The Werewolf of Bamberg

3

THE HOUSE OF THE BAMBERG HANGMAN, MORNING, OCTOBER 27, 1668 AD

When Magdalena awakened the next morning, the sun was already shining brightly, warming her room on the second floor. Someone had opened the shutters wide, emptied the chamber pots, and strewn fresh herbs and reeds on the floor.

How long did I sleep? she wondered as she yawned and opened her eyes.

She turned to Simon, whose snoring almost drowned out the sparrows chirping outside the window. Barbara was sleeping as well. The bed the two boys had slept in, however, was empty. Magdalena began to worry, but at that moment she heard happy laughter coming from downstairs. She also heard a soft, warm woman’s voice among them, plus the sound of clattering pots and an oven door squeaking as it was opened and closed. She rose to her feet carefully in order not to awaken her husband and her sister, washed her face quickly in the washbowl in the corner, straightened her tousled black hair, and then went downstairs to the living room.

“Mama, Mama!” Peter shouted, running toward her with outstretched arms. “Aunt Katharina is making us some porridge with lots and lots of honey, just as Grandma used to do.”

“Aunt Katharina?” Magdalena asked, puzzled. “Where. .”

Only then did she see a woman standing out in the hallway by the stove, stirring a pot. She was sturdily built, heavy, and seemed a bit larger than life. She appeared to be wearing some woolen petticoats beneath her skirt and jacket, so that sweat ran down her slightly pasty, red face in streams.

The heavyset woman handed the stirring spoon to Paul, standing beside her in anticipation, and playfully shook her finger at him.

“Keep stirring,” she cautioned the boy, “or the porridge will stick to the bottom and the pigs will enjoy a second breakfast.”

Her hands had become sticky from the constant stirring, so she wiped them off on her apron and turned to Magdalena with a smile. She beamed with a warmth that made Magdalena like her immediately.

“You must be Jakob’s eldest daughter, Magdalena,” she began cheerily. “What a great pleasure that you have made the long trip to our wedding. I especially wanted you to come so we could all get acquainted. I must admit that Bartl scolded and grumbled at first,” she added with a smile. “He wanted to celebrate just with me and save all the money, but finally the stubborn old guy gave in. I told him I wouldn’t tolerate any discord within my future family, and a wedding celebration like this was a good chance to bury any disagreements, even though I still don’t know exactly what happened between the two old grumps.”

She tipped her head to one side and looked closely at Magdalena. “Well, I must say that you don’t take after the Kuisls. I had not expected such a beautiful woman.”

Magdalena laughed. “Then just wait until you meet my younger sister, Barbara. When the young fellows here in Bamberg see her, their eyes will pop out. Fortunately she inherited neither the nose nor the build of our father.” She grinned. “Only his feisty temper.”

“Oh. . if she’s anything like your uncle, this will be an exciting week.” The chubby woman gave Magdalena a hearty kiss on both cheeks. “I’m Katharina, as you no doubt already know. Make yourself at home here. I hope I didn’t wake you up while I was airing out and cleaning up the rooms. It’s already after eight.” She flashed a big smile. “This house has been in need of a woman’s touch for some time-it urgently needs someone to get things in order.”

Magdalena sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’re telling me? Ever since my mother died, Father’s place is like a pigsty. Men should really not be alone for too long.” She looked around. “Where is Father, anyway?”

“He and Bartholomäus had to pay a visit early this morning to the town manager in city hall. It seems some poor woman was killed last night in a dark alleyway, and Bartholomäus and your father were witnesses. Georg is here, too,” she said, gesturing toward the living room. “But let’s not begin the day with such dark news. Drink this-it will get you moving again. It’s an old recipe of my grandmother’s, with crushed clove and a little pepper.” Katharina gave Magdalena a cup of steaming-hot mulled wine diluted with water. With an approving look, she pointed at little Peter sitting at the other end of the table, leafing through a book on anatomy. “Smart lad you’ve got there. Went straight to Bartl’s study, took out a big book, and has already told me some things about bloodletting and checking the urine.” She laughed. “Just like a little medicus. He must get that from his father.”

Magdalena nodded and took a gulp of the hot mulled wine. It tasted wonderful, both sharp and sweet, and not too strong. But she couldn’t help thinking of her father, evidently in trouble again.

Trying to change the subject, she asked, “When will the wedding take place?”

“This Sunday, in just five days. Just imagine, even though your uncle is the executioner here in Bamberg, the city gave him permission to use the wedding house-that’s the addition to the large tavern over in the harbor. They’ll give us the little room there. Nearly a hundred guests are invited.” Katharina smiled. “I assume my father made use of his influence with the city councilors. As you may know, he’s one of the city clerks.”

Magdalena nodded. It was, in fact, unusual that a hangman was allowed to celebrate his wedding just like any local shoemaker or tailor. In many parts of Germany, executioners were shunned; in the streets, people went out of their way to avoid them, believing that a hangman could bring misfortune with a single glance. Magdalena couldn’t help remembering what her brother Georg had said to her the previous evening.

You’d like it here, Sister.

Secretly she watched Katharina, who was now humming as she dashed through the room, sweeping cobwebs from the windows. Bartholomäus’s fiancée was in her midthirties, and it was a wonder she was still unmarried. Though Katharina wasn’t especially beautiful, and was clearly too fat, Magdalena could appreciate what her uncle saw in the woman. She was a good catch, strong and healthy, and her friendliness was genuine and contagious. Magdalena was surprised that such a nice person could tolerate a grouch like Bartholomäus.

But that’s just the way it was with Mother and Father, it occurred to her, and she smiled mischievously.

“What are you thinking about?” Katharina asked, but at that moment the steps began to creak, and Simon and a sleepy-looking Barbara entered the room. Katharina greeted the new arrivals just as warmly as she had Magdalena, but then stopped when she smelled something burning.

“Oh, God, the porridge!” she cried out, running out into the hallway. “I shouldn’t have left the boy alone at the stove.”

Simon sat down at the table next to Magdalena, took a piece of bread, and dunked it in the wine.

“It seems she’s not an old battle-ax, as you suspected,” he said with a smile between bites, and gestured with his head toward Katharina.

Magdalena shook her head. “No, certainly not. Clearly Peter and Paul like their new aunt, too. At least, they haven’t played any tricks on her yet, and it’s already eight in the morning. That’s pretty unusual.” She grinned, but then her expression grew serious. “On the other hand, Father seems to have a problem.”

She quickly told Simon and Barbara what had happened to Jakob and Bartholomäus the night before.

Simon groaned and passed his hand through his hair. “It’s enough to drive you crazy. No sooner has your father come to town than the first cadaver shows up.”

“Oh, come now. There was one before we even set foot in town. True, they are attracted to him like bees to honey-but perhaps that’s the way it is for hangmen.”

Simon took another piece of the fresh, delicious-smelling bread that Katharina had no doubt baked earlier that morning. “Well, at least this time I assume he’s not suspected of being the perpetrator, like he was back in Regensburg,” he said with a full mouth. “That alone is progress.”

Magdalena remembered with horror her time in Regensburg, six years ago, when her father had been suspected of murder and was tortured, and could only be saved at the last moment. Shortly after that, she and Simon had married.

“I, for one, don’t want to sit around here all day waiting for Father and Uncle Bartholomäus,” said Barbara, who until then had been sitting listlessly, playing with her hair. “I want to see something of the city.” She turned to Magdalena and said in a pleading tone, “How about if we go down to the marketplace together?” Her eyes sparkled expectantly. “Please! I’ve never been to such a large city, and now in the light of day it doesn’t look as scary as it did last night.”

Magdalena gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I don’t see any reason not to. Unless. .” With a questioning look she turned around to Katharina, who was just entering the room hand in hand with Paul, who had porridge smeared all over him. “Unless my future aunt needs me today to help with preparations for the wedding.”

Katharina waved her off with a laugh. “If you can do a little shopping for me, feel free to leave the boys here and go sightseeing in the city. I hear that my future brother-in-law needs some tobacco-which stinks at least as bad as burned porridge.” She opened a window to let the smell out. “Well, it looks like we’ll have to make a second breakfast.”

Simon quickly stood up and carefully looked through some books lying on the table next to Peter.

“Many thanks for the bread and wine, Katharina. If you don’t mind, I’ll take this chance to visit my old friend Samuel.” Magdalena frowned, but he looked to her with pleading eyes. “You know that I also came to Bamberg to see him. He’s now a respected physician-apparently he even treats the bishop himself. I hope I may be allowed to have a look at some books that have just been printed. There are a few interesting new theories about the circulation of blood. .”

“Just stop.” Magdalena rolled her eyes with annoyance. “It would be nice if your interest in books brought in some money from time to time. Other bathhouse owners do bloodlettings without giving much thought to circulation.”

“Other bathhouse owners are quacks,” Simon replied bitterly.

“Now just stop fighting,” Katharina interrupted. “Enjoy the day, each of you in your own way. I don’t want to see any sad faces around me so soon before my wedding.” She led the two boys over into the pantry. “And you two can help me now to stir a new pot of porridge. Let’s see if we can find some more honey.”

Magdalena smiled at her younger sister. “It looks like this could turn out to be a nice day.” She stood up and buttoned her bodice. “Well, then, come along before there’s nothing left to buy but mushy cabbage leaves.”

Jakob Kuisl’s stomach growled so loudly he thought for a moment some monster had crept up behind him. It was late in the afternoon and several hours since he’d had his last skimpy meal. He stopped for a moment, wiped the sweat from his brow, and now, cursing under his breath, went back to helping his brother pull the filthy, foul-smelling cart through one more narrow lane along the city moat.

He wanted more than anything else just to sit back and smoke his pipe, but they’d been working since early morning and hadn’t returned to the hangman’s house, where his future sister-in-law would, he hoped, be awaiting him with the promised tobacco.

It had been a long night. They’d followed their orders and taken the corpse of the young prostitute to the office of the city guards, but the captain on duty, by the name of Martin Lebrecht, was not available. They’d first tried to see him earlier that morning, to inform him of what had happened in the night, but he was suddenly busy with other things. Jakob had the vague feeling that the guards, and especially their captain, had something to hide. Finally he’d left with Bartholomäus and Georg to take the dead horse out of town. Georg had stayed in the Bamberg Forest to flay and butcher the carcass, while Jakob and Bartholomäus brought the empty cart to city hall, where the two executioners would finally be cross-examined as witnesses.

After a few more bends and dead ends, Bartholomäus reached a shed near the river and pushed the cart in between two rotted boats stacked inside. He wiped his hands on his apron and headed for the nearby stone bridge that led straight to the city hall.

“The shed belongs to Answin, the rag collector, who delivers his goods to the paper mill farther down the river,” Bartholomäus explained. “We’re good friends. The cart can stay there for a while,” he said with a grin. “The noble gentlemen aren’t so happy to see us and our filthy work, and only wish we could make ourselves invisible.” He cast a critical eye at Jakob. “You should wash off a bit in the river before we go to the city hall. It’s quite possible my future father-in-law will be there. As one of the assistant clerks, he sometimes helps out in the guardhouse. It won’t put our family in a very good light if he sees you like this.”

“That’s all I need-my little brother telling me when to take a bath,” Jakob growled, and he kept stomping forward. “Nobody asked me to give them a report, and if the gentlemen want to question me, then they’ll just have to smell me as well.”

Some worn steps led up to the bridge, which was crowded with people at this hour. Patricians with bulging purses rushed by on their way to the financial sector by the cathedral; two Benedictine monks walked slowly by in silent prayer on their way to their monastery on the Michelsberg; some children climbed around on the stone parapet. When the boys and girls saw the Bamberg executioner, they began whispering nervously to one another.

Paying no attention to the others around him, Jakob suddenly stopped and stared up at the huge structure before them. He couldn’t help but wonder what builder would ever have had the crazy idea to build something in the middle of the river. The Bamberg city hall stood on a tiny island and hung out over the river on all sides like an overgrown mushroom. The wide stone bridge connected it to both the north and south shores, and upstream there was an additional bridge. The Regnitz rushed past the point of the island, where a small building huddled up against the main structure. It looked almost as if the little building could break off at any moment and plunge into the river.

Bartholomäus did not seem to notice his brother’s amazement as he stood alongside him, pointing to the building.

“It stands right between the two parts of town,” the younger brother explained. “As Bamberg continued to grow, the citizens on this side of the river built the new city over there, and ever since then, they’ve been quarreling with the bishop.” He spat into the foul-smelling water below. “With the city hall, they’re telling the bishop he can kiss their ass. And they get bolder every year.”

He continued toward the building, and Jakob followed over a narrow path along the shore to the defiant little building clinging to the south side of the city hall, evidently the office of the city guards.

Bartholomäus turned to speak to his brother. “Captain Martin Lebrecht is not a bad fellow,” he said. “He often asks for my advice when his men have to extricate the corpse of a starved beggar, or some other poor creature, from the mud and garbage of the city moat.” He frowned. “But I can’t figure out why he wants to see us both at the same time. We told the guard everything last night.”

Two sleepy guards were leaning on their halberds in front of the guardhouse. When they saw Bartholomäus, their faces darkened.

“Isn’t it enough that they brought a bloody corpse to the guardhouse and sent us off on a wild-goose chase looking for the devil? Now the hangman is coming to pay us a visit,” said the older one, making the sign of the cross. “So much disaster has rained down on us since yesterday that I can’t even pray anymore.” There were dark rings under the watchman’s eyes; it looked as if he’d had a long, sleepless night.

“What devil?” Bartholomäus asked. “And who are you looking for?”

The guard waved him off. “None of your business, hangman. Get out of here.”

“It certainly is our business,” Bartholomäus replied curtly. “The captain sent for me and my brother. So just let us through before he gets impatient.”

“Your brother?” The second guard, a short, mousy, nervous-looking fellow, regarded Jakob, wide-eyed. “Do you mean we now have two hangmen in the city?”

“It looks like you need them,” Jakob jested, “with all the filth and vermin here.”

Without another word, the two brothers pushed their way past the guards and entered the chief’s office. An older, powerfully built officer was having a conversation with a gray-haired, potbellied man. They were standing next to a table, looking at a long bundle wrapped in a sheet. Next to it was a smaller bundle, also wrapped in a cloth. Jakob knew at once what was underneath the sheets; he was all too familiar with the odor in the air.

The stench of decay.

When the chief noticed the new arrivals, he raised his head, and a thin smile spread over his lips. Just like the guards outside, he looked pale and weary, and black stubble covered his angular face. Jakob assumed the man in front of him was Martin Lebrecht, the captain of the Bamberg city guards.

“Ah, Master Bartholomäus,” the captain exclaimed with relief. “Please excuse me for not having any time for you earlier, but there were. . well. . some things that had to be taken care of.” He hesitated briefly, then pointed with a sigh to the portly gentleman on his right, dressed in the simple garb of a clerk and nervously rubbing a roll of paper in front of him with calloused fingers. “I’m sure I don’t need to introduce you to Master Hieronymus Hauser.”

Bartholomäus nodded. “I’m glad to see you, esteemed Father-in-Law. Katharina, by the way, is well and rearranges the furniture in my house every day. Soon I won’t be able to find my way around in my own room.”

The fat man smiled. “You can forget about calling me father-in-law until after the wedding,” he replied, shaking his finger playfully at Bartholomäus. “And don’t tell me I never warned you about Katharina’s compulsion for cleaning.”

Jakob was amazed to see the degree of collegiality and respect the men showed for each other. Here, the hangman appeared to be one of the local authorities-unlike in Schongau, where he had to live outside the city walls and was avoided by everyone. But then Jakob suddenly thought about the whispering children over on the bridge.

It will always be so; some things never change.

“And I assume this is your brother?” asked Hieronymus Hauser, turning to Jakob with a smile and extending his ink-stained fingers. Jakob shook hands, embarrassed; now he regretted not having washed off in the river earlier. “Welcome to the family,” said the clerk. “We were surprised you came. It was just last week that I learned Bartholomäus even had a brother.”

“We Kuisls don’t talk very much,” Jakob explained hesitantly.

Hieronymus laughed. “Indeed! But my daughter compensates for that three times over. It was one of her fondest wishes to have all the members of the Kuisl clan sit down sometime at a table.” With a smile, he added, “Even though it means, or so I’ve heard, bringing together two obstinate executioners who are always quarreling with one another.”

Martin Lebrecht, who had been standing awkwardly next to them, interrupted: “May I ask you to put off the family affairs until later? We’re here to discuss a very important matter.” He looked intently at the two hangmen. “First, you must assure me that everything we discuss here today is confidential. We will keep minutes and then bury them in a mountain of documentation. Have I made myself clear?”

Bartholomäus and Jakob nodded, and the captain took a deep breath.

“Then take another look at the corpse you found, and tell me exactly what happened yesterday.”

He pulled the sheet away from the table. Hieronymus gasped softly while the two hangmen looked down with interest at the naked corpse. They had seen too many corpses and too much sorrow in their lives, but just the same, anger started welling up in Jakob.

She’s just a little older than my Barbara. .

The red-haired girl in front of them was as pale as parchment. Something had ripped open her throat, so that her neck was just a gaping wound. Even more gruesome to look at, however, was the thin cut Jakob had not noticed the night before beneath her bloody dress; it extended from her breastbone to her navel. It looked just like the incisions the Schongau hangman sometimes made himself on hanged criminals in order to study the body’s internal organs. Clotted blood had formed along the incision, where a fat blowfly, buzzing loudly, alighted and started crawling down toward her navel. The girl looked like a doll that had been torn to pieces and clumsily stitched back together again.

“Who would do something like that?” asked a horrified Hieronymus Hauser after a while. His pasty face had suddenly turned gray, and he took a deep gulp.

“Well, that’s the reason I wanted to hear more about what happened last night,” Martin Lebrecht replied. “The girl was evidently a whore. An unhappy client probably slit her throat, but what about this here?” He shook his head in disgust and turned to Bartholomäus. “When you brought me the corpse last night, I discovered the incision at once and decided not to have the girl taken to potter’s field, as I usually would. That would only have started rumors, and we have enough of those in the city already.” He stopped to think. “In addition, look what the rag collector Answin brought me early this morning. He fished it out of the Regnitz just a few hours ago.” Lebrecht pulled aside the second, smaller sheet, revealing the pale leg of a woman. It seemed to have been in the water for some time, as rats and fish had already been nibbling on it.

“This is the third body part we’ve found this month,” the captain continued.

“The fourth,” Jakob interrupted.

Martin Lebrecht looked at him, obviously confused. “What are you saying?”

“I said, the fourth. Yesterday evening, just before we arrived in Bamberg, we came upon a right arm in the river that had been washed ashore.” In a few words, Jakob Kuisl told the captain about their discovery in the Bamberg Forest. “Evidently it belonged to a man about sixty years old who did a lot of writing. . and had gout,” he said finally. “The fingers were all gnarled.”

“Hm, that could indeed be Councilor Schwarzkontz, who has been missing for four weeks,” Lebrecht mumbled. “Did he have a ring on his finger?”

“It looked like he used to wear one. There was a pale circle on his finger, but the ring was gone.”

The captain thought for a moment and nodded. “That must have been the ring with the city seal. Schwarzkontz was known to have worn it wherever he went.”

For a moment, Jakob closed his eyes and cursed himself for being such a fool. He was so certain the man had worn a wedding ring that he’d ignored any other possibilities. Now he realized how rash his judgment had been.

You never stop learning. Not even in your old age. Well, at least Magdalena won’t hear anything about it. .

“The arm you found brings the total to four body parts,” Lebrecht continued, “some male, some female. I assume that at least both arms belonged to Klaus Schwarzkontz. His son Walther was able to recognize a scar on one of them, and he is sure it was his father.”

“Just a moment.” Bartholomäus stared in confusion at the captain. “The left arm belonged to Councilor Schwarzkontz? But. .”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Lebrecht interrupted. “If Klaus Schwarzkontz was slain by highwaymen somewhere in the forest, what in the world is his left arm doing here in Bamberg?”

“The entire area around the city is full of small rivers and streams,” Hieronymus interrupted. “It’s quite possible that one of the body parts was carried here by the water. Wild animals ripped up the corpse and-”

“This wasn’t any wild animal,” Jakob retorted crossly. “I saw the arm, and someone had been working on it with a knife or an ax.”

“Well, isn’t that just fine. One more riddle.” Lebrecht groaned, then began counting off on his fingers. “Including Klaus Schwarzkontz, I have three missing people and a bunch of body parts, and now the apothecary Magnus Rinswieser comes to me early this morning whining and complaining that his young wife has vanished into thin air. Guards saw her entering the forest near the city late at night.” He took a deep breath. “But as if that’s not enough, now that old drunk Matthias is running through town telling everyone that last night he saw a hairy monster that walks on its two hind legs. This. . this idiot!” Lebrecht rubbed his bloodshot eyes, and again Jakob Kuisl had the feeling that the captain was withholding something from them.

“I immediately put Matthias in the city jail to sober him up,” Lebrecht continued, “but by then the whole city had heard about it. Until now, isolated reports could be discounted-a tragic accident, wild animals, marital discord, what have you-but when this gets out. .” He paused for a moment, gesturing toward the girl’s mutilated body. “When this gets out I’ll have to report the matter to the prince-bishop, whether I like it or not. And we all know what that means.” His final words hovered in the air, fraught with meaning. Finally he continued. “So, for God’s sake, tell me exactly what happened yesterday. I pray to God we can find a natural explanation for all this.”

Bartholomäus cleared his throat, then started talking. Occasionally he brought Jakob into the picture, and the latter responded in a few words.

“So there was a struggle,” the captain summarized. “The girl tried to defend herself, but the murderer struck her down and for whatever reason slit her throat. It’s clear up to this point, but what caused the incision in her chest?”

“May I have another look at the corpse and the leg?” asked Jakob.

Martin Lebrecht looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“My brother is skilled in medicine,” Bartholomäus tried to explain. “It was always the case. It runs in the family. I’m the only black sheep in this respect.”

Jakob nodded almost imperceptibly. Like many other executioners, he knew how to torture and kill, but also how to cure. The medical expertise of the Kuisls was known far and wide, but his brother Bartholomäus had never been interested. Bartl was good at doctoring animals and knew a lot about horses and dogs, but people, Jakob assumed, appealed to him only when they were already dead.

The captain stepped aside and motioned for the Schongau hangman to step up and take a closer look at the cadaver. “Go right ahead. You certainly are welcome to try, though I don’t think you’re going to find out anything I haven’t seen already.”

First, Jakob turned to the severed leg that had been lying in the water for several days. It was already in such bad shape that it was impossible to say anything more about it, except that it probably belonged to an elderly woman. It was not even possible to tell if the leg had been severed with a knife or simply ripped off. Before turning away, Jakob took one last look at the toes. He froze suddenly, then stood up again and looked all around him.

“Two of this woman’s toenails have been ripped off,” he said.

“What?” Martin Lebrecht frowned. “Are you trying to say she has been tortured?”

“I can’t be sure of that, but what point would there be otherwise in pulling someone’s toenails out? So she wouldn’t have to cut them again?”

“Or perhaps because the rats have had a feast on the corpse?” Hieronymus Hauser suggested, without any reaction to Jakob’s sarcastic remark.

Jakob Kuisl shook his head. “Believe me, my brother and I know what it looks like when someone’s nails have been pulled out. We’ve done it ourselves often enough, haven’t we, Bartholomäus?”

Bartholomäus nodded silently, and Jakob had the feeling that the two others were distancing themselves a bit from him and his brother.

After a while, he bent down over the girl’s corpse and began sniffing noisily, his huge nostrils flaring out like sails. Again he noticed the strange, musty odor that he had wondered about the previous night. Now it was far fainter, barely perceptible.

“What in the world is your brother doing?” the horrified captain whispered.

“He. . well, he has a good nose, a sensitive one,” Bartholomäus tried to explain. “Sometimes he smells things that no one else can. Almost like a bloodhound.”

The others remained silent as Kuisl examined the wound in the neck more closely. The edges were frayed, as if the murderer had used not a sharpened knife, but a saw or a jagged sword.

Or claws?

Kuisl put the thought aside and concentrated on the cut to the chest. Pulling the edges of the wound apart, he noticed that the breastbone had been almost cut in half in one place. Evidently the murderer had been interrupted while he worked. The wound was in the upper third of the breastbone, directly above the heart.

He paused.

Was that possible?

“Why are you stopping?” asked the clerk, who had been watching him with great curiosity up to that point. “Did you find anything?”

Jakob hesitated, and then shook his head. “Just a hunch. But too vague to say-”

“Now come out with it,” his brother interrupted. “Always the mystery! That’s what I couldn’t stand about you back then-even if you were usually right,” he added, grumbling.

“Speak up,” Martin Lebrecht insisted.

“The perpetrator cut through the skin and evidently wanted to open the chest with a saw, or something like it,” Jakob said finally as he turned to the circle of onlookers. He pointed at the clean incision. “This, unmistakably, is the act of a skilled workman. My brother and I probably disturbed him, and the question is why he was doing that.”

“And what do you suspect?” Hieronymus asked.

“The deep incision is right at the level of the heart,” Jakob replied. “I myself have made incisions like this in order to examine the inner organs of a body. I think. .” He hesitated. “Well, I think the murderer wanted to cut out the girl’s heart.”

For a while no one said a word, and the only sound was the constant rushing water of the Regnitz. Finally Martin Lebrecht cleared his throat.

“It doesn’t matter whether or not this is sheer nonsense,” he finally said. “One thing must be clear: this assumption is never-I repeat, never-to be mentioned outside the walls of this guardhouse. If the bishop gets wind of it, great misfortune will come to this city-a misfortune like the one known all too well by the older men among us.” He cast a gloomy look at Bartholomäus. “If that should happen, Master Bartholomäus, I promise you there will be much for you to do here in Bamberg.” His voice failed him. Finally, he continued in nearly a whisper. “God in heaven, will this horror never end?”

“If I’d known our new aunt was sending us on so many errands, I would have thought twice before coming along on this shopping trip.” Groaning, Barbara pushed past the many displays in the Fischgasse, where brook trout and slimy perch were thrashing about. A huge catfish glared scornfully at the two women, while mussels and river snails soaked in wooden tubs next to the displays. It was already past noon, but the hustle and bustle of the marketplace showed no sign of ending.

“We promised Katharina,” Magdalena said in a stern voice, “so stop complaining. Besides, the only thing we still need now is the crabs for this evening, and then we’ll be done.”

“Yes, after we’ve bought thyme, carrots, cabbage, onions, eggs, stockfish, a jug of muscatel, half a pig of bacon fat, and. . oh, I’ve forgotten the stinking tobacco for Father.” With a sigh, Barbara sat down at the edge of a well and splashed some water on her face to cool off. “How many markets have we been to today? I stopped counting hours ago.”

“You insisted on seeing the marketplace.” Magdalena grinned. “Aunt Katharina likes to cook, and surely we can get a few recipes from her.”

“Well! I didn’t come to Bamberg just to sit by the stove and exchange recipes. Besides, I don’t want to get as fat as Aunt Katharina, and. . Hey, wait a minute!”

Magdalena had turned away with a shrug and continued down past the many stalls on Fischstrasse toward the harbor. Their shopping trip had indeed taken the two hangman’s daughters through half the city. They’d gone from the Green Market in front of St. Martin’s Church to the fruit market, the milk market, and finally down Butcher’s Lane. The city seemed much friendlier to Magdalena now than it had on their arrival the night before. The streets were wider and cleaner than in Schongau, and some were even paved. Gaily colored, half-timbered houses, breweries redolent of malt, and a huge number of small churches and chapels bore witness to the rich heritage of this seat of the Archdiocese of Bamberg, formerly one of the mightiest cities in the Reich. It was clear, however, that Bamberg’s best years lay behind it. Again and again the two women had come across abandoned houses and ruins that looked like festering wounds between the other buildings. Not for the fist time, Magdalena asked herself why people had simply abandoned their magnificent homes.

Up to that point, they had been strolling only through the new part of the city, a large area standing like an island surrounded by two branches of the Regnitz. The old part of the city, where the canons and the bishop resided, lay on the other side of the canal, where a cathedral was built atop a hill, the highest point in the city. The two sections of town met at the harbor, not far from city hall. Huge river rafts, flat-bottomed boats, and small barques traveled serenely past the houses there. More ships lay at anchor at the piers to pay their tolls before proceeding to Schweinfurt or Forchheim. A wooden crane was unloading crates from one of the rafts, and the air smelled of algae, fish, and stagnant river water. Men shouted, laughed, and cursed as fishwives offered their slippery catch to passersby.

Magdalena went to a booth off to one side and bought the river crabs that Katharina had asked for. Her basket was now filled to the top, and Barbara also had a heavy bundle to carry, with carrots and bunches of leeks sticking out of their wrappings.

“So that’s it,” Magdalena said with relief. “Let’s take these things as quickly as we can to the hangman’s house before Aunt Katharina gets impatient, and then-”

She was interrupted by a drumroll and a squawking fanfare of rusty trumpets, and when she turned around, she saw a group of men down at the harbor with drums and wind instruments. They wore colorful, threadbare costumes and powdered wigs on their heads like those currently in fashion at German and French courts. In the middle was a beanpole of a man who, with great ceremony, unrolled a parchment.

“Are these actors?” asked Barbara with surprise. “I’ve never-”

“Shhh!” Magdalena whispered while the gaunt man began a speech in which he enunciated each word like a traveling priest, with a strange accent Magdalena had never heard before.

“Citizens of Bamberg, hear and be amazed,” he proclaimed. “The venerable troupe of Sir Malcolm that has traveled widely and performed to great acclaim in London, Paris, and Constantinople has the honor of performing in this city tragedies and comedies, unlike anything the world has ever seen before. Beginning tomorrow, come to experience love and murder, nobility and villainy, and the glory and fall of royal dynasties. We offer for your enjoyment music, dance, burlesque-in short, a true feast for the eye and ear, in the large ballroom of the wedding house.” The man pointed dramatically to a multistory building beyond the harbor square. “Our first play will be given there tomorrow afternoon, at a cost of just three kreuzers per visitor. Anyone missing it will regret it for a long time.”

“The wedding house,” Barbara whispered. “Isn’t that where the celebration for Uncle Bartholomäus and Katharina will be? Can we go there right now, Magdalena? Let’s see what’s going on there.”

Magdalena chuckled as she watched her younger sister stare longingly at the actors. A large crowd of people had gathered around the group and began to cheer. The sound grew louder when the men began doing cartwheels and juggling balls. One of them, a handsome young fellow, glanced at the two young women and smiled. He had matted, jet-black hair and was tanned, almost dark-skinned, with sinewy muscles standing out from beneath his tight-fitting linen shirt. Magdalena grinned when her little sister ran her fingers through her curls in embarrassment as they watched the antics of the actors.

Once again, Magdalena realized how little she herself had seen of the world, despite her thirty years. Occasionally, troupes of jugglers came to the provincial town of Schongau and performed their little tricks and dances and made crude jokes. Many of them came from lands beyond the Alps, and they played short, comical scenes wearing masks on their faces. But a troupe that performed longer stories on stage was new to Magdalena.

There was a long roll of drums, then the trumpets sounded again, off-key, and the troupe moved slowly back into the wedding house.

“Come, let us see where they’ve set up their theater,” Barbara pleaded again. “Just for a few minutes.”

“But what about all these things we’ve bought?” Magdalena asked.

“We’ll take them along.” Barbara was already making her way through the crowd toward the entrance to the wedding house. “Half an hour one way or the other won’t matter.”

With a sigh, Magdalena followed. She was going to object, but she couldn’t deny that the theater had an almost-magical attraction for her, as well.

As soon as the two young women entered the wide door of the wedding house they could feel the coolness of its huge walls. It was almost as if winter had already arrived. Shivering, Magdalena looked around the spacious area where kegs of wine, bales of cloth, and crates were standing. Some servants were unloading a cart that had made its way from the harbor to the building entrance. Farther back, the room opened into an interior courtyard that evidently belonged to a large tavern. The two girls could hear the shouting and quarreling of some revelers, and somewhere a fiddle was being played very badly. Under the dome itself, a wide, winding stairway led to the upper floors, where people could be heard hammering and sawing busily and a roll of drums could be heard now and then.

“I think the actors are somewhere up there,” Barbara said, and started running up the stairs so fast that Magdalena had a hard time catching up with her. The basket in her hand was full to the bursting point and getting heavier with every step.

On the second floor they indeed found the troupe. The area was dominated by a huge dance floor, surrounded on three sides by a gallery with a walkway. At the opposite end, several actors were standing on a stage normally used by musicians. They were setting up a structure whose purpose Magdalena didn’t understand. After a few moments she spotted the tanned youth again, now sweaty and wearing an open shirt, doing gymnastic tricks and putting together a pole from two pieces, at eye level, dividing the stage in two halves. Magdalena was amused to see that Barbara had spotted him, as well, and was once again playing with locks of her hair.

“Ah, I see the ladies are admiring our equipment,” they suddenly heard a voice behind them say. “Good gracious! You two would truly make charming queens.”

Magdalena turned around and saw the haggard man who had given the dramatic speech earlier. Despite his height, he was as thin as a rail, and his body was wrapped in a long, black coat that fluttered like a scarecrow’s. He was pale and poorly shaven, and he had dark eyes that appeared to bore into everyone he spoke with. Strands of a cheap wig curled like dead snakes down to his shoulders. When the man noticed the women’s hesitation, he bowed slightly.

“My dears, I completely forgot to introduce myself,” he continued in that strange, soft accent that Magdalena had noticed before. “My name is Malcolm. Sir Malcolm, to be precise. I am the director of this outstanding theater group.” He gestured to the men on the circus wagon and bowed. “We strive to entertain you. Or, as Shakespeare once said, ‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.’”

“Shakespeare? Entertain?” Barbara’s mouth opened wide in amazement. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. .”

The gaunt man’s laugh sounded like the bleating of a billy goat. “Don’t tell me you beautiful ladies have never heard of William Shakespeare or Christopher Marlowe? Well, then you can count yourself lucky, because Sir Malcolm’s troupe of itinerant actors is the best, the most sensational, and”-he gave a conspiratorial wink and lowered his voice-“surely the most risqué in the whole German Empire.” His smile was so broad that Magdalena was able to see and admire a row of astonishingly sharp white teeth behind it. “I would be delighted to welcome you to one of our next performances-perhaps tomorrow afternoon, when we shall present Christopher Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus-you surely have heard of our legendary production?”

“Well, I’m not sure. .,” Magdalena began, struggling for words. “What kind of play is it?”

“Doctor Faustus? Oh, it’s an ancient tale of a learned man who made a pact with the devil. Lots of hocus-pocus, smoke, and goose bumps. Sometimes the people run out of the theater screaming, because they’re so terrified.” He bared his teeth, like a wolf. “In other words, they love it.”

“And the devil also appears in it?” Barbara asked.

Malcolm nodded. “I play that part myself, and in all modesty I must say there’s no more diabolical devil in the entire German Empire. Markus plays the part of the old man, Faust, and Matheo the beautiful Helen of Troy. Markus, Matheo! Come here! I’ve found two admirers of our art.”

Two of the men working on the stage looked over at them. Barbara’s eyes sparkled on seeing that one of them was the suntanned youth. The other was a pale man of around forty with a strangely magnetic, melancholy look. Magdalena thought she could sense in his gaze a glimmer of infinite sadness. Both men jumped down from the stage and approached them.

“Matheo comes from an old Sicilian family of jugglers,” Malcolm explained as Barbara tugged excitedly at her linen dress. “He can juggle balls like no one else, and he always plays the part of either the handsome hero or the beautiful girl.” He lowered his voice and whispered, “It’s true that nowadays you see more women taking women’s roles, but here under the auspices of the bishop, we thought it better to keep things the way they are. We don’t want to do anything to spoil our relations with His Excellency, of course.”

“Certainly Matheo is quite qualified to play either role-the handsome hero or the beautiful maiden,” Magdalena said with a grin, and looked at her sister. “What do you think, Barbara? Don’t you think he’d make a beautiful girl?”

Barbara rolled her eyes as if Magdalena had just said something terribly embarrassing, but Matheo just laughed and curtsied.

Magdalena now turned to the pale man that Sir Malcolm had referred to as Markus. “For the role of an old scholar you are astonishingly young,” she said, curious.

The man smiled, but the sadness in his eyes remained. “You have no idea what a little makeup can do-and sometimes I really do feel very old.” He nodded toward the haggard director. “Sir Malcolm is a miserable slave driver.”

Malcolm let out a bleating laugh. “I pay my slaves damned well. And besides, soon everyone will be talking about you, and not just in Bamberg,” he said, turning serious again. “Markus Salter is not only an actor, he is also our playwright,” he continued. “We take the original plays of William Shakespeare and Christopher Marlowe, and Markus gives them. . well, the necessary polish.”

“Aren’t the plays good enough by themselves?” Barbara asked.

“Well, for the general public they’re sometimes just too difficult and dry, so we cut out the long monologues and concentrate on the funny parts and, above all, the bloody passages. Many of the pieces have not yet been translated into German, and Markus takes care of that, as well.”

“I butcher Shakespeare’s plays by turning them into bloody spectacles for the masses,” Markus sighed in despair. “Carefully constructed pentameter, beautiful images-for that the world clearly has no taste nowadays. The more blood, the better. But I myself have written original pieces that-”

“Yes, yes,” Malcolm interrupted, “that would be enough to make Shakespeare cry, I know-or simply put him to sleep. I’m afraid you’re boring the ladies, Markus. Just like your plays. We can’t afford experiments. After all, I have a whole troupe to feed,” he said, clapping his hands. “But now it’s time to get back to building the stage. Will you excuse us?” He bowed to Magdalena and Barbara and stomped off toward the stage, but not without first casting a final, reproachful look at his two actors.

“Old slave driver,” Markus mumbled and followed him, while Matheo paused a moment and winked at Barbara.

“Then can we look forward to seeing you again at tomorrow’s performance? We’ll save a few seats for you up in the gallery. Ciao, signorine.”

“Ciao,” Barbara said, batting her eyelashes as Matheo, in one single, flowing movement, jumped back onto the stage.

Magdalena grinned at her sister. “Ciao?” she asked. “Is that the way a Schongau hangman’s daughter says good-bye, or are you an Italian contessa addressing her prince just before their wedding?”

“You. . you are a rude, stupid old biddy, do you know that?” Barbara snarled, back to her familiar tone of voice, as she ran for the exit. Magdalena followed, laughing, but her sister was so fast that she lost sight of her rushing down the stairway in the central dome.

Barbara was positively foaming at the mouth. As she ran out into the square by the harbor, she thought of a dozen choice curses for her big sister. How Magdalena had humiliated her! She still treated Barbara like the little girl she used to read bedtime stories to and take to pick blueberries, though she was now fifteen. Fifteen! An age at which other young women were married.

For example, to good-looking, suntanned lads like Matheo.

But in the next moment she saw what a fool she was. She didn’t understand what was going on inside her. Recalling her conversation with the attractive young man, she suddenly felt so incredibly foolish, simply ridiculous. She felt as if he could see right through her. Hadn’t he flashed her that strange smile, as if he could read her thoughts?

She slowed her pace as she gradually calmed down. Her frantic flight was actually pretty stupid. What had really happened? Magdalena had only teased her a little. That harmless ribbing was just the drop that caused the barrel to overflow. The long trip, the bizarre severed arm on the riverbank, her happy reunion with Georg. . The stress and excitement were probably getting to her. She hadn’t seen her twin brother for two years, but his greeting the night before had seemed cool to her. Yes, Georg had been glad to see her, but she’d thought he would at least want to spend the next day with her. Instead, he went out to flay an old horse, and she went shopping for her future aunt.

The things they’d bought. .

Suddenly she stopped. She had left her packages up in the wedding house! Should she turn around? Surely then she would meet her big sister, and she had no desire to talk with Magdalena. She was still too ashamed because of her bad behavior. Besides, Magdalena had probably picked up the packages of onions, tobacco, and herbs and was on her way back to the hangman’s house. She could put it out of her mind and keep going.

Barbara looked around to see where she was. She had left the noisy harbor behind and was walking down a wide street toward the city moat. On an impulse, she turned into a narrow lane lined by houses crowded closely together. The roofs almost touched, so that only a few rays of sunlight reached the ground. There was no more crying of fishwives to be heard, and the only sound was that of a faraway church bell.

She soon realized she had gotten into a real labyrinth. In all directions there were intersections and forks in the road leading to shadowy squares and niches. Here and there were stinking, gurgling ditches, which after a few feet disappeared under a small bridge or house. Only occasionally did she see any pedestrians, but she was too afraid to ask for directions. Strangers weren’t welcomed anywhere, she knew from her experiences in Schongau.

She was about to take a turn into another side street when she felt a burning sensation between her shoulder blades, a gnawing and itching, as if someone were watching her. She turned around and just caught a glimpse of a gray, indistinct figure scampering over one of the low-hanging roofs. She heard a scratching sound, and a roof shingle fell directly at her feet.

“For heaven’s sake. .,” she said, but then fell silent on hearing a thumping sound coming from the house in front of her.

Somewhere inside, a door squeaked.

As she examined the house more closely, it occurred to her how deserted it seemed. The shutters were askew, the paint had flaked off, and the roof had partly caved in so that the exposed rafters looked like gnawed-off ribs. This had to be one of the abandoned houses they had all noticed the night before.

Now sounds could be heard inside. Someone was running down the stairs.

Or perhaps something, Barbara suddenly thought.

She recalled the horror stories about the beast, and all the severed body parts that had been found both in and outside of the city.

Suddenly she felt entirely alone and forsaken.

“Is. . is someone there?” she asked in a hoarse voice.

Though everything inside her was screaming for her to turn and run as fast as she could, she moved forward as if being pulled by an invisible string in the direction of a run-down cottage. As the hangman’s daughter, Barbara had inherited from her father not just his obstinacy and love of books but also his notorious curiosity.

I don’t have to actually go inside, she thought, just have a quick look.

With a pounding heart she stepped to the window, whose rotted shutters were hanging open. It was so high she had to pull herself up to peer over the windowsill. In front of her she saw an empty room with an oak parquet flooring that had been partially torn up, presumably for use as firewood. The ruins of a tile stove were scattered about, moldy rags were lying in a corner, a rusty candelabra was-

“Hey, what the hell are you doing here? Snooping around?”

A guard’s face had appeared so suddenly in the window that Barbara screamed, let go of the windowsill, and fell back into the dirt. She stared open-mouthed at the guard, who was wearing a metal helmet and a rusty chain-mail shirt, and for a moment she took him to be a furry beast.

“Don’t you know these abandoned houses are off-limits, you filthy brat?” he said.

Now a second, older guard appeared alongside him and placed his hand on his colleague’s shoulder. “Take it easy,” he said, trying to calm the younger man down. “When we were kids, we were curious, too, always wondering what was going on in the abandoned houses. The girl wasn’t up to any mischief.”

“You know exactly what the captain said,” the first guard whispered hoarsely. “No witnesses. Suppose-”

“Shh.” The older man pulled him away from the window. “You’ve already said too much.” He smiled and turned to Barbara. “And you, scram. There are no treasures or ghosts here, only garbage and rats.” Suddenly he frowned. “Who are you, anyway? I’ve never seen you before.”

“I. . I’m just visiting my uncle,” Barbara replied, scrambling to get up on her feet. “Sorry to disturb you. I’m leaving.”

She ran down the narrow, shaded lane as the guard ran after her, shouting.

“Hey, little girl! Which uncle do you mean? Stop!”

But she didn’t stop; she kept on running until she finally saw sunlight in front of her again. As she stepped out of the labyrinth of gloomy lanes, she was relieved to see she had reached the city moat. It stank of decay and feces, but at least she felt the sun on her face again.

By the time Barbara arrived at the hangman’s house shortly thereafter, the incident with the guards was nothing but a distant memory.

Just as Magdalena was running out of the wedding house on her way to the harbor, she remembered the package that Barbara had put down earlier beside the stage. The little brat was so angry at her older sister that she’d forgotten it.

“Damn it, is it my job to look after everything?”

She cursed as she ran back through the portal and up the stairs. If she showed up at the hangman’s house without the things she’d bought, Katharina would be terribly disappointed-to say nothing of her father, impatient for his tobacco. She walked out onto the dance floor, grabbed the bundle, and hurried back out, intending to give her saucy little sister a good tongue-lashing.

The actors were too busy to notice her. Just the same, Magdalena had to smile. It looked like Barbara had fallen for the suntanned youth.

She’s growing up. It won’t be long before she’ll start driving Father crazy with stories about her boyfriends. And why won’t the old man treat her the same as he did me?

On the stair landing, she heard a mumbling voice coming from a chamber off to one side. Curious, she turned and saw a room full of old chests and theater props. Markus Salter, the playwright, was standing with his back to her, leaning over a small trunk, whispering in an indulgent tone, almost as if speaking with a child. When he glanced over his shoulder and saw Magdalena, he quickly closed the trunk and turned to her. He looked as if he’d been caught doing something forbidden.

Magdalena raised her basket and package apologetically. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, I just forgot something, and then I saw-”

There was a scratching and scraping in the box, and something was squealing softly. Markus appeared to be thinking for a moment, but finally he uttered a sigh of resignation and stepped aside.

“May I introduce you to Juliet? But promise not to tell Sir Malcolm about this.”

Magdalena looked puzzled. “Juliet? I’m afraid I don’t understand. .”

Without answering, Markus lifted the lid and pulled out a small, wriggling bundle of fur. It took a while for Magdalena to realize it was a ferret. She laughed with relief.

“This is Juliet?”

Markus nodded and lovingly petted the squirming little animal. “I found her last spring in the forest, along with her brother Romeo. They were the only ones in their litter to survive. The others were probably eaten by wild boars. That old philanderer, Romeo, unfortunately ran away some time ago, but Juliet stayed with me. She’s rather friendly-see for yourself.”

Markus opened his hand carefully, and the ferret climbed up his right arm to his shoulder, where it sat down and scrutinized Magdalena with beady red eyes. There was an animal intelligence in its gaze that reminded Magdalena of a rat. Alert, in a strange way. .

Evil?

Magdalena shook her head, and Markus looked at her, surprised.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you like ferrets? They’re pretty smart. You can easily train them to chase rats.” He shrugged with the other shoulder. “Unfortunately, Sir Malcolm can’t stand animals-ferrets, martens, weasels, all the little creatures that live in the forest. He says they transmit diseases. What nonsense. I think he’s just afraid of them.”

“Well, they do need a place to live,” Magdalena replied hesitantly. “Ah. . especially when they’ve been tamed.”

“If Sir Malcolm finds Juliet, he’ll put her in a sack and throw her into the river. Please don’t tell him anything.” Markus petted the ferret, which was still sitting on his shoulder like a kitten. “I’m hiding her here among the stage props until I can find a better place for her. I’ve really become very fond of Juliet.”

Magdalena smiled. “I’ll be as silent as the grave, I promise.” After a few moments she asked, “How long do you intend to stay here in Bamberg?”

“Well, probably all winter.” Markus put the squirming ferret back in her cage and closed it carefully. “That’s what all itinerant actors do. In the winter it’s too cold to get around. We were here in Bamberg just last May, and evidently the bishop liked our performances, as he has given permission for the troupe to spend the winter. The innkeeper here in the wedding house is very cordial. He’s reserved the dance floor for our rehearsals and shows and provided a few rooms where we can spend the night.” He grinned. “Of course, it brings him business, too. During the shows, people drink as if there’s no tomorrow.”

Magdalena suddenly had an idea. “You say you were in Bamberg once before?” she asked. “Do you happen to know anything about all the abandoned houses in the city? We noticed them when we arrived yesterday evening. It seems rather. . weird.”

“The abandoned houses?” He appeared to hesitate. When he continued, his eyes looked a bit sadder. “Indeed, they do seem strange-silent witnesses to an enormous crime. Perhaps the most violent this part of the country has ever seen.”

“What sort of crime?” Magdalena asked.

Markus looked at her, perplexed. “You really must be from someplace far away if you never heard of the Bamberg witch trials. It was more than thirty years ago. I myself was just a kid at the time and lived with my parents and siblings in Nuremberg, forty miles away. But even there, everyone was talking about the horror that took place here.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if he didn’t want anyone to hear. “Almost a thousand innocent people in Bamberg and the neighboring towns were accused of witchcraft and put to the stake-men, women, and children. Some were just simple people, but some were noble-men; a few were burgomasters, and there was even a chancellor. The prince-bishop and his henchmen were beside themselves with rage, and nobody could stop them. Not even the pope and the kaiser.” He paused and looked into the distance. “What a tragedy. The events would have been good material for a play, an especially bloody one.”

“And the homes of the condemned are still empty?” Magdalena asked in disbelief.

Markus shrugged. “For a long time, people thought the houses were haunted. It was said that the innocent people who were tortured and burned would wander as ghosts through their former homes. Then the buildings fell into disrepair, and now it’s probably just too expensive to restore them.” He sighed. “Bamberg really has its best years behind it. I’ll be happy when we can leave the city again in the spring.”

Magdalena looked out the window, down at the marketplace where the fishwives were still loudly extolling their wares. The early-afternoon sun shone down mildly on the Regnitz, where a small boat was sailing calmly toward the city hall; in the background, the mighty spire of the cathedral rose up into the mist and low-lying clouds. Everything appeared so peaceful-but it seemed to Magdalena that, since her visit to the market, a gray shroud had descended over the city. Even from up here she could see some of the burnt ruins, the gangrenous wounds of a dying city. War, plagues, witch trials. . Would Bamberg ever recover from the many horrors of past years?

Suddenly, Magdalena felt a chill in the cold building, and goose bumps appeared on her bare arms. She picked up her basket and package, and bowed slightly.

“I enjoyed meeting you, Master Markus,” she said, “even if your story was a rather sad one. Until tomorrow, then, at the performance.” Suddenly her face broke out in a smile. “Oh, and say good-bye to Juliet. Perhaps I’ll bring her some treats on my next visit.”

Magdalena turned and hurried down the stairs toward the wide portal. Not until she reached the bustling harbor did warmth gradually return to her arms and legs.