The Werewolf of Bamberg

17

THE BAMBERG FOREST, NIGHT, NOVEMBER 2, 1668 AD

Outside, in front of the house, Simon nervously clutched the pistol in his hand. The wind had gotten stronger; the tops of the trees creaked and groaned, and the howling of the wind made it almost impossible to hear what was happening inside the house.

It had been quite a while since Magdalena, Georg, and Bartholomäus had entered. Simon had thought it best to stay behind the thornbush and wait to see what happened. From there he could keep an eye on everything, and if necessary he could. .

He hesitated.

Indeed, what could he do?

It was his job to stop the abductor if he should leave the building, but no one had told Simon how to do that. Suspiciously, he eyed the loaded weapon in his hand. He probably wouldn’t have any luck with the old firearm unless Salter was standing directly in front of him, and even then it was questionable whether it would fire at all.

Simon sighed and wiped a few raindrops from his face. Until just a while ago, at least he had Jeremias at his side, but during the long wait, the old man had grown increasingly silent. He had just stared at the dilapidated hunting house, shaking his head occasionally and mumbling softly to himself. It looked like he was thinking it all over. Once or twice, during brief lulls in the wind, Simon thought he heard muffled cries coming from the house. What was going on in there, anyway? Should he go and have a look? He never should have let Magdalena enter the house. But once his wife had put her mind to something, it was very hard to get her to change.

Impossible, actually.

Just as he’d decided to sneak closer to the house, smoke had suddenly started pouring out some of the windows, and then flames appeared on the ground beneath them.

At that moment, Jeremias stood up and ran toward the house, where he disappeared through one of the windows.

Leaving Simon alone.

The iron pistol in his hand felt cold, and in a strange way reassuring, but nevertheless his fear increased, as well as a gnawing uncertainty that tormented and paralyzed him. Almost his entire family was over there in that strange building, which was burning down before his eyes. He couldn’t just stand idly by. He had to help. But how? Should he perhaps rush into the burning house, hoping to find Magdalena and the others? But what if-

Suddenly, very close to him, there was a menacing growl, deep, almost like an approaching whirlwind.

The werewolf, Simon thought.

But then he scolded himself for being such a fool. Good Lord, there was no such thing as a werewolf, there was only a madman taking his cruel revenge-and he was over there in the house and not here in the thornbush.

What was it, then?

Again he heard growling, and a rustling sound as if something large was creeping through the thicket.

Right toward him.

That was more than he could take. With the pistol in his hand he ran toward the building, where smoke was now pouring out on all sides. He turned around a few times but couldn’t see anything in the darkness.

But he did see something right in front of him.

Two figures, a man and a woman, came crawling out of a cellar door. At first he thought they were Jakob and Barbara, but as they came closer, that hope vanished. The man was far thinner and shorter than the hangman, and the woman at his side was considerably older than his sister-in-law. He didn’t know either of them, but he guessed that the man was Markus Salter. He was holding a knife to the throat of the woman and pushing her in front of him.

With a determined look, he pointed his weapon at the abductor. Finally he knew what he had to do. He was trembling slightly and hoped Salter wouldn’t notice it.

“Stay right where you are, you rotten scoundrel!” he shouted, “And drop your dagger if you value your life.”

Only now did Salter appear to notice him in the darkness. With a calm, relaxed demeanor, he turned to Simon. Simon was astonished. The man in front of him looked sensitive and intelligent, not someone Simon would expect to commit such dastardly crimes.

“When my life ends is something I’ll determine myself,” Markus said, so softly that Simon could barely understand him over the sounds of the wind and the raging fire. “And the final curtain has not fallen.”

Not until now did Simon have a chance to look more closely at the woman, whose hands were clearly shackled. She looked haggard and drawn, and her dress was soiled and ripped. She was no doubt one of the people Salter had abducted. Were there others trapped down below in the burning cellar? If so, they had little chance of making it out alive.

“Where is Barbara?” Simon demanded with a trembling voice. “The hangman’s girl? What did you do with her, you devil?”

“So that’s what you want to know?” Salter smiled. “Are you one of her relatives? It must really be a large family-almost as large as mine was once.” The smile vanished. “I’ll make you an offer: I’ll tell you where Barbara is, and you’ll let the two of us go.”

“By God, if she’s still down there, I’ll shoot your head off,” Simon replied grimly, pointing at the barrel of the gun.

Salter gave him an innocent look. “Who says she’s there? Perhaps I’ve taken her somewhere else altogether.”

“She’s-” the woman started to gasp, but Salter put his arm around her neck and held the knife to her throat.

“Don’t say a word or you’re dead,” he hissed, then turned back to Simon. “Well, what do you say? Throw the pistol away, and I’ll talk.”

“And suppose you don’t? What do I do then?” Simon asked.

Markus Salter smiled. “That’s just the risk you’ll have to take.”

Simon took a deep breath. What should he do? Accept the madman’s offer? He was about to go into a long-winded reply, just to buy time, when from of the corner of his eye he saw someone climbing out of the shaft. And this time he was quite sure who it was.

It was Jakob Kuisl.

Salter couldn’t see him, as his back was to the building, and Jakob was still a good thirty yards behind him. The hangman raised his hand in a warning to Simon.

I’ve got to stall him, Simon thought. Just a bit, until Jakob is close enough.

“What a splendid hideaway you have here,” he said, keeping a firm grip on the pistol. “It’s too bad it’s all going up in flames.”

Salter shrugged. “I don’t need it anymore-my work is done, though I do regret the loss of the”-he hesitated-“let’s just say the props. Some of them were valuable pieces I acquired from experienced smiths in Forchheim, but most of them were fortunately already there.”

“You mean the torturing tools?” Simon asked with surprise.

“I prefer the word props,” Salter said with a smile. “I discovered this house on our last visit to Bamberg. People avoid it because they think it’s haunted, so no one has ever searched the old cellar, not even the Swedes back during the Great War. The former owner had a strange hobby. I found a rack down there, thumbscrews, Spanish boots, tongs. . It was like God giving me a sign. My revenge could finally begin.”

Simon surreptitiously glanced behind the actor, where Jakob approached, step by step. He seemed to be limping. Apparently he’d had an accident in the house, and Simon could only hope his injuries weren’t so serious that he couldn’t overpower Salter.

“But why now?” Simon asked. “So many years have passed. Why couldn’t you forget? Why-”

“I wanted to forget!” Salter interrupted, still threatening his struggling victim with the knife. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. “Believe me, I didn’t want all this. But then, half a year ago, I came back to Bamberg. I saw those fat patricians at the performances, some of them the same men responsible for killing my family. They’d made comfortable lives for themselves with my family’s fortune, while I scraped along as a poor actor. But I learned all about them-where they lived, their habits, trips, political intrigues. I assumed many disguises to get close to them, and lo and behold, old Gotzendörfer actually lived in one of our former houses, which he’d acquired for next to nothing. And I surprised greedy old Vasold in front of another home that once belonged to our mighty family. What a stroke of luck.” He smiled, but then his face turned serious and grim again. “It was hardest with Sebastian Harsee. That son of the former chairman of the Witches Commission, that swine, had made it all the way to the post of Bamberg suffragan bishop, even though his father was the mastermind behind the plot to destroy our family.”

“You had to make sure Sebastian Harsee died in that unspeakably horrible way,” Simon said.

“Hah! You figured it out? You know the true story of Romeo and Juliet?” Salter’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “The suffragan bishop was my masterpiece. It all began with him. A few months ago I came upon a dying fox here in the forest and got the idea of poisoning my two darlings with rabies. With Juliet it didn’t work, but it did with Romeo. I sold some religious writings to Harsee and in that way gained access to his rooms. Then Romeo kissed him.” He giggled. “I made Harsee my werewolf, the one responsible for all these horrible murders. It took a long time, almost too long, but finally he got sick at just the right time. The suffragan bishop, that bigoted zealot, finally became a warlock himself, and people believed he was prowling through the streets in the animal pelts. But it was always me-the last heir of the family that his power-hungry father destroyed.”

“Harsee almost found you out,” Simon replied. “He sent his guards to watch your actors, and that’s when you planted the pelts on Matheo.”

Salter shrugged. “I’m sorry about Matheo, but what could I do? They were hot on my heels. Later, I steered the suspicions toward Sir Malcolm. I smuggled the child’s skull and other odds and ends into his chest, just in case they were looking for a suspect.”

Jakob was now just a few steps behind Salter. He gestured at Simon to keep talking.

“I can understand why you wanted to take revenge on the members of the Witches Commission,” said Simon, “but why these innocent women-”

“They are just as innocent as the members of my own family!” Salter screamed, squeezing the blond woman’s neck until she started to suffocate. “Their only quarrel was with my grandfather, but they went ahead and killed the entire family, because they were afraid of our revenge. Now I’m taking my vengeance out on them in the same way.” His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “The only one who disappeared without a trace was the former hangman. It was said he left no family. Then Barbara and I crossed paths. She told me that all hangmen are related and view each other as cousins. Michael Binder and Bartholomäus Kuisl, for example-so she, his niece, had to die as a member of the great family of hangmen. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.”

Simon was stunned. What had Salter just said?

She, his niece, had to die. .

Did that mean Barbara was already dead? And what about Magdalena and the others?

Just then Jakob reached the unsuspecting Salter. He jumped on him from behind with a hoarse shout, and all three fell to the ground. The woman began shouting now, too, as Salter was still holding her like a shield between himself and Jakob. The knife disappeared in the tumult.

Frozen to the spot, Simon stood just a few steps away, observing. He felt the cold iron of the pistol in his hand again. Had the moment finally come to use it? But what would happen if he shot the wrong person?

“Stop!” he shouted desperately as he fumbled around with the pistol. “Stop at once or I’ll shoot!”

But the two men had no intention of stopping. Simon saw now that Jakob looked battered, almost numbed. The smoke in the house must have made him dizzy, and he was bleeding from several wounds to his head.

Finally, the woman, still in shackles, managed to squirm free of the two unequal opponents and rolled to one side, where she lay panting. Next to her, the fight continued. Markus was nowhere near as strong as the hangman, but he was nimble and had an athletic build. The hangman, weighing nearly two hundred pounds, was sitting on top of him, but just as he prepared to throw a punch, Salter picked up a handful of dirt and threw it in his face. In the following confusion, he slipped away from Jakob-but instead of fleeing, he angrily attacked the blinded hangman with all the power of a madman.

“You. . are. . really a big damn family,” he panted as he punched the dazed hangman again and again. “How. . many. . of. . you do I have to send to hell?”

Now Simon could not wait another moment. Holding his breath, he aimed, even as Salter seemed to be jumping in all directions, and then finally pulled the trigger.

“You can go to hell yourself!” Simon cried, trembling and panting, expecting a large explosion.

There was a soft click-and nothing else. The powder had not ignited.

Salter stopped briefly, then broke out in loud laughter.

“You would make a good actor,” he giggled. “I almost thought the weapon was loaded. That’s why I seldom use a pistol, except on the stage. Sometimes just a stone is enough, and at least as deadly.”

He reached for a large rock, raised his arms, and was about to bring it crashing down on the groaning hangman, when all of a sudden there was a threatening growl.

Simon cringed. It was the same growl he’d heard earlier in the thornbush.

A deep rumble, like that of an approaching whirlwind.

“What in the world. .,” Salter mumbled, looking around.

Out of the darkness a vague shape came charging at the two combatants. It was bright, almost white, and was as large as a calf.

The werewolf! Simon thought. So there is such a thing.

Like a monster from hell, the beast attacked Salter, who was paralyzed with fear, and tore him away from Jakob. The flames were not very bright, so all Simon saw was the outline of an unequal fight. Salter screamed as the beast, with its powerful jaws, ripped off his jerkin and shirt and finally tore open his chest. With flaring nostrils, the beast sniffed at the blood-streaked upper torso of his victim and finally located the throat.

Markus’s screams stopped abruptly as the huge fangs clamped down on his neck. He twitched violently a few times, his legs thrashing uncontrollably, as the beast ripped apart his throat and drank his blood. Finally, he lay there motionless.

The creature raised his head and stared at Simon.

For the first time, the medicus studied the animal and realized how huge it was. It had short, pointed ears, a stubby face, and a wide mouth with jowls that hung down over a row of sharp teeth. Its red eyes glowed faintly like tiny jack-o’-lanterns, and its rib cage was much too large and wide for its head, as if the creature had been cobbled together from different races of hounds. Its fur was a grayish-white and it had massive forelegs and huge paws. It was the size of a young bear and spattered with blood. It seemed to have been created with just one purpose.

To kill.

Simon regarded it with a mixture of horror and awe. It wasn’t a werewolf but clearly some kind of dog.

But it was at least as dangerous.

Once again the animal gave that threatening growl. Jakob was still lying stunned and motionless on the forest floor, just a few steps from the monster that approached him now, sniffing loudly.

Simon felt his whole body quiver. What would the beast do to his father-in-law?

“Hurry up and shoot!” screamed the woman, who had sought refuge behind a bush. “Shoot before it kills us all!”

Simon was going to reply that his weapon was old and useless, but he took out the gun again and aimed.

I have to try, at least, before the beast eats my father-in-law alive. I have to try. Lord, help me. .

He pulled the trigger.

This time there was a loud report, a bright flash in front of him, and a recoil that traveled up through his hand like a whiplash. He shouted and dropped the burning-hot pistol, thinking he’d gone blind-but then he heard a whimper, opened his eyes, and saw the monster in spasms on the ground. Blood flowed over the white fur of the animal’s chest. It gasped, and its legs kicked as if it were running through an imaginary meadow.

Then, suddenly, it froze.

I hit it. The realization shot through Simon. I actually hit the beast.

For a few moments, the world seemed to stand still. In the background, flames shot up even higher toward the roof of the hunting lodge, the wind howled, and the firs bent and groaned under the force of the heaving wind.

Then he heard a cry from inside the building.

“Brutus! My God, Brutus! What have they done to you?”

Simon looked toward the burning front entrance, where Magdalena and Bartholomäus were standing, holding a stunned-looking Georg between them.

They carried the boy a few more steps until he was beyond the reach of the fire, then Bartholomäus let go of him and hobbled toward the dead dog.

“Brutus, my dear little Brutus,” he wept. “Why did you have to run away from me?”

Magdalena was in the clearing with Georg, who stood there moaning as the flames slowly crept up to the roof of the lodge. The wind had subsided a bit now but was still blowing hard enough to turn the building into a fiery inferno. The events of the last few hours had shocked Magdalena. As if in a trance, she’d helped Bartholomäus carry her injured brother through rooms full of fire and smoke, past stuffed, mangy heads of stags and wild boar, smoldering furniture, and wall hangings full of holes, with flames licking up them toward the ceiling.

She shouted, cried, wailed. Barbara and her father had to be somewhere in the house, but she couldn’t help them. The only one who might still save them was a crippled old man, but he, too, had presumably already been consumed in the flames or suffocated in the smoke.

They’d finally reached the front doorway, coughing, when they heard a shot outside. Some distance away, Magdalena saw Simon and a woman she didn’t know, but the man on the ground had to be her father. Alongside him was something white that she couldn’t quite make out. A wave of relief came over her. Her father had escaped the hellish flames.

And Barbara? How about Barbara and Jeremias?

Bartholomäus let go of Georg and ran toward the group, so Magdalena dragged her brother the last few steps by herself, finally letting him down gently on the ground.

“Everything will be all right,” she mumbled, almost like a prayer she was saying just for herself. “Everything will work out.”

Then she was standing around the corpse with the others, while Bartholomäus leaned down to it as if it were a dead child, stroking the blood-spattered pelt and speaking soft words of consolation. Simon, in the meantime, had run over to care for Georg and stanch the blood from the wound on his leg with a few strips of material from his torn shirt. Markus Salter lay a short distance away, ripped apart like a wild animal slaughtered in the hunt, but no one paid attention to him.

“I can only do the most basic things for your brother,” Simon said grimly, turning to Magdalena as he tightened the bandage. “The wound is quite deep. The boy urgently needs medicine so it doesn’t become infected.” He also pointed to Magdalena’s father, sitting silently and dejectedly on an overturned tree trunk nearby. “And your father also needs bandaging. That crazy scoundrel hit him hard in the head several times. But he won’t let anyone help him.”

“Don’t you understand? He’s thinking of Barbara,” Magdalena snapped as her whole body began to tremble. “We’re all thinking about Barbara. Except you, apparently.”

“Perhaps she’s not even in the burning house,” Simon ventured, trying to console her. “Salter suggested he might’ve taken her somewhere else.”

“She’s inside,” said a soft voice beside them. It was the blond woman, who Magdalena realized must be Adelheid Rinswieser, the wife of the Bamberg apothecary, who had been missing for more than a week. “Barbara was his last victim,” she continued sadly, “along with that old scribe.” Timidly, she placed her hand on Magdalena’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

Magdalena felt something wet on her cheeks-tears, running down her face in streams. She felt as if someone had kicked her hard in the stomach.

“I must go to Father,” she mumbled in a flat voice. “He needs me now.”

She stood up and walked over to Jakob, who was still sitting alone on the tree trunk, looking like a craggy boulder that had washed up ages ago in a forest clearing. She sat down next to him, and together they stared into the crackling flames now rising over the roof of the old lodge.

“It’s my fault,” the hangman said suddenly. “I was so. . angry. I went charging in there all by myself, like a wild bull. Bartl is right. I am a good-for-nothing.”

“Father, what are you saying?” Magdalena replied in a soft voice. “You couldn’t have stopped it. All of us-”

She stopped, suddenly seeing another figure staggering out the front door. Burning wooden beams from the roof came crashing down and glowing shingles flew through the air, but the figure staggered on. Only now did Magdalena see it was Jeremias, holding something in his arms carefully, like a treasure.

It was a delicate human form, wrapped tightly in a blackened monk’s robe, but Magdalena knew right away who it was.

“Barbara!” she shouted, running toward them.

Magdalena’s cries tore Jakob out of his profound grief.

He thought at first that his mind was playing tricks on him, but then he looked up and saw Jeremias stumbling toward the group, holding the motionless girl in his arms. He jumped up, rushed the few steps over to the two, and took his daughter in his huge, muscular arms. He hadn’t cried since the death of his wife, but now tears ran down over his bearded, smoke-blackened face.

“Barbara, Barbara,” he sobbed. “My little girl, I’m so sorry.”

Magdalena and the others had come running over as well. Barbara’s hair had almost all been singed away, and her face and fingers were covered with soot and little red burn blisters. Her hands and feet were still in shackles, though the ropes were singed. Her chest moved rapidly up and down, like that of a sick little bird. “At least she’s still breathing,” Simon said, carefully examining her. “This heavy monk’s robe apparently saved her life. The material must have been soaked with rain, so it kept the worst of the heat out.” Carefully he helped Jakob lay the unconscious girl down on the forest floor, and together they removed the steaming robe, singed at the edges.

“Bring me some water,” the medicus cried. “Quick!”

Jakob ran to a nearby pool and scooped up some water in his hat, then they washed Barbara’s face and gave her a bit to drink. She opened her eyes, looked briefly at Jakob and the others, and a smile spread across her face.

“Father,” she murmured. “You didn’t abandon me. I’m thirsty. .” Then she passed out again.

“You will have all the water in the world, my little girl, if you just stay with us,” Jakob whispered, moistening Barbara’s dry lips with a few drops he squeezed out of a wet handkerchief.

“I think she’ll make it through,” Simon said after carefully inspecting her burns. “But I do need a few healing herbs, both for her and for Georg, as soon as possible, and we can only get those in Schongau.” He sighed. “For the time being, I’d be happy if we could just find a bit of shepherd’s purse or a handful of elder leaves to prevent an inflammation.”

“I can get you elderberry leaves,” Magdalena said happily, pointing back at the burning building. “I think there’s a big elderberry tree by the house that still has some of its leaves.” She quickly disappeared in the darkness while Simon and Jakob continued caring for the wounded.

Which now included Jeremias. Along with his old scars he now had some burn wounds, and he wheezed with every breath.

Jakob bent down and gently took his badly burned hand. “Thank you,” he said, his voice trembling. “Thank you for saving my daughter.”

“I owed that to our Lord God,” Jeremias groaned. “One life for another. I never should have killed Clara, even if she would have betrayed me, that devious, calculating wench. I had no right to do it.”

“Only God has the right to take a life,” Jakob replied. “We hangmen are only his tools.”

Jeremias smiled. “If that’s the case, I’m an often-used tool, ragged and old, and beyond repair.” He coughed dryly.

“How did you know where Barbara was in there?” Jakob asked. “How could you find her, and I couldn’t?”

Jeremias had another coughing fit, this time spitting out blood mixed with soot. “I. . remembered,” he finally croaked. “Long ago I was here, as a very young hangman’s servant. The master of the hunt at that time was a cruel man. If he caught poachers, he liked to string them up himself, and sometimes he tortured them beforehand, in order to learn about their accomplices. He had his own private torture chamber down in the cellar. My father and I helped him set it up.” He gave Jakob a sad look. “I’ve seen so much evil in my life, cousin, and there are many things I’ve tried to forget, but I wasn’t always successful.”

“I have nightmares myself, sometimes,” Jakob admitted, almost inaudibly. “Like my father, like Bartl, like all of us who have to do this dirty work for the nobility. We must never let our bad dreams overcome us.”

He looked down at Jeremias sympathetically. The horrible events in his earlier life as Michael Binder had robbed the old man of all feeling, and possibly made him a bit mad, but now, at the end, he appeared to be returning to what he once was: a young man in love with his Carlotta.

“I couldn’t save the old scribe,” Jeremias gasped, repeatedly interrupted by dry coughs. “The entire room was already in flames. I found Barbara in a little room across the hall. It seems she had sought shelter there, where the flames were not so. .” He shuddered and grimaced with pain. “Damn! This hurts almost as much as before, when I threw myself into the trough of lime.”

Jakob wanted to remove Jeremias’s shirt to get a better look at the wounds, but the blackened material had eaten its way into the flesh. The hangman saw that it was too late for any help.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jeremias murmured. “Sooner or later the end will come, even for an executioner. Look after your children instead.” He smiled. “You’ve got such great children. You can’t say enough about them. I wish I had such wonderful children myself.” He clung to Jakob as another wave of pain coursed through his body. “Just one more thing,” he said. “I’ve got to know before I go. Would you have turned me in to the city guards? Tell me, would you?”

Jakob hesitated. “I think I would, yes,” he finally said. “Every crime must someday be atoned for.”

Jeremias let go of him and closed his eyes. “You’re. . a. . good. . man, Kuisl,” he whispered. Then his head fell to one side.

Jakob listened to his heart, then took his own singed coat and laid it over the old man, as if he were just sleeping. There was still a smile playing over the man’s lips.

He looked as if he was at peace.

With a sigh, Jakob turned to the others. Barbara was in a deep sleep, but her breath was now more even. Simon had washed her, so her skin no longer looked as black and burned. Alongside her, Georg groaned loudly in pain, but the wolf trap at least had not severed a tendon, and he was able to hobble around. Jakob himself still felt dizzy from the smoke and the blows to his head, but he’d gotten far worse beatings before in barroom brawls.

Just the same, this monster nearly killed me, he thought. By God, I’m really getting too old. .

Simon knelt down beside the corpse of the dead dog, examining it with Bartholomäus. The medicus looked like he was thinking it all over, trying to find some idea lurking in his mind.

“I think Brutus was rabid,” he told Bartholomäus, who appeared to be recovering from the worst of his sorrow at the loss of his pet. “All the foam around its mouth, that sudden attack, the rage, the trembling legs. . And Salter’s prisoner, the apothecary’s wife, just told me the poor animal had been prowling around the house for a long time, rooting around and digging.”

“When I went looking for him around here with Aloysius, he must have been very close by.” Bartholomäus paused to think, then stood up and washed his bloody hands carefully in a puddle nearby. “God knows where he picked up that infection, but if Brutus had rabies, that would explain his random, savage killing of animals in the forest and why he attacked Salter in such a rage.” He winked at Jakob. “But maybe the dog mixed the two of us up and thought his master was being attacked.”

“I always knew dogs were stupid,” Jakob answered dryly. “Who could have mixed the two of us up?”

“You’re more alike than you want to admit. When will you two squabblers finally realize that?” It was Magdalena. With a broad smile, she returned from the other side of the burning house holding her scarf, knotted together and full of leaves and herbs. “Here’s good news for a change,” she said, holding up the scarf triumphantly. “I found not just elderberry shrubs in the wild garden but also an old overgrown patch of herbs. Now, in late autumn, there wasn’t much there, but the flames from the house were so bright I was able to find some dried shepherd’s purse and buckhorn.” She gazed over at the hunting lodge, where the upper story had collapsed. Black smoke rose up into the night sky like a giant, admonishing finger. Magdalena suddenly pursed her lips.

“But even these herbs weren’t able to save Hieronymus Hauser,” she said darkly. “Katharina’s father burned to death in there. What a terrible end for the old man.” She handed the folded scarf full of herbs to Simon, helping him and her father as they crushed them in their hands and laid them on Barbara’s and Georg’s wounds. They tore Bartholomäus’s coat into long strips to serve as bandages.

“I don’t think the old scribe suffered for very long,” Adelheid Rinswieser replied after a while. She had been given Magdalena’s woolen coat and stood off to one side shivering, still looking dazed. “He was already unconscious when Salter dragged me out of the room. He must have suffocated without ever regaining consciousness.”

“A merciful death for someone who bought his fortune with the blood of others,” Bartholomäus growled, staring wistfully into the burning house. “As the scribe for the Witches Commission, Hieronymus made a lot of money during the trials. I see now how he could afford that beautiful house by the Sand Gate. I never really liked him-he was a very calculating person.”

“But he did agree to his daughter’s engagement to the executioner,” Jakob reminded him.

Bartholomäus gestured dismissively. “If Katharina will even take me anymore,” he said sadly. “After everything that’s happened in the last few days, I’m not so sure.”

Suddenly a hunting horn sounded in the distance. Jakob looked around in astonishment.

“Who is that? At this time of day it’s certainly not the bishop out hunting. Perhaps good old Answin?”

“Ah, not exactly,” said Simon as he cleared his throat and applied the last bandage. “I must confess I told Captain Lebrecht before we left. Aloysius was kind enough to tip off the city guards, and now it seems we can put them to good use here,” he said, pointing at Barbara and Georg, “if only to transport the injured and put out the fire before it spreads to the forest.” He rubbed his nose in embarrassment, then grinned. “They could also help us with a plan I’ve been thinking about for a long time that might end this miserable werewolf story once and for all.”

“A plan? Hah! I thought you were just scared,” Jakob replied with a smile. “I thought I’d always have to have a pussyfooter as a son-in-law.” He chuckled. “But then you went and killed a real live werewolf. What silly old bathhouse medicus can say that of himself?”

A few minutes later, the guards arrived. There were almost a dozen of them, led by the Bamberg captain Martin Lebrecht. Meanwhile, Simon had been trying to figure out how to win over the captain. The plan he’d thought up while studying Brutus’s carcass was quite risky, and it all depended on Lebrecht going along with it.

Him-and the apothecary’s wife.

The captain nodded when he saw the burning building. “Maybe it’s better that this building is finally going up in flames,” he said, mostly to himself. “There was always something evil about it. I’ve heard that all sorts of riffraff and strange people hung out here. I should have had it torn down long ago.”

He gave a sign to the guards, and they fanned out to extinguish some small fires smoldering in the woods despite the recent heavy rain. Only then did he turn to the small group of wretched-looking people in front of him. Simon had quickly covered Salter’s corpse and the dog’s cadaver with brush in order to avoid premature questions. Jeremias’s body, however, still lay there, covered only with Jakob’s coat, next to Barbara, who had passed out again, and Georg, who propped himself up on a makeshift crutch, pale and with clenched teeth.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” the captain burst out. “What the hell happened here? And whose corpse is that lying there?” He leaned down, holding his torch.

“Well, ah. . It’s a long story,” Simon replied. “Perhaps it would be better if we talk about it in private first.”

“When you first called for us, I wasn’t sure if we should even come, but now. .” Lebrecht frowned and looked at the victims as if trying to make sense of it all. “Sure, why not? My men are occupied over there, anyway. Tell me what happened.”

Simon took a deep breath. Now he’d see if his plan would work.

“We caught the werewolf,” he began in a firm voice. “Actually, two of them-one an animal and one human. Come and see for yourself.” He took Lebrecht off to the side, where Markus Salter’s corpse and Brutus’s carcass lay underneath a brush pile. Simon pulled the branches aside, and the captain blanched.

“My God,” he gasped. “This is the werewolf? And the man here is one of those actors. Did that monster mangle him? And what brave fellow finally killed the beast?”

Simon blushed. “Ah. . that was me. But allow me to start at the beginning.”

He tried to explain as briefly as possible-the witch trial of Chancellor Haan and his family, Salter’s former life as Wolf Christoph Haan, and his plans for revenge that cost the life of the suffragan bishop. In conclusion, he explained how the trail had led to the old hunting lodge where there was a life-and-death battle.

“Salter often dressed up as a werewolf to spread fear in the city. First he observed his many victims, then he abducted them, and finally he tortured and killed them in this abandoned hunting lodge,” Simon explained. The captain listened in astonishment, his mouth agape. “As a former law student, he had precise knowledge of the different degrees of torture, just as they are described in the Bamberg Constitutio Criminalis, the criminal code. Salter punished his prisoners in exactly the same ways the members of his own family had been tortured, tit for tat.”

He pointed at the pale Adelheid Rinswieser, who up to then had been standing in the background. “The honorable wife of apothecary Rinswieser and my young sister-in-law are the only survivors; they can confirm all this for you. There was no real werewolf, only a man in search of revenge. Markus Salter, alias Wolf Christoph Haan, wanted to incite a panic in the city just like the one back then during the witch trials, when everyone in the city would point a finger at their neighbors. You must admit he succeeded.”

Lebrecht looked around suspiciously. “Do you mean to say this Haan fellow duped my men up in the old castle by presenting them with a dead wolf and putting on a show of hocus-pocus?”

“Ah, well. .” For a brief moment Simon seemed uncertain, but Magdalena came to his aid.

“Evidently he wanted to free his friend Matheo, because he knew he was innocent and the wolf pelts actually belonged to Salter,” she suggested with a straight face. “The dead wolf was only a distraction, and your night watchmen promptly fell for it. They’d perhaps had a bit too much to drink.” She winked at the captain. “They say people who make their own schnapps at home sometimes meet the devil in person.”

“Hm. .” The captain scratched his unshaved chin. “That’s possible. In fact, I found an empty bottle in the guardhouse, and the horror stories the fellows came up with made it seem like they were covering something up. I thought-”

“That it was the bishop’s baboon you’d been looking for for so long?” Magdalena interrupted. “Well, the baboon could hardly have killed the wolf.”

Lebrecht looked at her severely. “Didn’t I tell you not to reveal a word about that in public?”

Simon raised his hands apologetically. “Trust us, we’ll be sure to keep this little secret, as I’m embarrassed I didn’t realize earlier what was going on. I visited the bishop’s menagerie along with Master Samuel, and I saw the empty monkey cage there. But at the time I was too occupied with other things.”

“That damned monkey has been driving me crazy,” said Lebrecht. “I’d like to put a stone around his neck and throw him in the Regnitz-but then the prince-bishop would probably throw me in after him,” he sighed. “Oh, well, now the beast is back in its cage.” He shook his head in amazement. “And His Excellency Sebastian Harsee was infected with rabies, you say? Damn, and I thought he’d been bitten by a real werewolf.” He gazed across the clearing, now illuminated by torches, where the guards were still on the lookout for smoldering fires and pulling apart some of the burning timbers. “Actually, the bishop’s master of the hunt told me just last week there had been an increase in rabies cases in Bamberg Forest. He had to put down a few foxes and wolves.”

Lebrecht hesitated, then pointed at the huge dog carcass. “That brings me to the matter of this creature. You said there was no werewolf. So what is that? And what’s a beast like this doing here in the forest so close to the city?”

“That’s something you should hear about from someone else.”

Simon stared at Bartholomäus, waiting for him to speak up, but the Bamberg executioner just stood there defiantly, his arms crossed. After a while, Jakob gave his brother a kick in the shins. Bartholomäus glared at him briefly, then hesitantly started talking.

“The dog is an alaunt, an ancient race that I have reintroduced,” he said. “It escaped from the knacker’s house and somehow got infected with rabies, the poor animal.”

“Poor animal?” Lebrecht scoffed. “It’s a damned monster, Master Bartholomäus. Do you have permission from the bishop to keep this animal?”

Bartholomäus lowered his eyes. “No, I don’t. No one except us knows it even exists.”

“You see, that’s just what I was getting around to.” Simon beamed, as he always did when he had what he thought was a brilliant plan. He turned to the Bamberg executioner. “So nobody knows about this dog?”

“That’s right,” said Bartholomäus, folding his arms. “Didn’t I just say that?”

“Well, then I’d like to introduce you all to the real werewolf.” With a dramatic gesture he pointed at Brutus-with his huge body, muscular chest, and long teeth, still looking very dangerous, even in death. “Here it is.”

Martin Lebrecht looked at him, confused. “Now I don’t understand a word. You just said there was no werewolf.”

“Correct, there is no such thing, but we still need a beast for the people-because until they see it lying dead in front of them, they’ll keep looking for it. That would mean more suspects, more trials, and more innocent people thrown into prison, tortured, or even burned at the stake.”

Simon leaned down to the dead Brutus, grabbing him by the neck and struggling to lift him up, so that the dog’s eyes seemed to glare diabolically at the group.

“The people need evil. It must lie dead in front of them, or they will never believe it has been vanquished,” he continued. “Brutus is our werewolf. He’s big, looks strange and dangerous, and, above all, has already been captured and is dead. We’ll never find a better scapegoat.”

“Just a moment,” Bartholomäus interrupted. “Do you think people will believe that my dear Brutus abducted and killed all these people?”

“Yes, a truly horrible beast.” Simon nodded with a dark, theatrical look in his eyes. “And not just that. Brutus prowled the streets of Bamberg and put a curse on the suffragan bishop, turning him into a werewolf as well. Believe me, when we show Brutus to the citizenry, many of them will remember having seen him-in the night, in a dark corner of the city, on their way home from the tavern. . They’ll remember how they barely managed to elude him, and even the guards up in the old castle will be convinced that this is the real werewolf.”

“You can just forget about that,” Lebrecht sneered, shaking his head. “You’ll never get away with it. The Bamberg bishop will never-”

“Suppose I told you we had His Excellency Bishop Johann Philipp von Schönborn on our side-a real, living elector?” Simon interrupted sternly. “Just today, Schönborn assured me he completely supports us. He wants to make sure this case does not turn into something like what happened forty years ago. How we prevent that is entirely up to us-those were his words exactly.” He smiled with pursed lips. “And Bishop Rieneck certainly won’t oppose Schönborn’s wishes, especially since he depends on the money he gets from his powerful friend to finish his palace. Don’t you agree?”

There was a tense silence, and Simon thought he could hear Jakob and Bartholomäus suddenly inhaling between their teeth in surprise.

“You have the support of the elector?” Martin Lebrecht gulped. “Well, that’s naturally something else. We, ah. . could at least give it a try.”

“How nice.” Simon winked, then clapped his hands with determination. “So I’ll ask you now for the following, Captain: Call your men over and tell them about this terrible werewolf. Tell them we killed the beast in a heroic struggle, in which we suffered some injured and dead. Then we’ll tie the beast to a heavy branch, carry it to the Green Market in Bamberg, and put it in the stocks for all to see, so they will know it’s dead and this horrible time has finally come to an end.”

Lebrecht hesitated, then pointed with concern to the unconscious Barbara and to Adelheid Rinswieser, who, like the others, had been following the conversation closely. “But how about those two? They know that’s not the truth.”

Simon turned to Adelheid and looked at her intently. He was sure Barbara would keep quiet, as it was doubtful she had even heard much of what was going on that night, but what about the apothecary’s wife?

It all depends on that, he thought. Will she help us? Will she understand how important this plan is for the future of the city?

“I shall keep my silence,” Adelheid finally said in a soft voice. “Everything will have happened just as you said. The werewolf abducted me. It cast a spell on me. I only awoke today in this hunting lodge, and that will be all I have to say.”

Simon breathed a sigh of relief, but the captain still appeared uncertain, biting his lips and studying the huge, bloody cadaver.

Suddenly Jakob Kuisl stepped forward, seized the beast in one hand, and held it up like a light bundle of fur.

“Damn it! Quit your foolish hesitation,” he growled. “I seldom compliment my son-in-law, as you know, but this time he really has a sensible idea. I’m telling you, string this beast up on the gallows in Bamberg for everyone to see, and then we’ll finally get back our peace and quiet-and I can return to Schongau.” He dropped the carcass as Bartholomäus, standing behind him, groaned.

“On the gallows? A dog?” A smile spread across the captain’s face, then he burst out laughing. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. But since we have the blessing of a real elector and the experience of two executioners, we’ll try it. Men!”

He motioned to the guards, who quickly gathered around Brutus’s cadaver and began talking excitedly. Some crossed themselves or murmured a prayer, while others bent down carefully and tore off a piece of the hide or dipped their fingers in the congealing blood of the massive hound.

“There he is, our werewolf,” Martin Lebrecht proclaimed dramatically. “The hunt is finally over. Thank God! Now let’s take the beast to Bamberg and tell the people what has happened here.”

The men cheered, even as they cast furtive looks at the dead animal, as if fearing it might suddenly come back to life and attack them.

While the soldiers looked around in the forest for a suitable branch to transport the carcass, Jakob carefully picked up his daughter and made his way down to the river, where Answin’s boat was waiting, and Bartholomäus looked after Georg, who came along behind. It was a strangely moving scene as the Bamberg executioner and his nephew hobbled away together into the night. When Adelheid Rinswieser had also said her last farewell, Magdalena turned to Simon with a knowing look.

“Tell me, that bit about the Würzburg bishop,” she asked in a quiet voice. “Is that true? Is the elector really on our side?”

Simon smiled and shrugged. “Well, I think Johann Philipp von Schönborn will support us if I tell him about it. In any case, he told me he’d be behind us as much as possible. The Würzburg bishop is a reasonable man who doesn’t believe in magicians and witches, nor in werewolves, either. But so far”-he winked-“well, he doesn’t know any more about it than the rest of Bamberg.” He laughed and embraced Magdalena.

“Simon, Simon,” she said. “You’re a scaredy-cat, a swindler, and-”

“And a brave killer of werewolves,” her husband interrupted with feigned severity. “Don’t forget that. And now let’s leave as fast as we can and go check on the children. I think they have earned themselves a bedtime story or two.”

“But nothing scary,” Magdalena pleaded.

“Nothing scary, I promise. I’ve had enough of scary stories.”

Arm in arm they walked down the dark path through the forest while, behind them, the last of the flames in the sinister building died out.