The Beggar King: A Hangman's Daughter Tale (US Edition)

by Oliver Pötzsch

  Simon joined the chase, and together they ran through the crowd, bumping into travelers disembarking from their rafts, arms loaded with crates and sacks. Magdalena heard shouts and splashing behind her but had no time to turn around. The thief was already almost out of sight. Her dress fluttered behind her like a flag in the wind as she desperately tried to catch up with him. That bag contained everything connecting her to her home in Schongau, including a little faded portrait a peddler had once made of her mother. She mustn’t lose it!

  The thief was running along the edge of the landing now where, away from the crowds, he could run faster. Simon had chosen the same path and was right on the man’s heels, followed close behind by an angry, cursing Magdalena. As they approached a line of storage sheds, the thief made a sharp turn toward a stack of logs and crates. On the other side a narrow lane crowded with carts, carriages, and people led into the city. If the thief got that far, they would certainly lose him!

  At just that moment Simon stumbled over a rope on the ground and fell to his knees as Magdalena rushed past him.

  “Stop, thief!” she shouted. “Stop him!” But the few raftsmen and dock workers standing among the stacks only glanced at her indifferently.

  The haggard thief swung the sack over his head triumphantly as he clattered onto a pile of logs. Just as he reached the top, a figure appeared from the right. He had jet-black hair tied into a ponytail, and the muscles on his tanned upper arms rippled like little balls under his skin. He grabbed the bottom-most log with both hands and pulled it out from under the stack with one powerful tug. The logs on top came loose and started to roll, crashing down in all directions.

  The thief teetered briefly like an acrobat on a rope, then fell with a cry and lay pinned between the logs, moaning.

  The black-haired man reappeared from behind the piles where he’d taken refuge from the avalanche. Magdalena at first guessed he was in his early thirties, but as he drew closer, she could see he was considerably older. Folds had formed around the corners of his mouth and piercing blue eyes, lending him a mature and stately appearance. He wore a simple leather waistcoat over his bare upper body; his only adornment was a red cloth knotted around his neck. In his enormous hands Magdalena’s sack dangled like a little toy.

  “I believe you’ve lost something,” he said, tossing the bag to Magdalena. “And as far as this fellow is concerned…” Grabbing the nearly unconscious thief, he dragged him to the edge of the landing. “A cold bath sometimes works wonders.” With a wide swing, he threw the howling man into the Danube. When the man resurfaced, he floundered until the current carried him away at last.

  “Don’t worry,” the man said. “He can swim. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to cool off this hothead. He’s just a little miscreant with whom even the hangman doesn’t want to dirty his hands. But I won’t tolerate thieves on my wharf. It’s bad for business.”

  With a smile he approached Magdalena and held out his hand. A few tattoos adorned his muscular upper arm, among them some kind of sea monster emerging from a wave.

  “My name is Karl Gessner,” the man said with a broad grin that revealed nearly perfect white teeth. “I’m the city raftmaster. Sorry that your stay in Regensburg has gotten off to such a bad start, but at least you have your bag back.” He pointed to Simon, who had finally gotten up and came hobbling over. “I hope your friend didn’t get those bruises on his face around here. You’re probably new in town and looking for work. Is that right?”

  “It’s possible,” Simon said abruptly.

  The raftmaster grinned. “I can sense that from three miles away, against the wind. If you wish, you can earn a few kreuzers from me today. Here on the docks there’s always something to do. Lugging crates, caulking boats, tying logs together for the rafts…” Gessner whistled through his fingers, and several laborers came running over at once to help him restack the fallen logs.

  “Thanks, but—” Magdalena began, but Simon interrupted.

  “Believe me, that wouldn’t be a profitable deal for you,” the medicus replied, wiping the dirt from his trousers. “My hands are more suited to holding a pencil or a pair of tweezers than heavy barrels. But if one of your workers happens to have an infection in his leg or stomach pains, we’d be happy to show our appreciation for your kindness.”

  Gessner clicked his tongue. “A traveling barber, then! Well, I’d advise you to watch that the guards don’t catch up with you. They don’t much care for quack doctors.”

  “Simon is no quack doctor,” Magdalena said firmly. “He studied in Ingolstadt.”

  “All right, fine, I didn’t mean to offend your friend,” the raftmaster said, trying to calm things down. “A physician with medical training is always welcome here. Perhaps I even have something for you…” He shook his head from side to side, thinking. “There’s a tavern not far from here. It’s called the Whale, and it’s just the right place to go if you’re new in the city. That’s where everyone in Regensburg goes who’s looking for work. I’ve even seen traveling bathhouse journeymen there. Just say that Raftmaster Gessner sent you and you have my recommendation.” He winked. “I can trust you, can’t I?”

  Simon raised his hand solemnly to give his word. “I swear we’re not quacks—you have our word on that.” He smiled and bowed slightly. “Our deepest thanks. It’s always a blessing when a person has someone he can trust in a strange city.”

  “Maybe we’ll meet again sometime at this—uh—Whale,” said Magdalena, tossing her sack over her shoulder after checking to see that nothing was missing. “But first we’re going to visit my aunt. She’s the wife of the bathhouse owner Andreas Hofmann. You don’t happen to know her? I hear she’s seriously ill.”

  The blood drained instantly from Gessner’s face, and his whole body seemed to turn to stone. For a moment he was speechless.

  “You—you—are…?” he stammered.

  Magdalena looked at him anxiously. “Is there something wrong?”

  It took a moment for the raftmaster to get a hold of himself again. When he pulled himself together at last, he laid his hand on Magdalena’s shoulder. “You’ve chosen an unfortunate time to come to Regensburg.” The words came out slowly and ominously. “It’s said that your aunt…” He faltered.

  “What’s wrong with my aunt?” said Magdalena, pulling away from the raftmaster. “Out with it!”

  Gessner shook his head sadly. “I don’t know all the details—perhaps it’s best you have a look for yourself. Josef!” he waved one of the laborers over. “Take these people to the Weißgerbergraben. Right now!”

  The man nodded and turned to leave. Again Magdalena tried to get the raftmaster to talk, but he turned aside, busily hammering heavy nails into a barrel.

  “Come on,” said Simon, nudging her gently. “We’re not going to learn anything more here.”

  Magdalena turned away, her mouth set, and followed Simon and the workman as they disappeared down a narrow lane. As they left the dock area, though, they heard the raftmaster’s voice behind them.

  “God be with you!” Gessner called after them. “And remember the Whale! Perhaps you’ll find someone there who can help you.”

  A few blocks away the harsh reality awaited them.

  As the two breathlessly approached the bathhouse, they could see right away that something wasn’t right. The entrance was blocked with a heavy chain and guarded by a grim-faced watchman, halberd in hand. Curious onlookers were milling about in the street, whispering to one another, while their close-lipped guide cleared out without another word to Simon or Magdalena about Lisbeth Hofmann.

  The hangman’s daughter tapped one of the bystanders on the shoulder and pointed at the building. “What happened in there? Why is everyone standing around gaping?” she asked as casually as possible, though she couldn’t keep her voice from trembling. A white-haired old man in front of her had a sparkle in his eyes that betrayed something had happened here and, thank God, it hadn’t happened to him.

 
“The bathmaster and his wife,” he whispered. “Found in a pool of their own blood. It happened almost a week ago, but the house is still under guard. There’s something strange going on here.”

  Magdalena’s face went ashen. “Are the bathhouse people dead, then?” she asked hoarsely, as if she didn’t already know the answer.

  The man giggled like a child. “Dead like two old nags at the slaughterhouse. They say the blood ran ankle-deep in there. Must have been an awful mess.”

  Magdalena struggled to compose her thoughts. “Well…” she stammered, “do they know who’s responsible?”

  The old man nodded enthusiastically. “They caught the fellow!” he squeaked. “Hofmann’s brother-in-law, a bear of a man, a real monster. They say he came from somewhere near Augsburg… Never heard of the place before, myself.”

  “Was it perhaps… Schongau?” Simon asked in an undertone.

  The old man furrowed his brow. “Schongau… yes! Do you know the murderer?”

  Magdalena shook her head quickly. “No, no, that’s just what somebody told us. Where have they taken this… monster to now?”

  The old man stared at them with increasing suspicion. “Well, of course, to one of the dungeons by city hall. You’re not from around here, are you?”

  Without answering, Magdalena pulled Simon by the sleeve into a small side street away from the bathhouse, where the old man was already starting to spread rumors among the onlookers about the strangers who apparently knew the monster.

  “I’m afraid your father’s in real trouble,” Simon whispered, looking warily in all directions. “Do you really think that—”

  “That’s rubbish!” Magdalena said angrily. “Why would my father ever do anything like that? His own sister! It’s absurd!”

  “So now what do we do?”

  “You heard it yourself. He’s somewhere in city hall,” Magdalena replied curtly. “So we’ll go there; we have to help him.”

  “Help? But how do you imagine…” Simon started to say, but the hangman’s daughter had already set off down the fetid, narrow lane, tears of rage and grief running down her cheeks.

  Her dream of a new life had been cruelly shattered before it had even begun.

  A dark figure broke away from the crowd in front of the bathhouse and silently followed the two newcomers. No onlooker would later recall someone crouched in the shadow of a nearby house, only steps away from Simon and Magdalena, someone as unremarkable as a wall or a parked cart—motionless, ever present, and unnoticed by all.

  The man had long ago perfected this ability, lurking in the alcoves and doorways of burned-out cities, biding his time. He had feigned death on the battlefield only to slit the throats of foolish profiteers who tried to loot corpses of their weapons, clothing, and coins. He was a master of deception and, even more than that, of metamorphosis. He’d been living as someone else for so many years now that he was in danger of losing himself completely in this other identity—the identity of someone who had long been dead.

  But then the past had come knocking at his door, reminding him who he really was. The burning desire for revenge returned and filled him with new life.

  The hangman had returned…

  It wasn’t part of the plan that the hangman’s daughter would also stay in Regensburg, but it wasn’t without a certain irony. The man closed his eyes briefly and chuckled softly to himself. Had he believed in God, he would have uttered a prayer of thanks and donated a twelve-pound candle to the church.

  Instead, he simply spat on the pavement and picked up the trail again.

  The square in front of city hall was full of idlers this Sunday afternoon, as well as the pious who were streaming from the cathedral as mass came to an end. And then there was the usual crowd of beggars. It hadn’t been hard for Simon and Magdalena to find this spot. Basically they let themselves be carried along by the current of the crowd that streamed down the wide paved road from the Weißgerbergraben and deposited them directly in front of the new city hall.

  The three-story building had been partially finished just the year before, and the plaster gleamed white in the hot midday sun. To its left towered an even higher building with painted glass windows and richly decorated oriels. Through the wide portal came group after group of mostly older men, garbed in costly and, in some cases, rather exotic robes and deeply engaged in conversation. Snippets of sentences reached Simon and Magdalena in strange dialects they could only partially comprehend. So this, then, was the famous Reichssaal—the Imperial Hall, where the rich and mighty met with the kaiser to determine the destiny of the German Reich and to confer on how best to manage the ever-present and ever-increasing danger posed by the Turks. The raftsmen mentioned that the meeting would take place a few months from now, and apparently preparations were already under way.

  Magdalena nudged Simon and pointed to a narrow doorway between the Reichssaal and the new city hall, where two watchmen stood guard with halberds. The gate behind them stood open, but the two bailiffs shared an expression as watchful as it was surly. And behind the gate was a dark archway.

  “Look!” the hangman’s daughter whispered. “The dungeon next to the city hall. That must be what the old man meant!”

  Simon shrugged. “And what now? Push our way past the guards, knock down the doors to the dungeon, and smuggle the hangman out in your little travel bag?”

  “You idiot!” Magdalena replied. “I just want to talk to him and find out what happened. Perhaps then we can figure out how to help him.”

  “And just how do you propose to do that? They won’t let anyone in there.”

  Magdalena, who seemed to have calmed down somewhat, flashed him a devious grin. “We need someone to distract them while I have a look around in there. Can you do that?”

  Simon looked at her in disbelief. “You’re asking me to…”

  She grinned again and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re always quick on your feet; just think of something.”

  Then she headed briskly for the door, where the guards were already eyeing her expectantly.

  “Have you got the monster locked up good and tight?” she asked them blithely. “Down in the Weißgerbergraben, the most blood-curdling stories are going around. They say the man is as big as a tree and tore the heads off the bathhouse owner and his wife like they were nothing more than chickens. What’s going to happen if he gets out, eh?”

  The guards’ expressions went from attentive to boastful. “Let that be our concern, woman,” one of them replied gruffly. “We’ve put all kinds of rascals in here under lock and key.”

  “Really?” Magdalena pursed her lips and batted her eyelashes. “Uh, like who?”

  One of the guards puffed out his chest. “Well, you’ve probably heard of Hans Reichart, the swine who robbed and murdered five townfolk—stabbed them in the back, no less. We chased that shameless bastard all over city, but in the end the hangman got him on the wheel and impaled that broken bag of bones on a stake. As a reward, we each got to keep one of Reichart’s fingers.” The watchman held up his left hand and crossed himself superstitiously. “No one’s so much as stolen a kreuzer from me since.”

  Magdalena swallowed hard. It was clear her father risked a similar fate.

  “I wish I’d been there for the chase,” she said finally. “You’re both such big, strapping fellows.” She winked and ran a finger down the breastplate of one of the guards, with a quick but suggestive glance downward. “Up top, I mean, of course.”

  The soldier grinned back. “You’re welcome to have a look down below, you know.”

  At that moment laughter and noise erupted nearby, and with a sigh, the guards broke off their brief flirtation and turned their heads to watch as a young man climbed onto a cart and began loudly extolling the virtues of some elixir.

  “Dear citizens of Regensburg, step up and taste my newest miracle cure! This theriaca is brewed from dried snake meat and a secret mixture of exquisite herbs I myself gathered in cemeteries by the lig
ht of the full moon. It works wonders for cases of infertility, toothache, and stomach pain. On my honor, I swear it will give sight to the lame and make the blind walk again.”

  “Stay here, girl,” one watchman growled, beckoning to his comrade to follow. “Let’s see what all this racket is about before I get to tell you about how I worked over Schaidinger not long ago, a dirty dog who robbed the offertory box.”

  “Oh, um… wonderful,” replied Magdalena, smiling grimly as the determined watchmen headed toward the cart.

  Beads of sweat on his brow, Simon waved about a little bottle he’d hastily removed from his satchel: a harmless cough syrup containing ivy, sage, and honey, which was all he’d been able to find on short order. When he noticed how Magdalena had engaged the two watchmen in conversation, he couldn’t think of any other way to create a diversion than to climb up on a cart and start making ludicrous proclamations. Simon had seen the itinerant quacks and mountebanks in Schongau, and during his student days in Ingolstadt. These self-anointed miracle doctors crammed their carts full of bizarre ingredients like scorpion oil, elephant fat, and pulverized stardust. In spite of, or perhaps because of, their exotic antics, these men were the highlight of every local carnival.

  And indeed, it didn’t take long for a group of curious onlookers to gather around Simon in the city hall square, all of them laughing and shouting.

  A rotten head of cabbage just missed him as it flew past his head. “Hey, quack,” one called, “how about you give some of your miracle drug to the bathhouse owner whose gut was slit wide open? Perhaps he’ll come back to life!”

  With a stiff grin, Simon shook his head, keeping an eye on the two officious watchmen who approached as Magdalena slipped through the narrow doorway.

  “I would never dare interfere in God’s mysterious ways,” he cried out, his voice cracking. “When the Lord calls us, we are obliged to follow. It’s not up to us to bring back the dead, were it even in my power to do so!”

  Good God, what is this nonsense I’m spouting! Simon thought. I can only hope that Magdalena is in and out in a hurry.