” Salter persisted. “A part of our family fortune went to you, as well. I’ve seen your house at the Sand Gate, Master Hauser. A simple scribe can’t afford anything like that. Tell me, you bought your house with the blood of my family, didn’t you? Well?” Once again he turned the wheel a bit, and Hauser’s joints made a crunching sound like a dry hemp rope.

“Yes! Yes! I did!” the scribe screamed. “And if I could, I swear I’d pay it all back to you. Believe me, I have suffered, too. Every night I’ve dreamt of those tortures. They’ve never let me go.”

“And they’ve finally caught up with you,” Salter replied in a whisper. “You knew they would, didn’t you? I could see it in your face in the palace hall. I enjoyed your fear as I looked down at you from the stage. You thought you could get away from me, but in the general confusion it was easy for me to strike you down and bring you to the boat.” Salter’s face darkened. “When I came back to plant the magic props on Malcolm, the crowd seized me. That was not part of my plan, but then, that’s how I found the little hangman’s daughter. God sent her to me.”

“It’s not yet too late to return to God’s just way,” Hauser gasped. “If you release me now, I promise you-”

“You disgust me with your begging,” Salter interrupted. “I’m certain that my grandfather, my father, my mother, and all the other Haans died with far more dignity than you will. Let’s end this pathetic farce.”

He was just turning to the brazier in the corner, where a tong was already glowing red-hot, when they heard a loud hammering overhead. Then Barbara heard a deep, muffled voice, coming most likely from up on the first floor, though all she could understand were random words. But she did recognize her father’s voice.

Barbara!

Her heart leaped for joy. It was her father calling. He’d found her!

When Markus Salter heard the noise from the floor above, he flinched. Then he suddenly stopped and stood still, like a fox in an open field, and shook his head in disbelief.

“This. . this is impossible,” he stammered. “This can’t happen now. The play isn’t over yet, or. .” Suddenly a smirk passed over his face. He reached for the tongs and walked toward Barbara.

“It’s your uncle, isn’t it?” he said. “Or your father. In any case, someone from your accursed clan of hangmen. Well, whoever it is, he will soon get a big surprise. The audience likes that, doesn’t it? Surprises.” He listened intently as if waiting for what would come next, but when he didn’t hear anything else, he turned back to Barbara and Adelheid with a shrug. “Your family has destroyed mine, and now they’ll have to watch how I deal with their relatives. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a-”

There was a metallic crash, and from the corner of her eye Barbara could see that the heavy brazier had tipped over and the glowing pieces of coal were rolling like stones across the floor. Adelheid, who had been crouching along the wall directly next to the brazier and until then had remained silent, had given it a violent kick with her shackled feet. The room immediately filled with an acrid odor, and some of the pieces of coal rolled into the bales of straw, which immediately began to smoke. Flames rose up along the hanging paintings to the wooden ceiling. Stunned, Salter stumbled back a few steps.

“What. . what are you doing?” he stammered. “Why-”

“Here we are!” Adelheid yelled. “Down here in the cellar! Help us, whoever you are!”

Again there was a crash outside. Evidently something heavy had fallen down the stairs. Barbara was still paralyzed with fear.

What’s going on outside, for heaven’s sake? Where is Father? He should have gotten down here already. Is it possible he didn’t hear us?

She looked back at her torturer. The overturned brazier had given them no more than a brief respite. Salter seemed to have already gained control of himself.

“If that’s what you want, then burn!” he bellowed. “Burn just like my parents and grandparents. Burn, all of you!”

Red and blue flames rose from the bales of straw. One bale stood close to the rack, and flames reached out eagerly to devour the dry wood. Hauser gasped and writhed on the rack, whimpering softly, then turned his eyes away and lost consciousness again.

Markus was about to run to the door when he stopped and turned back to Adelheid with a look of determination.

“You’re coming with me,” he said. He rushed over to her, pulling her up by the hair so hard that she screamed. “The hangman’s girl and the scribe can burn, but I still need you. Who knows what’s waiting for me outside? You’re my hostage.” He stared into her emaciated, ashen face. “You were always my favorite, Adelheid-so strong, so full of the will to live. I almost let you go, but it can’t end like this. Not yet.”

As he spoke, he removed the leather strap around Adelheid’s neck, loosened the shackles on her feet, and dragged her to the doorway. The apothecary’s young wife cast a last, desperate glance at Barbara, then disappeared with him in the corridor, and the door closed with a loud bang.

Smoke crept like a bitter potion down into Barbara’s throat.

“Father,” she gasped, trying to crawl across the floor toward the door with her shackled feet, but the leather strap around her neck held her back, and every time she moved, the noose closed tighter. “Father. Here. . I. . am. .”

Then the clouds of smoke finally blocked her sight.

Jakob Kuisl didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious. For a moment? For hours? When he raised his pounding head, there was nothing around him but heavy smoke and darkness. He coughed and tried to sit up. From his experience with execution fires, he knew the smoke was always the densest and the most deadly at the bottom. “If you want to die fast, keep your head down,” he’d sometimes advised condemned men. “Then it’s almost as if you’re going to sleep.”

But I don’t want to die-not yet. I’m looking for my Barbara.

He staggered to his feet. Every bone in his body hurt, and his head felt like a soaked sponge, but evidently he hadn’t broken anything in falling over the trip wire. Now that he was standing, the smoke was no longer as thick and he could breathe more freely, but he still couldn’t see anything in the darkness. He assumed he was somewhere at the bottom of the cellar steps.

As he was trying to get his bearings in the swirling clouds of smoke, he heard muffled screams off to one side, and shortly thereafter a door swung open with a crash, suddenly revealing a corridor illuminated by the blazing light of a fire. A man came out, dragging a shackled woman behind him. Jakob squinted, but then the door closed again, and once more the corridor lay in darkness. He blinked several times and shook himself, trying to pull himself together. The fall had shaken him more than he’d realized.

“Barbara!” he rasped. “Is that you?”

A woman’s voice cried out but was cut off so suddenly it seemed as if someone had put his hand over her mouth. Still, Jakob was sure it was Barbara. He’d finally found her, and she was still alive.

“Barbara! Here I am!”

The hangman groped blindly toward the place he’d just seen the two people, reaching out into the darkness like a drowning man, when suddenly something bumped into his side, and footsteps scurried past. Then he heard a sound, someone gasping nearby, like a disembodied ghost. He reached out frantically in all directions, but there was nothing there, and a moment later he heard another door squeaking somewhere behind him.

This time Jakob resolved to be absolutely quiet. He wanted to be sure this madman wasn’t lurking for him in some dark corner and wouldn’t find him an easy target. Intuitively he reached for the oaken cudgel on his belt, but it appeared he’d lost it in his fall.

Then I’ve got to go with what I have.

Slowly and ponderously, like a golem that had sprung to life, he moved toward where he’d heard the squeaking door.

His hands stretched out in front of him, he groped his way down the smoke-filled corridor. For a moment, he thought he heard a hoarse voice behind him, but it was probably just his imagination. On his right there was a rough wall, then an opening.

The door. That bastard left the door open. Now I’ll get you.

Blindly, Jakob entered the room and felt a fresh breeze blowing toward him, driving away the clouds of smoke. There had to be a window somewhere. But how was that possible? He was deep down in the cellar. He desperately tried to remember how the house looked from outside. Was there perhaps an escape tunnel? A trapdoor he had overlooked in his haste?

Something hard and cold brushed against his face. He reached for it and could feel a chain with an iron hook on it. There was a second hook within easy reach. He shook the chain, and the links jingled as they swung back and forth. His eyes were full of tears from the smoke, and he still wasn’t able to see anything but dark outlines.

Where am I, for God’s sake?

He strained to concentrate on his other senses: sound, touch, smell. His fine nose detected, amid the clouds of smoke, something else-a fragrance of something that had been there long ago and had eaten its way into the walls. It smelled of blood and salty, smoked meat, haunch and saddle of venison, wild boar’s leg. . Jakob flinched.

The meat cellar. I’m in the storage area for meat from the hunter’s kill, and there’s a shaft here they used to lower the disemboweled animals. Where-

Suddenly a shadow jumped at him from out of the darkness. The hangman felt a sharp sting as one of the hanging chains hit him on the cheek. He fell to the ground and rolled to one side to escape a possible second blow, but it didn’t come. Instead, he heard fast, shuffling steps disappearing into the darkness.

A moment later he heard the muffled voice of a woman, a bolt was pushed aside at the top of the shaft, and a trapdoor opened up.

Jakob shook off the pain, looked up, and saw moonlight streaming into the room through an opening. After all this time in darkness, the faint light seemed almost as bright as the light of day. The wide shaft ended up above at the trapdoor, which now stood open. A narrow stairway no more than a foot wide led up the side of the shaft, and two figures were standing just below the trapdoor. One wore a dress that fluttered in the wind. Before Jakob could see anything else, the trapdoor slammed shut and the two figures had disappeared.

“Barbara!” the hangman shouted up the shaft. “Barbara!”

He raised his fist threateningly and sent a curse up into the night sky. “I’ll get you, you bastard, even if you run to the ends of the earth, and then not even God will be able to save you! No one kidnaps my daughter-no one!”

Jakob struggled to his feet and hobbled, groaning, toward the stairway, which was now once more enveloped in darkness. He thought he heard a soft, hoarse cry coming from far down the corridor behind him, but it was too faint to tell exactly where it came from.

Once again, and not for the first time that day, the hangman felt he was far too old for such adventures.

Coughing and with tear-filled eyes, Barbara tugged on the leather strap that bound her like a dog to the ring on the wall. The smoke was now so thick she could hardly see anything in the room anymore. The rack had to be on her right where old Hieronymus Hauser was lying, not making a sound. Perhaps he’d already suffocated from the smoke.

“Help!” Barbara cried. “Help, Father! I’m here!” But there was no answer.

Flames crackled all around her, moving up the hanging tapestries to the wooden ceiling, where they licked at the beams. It got hotter by the second; the only reason Barbara’s clothing hadn’t burst into flame was that she was still wearing the rain-soaked monk’s robe. At the moment, the robe was like a protective shield. Just the same, Barbara knew it was only a matter of minutes until she would die an agonizing death down here in the fire.

If I don’t suffocate first like old Hauser.

Once again she struggled to loosen the knot in the strap with her shackled hands, but it was tied too tightly. She looked around in panic until she noticed the glowing poker lying on the floor not far from her. Could she sever the strap with it?

She stretched her leg out and was just able to reach the glowing poker with her toe. There was a soft hissing sound as the fire ate its way through her shoes. She groaned, clenched her teeth, and tried to ignore the pain. She pulled the poker close enough to reach with her shackled hands. Carefully she picked it up at the far end, which was not as hot, but still the heat was enough that she almost passed out. The poker seemed to practically stick to her skin, but she persisted, pressing the poker against the leather strap she could see only faintly in the billows of smoke, and at the same time tugging at the strap, which gave off a stinging odor.

Finally, when the pain had become almost unbearable, the strap gave way and Barbara fell backward.

She had no time to lose. Gasping, and with her hands and feet still shackled, she crawled through the clouds of smoke toward the place where she assumed the door was. She knew this was her only chance. If her sense of direction failed her, she wouldn’t have a second opportunity to look for the exit on the other side of the room.

Please, please, dear Lord, don’t let me be wrong.

With her shackled hands she felt her way along the stone wall, recoiled from the burning tapestries, and finally felt the hot wood.

The door. She’d actually found it.

With agonizing slowness, on the verge of passing out, she rose to her feet, groped for the door handle, and found it. Barbara was so happy she barely noticed the burn from the poker. She pressed the handle and threw herself against the door, and with a loud crash it flew open. The dark corridor on the other side was also full of smoke, but nowhere near as dense as in the room she’d just left. Nevertheless, it was enough to rob her of her sight and breath.

Father. . Father, she wanted to cry, but her throat was so dry that only a soft wheeze came out. Nearly blind, she moved ahead a few steps into the darkness, banged into the opposite wall, and found another door slightly ajar that she pushed open. She entered.

Where. . where am I?

She turned around, looking for another way out, but there was none. The room was tiny, a storage closet full of old odds and ends. A ray of moonlight fell through a narrow open window far above her, allowing just enough air into the room that she did not suffocate.

Smoke swirled into the room from the corridor, and the crackling flames seemed to be drawing nearer.

Tears ran down her face, where they quickly dried in the soot and ashes.

Her father had not found her.

One floor above, Magdalena, Georg, and Bartholomäus were still groping through the dark rooms as the wind whistled through the cracks in the windows and the rotted roof of the old hunting lodge.

Shadows lurked in the corners, large forms that looked like petrified monsters but which on closer examination were nothing but pieces of furniture covered with dust and cobwebs. They had just walked past a moth-eaten stuffed bear that seemed to glower at Magdalena with an evil eye. Once again they heard muffled cries coming clearly from the cellar beneath them, but they couldn’t locate the stairway going down. The entire house stank of mildew, ancient mold, mouse droppings, and-

Magdalena stopped short.

“Do you smell that, too?” she asked her two companions in a low voice. “It’s smoke. There’s a fire somewhere in here.”

“Damn, you’re right,” Bartholomäus growled. He lifted up his nose and sniffed the air. “Where do you think it’s coming from?”

Magdalena squinted and looked around. How could she find anything in this damned darkness? She couldn’t see a fire anywhere, but the smoke was getting stronger and stronger. Looking down toward the floor, she suddenly thought she saw a gray, undulating cloud, and now she noticed other little clouds of smoke rising toward the ceiling, where they became more visible in the moonlight coming through the cracks in the windows.

“Good God, the whole floor is smoking,” Georg cried out in horror. “There must be a fire down in the cellar.”

In just a few moments, the smoke became so thick that Magdalena started coughing. Earlier, she had at least been able to see dark outlines, but now she could hardly see a thing.

“Let’s get out of here!” Bartholomäus shouted. “Perhaps the smoke isn’t quite so heavy yet in the back of the house.”

Her uncle raced down another corridor, and Magdalena followed close behind. She had no idea where Georg was. Smoke was everywhere now, stinging their eyes and making breathing increasingly difficult.

She heard a metallic click followed by a sudden, anguished cry, this time very nearby. Georg! Bending down, she saw him indistinctly just a few steps away. He was writhing around and seemed to be in great pain.

“What happened?” she asked anxiously.

“Something grabbed me by the leg,” Georg said through gritted teeth. “I think it was another of those damned traps. It. . hurts. . so much.”

Magdalena crawled over to her brother, passing her hand down his leg until she felt something metallic and sharp that had clamped down on his right ankle. The fresh blood stuck to her fingers. While she was examining Georg, Bartholomäus crawled over to them. He coughed, rubbed his eyes, and bent down to have a better look.

“By all the saints! That’s a wolf trap,” he gasped. “This madman actually put out wolf traps here.” With his powerful fingers he pulled apart the two jagged jaws that had clamped down on Georg’s ankle. Georg let out a short cry, then just moaned softly. “We’ve got to get Georg out of here as quick as possible and care for the wound,” Bartholomäus said, throwing the trap into a corner with disgust.

“But what about Father and Barbara-” Magdalena started to say.

“Forget both of them,” her uncle interrupted. “If we want to save Georg, we’ve got to get him out of here right away. Everything will be going up in flames here in a minute. The floors are dry and crumbling, and there’s a cellar under the entire house. When it starts to burn down there, the wind will come roaring through the halls like in a chimney.” He held Magdalena’s hand. “You must be strong now. If Barbara and your father are somewhere down below, there’s nothing more we can do for them. But we can help Georg.”

“Then you take care of Georg,” she said as another fit of coughing shook her entire frame. “I’m going to keep looking for them-”

“Girl, come to your senses. There’s nothing more you can do here-your stubborn father made a mess of it all. Now we’ve got to salvage what we still can.” Georg moaned as Bartholomäus began pulling him away. “Now hurry up and help me. With my stiff leg and all the smoke, I can’t get this heavy guy out fast enough by myself. The windows are nailed shut-we’ll have to go all the way back to the front.”

Magdalena bit her lips and clenched her fists. She’d never in her life felt so helpless. Did she really have to decide between Georg and Barbara? The twins, so different from one another, were like her own children. How often she’d given them a goodnight kiss or sung them a song. She’d watched them grow up. And now she had to decide their fate in this lonely house in the forest. Was this really the end?

What shall I do? Oh, God, help me. What shall I do?

Bartholomäus had pulled the groaning Georg to his feet, but it was clear her brother couldn’t walk by himself.

“Hurry up!” Bartholomäus yelled, tugging at her dress. “This whole place is about to collapse.”

“I. . I can’t,” she mumbled as the wooden floor beneath her grew hotter and hotter. The first tongues of fire were already licking through the cracks.

“You must.” Bartholomäus gave her a shove. “Do you want to burn to death? Is that what you want? Do you want Georg to die along with you just because you can’t decide?”

“Georg won’t die,” she replied in a flat voice. “I’ll help you take him out, but then I’m coming back to look for Father and Barbara. I’ll never-”

At that moment a form emerged out of the smoke from one of the doorways. The man coughed, but he stood up straight. He waved the smoke aside with his hands and staggered toward them. For a moment, Magdalena thought it was a ghost.

But then the ghost started to speak, and she knew who it was.

“Out! Get out, all three of you,” Jeremias said. “I know where Barbara is, and I’ll get her out, just as surely as I’m the former executioner of Bamberg.” He shuffled quickly past them. “And now, please get out-this is my job.”

Somewhere far below, several timbers could be heard collapsing.