The Council of Twelve

by Oliver Pötzsch

  “I saw Pfundner,” he whispered. “You know, the Munich treasurer Magdalena worked for. He’s wearing a Pantaloon costume, but I’m sure it’s him. We need to find out what he’s up to.”

  “Do you mean he’s our kidnapper?” Georg asked. “Or even the murderer?”

  “Maybe,” Simon replied with a shrug. “Or at least he’s got something to do with it. I’m sure of it. Remember what Magdalena told us after she eavesdropped on Pfundner and the other man? They were talking about a ball. Those two are up to something. It’s no coincidence that he’s here tonight.”

  The three of them rushed back down the corridor to one of the side portals overlooking the dance floor. Simon furtively pointed at a man in a red waistcoat and red tights. A bulging purse dangled out from under his black coat, and his long, fake beard hung crooked off his face. He stood a little to the side of the dance floor, talking to a bald Roman soldier.

  “That might be the man Pfundner met two days ago,” Simon suspected. “We must find out what they—”

  “Where is Peter?”

  Simon winced at the sound of the high, boyish voice behind them. Jakob Kuisl turned around and saw a boy of about ten years in front of them. Instead of a shirt and waistcoat, he wore only a fur and held panpipes in one hand. Evidently, he was supposed to be some shepherd boy from Greek mythology.

  “Where is Peter?” the boy asked again.

  Simon groaned. “Your . . . Your Electoral Highness . . . ,” he stammered. “I, uh . . . I’m so sorry . . .” He struggled for words.

  When Kuisl saw the fury in the boy’s eyes, he knew they had a problem.

  “We’re supposed to go down there?”

  Disgusted, Schorsch stared down into the hole that stank like the devil’s ass. Peter was feeling sick from the smell, and he struggled to breathe through his nose. Together with Luki, they stood in a small shack that leaned against a paper mill right by the Au creek. The tiny den appeared to be the miller’s outhouse. A wooden beam served as the seat across a feces-smeared hole in the ground about as wide as a man’s hips. Luki grinned as though this hole was the best joke in the world.

  “This is probably the only way to get into the manufactory unnoticed,” he explained. “We’ve only known about it for a few weeks ourselves. One of our boys dropped his knife down there while he was you-know-what, and he wanted it back, so he gritted his teeth and climbed down. The shaft ends in an underground stream. My grandpa once told me that there used to be many streams in Au, but most of them were buried or diverted when more and more houses were built.”

  “Are you sure this stream runs underneath the manufactory?” Peter asked, revolted by the thought of climbing down the hole.

  “Well, it flows in the right direction, and the manufactory is only a stone’s throw away from the mill.”

  “So why didn’t you try it yourself?” Schorsch asked. “There’s loot in there, isn’t there?”

  “Well, um . . . ,” Luki began uncertainly. “The boy who fetched his knife said it was pretty spooky down there. He heard this scary whining . . .”

  “Just like my mother,” Peter remembered excitedly. “She thinks it’s a girl locked up in the basement. So you might be right, the stream does lead to the silk works.”

  “But maybe it’s a howling ghost,” Schorsch jeered, looking at Luki. “Boooo . . .”

  Luki swiftly grabbed Schorsch by the collar and pulled him close. “Are you trying to say I’m scared?” he asked. “You just wait, I’ll throw you down this shithole, you filthy Anger—”

  Peter tried to separate them. “No reason to fight,” he said. “We’ll all climb down there together and find out where the stream leads. Together we’re strong, we have nothing to fear.”

  “I don’t fear anyone or anything, understood?” Luki snarled, but let go of Schorsch. “And don’t start thinking you can hide behind me down there,” he growled at the leader of the Anger Wolves. “The two of us will lead the way, got it?”

  “Got it.” Schorsch nodded. “So how do we get down there?”

  “With a rope, of course, numbskull.” Luki produced a coil of rope and tied one end around the beam over the hole. Then he whistled softly.

  A good dozen boys scurried over to them from the creek. They had previously decided that only the bravest and fittest of each gang should come along. Seppi, Moser, and Paul were among the party, although the latter had only been allowed to come after lengthy discussions. In the end, Paul had convinced the others by shooting the hat of an Au Dog clean off his head with his slingshot—at nighttime and twenty paces. The explosive mix of anger and determination in Paul’s eyes had silenced the last doubters.

  The end of the rope disappeared in the darkness. Luki handed out a few burning torches, then he climbed down into the stinking hole, his torch between his teeth. Peter could tell by Luki’s eyes that he was afraid. But he wasn’t going to be stupid and say anything—he might as well ram a knife into his own stomach if he did.

  Schorsch followed Luki, then two Au boys climbed down, and finally Peter. He held his breath and slowly slid down the rope.

  The walls of the shaft were smeared in feces and so slippery that he struggled to find footholds. For a moment, a torch lit up the corridor about five paces below him, but disappeared again. Where had the others gone? Even though Peter breathed through his mouth, the stench was so awful that he felt like vomiting. His eyes watered as he slid farther down the rope. Now he could hear a soft trickle below him. Peter imagined letting go of the rope and falling into a huge pile of shit—would it be up to his neck?

  I just hope we find Arthur, he thought. If I really get to go to school in Munich one day, all this trouble will have been worth it. I’ll even crawl through dung and garbage for that.

  When Peter finally reached the bottom, he found there wasn’t nearly as much dirt as he’d feared—probably thanks to the small stream he could hear flowing between his legs, washing away the excrement. Soon his feet were wet and cold. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

  The worst was that he was alone.

  No other boy had started the descent above him, and he hadn’t taken a torch, so everything around him was pitch black. Repulsed, Peter felt his way to the left and right, touching slimy feces with his hands. Slowly he crouched down, and finally saw light again. At the bottom of the shaft was a knee-high passage of hard, natural rock. It went slightly downhill, and Peter could see torches flickering at the other end.

  He was about to call out to the others, but then decided against it. He didn’t want them to think he was scared. Instead, he went down on his knees and crawled toward the lights, which kept moving farther away from him. There was less dirt and feces the farther he went, and the smell was getting better, too—but now he heard squeaking and scurrying around him.

  A moment later, small, scratchy feet ran across his hands, and small, piercing red eyes glared at him out of writhing black bodies. Peter winced.

  Rats! Huge rats!

  Ever since a rat had paid him a visit in bed one night and bitten him on the cheek, Peter had been terrified of the beasts—especially if they were as large and fat as these. His father said rats carried diseases, but even if that wasn’t true, they were disgusting, devilish creatures.

  The boys in front of him must have seen the rats, too. Luki was probably just waiting for him to scream out like a little girl. But he wasn’t going to do him the favor. Instead, Peter continued to crawl toward the torches, which—thankfully—seemed to have stopped. The corridor widened until he could almost stand upright. He suspected this stream roared with water in the springtime, but now it was nothing but a trickle.

  Luki, Schorsch, and the others stood waiting at a particularly wide spot. Now the boys who had climbed down the shaft behind him started to arrive, too. They were covered in mud and feces, and they stank as if they’d climbed out of a pig trough. One of the boys vomited noisily into the stream.

  “Did you meet the rats, too?” Luki maliciously
asked Peter, who still looked rather pale. “I love it when they nibble on my feet. It tickles so nicely and—”

  “Forget the rats and help me open this thing,” Schorsch said. He pointed to a rusty grate in the ceiling.

  “And what makes you think this leads into the manufactory?” Luki asked, frowning.

  “Probably the fact that he counted the steps from the mill to the manufactory earlier,” Peter said quietly. “And then down here, too. It’s called math.”

  Schorsch winked at Peter. During their talks at the monastery gardens, Peter had noticed that the leader of the Anger Wolves was smarter than he’d initially thought—smarter than most other street kids. Perhaps they’d end up actual friends in the end. Peter longed to be fully accepted as a friend by the Anger Wolves, as Paul had been. So far, he could tell, they merely respected him for his brains.

  Luki was about to make a reply, but Schorsch slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Kneel down,” he said. Luki didn’t seem to understand at first, but then he knelt down, glaring at Peter. Though he was probably glad Schorsch would be the first to climb up.

  Schorsch climbed on Luki’s back and grabbed hold of the grate. He tried to move it, bracing himself against it as hard as he could, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Damn it!” he said. “It’s locked. Hold the torch here.”

  Indeed, a heavy and quite new-looking lock hung on one side of the grate.

  “Would’ve been too easy,” Schorsch sighed. “Of course the manufactory basement is locked. We should’ve known.” He jumped off Luki’s back and shrugged his shoulders. “Any ideas?”

  “I can get it open,” Paul said, raising his little knife. “Grandpa showed me how to pick the shackles and locks in the dungeon. It’s not hard.”

  “Shut it, ragamuffin,” Luki growled. “The grown-ups are talking.”

  “He could at least try,” said Seppi, who had joined the others. “He’s pretty quick with his knife.”

  Luki rolled his eyes but didn’t object, and Schorsch gave Paul a signal. Quick as a weasel, the little boy climbed onto the shoulders of the Anger leader, pulled out his knife, and went to work. The others held their breath in anticipation.

  “Like I thought,” Luki said after a while. “He can’t do it. He’s just a show-off like his brother.”

  “Give him time,” Schorsch replied. “Or do you have a better idea?”

  Luki didn’t reply, a sullen look on his face.

  Suddenly, the lock clicked and Paul cheered triumphantly.

  “Told you,” he boasted. “I knew I could do it. Ha, I can pick any lock, I’m the best lock picker in all of Bavaria!” He pushed against the grate, and it squeaked open. “Please come in,” he said with a grin, still lording on Schorsch’s shoulder like a little king. “Entry just one kreuzer per person . . .”

  Moser shushed him suddenly. “Do you hear that?”

  Peter and the others listened. And indeed, there it was!

  A howl.

  Loud and mournful like from the depths of hell.

  “Jesus,” Seppi whispered. “That sounds like someone who’s been dead for a while.”

  Still struggling for words, Simon stood in front of the young electoral prince, who repeated his question for the third time. The coffee Walburga had brewed for Simon earlier must have been strong, because his heart was racing like crazy.

  “Where is Peter?” Max Emanuel stamped his foot angrily. “He promised he would come. I sent a messenger. Why were my orders disregarded?”

  Simon couldn’t understand how the prince had recognized him so fast with his mask on. He looked down at himself and saw his snow- and mud-stained leather boots, which looked rather different from the polished shoes of the other guests. They were the same boots he had worn at the opera. Clearly the prince was a keen observer. He had probably been looking for Simon and Peter for a while.

  “Um . . . Peter couldn’t come, unfortunately,” Simon said. “He . . . he’s inconsolable. But he’s ill. A slight fever, he must stay in bed.”

  “Ill?” Max Emanuel eyed him suspiciously. “Then why don’t you heal him? You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

  “Uh, yes, sure. But he must stay in bed nonetheless.” Simon put on a strained smile. “I’m sure he’ll be better tomorrow.”

  Several guards came over now, presumably the prince’s bodyguards. Simon groaned and gave Jakob Kuisl and Georg an inconspicuous signal to move away. The last thing they needed right now was attention. Kuisl immediately understood, and he and Georg mingled with the crowd—just in time, as Simon heard another familiar voice.

  “May I ask what’s going on here?”

  The guards immediately stepped aside and bowed low at the cutting sound of the voice, and the electress herself appeared between them. She wore a Roman toga, and her hair was pinned up with so many dried flowers that she looked like a mountain meadow in summer. The quiver and bow slung over her shoulder told Simon that Henriette Adelaide was supposed to be Diana, the Roman goddess of the hunt. She held a golden leash attached to a fawn with a blue ribbon, which peacefully nibbled on the wall damask.

  Simon took off his mask, and Henriette Adelaide recognized him right away. “Oh, the medicus from Schongau!” she called out, pleased. “So you did get the invitation in time. My son told me about his friendship with your son. I’m happy for Max to mingle with children from the simpler classes from time to time. It molds the character. I’m glad you could both make it.” She looked around. “Where is the boy?”

  “Um, as I was just telling your lovely son here,” Simon replied, now on his knees with his head bowed, “he’s ill, unfortunately. A fever, Your Excellency. Nothing serious, but I want him to stay in bed.”

  “Oh dear, the poor thing.” Henriette Adelaide turned to Max and raised an admonishing finger. “There you go, that’s what happens when you don’t dress warmly enough in winter. I told you not to come wearing nothing but a fur.”

  “But Maman,” he whined, automatically switching to French. “C’est injuste! I must always spend hours in the dressing room. It’s so much more comfortable just wearing a fur.”

  “Still,” Henriette Adelaide said, shaking her head disapprovingly. “Even Pan’s shepherd boys have more sense. At least put on a fox-fur coat over the top. How many times have I told you . . .”

  While the electress admonished her son, Simon desperately looked around for Daniel Pfundner and the bald-headed man. But they seemed to have vanished, just like Jakob Kuisl and Georg. This whole operation was getting out of control. Simon’s forehead was damp with sweat, and his heart was racing. He needed to get away. But that was only possible if the electress dismissed him.

  Meanwhile, a crowd of courtiers had gathered around Simon, Henriette, and Prince Max Emanuel. They whispered and put their heads together. Simon cursed softly. The electoral family attracted courtiers like raw meat attracted a cloud of blowflies.

  Suddenly, everyone bowed even lower when a haggard man approached, dressed as a shepherd in plain woolen leggings, a tattered wide linen shirt, and a hat with carefully sewn-on patches. Despite the costume, Simon recognized his well-known, somewhat sheepish-looking face from the paintings.

  The elector, Simon realized. Just wonderful, I’m spared nothing today.

  He bowed until his forehead touched the cold marble floor, and the electress’s fawn happily licked his face.

  “Your Highness . . . ,” he stammered. “It is such an honor . . .”

  “This is the doctor from Schongau I told you about, Ferdinand,” Henriette Adelaide said to her husband. “You know, the one I asked to find the dog.”

  “What dog?” the elector asked in surprise.

  “Arthur, of course. Your son’s pet. How many times do I have to tell you that he’s run away? Madonna! Where is your head, Ferdl?”

  “Oh, yes, of course, Arthur.” Ferdinand Maria nodded and fumbled with his hat. “And, uh . . . have you found it?” he asked Simon, who was still being licke
d by the fawn. Finally the animal stopped.

  “I . . . have a good lead,” Simon lied. “I have already been offered several dogs, but they all turned out to be . . . well, falsifications. Everyone wants to be the prince’s dog, haha.” He smiled cheerfully. “I’m sure I’ll be able to tell you more in just a few days’ time.”

  Once I’ve left this city for good.

  Simon had completely lost sight of the dog mission. The devil knew if the mutt was even alive or if it had long since been turned to leather—he didn’t care. It saddened Simon that all hope for a place at school in Munich was lost for his son, but something else was much more important right now—his wife’s life.

  He briefly considered using the opportunity to tell the electoral couple about Magdalena’s disappearance, but he knew Uffele had powerful friends at court, and Pfundner was an important man as the municipal treasurer. Who would believe a simple physician from Schongau?

  “What a shame,” the electress said, clearly disappointed. “I truly thought you would have found Arthur by now. Weren’t you going to report back to me?”

  “Well, unfortunately it isn’t easy to get an audience with—”

  “Peter is finding Arthur, not his father,” Max Emanuel suddenly piped up, with a defiant look on his face. “You’ll see.”

  “What did you say?” Henriette Adelaide asked in surprise. Simon gave Max an astonished look, too. The boy sounded very sure of himself.

  “I know Peter is going to find my dog,” Max insisted. “He’s on the right track,” he added mysteriously. “And he promised. And a friend keeps his promises.” He played a few low notes on his panpipes, then darted between the guards and disappeared in the crowd.

  “I see, he promised.” Henriette winked at Simon while fanning herself. “My son thinks very highly of yours. I hear the boy isn’t silly.” She smiled. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, right?”

  “He is rather bright, that’s true,” Simon replied, seeing his chance. “That’s why we’ve been thinking about sending him to another school—”