A werewolf.
Briefly, Harsee shifted around again to scratch a sore on the right side of his neck. Something had bitten him there a few days ago, probably while he was sleeping. The wound was small, but it was weeping, and the itching was damned unpleasant. For some time he’d been considering consulting Master Samuel, but after the bishop’s personal physician had attacked him in the council meeting, he no longer thought that was appropriate. No doubt the itching would just go away eventually. The suffragan bishop closed his eyes and concentrated again on what was important.
When the first reports had come in of people missing, Sebastian Harsee hadn’t thought much of it—a case for the civil authorities, nothing more. But suddenly there was talk of a hairy beast, new rumors surfaced, and that set the ball rolling. Harsee didn’t have to do anything but steer it in the right direction.
The disappearance of Thadäus Vasold, a good friend of Harsee’s family, had disturbed him, however. Back in the old days, Vasold and Harsee’s own father had joined in fighting the enemies of the church. The disappeared council member had been one of their own, much more than fat old Klaus Schwarzkontz, who had also been a colleague of his father. In recent years, Schwarzkontz had indulged much more in worldly matters, and his death struck Harsee as a just punishment. Vasold’s cruel abduction and probable murder, on the other hand, frightened Harsee. Evil was close at hand, and he thought he could even smell the werewolf’s foul breath.
Harsee pressed himself even harder against the stone floor, as if trying to be joined together as one with the cathedral, subsumed into the body of the church. He began to feel dizzy, as he so often did lately, as if a slight fever was spreading over his body. He couldn’t get sick now—not now, when he was so close to his goal.
He remembered with relief how quickly he’d been able to track down the beast that morning. The first troupe of actors had attracted attention through their demonic presentations in the wedding house, and he’d personally given the order to raid their quarters and search for evidence first thing the next morning. And indeed, stored in a trunk they’d found a few wolf pelts sewn together, making a cloak that the impersonator could slip into at night to look like a beast. What more was needed? Even the leader of that troupe of charlatans and vagabonds had been horrified. But Harsee was sure it would not be the last case; he would see to that. Forty years ago, it had also started with one witch, and by the time it was over there were hundreds.
The Bamberg suffragan bishop kissed the dusty stone floor, then he stood up, thanked the Lord God, and climbed the stairs up from the crypt to the cathedral, each step an agony for him. Cold sweat ran down his back, and the accursed little wound on his neck began to itch again.
He must have caught some kind of fever. He sent a brief prayer to heaven, asking God to protect him from sickness in the coming weeks.
It was high time for him to find the next werewolf.
Brooding darkly, Jakob Kuisl sat in the devotional corner of the hangman’s house, cracking his knuckles. He had the strength of a bear and a sharp mind, but seldom had he felt as helpless as when his youngest daughter ran away.
First Georg, and now Barbara as well. What would my beloved Anna have said to all of this? Oh, Anna, how I miss you.
Furious, he pounded the table with his hand, and the other members of the family, who had been sitting quietly beside him, cringed.
“What in hell is wrong with that girl?” Kuisl ranted to let off steam. “Gets involved with a traveling actor and threatens me as well. I’ll drag her back to Schongau by the hair.”
“Oh, and then? Are you going to tie her down there by her hair?” Magdalena asked. “You know Barbara. I’d bet my life she’ll run away from you again if you don’t help her now. She’s crazy about the fellow, and neither words nor force will do any good.”
“She’ll come to her senses again, don’t you think?” Georg asked hesitantly.
Magdalena shook her head. “You menfolk don’t understand anything about that. If you let Barbara down now, we’ll lose her forever. I’m as sure of that as the fact that I’m sitting here now.”
Kuisl laughed dryly. “So what do you think I should do? Go to the dungeon, tell the guards that Matheo is innocent, and simply bring him back with me? Or just knock them around a few times?”
“You can at least have a talk with your brother,” Simon interjected. “There are ways of delaying the torture, drawing it out, and you know that better than I do. Think of Stechlin back then.”
The hangman was silent; he just sat there grinding his teeth. Almost ten years ago he had saved the Schongau midwife, Martha Stechlin, from the worst torture by using ruses and subterfuge to put off the torture again and again. But that had been in his hometown, where he knew the councilors and was able to better weigh the possibilities. Here, though, his brother was the hangman. What would Bartholomäus say if Jakob proposed he do the same?
He certainly would hold it against me.
“I know that Uncle Bartholomäus doesn’t like to torture,” Georg finally said after thinking it over, as if reading his father’s mind. “He finds torturing horrible, just like the long executions. I’m sure if he could, he’d just stay in the Bamberg Forest caring for his dogs and the bishop’s menagerie. If we can convince him that this Matheo is really innocent—”
“He is innocent,” Jakob interrupted. “There’s no question about it. These actors have not been in town more than a few days, but the first of the missing persons was discovered more than a month ago. And there’s a connection between all these cases, even if I don’t know yet what it is. It can’t be the actors—it must be someone who’s been in or around the city for some time.”
Simon frowned. “You’re right, but no matter how logical that is—”
“I know,” Jakob snorted. “That doesn’t mean the councilors sitting around on their fat butts are going to care a whit. If you want to, you can explain anything by calling it witchcraft, and this damned commission wants to please the Bambergers by finding a culprit. They won’t point to anyone living here, if they can get their hands on a fine scapegoat like Matheo. Even if we drew out the interrogation, sooner or later they’d put Matheo to the stake, as sure as the amen in church.”
“Unless . . . we can find the true perpetrator.” Magdalena sat at the table, her arms crossed, looking expectantly at the others. “Come now,” she continued. “It wouldn’t be the first time that we’ve hunted down a criminal.”
“Except that this time the evildoer is a werewolf.” Simon weighed his head in his hands. “Or at least someone dressing up as one, if you are to accept your father’s assumptions.” Suddenly his face brightened. “This wolf pelt that they found in Matheo’s possession. Isn’t it possible that the real perpetrator planted it on him to deflect suspicion from himself?”
Magdalena nodded. “It’s possible. In any case, someone needs to talk to Matheo. Perhaps he knows who might be behind this.”
“That’s something Uncle Bartholomäus and I can do,” Georg replied hesitantly. “Provided my uncle agrees.” He sighed. “I’ll do anything to try to bring my sister back, even though I still think this actor is a dubious character.”
“Someone also has to go and look for Barbara,” said Jakob as he struggled to his feet, grunting. “Not that she’d do anything to harm herself. Perhaps I, myself—”
“Certainly not! You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Magdalena replied, patting her father on the arm. “You’ve caused enough trouble here with your boorish behavior. This is a woman’s job.” She smiled grimly. “And as chance would have it, I think I know where Barbara is hiding.”
8
THE STREETS OF BAMBERG, EARLY MORNING, OCTOBER 30, 1668 AD
MAGDALENA HURRIED THROUGH THE NARROW streets of Bamberg, pondering the dreadful news. Young Matheo was suspected of being the werewolf everyone had been looking for. At the breakfast table, she had looked into her sister’s eyes and seen how her world was collapsing. She could u
nderstand Barbara’s anger and grief all too well, and she knew how mercilessly the wheels of justice would start turning now. For Matheo to have even the slightest chance, they’d need to quickly find the real beast and inform the council. Was that even possible?
With a billowing skirt, she ran along the foul-smelling city moat and from there southward through the Lange Gasse, where at this hour crowds of merchants and farmers were coming from the Green Market. She made her way past market women hawking their wares and coachmen loudly cursing their horses until she finally reached the harbor and the wedding house. She suspected Barbara would seek shelter with the actors. There was no one else in the town that she knew, and ever since Barbara had helped Sir Malcolm and his colleagues in the performance the day before, they were on friendly terms.
Magdalena ran up the stairway to the wedding house, taking two steps at a time. When she arrived, breathless, at the top, she found the actors gloomily sitting around on the floor among ransacked piles of boxes and crates. The floor was covered with costumes, some of them ripped apart; one of the backdrops had been slit lengthwise, and everywhere there were the muddy shoeprints of the guards, who had wreaked havoc like marauding bandits.
When Sir Malcolm raised his head and saw Magdalena, he smiled sadly.
“Ah, see who’s here—the beautiful hangman’s daughter,” he said in a melancholy singsong. “Well, I fear we shall not be able to perform for you today, my dear,” he lamented, pointing to the chaos all around them. “First, we shall have to clean up here, and then we’ll see if we can ever play again in Bamberg.”
“What happened, anyway?” Magdalena asked, still out of breath from running.
“The guards came this morning and turned everything upside down,” Markus Salter explained in a tired voice, crouching down on a trunk next to the producer. He was even paler than usual, and there were dark rings under his eyes. “Each of us has his own trunk where he can store his costumes and belongings,” he continued. “They ransacked everything, and in Matheo’s trunk they found the wolf pelts. I have no idea what the lad was planning to do with them.”
“Did he admit that they’re his?” Magdalena asked.
Markus shook his head. “No, he denied everything, and to tell you the truth, I can’t make any sense of it, either. But the guards didn’t care, they just took him along, and now I hear there are a number of witnesses who claim to have seen him in town dressed as a werewolf.”
Sir Malcolm sighed. “Yes, it looks like the boy has a dark secret, a dark soul that he concealed from all of us.”
“Are you saying you really believe that Matheo has something to do with this beast?” Magdalena looked at Malcolm wide-eyed, but he just shrugged.
“Who can look into another man’s soul? I only know I have to protect my troupe. If we’d defended Matheo, they would have taken us all along. We still have the blessing of the prince-bishop, but that can quickly change—particularly now that this cursed Guiscard has arrived in Bamberg with his own troupe.” Sir Malcolm rolled his eyes, then he intoned in a dramatic voice: “Sometimes a person must be sacrificed for the good of the rest, do you understand? I think we should soon dedicate a play to Matheo, some heroic epic, perhaps Henry the Fifth.”
“But . . . but . . . that’s disgusting. Is that what you all think?” Magdalena looked around, horrified, but saw only indifferent expressions. Some of the actors turned away and stared at the floor, as if there might be something interesting to discover there. Only Markus Salter returned her gaze.
“I’m afraid Sir Malcolm is right,” he said finally in a soft voice. “There’s nothing we can do to help Matheo, and remember, these wolf pelts were in his trunk. None of us can figure out how they got there.”
“Haven’t you wondered if someone might have planted them there?” Magdalena replied sharply. “Possibly the guards themselves, because they had to find someone to blame. And who would be a more obvious choice than a dishonorable foreigner whom nobody will miss?”
Icy silence followed. Magdalena waited awhile before continuing. “Actually, I’m not here for Matheo, but for my sister. I already know that my father is not at all happy about how close Barbara and Matheo are. Now tell me the truth—did she come here to hide out?”
Sir Malcolm shook his head. “Unfortunately, no, though she would be welcome here any time. I must tell you honestly that we offered her a job yesterday. The girl has real talent. And now, since Matheo . . . uh . . . is no longer with us, we need someone for the women’s roles.”
“You did what?” Magdalena caught her breath, realizing what Barbara had meant with her strange, veiled hints. “Do you idiots have any idea what my father will do to you if he hears about that, you . . . you . . .” She shook her head, unable to say another word. Then she stormed out of the hall.
When she was already on the stairway, she heard a voice behind her.
“Magdalena, wait!”
Markus Salter came running after her. “I saw your sister,” he called. “She was down in front of the wedding house, and it looked like she was coming up to see us, but then she suddenly turned around and went over to the Wild Man. Maybe you’ll find her there.”
“The Wild Man?” Magdalena frowned. “What in the world does she—” But then she put her hands to her head. “Naturally. Why didn’t I think of that before?”
She was about to hurry on when Markus put his hand on her shoulder.
“Magdalena, believe me,” he pleaded, “I am very sorry about what happened to Matheo. And your assumption is correct. The trunks were in the room next door, and the guards could easily have put the pelts into Matheo’s chest.”
“If they were in the next room, anyone could have done it,” Magdalena mused. Then she stopped short. “Just a minute. Sir Malcolm spoke about this other troupe of actors. I wonder if one of them could have planted the pelts in Matheo’s chest in order to do away with a troublesome competitor?”
Markus Salter nodded hesitantly. “You’re right, I didn’t even think of that. Sir Malcolm and Guiscard Brolet had a nasty fight yesterday, and Matheo was also involved in it. This French tramp and plagiarist certainly wouldn’t stop at treachery in order to get us out of the way.” His face darkened “I’ll go and talk with Sir Malcolm about that right away—though I doubt he’ll go to the prince-bishop to plead Matheo’s case. What proof does he have that Guiscard is the culprit?”
Magdalena sighed. “You’re right, that will be difficult.” Suddenly an idea came to her. “Oh, and by the way, did they find your dear little pet, the ferret, in their search?”
“Juliet?” Markus smiled. “Fortunately not. The guards were so happy to find the wolf pelt that they got a bit careless after that.” He looked darkly at Magdalena. “But you won’t go to Sir Malcolm or the city guards—”
“Believe me, Master Salter,” Magdalena interrupted, “at the moment I have much more important things to do than worry about a pet ferret. And now, please excuse me, I’m looking for my sister.”
She found Barbara sitting on a bed in the little room occupied by the custodian, right next to the tavern, leafing through a dog-eared copy of Shakespeare’s works translated into German. It seemed almost as if Barbara had been expecting her sister. She closed the book and looked at her with sad, red eyes swollen from crying.
“This Shakespeare really knows how to make someone cry,” Barbara said softly. “This play is about Romeo and Juliet, who come from two quarreling families, the Capulets and the Montagues. The lovers die at the end, because they can’t marry. Perhaps that’s the way it has to be with a great love.”
Magdalena sat down beside her sister and hugged her. She could imagine how Barbara felt. No doubt this Matheo was her first real love, and now he was locked in a dungeon and could expect a slow, painful death. Magdalena doubted this was a good time for her to become involved in a book of tragic love stories.
“I spoke with Father,” she said. “He promised he’d do everything he could to gain Matheo’s freedo
m.” That wasn’t quite the truth, but she was certain God would excuse this little white lie.
Barbara shrugged defiantly. “Hah! What can he do? He’s not even from around here. The only ones who can torture people here are my uncle and Georg.”
“You know what Father can do. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s helped an innocent person obtain justice. And Georg, too, is going to talk to Uncle Bartholomäus.”
Barbara looked at Magdalena hopefully. “Then . . . then you also think Matheo is innocent?”
“Of course. We all think so. The family will not abandon you.”
Magdalena was embracing her sister again when suddenly the door opened, and in the doorway the scarred face of Jeremias appeared. Magdalena flinched at the sight of the terrible scars. At the old man’s feet, his crippled dog danced around and then hobbled toward Barbara to lick her hand.
“Ah, I see the two ladies have already found each other,” Jeremias said with a smile, his mouth twisting into a horrific grimace. Then he turned to Magdalena. “I found your sister in the yard, crying, and offered her my room as a temporary refuge. I hope that’s all right.” He pointed to some vials standing on a shelf in his tiny, cramped room. “I gave her a little Saint John’s wort and valerian, to calm the nerves.”
“Do you know anything about medicine?” Magdalena inquired curiously.
Jeremias rocked his head from side to side. “Well . . . a little. One learns all sorts of things in a long life.” He made a mournful face. “In any case, it’s a sad story your sister told me. The poor lad.”
Barbara started to cry again, and Jeremias stroked her hair sympathetically. “Well, it’s not the end of the world—there’s still time to do something. There’s a regular, prescribed procedure in a trial. First, there’s the accusation. Then, the hangman shows the accused the instruments of torture, probably several times. That’s the first stage, and then—”
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