Death and the Devil: A Novel

by Frank Schätzing

  “Yes,” said Jacob, “I hope so.” He spun around and was at the window in one leap. Lorenzo shrieked. Jacob jumped up onto the balustrade. The street yawned below. The tree was farther away than he had thought.

  Too far. He wouldn’t make it.

  “Go on,” Lorenzo shouted, “get him. You’re letting him escape.”

  Will it never end? Jacob groaned to himself.

  He bent his knees and sprang. He sailed out of the arcades and over the street. For one wonderful moment he felt light as a feather, free as a bird, as free from gravity as an angel. Then he crashed into the boughs with a snapping of twigs.

  Branches tore at his face and limbs. He tried to find something to hold on to, to arrest his fall, but he just kept falling down, the tree giving him the worst thrashing he’d ever had. Something struck him a painful blow across the back and the world turned upside down. He scrabbled for the nearest branch, like a cat, and hung there for a moment, kicking his legs. Then he dropped to the ground, got to his feet, and shot down the nearest alleyway.

  By the time the guards in their heavy armor had unbolted the door and dashed out into the street, he was well away.

  RHEINGASSE

  “You did what?” said Johann angrily.

  Theoderich looked embarrassed.

  Matthias tried to calm him down. “Urquhart told me he had made sure he left the servant looking as if the dean could have done it. That gave me the idea of increasing the pressure on this Jaspar Rodenkirchen.”

  Johann shook his head in disbelief. “Increasing the pressure! The last thing we need is the sheriffs hunting high and low for Rodenkirchen, and you go and increase the pressure! Why didn’t you at least wait until you’d gotten him?”

  “That’s what I meant to do,” Theoderich insisted.

  “Meant to? But you’d no idea where he was.”

  “I thought I did.”

  “You thought you did. But you didn’t know?”

  “We assumed he was hiding with his relations. Which turned out to be the case,” Matthias explained.

  “Oh, well, that’s different,” said Johann, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You assumed. You probably got some old witch to tell you the future from your palms. Fools!”

  “We were right,” Theoderich cried in fury. “How should I know he’d clear off before we got there? Someone must have warned him.”

  “Who, then?”

  “Obvious. Bodo Schuif, of course.”

  “So what do you propose to do about Bodo Schuif?”

  Theoderich hesitated.

  “You can’t do anything about him,” Johann declared. “You can’t do anything about anyone. Nothing we’ve tried has worked out. Everything’s gone wrong from the word go. Marvelous! Congratulations, gentlemen.”

  Matthias waved Johann’s objections aside. “We didn’t tell anyone else Jaspar had killed his servant.” He went to the window and looked out into the dark street. “Nor will we. All right, it was a mistake. So what? Urquhart’s killed Kuno. That should stop them letting their tongues wag.”

  Johann gritted his teeth together so hard it hurt. He could not remember ever having been so angry before. “Yes, killed. Nothing but killing,” he said through his clenched teeth. “We’ve turned into a miserable gang of butchers. You promised me—”

  “What do you want me to do, for God’s sake?” Matthias shouted. “You do nothing but whine on and on about your moral scruples. I’m sick of it! I’m fed up with your ‘We’ve burdened ourselves with guilt, there’s blood on our hands, blah, blah, blah.’” He thumped the windowsill with his fist. “Kuno would have betrayed us. He had to be gotten rid of. If I had my way, I’d eliminate the lot of them this very night. I’d send a few lads around to the Brook to slit the throat of that Goddert and his filly. That would be two fewer who know about it. And we’ll get the others, you mark my words.”

  “You will not get anyone else. Enough is enough, Matthias.”

  “Yes, enough is enough. Just think, Johann. I’m willing to bet they’ve not told anyone else. They haven’t had time. Let Theoderich lock up Goddert and Richmodis von Weiden in the Tower. The pretext doesn’t matter. We’ll invent one.”

  “No.”

  Matthias wrung his hands. “We must protect ourselves, Johann.”

  “I said no. Where is Urquhart?”

  “What?” Matthias seemed confused. “Why? I don’t know where he is. It doesn’t look as if he was so badly burned he won’t be able to carry out his commission. Otherwise he’d have sent word.”

  “And where will he be when the time comes?”

  Matthias gave him a suspicious look. His lips twisted in a faint smile. “Are you thinking of—”

  “Where, goddammit?!”

  “In a good position.”

  Johann stood right in front of him. “I suppose I will not be able to stop Conrad being killed”—his voice was trembling with rage—“even though I have come to the conclusion that I have never agreed to anything more evil, more sinful than this alliance. That must take its course. But I can stop more people being killed in the name of this unholy alliance, the aim of which is nothing more than a cowardly murder to allow each of us to satisfy his personal desires. For too long I have stood idly by while each of you does what he wants. From now on every decision is in my hands. Did you hear, Matthias? Every decision. No more killings.”

  “You’re crazy,” Matthias sneered.

  “Yes, I’m crazy to have listened to my mother at all. From the outset I should have—”

  There was a knocking below. They fell silent and looked at each other. Further knocking, then the shuffle of footsteps as one of the maids went to see who was demanding entry at that time of the night. They heard the sound of quiet voices, then the maid came. “It’s the archbishop’s secretary, His Excellency Lorenzo da Castellofiore, sir.”

  Theoderich’s jaw dropped. “What can he want?”

  “Bring him up,” Johann ordered brusquely. The maid gave a respectful nod and disappeared. Johann frowned, wondering what could have happened now. Theoderich was right. Lorenzo ought to be in the palace. It was irresponsible of him to be seen here.

  The secretary rushed in, completely out of breath. “Wine.”

  “What?”

  Lorenzo collapsed onto a stool. “Give me something to drink. Quickly, I can’t stay long.”

  Matthias gave the others a bewildered look, went to the sideboard, and filled a gold goblet, which he handed to Lorenzo. The secretary tossed it down as if he were dying of thirst.

  “Johann has just observed that we are a band of fools,” Matthias remarked pointedly.

  Lorenzo wiped his lips and stared at him. “Yes,” he panted, “you can say that again.”

  THE SEARCH

  Jaspar seemed engrossed in meditation as he crossed Haymarket with measured tread, his face in the shadow of his hood, his hands in his sleeves. At the entrance to Seidenmachergäßchen he stopped, his eyes scanning the buildings on either side. It was close to the fifth hour. People were still asleep. The furriers’ and saddlers’ stalls were as empty as the shops opposite. They wouldn’t be selling their wares today anyway. It was the Lord’s day.

  To the left was the outline of the city weighhouse. Nothing moved.

  He took a few steps into the alley and felt his nervousness increase. If Jacob wasn’t there he’d have to go to the Hall. His absence could be a good sign. It could just as well mean he hadn’t managed to get as far as the palace.

  He strolled along past the crowstepped facades of the little shops, murmuring the Lord’s Prayer. Immediately Jacob peered out from an entrance and waved him over. Jaspar’s heart missed a beat. He forced himself to keep walking slowly, although it felt like torture, until he was standing beside Jacob.

  “Persons in holy orders don’t wave their arms about,” he said with a note of censure, “at least not in public.”

  Jacob growled and looked all around. “You’re bloody late.”

&nb
sp; Jaspar shrugged his shoulders. “We agreed between the fourth and fifth hour. I preferred to take it at a pace that is pleasing to the Lord. God does not like to see His servants running.”

  “How saintly!”

  “No, just cautious. Did you get anywhere at the palace?”

  “I had a go at flying.”

  “What?”

  Jacob told him.

  “Curses and double curses!” Jaspar exclaimed. “Another conspirator.”

  “Who is this Lorenzo?”

  “He’s from Milan. In Conrad’s service, though he only arrived a few months ago. As far as I know, he’s responsible for the correspondence. An inscrutable type, vain and unpopular, slimy, sticks to you like porridge. The patricians probably bribed him to get the details of the procession and the placement of the guards.” Jaspar stamped his foot in fury. “These corrupt clerics! No wonder Christendom’s in such a state when everyone can be bought.”

  “They must have paid him a tidy sum.”

  “Huh!” Jaspar snorted contemptuously. “Some’ll do it for a mess of pottage. Rome’s become a whore, what else can you expect?”

  Jacob was downcast. “Well, we can forget about warning Conrad,” he said.

  “Yes,” Jaspar agreed. “Probably about finding Urquhart, too. I guess they’ll be gathering in the cathedral courtyard for the procession about now.” He frowned. “We haven’t much time.”

  “Let’s look for him all the same,” said Jacob, determination in his voice.

  Jaspar nodded gloomily. “We’ll start here. You take the right side of the street, I’ll take the left. Head for Mars Gate in the first instance, the procession will pass through it. We’ll go over the route ahead of them.”

  “And what are we looking for?”

  “If only I knew! Open windows. Movements. Anything.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “Have you a better idea?”

  “No.”

  “Off we go, then.”

  They scanned the house fronts. There wasn’t much to see. The tops of the hills in the east gleamed with a pale foretoken of dawn, but it was still dark in the narrow streets. At least the clouds had dispersed. All that remained of the storm were the puddles and the churned-up mud.

  “Where have you been?” Jacob asked as they went through Mars Gate.

  “What?” Jaspar blinked. “Oh, I see. St. Pantaleon.”

  “You went back there?” Jacob cried in amazement. “Why?”

  “Because—” Jaspar gave an irritated sigh. “I’ll tell you later. This really isn’t the moment.”

  “Why all the secrecy?”

  “Not now.”

  “Is it important?”

  Jaspar shook his head. He had observed a suspiciously dark opening in the upper floor of a house standing somewhat back from the street and was craning his neck.

  Not an opening. Black shutters.

  “Is it important?” Jacob asked again.

  “It all depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  “Whether we find Urquhart.”

  “Then what?”

  “Later, later.” Jaspar suddenly felt at a complete loss. He stopped and looked at Jacob. “So far I’ve seen nowhere he might be hiding. I mean, nowhere obvious. You agree?”

  “I think what we’re doing is stupid,” said Jacob. “He could be hiding anywhere. All the houses are high enough.”

  “But too near.”

  “Too near for what? For a crossbow shot?”

  “Yes, you’re right.” Jaspar gave a heartfelt sigh. “Still. Let us rely on Divine Providence. If it’s God’s will, we’ll find the murderer.” He bowed his head in humble prayer. “Lord, two sinners beg your aid. Keep us in Thy favor for all eternity, but especially now. Yes, especially now, in the hour of our need, O Lord, Almighty God. Be with us and grant us a sign, amen.”

  He backed up his prayer with a vigorous nod and set off again.

  Jacob stopped. He was looking up at the sky, obviously filled with reverence.

  “What is it now?” asked Jaspar impatiently.

  Jacob started. “I thought—”

  “Forget it. Don’t stand around. God’s a very busy man.”

  The first people were beginning to appear in the streets, on their way to church. Nobody paid any attention to them, though Jaspar felt the way they were constantly craning their necks must make them extremely conspicuous.

  With every step his hopes fell. Urquhart could be anywhere. They were behaving like children. If they did find him, then his second visit to Hieronymus would perhaps have been worthwhile. Perhaps—assuming, that is, Hieronymus hadn’t simply made it all up.

  But Urquhart would make sure he couldn’t be found.

  After a while the palace appeared in front of them again.

  “Wait.”

  Massaging the bridge of his nose, Jaspar turned toward Jacob. “You think they might recognize you?”

  “Possibly.”

  “I imagine they’ll hardly expect you to turn up here again. Remember, you’re just a monk, one of thousands. A monk has no face.”

  Jacob looked dubious. “You might know that, but”—he pointed at the palace—“do they?”

  “You’d rather go back?”

  “No,” said Jacob irascibly, stepping past Jaspar out into Am Hof. Diagonally opposite was the tree through the branches of which he had come crashing down.

  “Slowly,” hissed Jaspar. He took Jacob’s arm and drew him past the palace up toward Pfaffenstraße. They saw priests, bishops, and monks from various orders gathering in a long procession outside the cathedral cloisters. Novices were dashing to and fro, bringing crucifixes and reliquaries. Jaspar could see the top of a tall, wide baldachin. Presumably Conrad would be riding underneath it. The archbishop was not keen on going on foot.

  Suddenly Jaspar had misgivings. The baldachin was huge. It would hide Conrad completely. How could Urquhart even see his target from an elevated standpoint, never mind hit it?

  Or did Urquhart have something else in mind?

  “But what?” he muttered to himself.

  Then he had an idea, an idea that made him abandon caution and hurry along the street.

  Jacob would have preferred to stride out as he followed the route of the procession, but Jaspar was right. As long as they were within the palace, it was best to remain as inconspicuous as possible. And most inconspicuous of all was a monk plodding slowly past.

  He was starting to get hot under his habit. It couldn’t be the weather. Was it fear making him sweat?

  Pull yourself together, he told himself. You’ve been through worse than this.

  His eye was caught by the gathering in front. Patches of purple, blue, and gold were picked out by the dawn light. A group of riders appeared from behind the provost’s house, impressive in their gleaming armor, which shone like molten pewter in the first light of morning. For a brief moment they parted and Jacob saw another figure on horseback: slim, stiffly upright in the saddle, with a sharp, clean-shaven profile and curly gray hair. Then he was gone and a baldachin was raised. He heard the faint sound of music. The great processions were always preceded by an organ on a cart.

  Jacob had seen many of these processions and the music always reminded him of the marvelous ships that had sailed across the land in honor of the fair Isabella. He felt a brief stab of melancholy.

  Another time. Another man.

  Jacob suddenly realized he was dog weary. It was the weariness that comes from not knowing what to do. What did they hope to achieve? Ridiculous, looking at all the houses, as if Urquhart would be leaning out of the window to give them a friendly wave. Here I am, look, up here. Great you could make it. Come up and stop me from murdering Conrad.

  Too many streets. Too many buildings. If Urquhart had survived the fire in anything like one piece, the archbishop would die. They couldn’t stop the murderer carrying out his commission because they couldn’t find him.

  He looked over at the ca
thedral. That was where everything had started. With a few apples. Damn the apples. They’d caused nothing but trouble since Adam and Eve.

  As he surveyed the forest of spars forming the scaffolding, in his mind’s eye he saw again Gerhard walking along, on the top level, and then Urquhart’s black shadow—

  The Shadow.

  Bewildered, Jacob screwed up his eyes and looked again. For a moment it had seemed as if history were repeating itself. But that was nonsense. Nothing about the building was different from usual.

  He looked away and turned his attention back to the procession.

  At that moment Jaspar muttered something incomprehensible and dashed off. Jacob stared at him, openmouthed, swore softly, and hurried after him.

  “Jaspar,” he hissed.

  The dean didn’t hear. He had obviously discovered something that made him ignore his own advice. He was heading straight for the procession.

  “Jas—”

  The bells rang out. At once the procession began to move. Jacob ran on for a few more steps, then stopped. Jaspar had vanished among the people standing around. He probably assumed Jacob was following him.

  But something rooted Jacob to the spot and forced him to turn around to look at the cathedral again.

  It was the same as ever. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it. Nothing at all. The light-colored stone of the chancel. The scaffolding. No one on it. Of course not, it was too early. And, anyway, it was Sunday. Nobody would be up there today.

  The sound of a hymn came from the procession, but Jacob wasn’t listening. A feeling of apprehension had taken hold of him. What was wrong with the church?

  Gerhard on the scaffolding. Then suddenly the Shadow. The Shadow that had appeared out of nowhere. But the Shadow had not been the Devil, it had been Urquhart, and he was a man.

  Out of nowhere—

  A man did not appear out of nowhere.

  Undecided about what to do, Jacob looked across at the procession, trying to find Jaspar, but he had vanished. More and more people were coming out of the nearby houses, gentlemen and their wives, many in fine clothes, while others came riding up singly or in small groups to follow the procession. There were simple tradesmen there as well, maids and servants, pilgrims and peasants who had arrived in the city the previous day to take part in the celebration, sick people, layabouts, beggars, everyone.