The Werewolf of Bamberg

2

BAMBERG, NIGHT, OCTOBER 26, 1668 AD

Just as Magdalena was beginning to think they’d never find her uncle’s home, Jakob suddenly stopped and pointed triumphantly at a two-story house standing right at the northern city moat.

“Ha! Now look there,” he boasted. “My brother’s house. A little run-down compared to the last time, but still an impressive place. Bartl must have kissed a lot of asses on the city council to get permission to live in town.”

Magdalena frowned as she looked at the lopsided half-timber house whose paint had been peeling for a long time. A small shed and a stable were attached. The building, shrouded in the fog, was built so close to the moat it was in danger of slipping into the foul-smelling morass at any moment. Nevertheless, it was a stately home. The hangman’s daughter couldn’t help but think of her father’s house in Schongau, in the stinking Tanners’ Quarter out of town and not nearly as large as this one. She had a vague feeling that her father’s barely concealed dislike for his brother had something to do with jealousy.

A thin ray of flickering light came through the closed shutters on the first floor. Jakob pounded on the massive wooden door, and shortly afterward there was a muffled but still familiar voice that made Magdalena’s heart pound.

“Uncle Bartholomäus, is it you?” the voice inquired cautiously. “I didn’t expect you back so soon from the torture chamber. Why-”

“For God’s sake, Georg, it’s your own father. So open up, or do you want to keep us all standing out here in the cold?”

The Schongau hangman rattled the doorknob, and a muted voice came from inside. Then the bolt was pushed aside and the door open.

“Georg! Thank God!”

Magdalena shouted for joy when she caught sight of her younger brother, whom she hadn’t seen for almost two years. Georg had grown, and the pimples had given way to a dark fuzz on his face. Though only fifteen years old, he seemed much stronger and heavier, almost a smaller version of his father with his hooked nose, broad chest, and tousled black hair. A smile came over his face, then he shook his head and laughed.

“It looks like my prayers have been answered, after all. Uncle Bartholomäus said just this morning that perhaps you wouldn’t come to his wedding. But I was sure you wouldn’t let us down. My God, how happy I am to see you!” He embraced first his father, then his twin sister, Barbara, and finally Magdalena. Then he picked up the two shrieking boys and tossed them into the air one after another.

“Uncle Georg, Uncle Georg!” Paul shouted excitedly. “Will you whittle another executioner’s sword for me?”

“An executioner’s sword?” Georg asked, perplexed.

“I told him how you always used to whittle swords,” explained Simon, sitting off to one side. “You know how kids are. I’m afraid they won’t stop pestering you until they both have swords.”

Georg grinned, set the boys down, and shook Simon’s hand. “They’ll get some, on my honor as a dishonorable hangman,” he said with a conspiratorial glance at Paul. “And if you behave yourself, you can also touch your great-uncle’s sword. It’s even bigger than the one your grandfather has.”

“As if that’s all that mattered,” Jakob growled. “I can slit open a throat with a kitchen knife.”

“Can’t you men talk about anything else?” Magdalena said, shaking her head. “Swords, nothing but swords! At least Peter inherited his father’s peaceful temperament. Just one like you men is all I can take.” She sighed and gestured at little Paul, who had just stabbed his brother in the stomach with an imaginary sword.

Simon smiled and put his arms around Peter, who had started to cry.

“Peter is only five, but he can read,” he said in a proud tone of voice. “Latin and German, and even a few Greek letters. I taught him myself, and with the medicines-”

Jakob finally spoke up. “Can’t you even invite your old father to come in, Georg? It’s a chilly autumn night, and I think we’ve stood outside here in the fog long enough. But if you prefer, I can sleep at an inn.”

“Of course not, Father.” Georg stepped aside and ushered the family into the living room.

The warmth from the green tiled stove in the corner made Magdalena quickly forget the damp cold and fog outside. The room was homey and neat. Fresh, fragrant reeds were strewn on the floor, and a wide, recently built table provided room for an entire large family. Behind it was the family shrine, with a crucifix, dried roses, and the Bamberg hangman’s execution sword. It was, in fact, a little larger than Jakob’s sword. Paul started to run over to touch it, but Georg laughed and grabbed the tails of the boy’s shirt to pull him back.

“You’ll be holding it in your hands soon enough,” he said, trying to appease the boy. “Why don’t you let Barbara take you up to your room instead? It’s time for you to go to bed now.”

Barbara rolled her eyes and took the two boys, yawning and only slightly protesting, up the steep stairs to their room. Soon, they heard the soothing sounds of a lullaby.

For a while, none of those in the room said a thing, but then Georg reached for the mighty executioner’s sword and held it out to his father. “The handle is sharkskin,” he said proudly. “When the hangman’s hands are sweaty, the leather becomes as raw as a thousand little teeth. It won’t slip out of your hands. As far as I know, only Bamberg executioners have such swords. Try it.”

Jakob shrugged and turned away. “When his hands are wet, it can mean only one thing. The hangman is shitting in his pants-and an anxious hangman is worth about as much as an old toothless whore.” He turned around and inspected the room. “But I must say, there have been some changes since my last visit. Bartholomäus really has done well. Who would have thought that pale, nervous little kid would have turned out this way?”

“Just wait until he marries Katharina,” Georg replied. “His last wife came from a family of knackers. Dear Johanna, God rest her soul, died of consumption. She didn’t bring much money to the marriage, and there were no children.” He sighed softly, then straightened up. “But this time he has a good catch. His new wife is the daughter of a Bamberg court clerk, the dowry is pretty impressive, and Katharina really doesn’t look like she’s going to waste away anytime soon,” he added with a slight smirk. “Well, you’ll get to see her shortly. She wants a really big celebration, and she’s the one who urged Uncle Bartholomäus to invite our whole family.”

Kuisl frowned. “Did Bartl get permission from the town council for this? As an executioner, he’s not allowed to marry into a higher class.”

“He already has the permission, signed and sealed. His future father-in-law is a district magistrate and somehow managed to do it.” Georg smiled and turned to Magdalena. “A hangman in Bamberg,” he explained, “is something quite different from one in Schongau. We are perhaps not esteemed citizens, but at least no one shies away from us in the street. We are respected. You’d like it here, Sister.”

“It’s no surprise, then, that Bartholomäus lives here like a maggot in the shit heap,” Jakob interrupted. “With everything going on in this city, executioners make out as well here as the clergy elsewhere.”

Magdalena looked at her father, somewhat confused. “What do you mean by that?”

But Kuisl waved her off. “What’s it to me? Where is he, anyway, my esteemed Herr Brother, hm?”

Georg placed the sword back in the devotional corner, where it seemed like a heathen symbol next to the roses and the crucifix. “He’s still over in the torture chamber. We had a difficult interrogation just yesterday, and he’s putting the instruments back in their places. A stubborn thief who is said to have emptied the offertory box over at St. Martin’s.” The young apprentice sighed. “All the evidence is against him, but you know how it is. You can’t convict anyone without a confession. He didn’t confess on the rack, so today we had to let him go.”

“I see, a difficult case. Did you have any part in it?”

“My uncle lets me help out with the torture and hangings.” He crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. “Different from when I worked with you, where all I could do was scrub the cart that carried prisoners to their executions.”

“Then it’s fine by you that they threw you out of town, hm?” Kuisl bellowed, slamming his hand down on the table so that the dishes rattled. “Don’t worry, as the elector’s representative, Lecher will see to it that you’ll not be coming back anytime soon.”

There was an awkward pause, and Magdalena sighed softly. Two years ago, her brother had gotten into a fight with the infamous Berchtholdt brothers and had beaten the youngest of the three half to death. Ever since, the baker’s son walked with a limp, and the court clerk Johann Lecher had banished Georg from the city for five years. That had been a hard blow for his father. Since that time, the Schongau hangman went about his duties as best he could with the drunken knacker at his side, and the hangman’s son from neighboring Steingaden had an eye on his job.

“Just outside of town, on the other side of the ford, we saw something really strange,” Magdalena finally said to change the topic. She told Georg about the severed arm and how terrified the travelers were. “The general mood here is very unsettling. On Tandstrasse people are talking about some kind of bloodthirsty beast. Do you know anything about it?”

Her brother hesitated, then shook his head slowly. “But you should by all means tell the city guard about the arm they found. The way you’ve described it, it could have been that of Schwarzkontz.”

“And who is this Schwarzkontz?” Simon asked.

Georg sighed. “An elderly member of the Bamberg city council, a clothing merchant, who took a trip to Nuremberg more than a month ago and never came back. They say he never even arrived there. And he’s not the only one. Two other citizens-two women-have disappeared since then. To top it all, some children playing not far from here found a human arm, and later a leg was found floating in the Regnitz.” He shrugged. “Since then, people say there’s a man-eating beast prowling around and up to no good. Some people even claim to have actually seen it.”

Georg reached for a piece of bread, took a good bite, and continued with his mouth full. “As I said, nothing but rumors. One of the women had an argument with her new fiancé, and Councilor Schwarzkontz. . Well, the road through the Bamberg Forest is dangerous enough even without monsters. Ever since the Great War, any number of marauders and highwaymen hang out there. Just half a year ago, we wiped out a gang there, drew and quartered their leader, and as a warning put all their limbs on display at the road crossings.”

“Out in the Bamberg Forest?” Simon asked. His face turned a bit paler. “Isn’t that the large forest southeast of the city that we passed through this afternoon?”

Magdalena nodded. “Yes, the old farmer who gave us a ride called it that. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. .” Simon hesitated, then sighed and started over. “I went into the forest with the children today and discovered the carcass of a stag. It was badly mangled. God knows who or what did it.”

“Bah! It must have been a few wolves. What else could it have been?” Jakob reached for the jug of wine and poured himself a cup. “In packs, these animals quickly turn into real beasts. They don’t have to be creatures from hell. You’re just as superstitious as a bunch of blathering old Schongau washwomen.”

“As reluctant as I am to agree with my stubborn brother, in this case he’s damned right.”

The voice had come from the doorway, with a creak as the door swung open, and in stepped a dour-faced man of around fifty. He was sturdily built, with an almost-bald head as large and brawny as the rest of him. From his bushy beard and mustache protruded, like two crooked teeth, a hooked nose, typical of the Kuisls, and a prominent chin jutting out like that of a nutcracker. As the man came closer, Magdalena saw that he limped slightly. His right shoe had a raised wooden sole that clattered with each step he took across the clay floor. Suddenly a wide grin appeared on his face, and he spread out his stout arms in greeting as he limped toward Jakob Kuisl. Only now did Magdalena notice the soft and friendly look in his eyes, which contrasted so much with his gruff appearance.

“Come give me a big hug, Big Brother! How long has it been since we last saw each other? Twenty years? Thirty?”

“In any case, damn near an eternity.”

“You’ve gotten fatter, Jakob,” Bartholomäus scolded, shaking his finger good-naturedly. “Fatter and puffier.”

Jakob grinned. “But you have less hair.”

The Schongau hangman rose from his seat, and the two brothers embraced. It seemed to Magdalena that this gesture caused them both physical pain. She couldn’t help remembering how cross her father became whenever she spoke to him about Bartholomäus. It had to be hard for him to apprentice his own son to his brother, with whom he clearly didn’t get along.

“Didn’t Georg give you anything to drink but hard cider?” Bartholomäus grumbled in a voice almost as deep as that of Jakob, who was his elder by two years.

“We haven’t been here very long,” Magdalena replied with a smile. “Anyway, when you haven’t seen your beloved brother for such a long time, water from the well is enough.” She meant her brother Georg, but evidently her uncle thought she was referring to him.

“Beloved brother, yes,” he said slowly, in a strange tone of voice, looking at Jakob. “It’s been a long time since I called you that.” His gaze wandered over to Magdalena.

“She doesn’t look much like you, Jakob,” he finally continued, “in contrast to her brother Georg. He’s the spitting image of you. Is she really yours? Well, on the other hand, you can consider yourself lucky she didn’t inherit our nose.” He burst out laughing and finally turned to Simon. “And this fine gentleman is the son-in-law you wrote to me about? Not a knacker, but in any case a worthwhile person-a medicus and bathhouse owner, so I hear.”

“Simon studied medicine,” Magdalena interjected. “To marry me he even gave up his title. But his knowledge goes far beyond that of a bathhouse operator.”

Bartholomäus grunted disparagingly and kicked the clay floor with his wooden shoe. “And where does it get him? Anyone who shacks up with a hangman’s daughter has thrown his lot in with the dishonorable class, and becomes one of them himself. That’s the way the law looks at it.”

Magdalena was about to respond angrily when Simon took her by the hand and answered with a forced smile: “Well, obviously in your house, too, love won out over class snobbery. It’s not every day that the daughter of a court clerk marries a hangman. In any case, I congratulate you on your upcoming marriage. A good catch, it seems to me.”

“You’re damned right.” Bartholomäus grinned broadly, showing his still largely intact set of teeth. “Katharina comes from a good family. Her grandfather was the assistant clerk in the old city administration, and her father, too, became an administrative official. She can even read, and if God grants me children, they will be better off than their father, the hangman. You have my word on that as the sword-swinging, bloodsucking Bamberg executioner.” He burst out laughing and pounded the table so hard the pitcher of cider almost tipped over.

“You didn’t need to make the long trip for my sake,” he grumbled after a while, “but Katharina insisted. And once a woman sets her mind on something, she gets it, right? The wedding will be in a week-and by God, it will be a sinfully expensive party. Katharina is making all the arrangements. Tomorrow she’ll be coming at the crack of dawn to check everything out and buy some things. The woman is a whirlwind.”

“Apropos of buying things,” Jakob interrupted. “Do you by any chance have any tobacco in the house? I ran out of mine while I was still back in Nuremberg.”

Bartholomäus snorted. “Still the same vice, eh, Jakob?” He shook his head. “No, I don’t have anything like that. But. .” Suddenly he winked mischievously at Jakob, and for a moment Magdalena thought she could see two twelve-year-old kids planning a prank. “You know what? I have a suggestion for you. Down at the south moat, there’s a dead horse that no doubt one of the wagon drivers just left to die. The city council won’t allow a dead animal to lie there longer than a few hours. The damned fools are afraid of poison vapors.” He looked at his brother, trying to persuade him. “So what do you think? We can drag the thing into the stable next door in the knacker’s cart, and with the money, my Katharina will buy you a pouch of the best Augsburg tobacco when she comes tomorrow. I’ll give you my word on it.”

“Now?” Simon replied, horrified. “The two of you want to go out again in the night and the fog?”

Jakob shrugged and walked slowly to the door. “Why not? Is there any better way to celebrate the reunion of two hangman brothers than with a stinking cadaver? If it gets me my tobacco, I’ll string someone up for you.”

Bartholomäus laughed lustily, but it didn’t sound sincere. Magdalena thought she could even detect a bit of sadness in it. She was in a reflective mood as she watched the brothers leave the room. Though Bartholomäus was only a bit shorter than Jakob, he seemed to pale into insignificance alongside his older brother.

It took a long time before the clacking of his wooden shoe finally faded away into the darkness.

A half hour later Magdalena was with Simon up in their room, listening silently to the calm, even breaths of Peter, Paul, and Barbara.

Georg had offered to spend nights in the horse stable for the length of their stay. After all the nights they’d passed, since leaving Schongau, in sleazy flophouses, barns, or the forest on a bed of brushwood, their present accommodations felt like a royal abode. The mattress was filled with soft horsehair; a warm, brick-lined stove stood in the middle of the room; and the number of fleas and bugs was tolerable. Nevertheless, Magdalena was having trouble falling asleep. There were too many things going through her mind, and she was anxious to meet her uncle’s fiancée.

“What do you think this Katharina is like?” she whispered to Simon. She could tell, from the way he was breathing and occasionally shifting around in the bed, that he wasn’t sleeping, either.

He grunted disparagingly. “If she’s even a bit like Bartholomäus, she’ll be a real shrew. In which case she’ll fit right in with this family.”

Magdalena gave him a gentle poke. “Are you trying to say that all the Kuisls are ill-tempered ruffians?”

“Well, when I look at your father, his brother, and then Georg, I could almost reach that conclusion. In the last two years, your little brother has become a real clod. I can only hope that you, too-”

“Don’t you dare!” Magdalena tried to sound severe, but she couldn’t resist a giggle. “I’ll do everything I can to make sure our kids don’t turn into brutish hangmen’s journeymen.”

“You’ll have a hard time with Paul. He can’t wait to chop off someone’s head. Peter is quite different-softer, almost like a. .” Simon paused, but Magdalena completed his sentence.

“Like a girl, is what you meant to say. Like the girl that God gave us, then took away again.” She turned over and fell silent. Simon ran his hand lovingly over her shoulder.

“She was too weak, Magdalena,” he said, trying to console her. “It. . it was better that it happened so soon. Just imagine if she’d lived even longer-how painful it would have been then. Surely God will give us another chance-”

“Just stop!” Magdalena’s voice rose, and a soft mumbling came from the boys’ beds. It took a while before the room became quiet again. She could feel how Simon, lying next to her, was searching for the right thing to say. Suddenly her eyes welled with tears, and a quiet sob shook her body. Anna-Maria had been her third child. She had come into the world two years ago, just a few months after the death of Magdalena’s mother, and had been named after her. Though Magdalena loved her two boys, it had been wonderful to hold a little girl in her arms, wrapped in white linens, with eyes as blue as gentian flowers. Jakob Kuisl had built a crib for his granddaughter, and the old grouch had turned into a loving father in Maria’s presence. Simon, too, began spending more time with the children. He’d become a more devoted husband, less concerned with his books and his patients than with his wife, who was weakened by the difficult birth. Maria had become the focus of his life.

And then God took her away from them again.

It had been one of those fevers that plagued Schongau at regular intervals, first the elderly and the children. Desperately, Simon had tried to fight the fever with leg compresses, mugwort, and chamomile, but the child slipped through their fingers like snow in the sun. They had carried little Maria to her last resting place just a few days after her first birthday. The hurt in Magdalena’s soul was still fresh, and occasionally it would break out again.

Just as it had now.

Simon clearly felt it was better to say nothing, and he gently caressed his wife, waiting for the sobbing to pass. Finally she nuzzled up to him again and tried to forget.

“I don’t think my uncle is as coarse a fellow as he pretends to be,” she said after a while. “He may act just as surly as Father, but there is something soft and very sad in his eyes. Something must have come between the two of them long ago. Maybe it has something to do with his lame leg. Perhaps back then Jakob teased his little brother. A cripple is always an easy target.”

“Didn’t your father ever tell you anything about Bartholomäus?” Simon asked with interest, glad to change the subject.

Magdalena shook her head. “Never. It was like his brother didn’t exist. Bartholomäus must have left Schongau soon after Father went off to war as a young man. During the war, Father probably visited him here in Bamberg. Only after Georg had to leave Schongau to find an apprenticeship did the two start corresponding regularly.”

“Why does he always talk so much about how well-off the executioners are here in Bamberg?” Simon wondered. “And then this reference to all the abandoned houses in the city, and how he knew why that was so. Why must you Kuisls always make a big secret out of everything?”

“Whatever it is, this city has certainly seen better days. And then these stories about the bloodthirsty monster. You don’t believe in that, do you?”

“Of course not,” Simon snorted. “Remember all the stories about alleged witches in Schongau, and they were nothing but dumb superstition. But just the same. .” He paused and looked out the window, worried. The shutters were open a crack, and the pale moon shone into the room through the heavy fog. “Just the same, I feel uneasy knowing that your father is out there prowling around.”

Magdalena laughed softly. “You forget he is not alone. Two fierce Kuisls-please! If I were the monster, I’d run away as fast as I could.”

She snuggled up to Simon again, and in a few minutes she’d finally fallen asleep.

Soon after the two brothers had left the hangman’s house, Jakob became confused and disoriented again in the narrow lanes. In a sullen mood, he stomped along behind his brother, who was pulling a two-wheeled cart smeared with blood and dirt. Bartholomäus kept turning one way or the other in apparently random fashion at crossings, preferring the narrow lanes between houses where the cart was just able to squeeze through. Out here in the darkness, his limp was barely noticeable.

He’s learned to deal with it, Jakob Kuisl thought. How much effort did that require? How much malice has he been forced to endure? But by God, he’s really become a tough bastard. I wouldn’t have thought he could do it.

“Didn’t you say the carcass was over there in the south moat?” Jakob asked finally. It was the first time since they’d left that he addressed his brother. “Why didn’t we just take the road along the moat from your house? Wouldn’t that be shorter?”

“So the guards patrolling there can ask stupid questions?” Bartholomäus snorted contemptuously. “The carcass has been there since this morning. I should have picked it up during the day, but I had other things to do, so I’m going to get it now.”

“Aha, before the guards discover the thing early tomorrow and you have to pay a stiff fine.” Jakob grinned. “Now I understand. Well, the main thing is that the tobacco is good.”

In addition to his work as a hangman, Bartholomäus had the job of disposing of garbage and dead animals, just like Jakob Kuisl did in Schongau. The authorities attached great importance to disposing of corpses as fast as possible, because of the fear of plagues. The dead animals were often butchered by knackers who lived outside of town, but sometimes the hangman was responsible for this work, as well.

“You’re not going to flay the animal at home, are you?” Jakob asked as they continued their march through the foggy back streets. “I didn’t see any scraping-knife or other tools in your house, and besides, it would stink like hell.”

“The city council wouldn’t allow it, so I have to take the carcass out to my knacker’s cottage in the Bamberg Forest. There used to be a splendid hunting lodge with a lot of servants nearby who were also responsible for disposing of corpses, but since the war that’s all gone, and I have to do this filthy job alone. Miserable work and shitty pay,” Bartholomäus grumbled as he pulled his cart through an especially narrow passage between a pile of horse excrement and other garbage. “We’ll take the horse to my stable first, then see what we can do tomorrow.”

For a while both brothers were silent, then Jakob carefully broke the ice.

“Listen, I’ve wanted to thank you for a long time,” he began softly, “for taking Georg as a journeyman who-”

“Forget it,” Bartholomäus interrupted gruffly. “I don’t need your thanks. Georg is a big help to me. He does the work of three or four men and will be a good hangman himself someday.” He turned to Jakob and sneered. “Perhaps even here in Bamberg.”

“Here in. .” Jakob looked at his brother, astonished. “You’re going to retire and give him your job? That wasn’t our arrangement. I need Georg in Schongau. When his apprenticeship is over and he can finally return home, then-”

“Ask him yourself what he wants to do,” Bartholomäus cut in. “Maybe he’s had enough of his lying father.”

“What did you tell him about me? God, did you-”

A scream from a nearby house interrupted their conversation. Jakob stopped and looked at his brother, listening.

“Who could that be?” he asked. “It’s hardly your dead horse.”

After some hesitation, Bartholomäus dropped the shaft of his cart and ran toward the place the shouting was coming from, but turned around once to Jakob as he ran. “Before I fight with my brother, I’m going to beat up a few gallows birds. Come on!”

Jakob followed quickly. After a few hurried steps, the brothers arrived in a little square surrounded by small cottages, with a weathered fountain in the middle. A guard was crouched at the base of the fountain with a halberd alongside him on the ground; a lantern at the fountain’s edge cast a dim light. The guard was holding his hand to his mouth and looking around in all directions, horrified. Finally he pulled a clay jug out from under his ragged overcoat and took a long slug.

“Ah, it’s just Matthias, the drunken old night watchman,” Bartholomäus panted with disappointment, and stopped running. “We could have spared ourselves the trip. He’s probably had one too many and is about to throw up into the fountain. He used to be a common foot soldier, but now he drinks so much he can hardly stand up anymore.” Bartholomäus shook his head. “It’s really a shame, the people they have to hire as city watchmen. But the job of a night watchman now is dishonorable, like that of an executioner, and there aren’t many people willing to do it.”

When Matthias discovered the two men entering the square, he sighed with relief. His face was flushed, full of thick veins, and Jakob thought he could smell brandy on his breath.

The watchman staggered to his feet and stood beside the fountain. “I never thought I’d be so happy to see the Bamberg hangman!”

“You scared the hell out of us, Matthias,” Bartholomäus replied. “We could hear you shouting clear down at the hangman’s house. My brother and I took off right away to see what was going on. And now it’s just you and your damned cheap booze. So get moving before I have to put you in the stocks tomorrow morning at the Green Market.”

It didn’t seem to bother Matthias that the hangman’s house was much too far away and what Bartholomäus was telling him had to be wrong. He tried to keep his composure, which was clearly difficult to do in his condition.

“By all the saints, I swear. . I’m not drunk,” he declared, holding up his hand. “At least not so drunk that I don’t know what I saw. And I swear I. . I saw the monster.”

“What monster?” Bartholomäus asked.

“Well. . the man-eating monster. It was standing here, right before me!”

The Bamberg hangman rolled his eyes. “Now you’re starting in with that, too. Isn’t it enough that the superstitious women are spreading such foolish gossip?”

“But the monster was here, I swear! I just was about to take a little nap here at the well when I saw the thing come running out of the alleyway. It stopped and stared at me, as if trying to decide if I’d be a good meal. And then, after what seemed like an eternity, it kept on running, that way, down the other alley.” Matthias gestured wildly as he spoke and walked back and forth, wavering slightly. Now he stopped and looked quizzically at the two hangmen.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he asked in a soft voice. “You just think I’m drunk.”

“This. . this monster-what did it look like?” Jakob knew from experience that drunks often had wild visions, especially when tormented by their fears.

“It was hairy, with gray-no, silver-fur,” Matthias declared, casting a quick glance at Jakob for not understanding what he’d been trying to say. “It had a terrifying set of teeth, long and sharp. At first it ran along on all fours, but then suddenly stood up on its hind legs.” The watchman put his hands to his face. “It ran like a human, I swear, like a furry human. Like a werewolf!”

“Be careful of what you say,” Bartholomäus snapped at him. “Don’t be too quick to use words like that. Or do you want to-”

He stopped short when he heard the scream again. At first Jakob thought it was Matthias, but the scream this time was sharper and higher pitched. It came from an alleyway leading to the square and was clearly the voice of a young woman.

The Schongau hangman didn’t hesitate for a moment. He ran past the astonished Matthias and, without even turning to look at either of them, disappeared into the dark alleyway. Without the lantern he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, but somewhere he heard a window slam shut and someone shouting in an upper story as the contents of a chamber pot poured down onto the street. Kuisl groped his way along the row of houses, stumbling into a rotten beer barrel that fell over and went clattering down a cellar stairway. As the hangman cursed and tried to run ahead, he slipped on the top step and fell into a slimy puddle of water. As he scrambled to his feet, he could feel a sticky liquid on his hands whose odor was all too familiar to him.

It was blood.

Somewhere he heard footsteps running away into the darkness. He looked around, squinting, and could just make out the vague outline of something lying at the bottom of the stairs.

“Whatever you are,” he gasped, “man or monster, come out!”

When nothing stirred, he carefully descended a few steps, where he found a body.

It was a young woman lying in her own blood.

“Jakob? Is that you?” a voice called. It was his brother, who had followed him and was now standing at the top of the stairs holding the lantern in his hand, swinging it back and forth. “What did you find down there?”

Jakob held the girl’s hand, trying in vain to feel a pulse.

“A corpse,” he whispered. “Still fresh. It looks like the poor woman’s throat has been slashed. There’s blood all over.”

“Damn. That’s all I need.” Slowly, climbing over the staves of the smashed beer barrel, Bartholomäus came down the steps. “Matthias, the old drunk, just took off. Now the two of us will have to report the matter in order not to look guilty ourselves, and I’ll have to explain to the city guards what I was doing out here in the middle of the night. Good God!” He stamped his foot angrily. “There are enough people already in the city council who are opposed to my engagement to Katharina and just waiting for a chance to get me. Why didn’t this drunken john find somewhere else to knock off his woman?”

“A drunken john? What makes you think he’s one of those?”

“Just come and have a look.” Bartholomäus was now standing alongside his brother on the narrow, slimy, moss-covered stairway. The entrance to the cellar was blocked by some roughhewn boards nailed together. Like many other buildings in the lane, the house seemed no longer occupied. Its windows were nothing but dark, gaping holes. The dead girl didn’t look more than sixteen or seventeen, with long red hair that encircled her head like a flame. She was wearing nothing but a simple, close-fitting linen dress, now torn and soaked with blood. Her throat was slit wide open and her eyes stared blankly into the night sky.

“Do you see the yellow scarf?” Bartholomäus pointed to a piece of cloth crumpled up in a corner. “The sign of the Bamberg prostitutes. The Green Market is nearby in the Rosengasse, and that’s where the prostitutes usually ply their trade. Evidently the girl and her client weren’t able to agree on the price.”

“And for that he slits her throat?”

Bartholomäus shrugged. “These things happen. In former days the executioner here in Bamberg was concerned about the prostitutes and protected them, but in recent years the women do that themselves. I keep telling them they ought to at least work under the protection of the whorehouse on Frauengasse, but some just want to work for themselves.” He examined the corpse. “I’m sure I’ve seen this one here before. Had her nose up in the air and took only rich clients.” He looked down at her with contempt. “Well, she certainly was pretty, and it’s too bad what happened to her.”

Jakob Kuisl bent down and scrutinized the cut on her throat. It wasn’t smooth but ragged, as if the wound had been inflicted by a heavy tool or a claw, and blood was still seeping out. The Schongau hangman noticed a strange, barely perceptible odor that reminded him of the urine of predatory animals and wet dogs.

“That’s strange,” he mumbled. “The wound is actually too large to have been made by a knife. It’s almost as if an animal-”

“Now you’re starting in with that, too!” Bartholomäus groaned.

Without answering him, Jakob took the lantern from his brother’s hand, went up the steps again, and examined the ground. He bent down and held up a piece of the young woman’s ripped clothing.

“She was probably attacked here,” he said to his brother, who had come along behind him. Jakob pointed to some prints in the muddy ground. “There was a struggle, the girl ran. .” He hesitated. “No, that’s not right. Look at the marks on the ground here. Evidently the murderer struck her down, grabbed her by the arms. .” He returned to the steps. “Then he carried her down the steps and calmly slit her throat. But this odor. .” Kuisl shook his head, trying to figure out what it was. He couldn’t think what these smells reminded him of.

Except what was the most obvious, and at the same time the most improbable. .

“What odor? I can’t smell anything-but you always had a better nose for these things.” Bartholomäus shook his head. “In any case, she’s dead. We’ll have to alert the guards.” He stumbled over one of the splintered staves. “Damn it, they’ll probably make us take the girl to the potter’s field outside the city in my cart. We’ll have to forget about the horse carcass,” he added, hobbling away. “So let’s get over to the guardhouse near city hall as soon as we can and let them know. The sooner we can get this behind us, the better.”

Jakob took a close look at his brother. He was puzzled about the rush. It seemed to him that for some reason Bartholomäus wanted to put this matter to rest as quickly as possible. Did he fear the criticism of the guards? Once again Jakob looked down the staircase, where the poor woman was lying in her own blood. Then, with a grim expression, he followed the light of his brother’s lantern.

It looked like they’d be transporting not a horse cadaver but the corpse of a young girl through the city. It couldn’t be said that the auspices for his brother’s wedding were favorable.