“We don’t know, exactly, but his wife—that is, your great-grandmother Euphrosina—dealt with magical elixirs and amulets. And Jörg Abriel kept some magic books containing, it was said, all the spells he had forced out of the witches when he tortured them. I saw those books myself when I was a child—bound in the finest calfskin and with silver fittings, a true feast for the eyes. They were considered the most valuable and truest books on magic that ever existed.”
“Don’t these books exist anymore, then?” Magdalena asked.
Bartholomäus shrugged regretfully, and his gaze darkened. “Unfortunately not. Your dear father burned them after he abandoned us, and only told me about it much later.”
“Because they were the work of the devil, that’s why!” Jakob interrupted. Until then he had remained silent, but now he could no longer restrain himself. “Written with the blood of a hundred innocent women. They disgusted me.”
“They were our family’s heritage,” Bartholomäus snapped. “Even if you were the firstborn, you had no right to do that.” He turned back to Magdalena. “Your father had a great responsibility thrust upon him at that time, but he failed. Our father was a good hangman until he started to drink.” He stared blankly into space. “That happens to many hangmen tormented by their dreams. Some even go mad. Father couldn’t stand it, either, and finally—”
“He was a failure and a drunk,” Jakob interrupted. “And you’ve never understood that, Bartholomäus. He beat our mother black and blue, and us, too. Yes, I loved him and respected him, but then I saw him as he really was. I didn’t want to become like him. Ever.”
Bartholomäus nodded grimly. “And for that reason you put your tail between your legs and just took off—but not before destroying the magic books, our family’s heritage—and you simply abandoned us, your younger brother and sister. I was only twelve, Jakob, and Lisl just three, and when you left, Mother had a bad fever. Do you remember? She never recovered, but it wasn’t her sickness that did her in, it was her grief. What were you thinking?” He lowered his voice and repeated, “What, in God’s name, Jakob, were you thinking?”
Magdalena watched her father in silence, but he turned away and just stared at the ground. She knew that as a young man he’d given up his vocation as a hangman and gone off to war, but Jakob had never told them what had happened to his brother and sister. All she knew about Aunt Elisabeth was that she’d gone to live with a midwife after the death of her parents, then was raised by her brother Jakob when he returned from the war, and later went to Regensburg to live with a bathhouse owner. Magdalena hadn’t heard about Bartholomäus until just a few years ago. Her father had put up a great wall of silence concerning his immediate family.
Now, for the first time, Magdalena understood why.
Suddenly, Bartholomäus got up from the woodpile where he’d been and raised his right trouser leg. Magdalena could see an old, whitened scar starting at his ankle and running up his calf.
“Take a look at my leg, Jakob,” he said. “Take a good look. This here is your doing. When you left me alone on the roof after father’s death, with all those bloodthirsty villagers . . . I jumped. I didn’t make it to the other roof, I fell. Like a brick. My leg splintered, and the broken pieces stuck out like fish bones. The old bathhouse surgeon, that wheezing old bungler, sawed on it for a while and just made everything worse. Since then, I’ve been a cripple, Jakob. Because of you.”
“Father,” Magdalena asked hesitantly. “Is this true? Please talk to me. What happened then?”
Jakob cleared his throat and then, slowly and haltingly, began to speak.
“Your grandfather was a drunkard, Magdalena,” he began. “Toward the end, it was impossible to put up with him. He beat us, he squandered the little money we had, and he bungled the executions. People in town complained and gossiped about the only descendant of the famous Jörg Abriel, who had been such a feared executioner.” His grimace turned into a scornful smile. “Everybody hates us hangmen, but at least they respect us. No one had any respect for your grandfather, and when, for the third time, he turned the scaffold into a bloodbath, they stoned him to death, like a beast. Both Bartholomäus and I were there as helpers, and we were barely able to get away—”
“Damn it, Jakob!” Bartholomäus interrupted. “You were the older of us two. You knew how an execution was supposed to go. You should have helped Father. But no, you stood there like a pillar of salt. My big, beloved brother, the one I looked up to, you were so afraid you almost shit in your pants. And at the end you just left me behind in the dirt while the Berchtholdt brothers attacked me.”
“There was no way out. When will you finally understand?” Jakob paused, and when he continued, the words came gushing out. “Yes, I left you behind on the roof. I had to warn the others—Mother and Lisl. Old Berchtholdt and his people were already on the way to our house. Those two were just barely able to hide in time. And if the court clerk—”
Bartholomäus interrupted him. “But it was a few weeks later that you abandoned us—all of us. You just took off.” His voice was bitter.
“Because I was disgusted—with you, with Father, with the whole place. I didn’t want to turn out like my father, nor my grandfather. Yes, I took the magic books along and burned them, and then I took off and went to war. Away from you, from the family, from our reputation that stuck to us like blood on our fingers. Damn it! I wasn’t even fourteen.”
“You abandoned us,” Bartholomäus repeated in a trembling voice. “Can you imagine what it was like to live in a place as children of a dishonorable hangman who had been stoned to death? We were helpless and exposed every day to harassment and bullying. When Mother finally died of grief, little Lisl went to live with the midwife in Peiting, and later I traveled around doing odd jobs. They were hard years, Jakob, and not until I arrived here in Bamberg did I finally get a job as an executioner. I’d almost forgotten you.” He broke out in a bitter laugh. “And then one day during the war you came by here. You’d done well, you were a sergeant then, a strong, robust fellow, and just as arrogant as before. I can’t forget how you turned up your nose when you entered my stinking hangman’s room.”
“That’s not true,” Jakob mumbled.
“No doubt you thought we’d just shake hands and all would be forgotten,” Bartholomäus continued as if he hadn’t heard his brother. “But it’s not as simple as that. The whole time I hoped you had kept the magic books—I thought you’d taken them away and hidden them somewhere, but then you told me you’d burned them like so many dry leaves. I’ll never forgive you for that. Not for that, and not for this, either,” he said, pointing to his crippled leg. “Some wounds never heal, Jakob. Never.”
“But you took Georg as your journeyman,” Jakob replied in a muted voice. “I thank you for that, Bartl, even if you cannot forget.”
“Do you know what I always asked myself?” Bartholomäus said after a while. He pulled his trouser leg down again and sat beside his brother. “Why did you go back to being a hangman? Why did you come back to Schongau, instead of staying with the troops? From everything I’ve heard, the Steingaden executioner did a good job standing in for you while you were gone.”
Jakob stared up into the treetops, as if he might find the answer there.
“I found the woman I loved,” he said finally, “and war is an unending, bloody business, no place for small, crying children. I needed a place where I could stay and support my family.” He looked at his brother sadly. “And the only thing we Kuisls ever learned was killing. We’re masters at that. If people have to be killed, it should at least be done by people who can do it in the best and most painless way. That’s what the war taught me.”
Jakob took a deep breath. Now that it was all in the open, it was as if a great storm had finally passed.
“And Georg knows everything?” he asked.
“Everything.” Bartholomäus nodded. “I told him last year. It seemed to shake him up a lot.” Then he smiled. “Evidently it’s in our blood that i
n our family we have to disappoint one another, again and again.”
A great stillness came over the clearing; from far off, the sound of a cuckoo could be heard. Magdalena was silent as well. Her father, who had always seemed so big and strong to her, now appeared very old and vulnerable. He sat on the woodpile, a cold pipe in his mouth, gray and stiff as a weathered tombstone. And at that moment she felt a love for him stronger than anything she’d ever felt before.
“You . . . you have not disappointed me, Father,” she said softly. “On the contrary. But it’s good that—”
She winced when she suddenly heard a deep growl from the shed just beside her.
“For heaven’s sake, what was that?” she asked anxiously.
Her father smiled wearily. “That’s an alaunt, or rather two of them. Your uncle’s pets.” He sighed and began filling his pipe. “I’m afraid we’ll have to put aside the old family matters, at least for the time being. There’s a whole lot of catching up to do.”
A while later, Magdalena was sitting between her father and her uncle on the wet woodpile, going over in her mind everything she had just heard. She kept looking at the shed, where growling and occasional scraping and scratching could be heard against the wooden wall.
“Well, at least we probably know now what the wild animal was that killed the stag, the one Simon and the boys found in the forest the day we arrived,” she finally said. “Let’s hope this animal wasn’t responsible for killing a few people, as well. In any case, it probably isn’t the werewolf we’re looking for.”
Bartholomäus sighed. “I don’t understand why Brutus didn’t come back. He has everything he needs here.” Now that the conversation was no longer about the family but only about his runaway dog and the werewolf, he had calmed down. It looked like the two Kuisl brothers had declared a truce, at least for the time being.
“I can do without your beloved pet for now,” Jakob responded grimly, puffing on his pipe, from which little clouds of smoke rose heavenward. “I only had a glimpse of him, but that was enough for me. The beast is as big as a calf.”
“Bigger.” His brother grinned. “The three alaunts eat half a horse between them every day.” Suddenly he paused and raised an eyebrow. “Ah, that’s something that might interest you. A few wolf pelts were found in Matheo’s possessions, weren’t they?”
“And what about it?” Magdalena asked.
“Well, yesterday a whole bunch of pelts were stolen from the knacker’s house—everything we’d made from a few weeks of slaughtering. Hides of horses, cows, but also a stag, a few dog hides, and even an old bearskin full of holes.”
“I knew it!” Jakob smacked his forehead. “It was that stranger hanging around the furrier’s. That son of a bitch bought the wolf pelts and was using them in town. And when things got too hot for him, he hid the pelts in Matheo’s room . . .”
“And he came here to the knacker’s house to get new ones,” Magdalena added. She nodded, thinking it over. “It certainly could have happened like that. But why did he do it, and above all, who was it—we don’t have the vaguest idea about that.” She sighed. “And as long as we don’t have any culprit to present to the bishop, more people will have to die, and not just Matheo.”
She briefly told her uncle and her father about the mob down at the river and the poor peddler who had probably already drowned.
“I’m afraid this is only the beginning,” Magdalena concluded. “It will be just as it was in the witch trials. Then, too, there were hundreds of victims before things finally settled down. The executioner really had his hands full.”
“If you think I’d dirty my hands with this, you’re wrong,” Bartholomäus chimed in angrily. “I know that the victims in these trials are usually innocent. That’s nothing a hangman ever wants to do, even if he makes good money at it.” He wiped his mouth nervously. “The previous Bamberg executioner went crazy—from guilt, it was said. He walked off into the forest and no one ever saw him again. I took his place, but only after it was all over.” Bartholomäus looked at his brother and Magdalena in despair. “Believe me, I wouldn’t do that. Three times I’ve hanged convicted thieves, I’ve tortured a confession out of a man who robbed a church offertory box, and I’ve broken an arsonist on the wheel—that I can do. But a wild-goose chase like this . . .” His voice failed him. “Well . . . I suppose I’d have to. Jakob, you know yourself what happens to hangmen who can’t perform. They wind up swinging from a tree themselves.”
Jakob nodded. “True, that’s our job. People are always glad to find someone to do the dirty work for them.”
“Then help us find the real culprit,” Magdalena urged her uncle. “Perhaps we can still stop this madness.”
Bartholomäus gave a despairing laugh. “Nobody can stop the madness—not once it has started. They have their first werewolf, this Matheo, and you can be sure I’ll torture a hair-raising confession out of him. The suffragan bishop will badger him and torment him until he turns into a real, howling werewolf.”
“A real werewolf . . .” Jakob Kuisl took another deep drag on his pipe and sent a few smoke rings up into the autumn sky. His forehead was deeply furrowed, as it always was when he was thinking hard. “A real werewolf . . . Of course. We need a real werewolf,” he murmured.
Magdalena looked at him, puzzled. “What are you saying?”
A small smoke ring pushed its way up through a larger one as Jakob’s face broke out in a broad smile. “Yes, that might work,” he finally said, mostly to himself.
“For God’s sake, what are you talking about?” his brother scolded. “That’s one thing I’ve always hated about you—this constant, arrogant secretiveness.”
Magdalena sighed. Just like her uncle, and Simon, too, she hated it when her father tortured her like this. “Now come on, spit it out,” she demanded. “What are you going to do?”
“If we want this madness to stop, we’ve got to present a real werewolf to the people,” he replied calmly. “Then they’ll be happy, and the pursuit will perhaps come to an end.”
“A real werewolf?” Magdalena stopped short. She’d hoped her father would find a way out, but now she was more confused than ever. “And who would that werewolf be?” she asked gruffly.
“Matheo.”
“Matheo?” Magdalena shook her head in horror. “Have you lost your mind? People already think the poor fellow is the werewolf. Barbara will never come back to us if—”
“For God’s sake, let me explain, you cheeky little madam,” Jakob cut in angrily. “Yes, we’ll rescue Matheo from the dungeon, but we’ll make it look like he changed himself back into a werewolf—with fire, and brimstone, and thunder, and all that. Matheo will disappear, and all that will remain in the cell is the wolf. A dead one, that is. The werewolf everyone was looking for died in the dungeon, killed by the incense and all the prayers. And the hunt will be over.” Grinning, he pointed behind him, where Aloysius was still busy flaying the dead cow. “Your servant trapped a few wolves in the forest just yesterday. One is enough for our little trick. It just has to be big.” Jakob looked around, waiting for everyone’s reactions. “Well, what do you think?”
Magdalena was at first too surprised to say anything. Her father’s plan was so bold and absurd that her first thought was just to reject it. But then, slowly, she came around and began to like the idea.
Mainly because she couldn’t think of anything better.
“It might work,” she mumbled. “It’s very risky, but it might work.”
“Nonsense,” Bartholomäus snapped. “People will never fall for anything like that! And even if they do, how do you intend to get the young man out of the dungeon, huh?”
“With your help,” his brother replied.
Bartholomäus laughed. “With my help? I’m afraid you don’t understand how hard that would be. I can’t—”
“Do you have the key to the dungeon in St. Thomas’s Cathedral, or not?” Jakob interrupted him curtly.
“Well, as th
e Bamberg executioner, I do have the keys to all the dungeons.” Bartholomäus shrugged. “But you forget the guards. The dungeon is in the old courthouse, right next to the city-council room, and it’s teeming with guards.”
“I know what might be a good time,” Magdalena interrupted excitedly. “Tomorrow evening is this great competition between the two groups of actors in Geyerswörth Castle. Simon told me that His Excellency the elector and bishop of Würzburg will be arriving with his entourage, and for that occasion, they’ll need every available man in the castle. Maybe the dungeon up on the cathedral mount won’t be so closely guarded then.”
Bartholomäus waved his hand dismissively. “That only requires two or three guards. If you somehow get rid of them, you’ll immediately arouse suspicion, and people will figure out that somebody came and freed Matheo. And I’ll be the first one everybody suspects.”
“Damn!” Magdalena kicked the woodpile. “Bartholomäus is right, that won’t work.”
“Oh, but it will. We just have to adjust the plan a bit.” Jakob knocked the pipe out and stuck it in the pocket of his ripped jacket. He thought for a while longer and finally continued, nodding happily. “The werewolf will at first overwhelm the guards as it flees, before finally dying in a fight with them. They have to believe they’re fighting a real monster.” He grinned. “Believe me, it’s a story the silly guards will be telling their great-grandchildren.”
“Ah, and if I refuse to help you?” Bartholomäus suggested again. “What then?”
Jakob shrugged. “Then Damian and Cerberus will no doubt spend the rest of their days in the bishop’s menagerie alongside bad-tempered apes and half-starved bears. Yes, I’m afraid someone will tip off the authorities.”
“That’s . . . extortion,” Bartholomäus muttered. “You’re extorting your own brother.”
“It’s not extortion, I’m just making you do something for your own good. After all, I’m your big brother, and I can do that.” The Schongau hangman stood up and slowly started walking back to the knacker’s house. “Now let’s go up front and let Aloysius find us a nice big werewolf. And it has to look terrifying. If I have to, I’ll file down his teeth to make them even sharper myself.”
The Werewolf of Bamberg (US Edition) (A Hangman's Daughter Tale Book 5) Page 29