by Cory Barclay
General Ferdinand took over the garrison’s forces and went about setting up defenses around the northern and eastern borders of Bedburg. Wooden palisades were quickly erected, makeshift gates were created to stop people from coming into Bedburg, and guards were stationed at those gates. The commanders were afraid of spies infiltrating the town—if they hadn’t already.
It was a sunny day, and the winter snow was melting fast. Citizens and soldiers alike expected the Protestants to attack at any time.
“Do you think they have spies in town?” Georg asked his friend Konrad, referring to the Calvinists. “Surely they know what kind of defenses we have, and that reinforcements from Cologne have arrived.”
“Even with the added regiment, it’s only a matter of time before they strike,” Konrad said. “They must be waiting on reinforcements of their own. There are groups of Protestants littered throughout the principality. If they all converge on us together, Bedburg could be in trouble.”
The two soldiers stood on the northeastern side of town, near the jail where Hanns Richter had been released. They stared at the palisades and into the dark woods in the distance. “How do you know there are other groups of rebels out there?” Georg asked.
“Because I’ve been a soldier all my life, Georg.”
Georg stared at the soldier’s purple scar that ran down the right side of his face. “What do you think about Margreth’s death?” he asked.
Konrad shrugged. “Releasing the pastor might have been a diversion tactic to kill the commander’s daughter on the other side of town. But I’m not sure. All I know is that the killer must be in Bedburg.”
Georg sighed and looked to his right. Soldiers were staking the wooden palisades into the ground, and stone walls were being cemented together behind the spiked poles. Georg pointed at the ramparts. “Do you think those walls will stand?”
“Maybe against footsoldiers and archers. But you said you saw cannons when you discovered the camp. Those walls won’t hold against cannons.”
“You have little faith in our fortifications, my friend. We’ve been fending off the Calvinists and Lutherans for years.”
Konrad chuckled. “And you have too much faith in the town’s defenses. The Protestants are desperate to reclaim what they believe is theirs. This battle could be very different than any before it.” The big soldier adjusted his eye-patch and scratched his scalp. “Not to mention our western and southern borders are exposed. If they attack those sides, we’re screwed.”
“Maybe we should warn Ferdinand,” Georg said, pulling at his beard. “Although I’m sure he knows. Ferdinand has a fine military mind. You should know that as well as I, after our experience fighting under him.” He glanced over at Konrad.
“You’re right. He’s a strong commander,” Konrad said, nodding.
Georg looked back to the walls being built. His mind started to race as he kept pulling on his beard. Before he could say anything else, Konrad put a hand on his shoulder.
“I nearly forgot,” Konrad said. “Remember when you said there were some strange things about that investigator?”
“Heinrich? Well . . . yes, I do. But we were drinking. I haven’t thought any more on it since then.”
“Well I have,” Konrad said. He grinned beneath his bushy beard. “I found something you might want to see.”
Georg’s eyebrows went high on his forehead.
“It will be easier if I just show you.”
Georg nodded and said, “Good. I’m tired of watching this wall being built.”
Konrad turned and motioned for Georg to follow. They headed away from the eastern border, toward Castle Bedburg, down a curved road. After a few bends in the road, they came to the castle. At least fifty soldiers were stationed in front of it, looking stoic and tense. Konrad grabbed Georg’s arm and nudged his head away from the castle.
They walked further south, down a hill and past the jailhouse. They rounded the monolithic, gray structure, and came to the back of the building. Konrad stopped in his tracks and held his arm in front of Georg.
“What am I looking at?” Georg asked, staring at the bland, stone wall.
Konrad pointed at a reclining section of the jailhouse, near the ground-level of the building. The stones that made up the section looked decrepit, while the rest of the building looked strong and sturdy. The bottom of the wall looked like it was about to crumble apart.
“You told me the investigator was hard to track,” Konrad said. “I think I found out why.” He pointed at the dilapidated section of the jailhouse and walked closer to it. When he came to the wall, he crouched and peeked back over his shoulders.
Georg followed him. On close inspection, it wasn’t that the wall was about to fall apart—it already had. Georg noticed a small crevice in the wall that sunk down into the earth. It was like a sinkhole, or a cave that went straight down. At the mouth of the crevice was a ladder that leaned against the cave and reached down to the darkness below.
“This, my friend, is a tunnel. I discovered it the other day,” Konrad said with a smile. “Two nights ago, I found that it goes all the way underground, beneath the jailhouse, and leads right underneath Castle Bedburg. There’s another ladder at the end of the tunnel that reaches into the basement of the castle.”
Georg scratched his head. “It must have taken years to dig this,” he muttered, and then turned to Konrad. “You think Investigator Franz is using this tunnel to go in and out of the castle?”
Konrad nodded.
“What makes you think that?” Georg asked. “He’s a man of the law. He can go anywhere he pleases. Why would he need to travel in secrecy?”
“I don’t know, but I took after your own instincts and followed him. I saw him use it, Georg.” Konrad put his hands on his hips. “Think about it . . . the jailhouse is one of the places he frequents the most. It only makes sense that he would use the building he knows best as his secret road and means of travel.”
Georg squinted at Konrad. “And what do you think he has to hide?” He couldn’t help but grow suspicious. How could no one know about a secret tunnel this close to the castle?
“I was hoping we could find that out together.”
“Right now?” Georg asked, his voice raising in pitch.
“Why not?” Konrad said with a shrug. “We might not be alive tomorrow. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
Georg had to admit that his interest was piqued. What could Heinrich be using this tunnel for? Trafficking? Travel? Secret rendezvous? With a shrug, the hunter grabbed the ladder—it felt new and smooth in his hands—and he started climbing down into the cave.
Whoever worked on this tunnel put in a lot of time and effort, Georg thought as he descended. The mouth of the cave widened, and as he went deeper into the earth it became darker and darker, with only a glimpse of light shining in from above. Before long, he reached the gravelly ground, which he assumed was at the basement level of the jailhouse.
Konrad followed Georg down the ladder. When they were both on sturdy ground, he looked to the left of the ladder and found a torch on the wall. Georg eyed him curiously.
“I put this here the other night,” Konrad assured. He lit the torch.
Georg crept forward. He put his hand on the smooth, rocky wall. “This is definitely man-made,” he said, “and took a lot of time to build.” The wall was sculpted with grooves that acted as a sponge to keep water from seeping in from above.
Then Georg heard the click.
The hunter closed his eyes and sighed heavily. His shoulders slumped. After a moment of silence, he said, “Who sent you?”
“No one sent me.”
Georg slowly turned around and faced Konrad, who held the torch in one hand and an arquebus in the other. The weapon was pointed at Georg’s chest. The patch-eyed man was ten paces away, at the opening of the tunnel. Sunlight showered his body, and the torch’s flames created a dim aura around him.
“Hogwash,” Georg said. He appeared calm, bu
t in his mind everything turned red with rage.
Konrad shrugged and had a cruel grin on his face, which was accentuated by the flickering torchlight. “Okay, the archbishop hired me to keep an eye on you, but I would have done it for free. I was already on my way to find you.”
“And you lured me down this tunnel . . . for what? Does it even lead anywhere? Did Investigator Franz even use it?”
“How should I know? You really are quite the dolt, Georg.”
The hunter narrowed his eyes on Konrad and held his arms out to his sides. “That might be true. But I know we never served together in the army, as you claimed we had.”
“How do you know?” Konrad said. “You’re a madman, remember?” His grin grew wider.
“Because I never served under Ferdinand of Bavaria. I’ve never even met him. I fought in Alexander Farnese’s army.”
Konrad hesitated for a moment, and then chuckled. “Well . . . you got me. I suppose I’ll concede that to you, Georg—we never fought together.”
Georg took a step forward, and Konrad raised his firearm so its sight was level with Georg’s eyes. “Not a step further, man.”
“What did I do to you, Konrad? What is it you want? Money?”
Konrad frowned. “No, you cur, I told you money does not concern me. You really don’t remember me, do you? You must be crazier than I thought.”
Georg shook his head and shrugged. “Besides the patch over your eye, I’m afraid you’re quite forgettable.”
Konrad growled and clenched his jaw. He brought his hand that held the torch up to his face. He slid his eye-patch away and revealed a perfectly normal eye. “How about now?” he said, as if unveiling some groundbreaking epiphany.
Georg’s face lit up and he pointed repeatedly at Konrad and seemed like he was about to exclaim something, but then he took on a somber look and shook his head. “Nope. Still nothing.”
Konrad spat on the ground. He couldn’t hide the frustration on his face, and his smile twisted into a sneer. The purple scar on his cheek seemed to pulse.
Georg knew he was getting the better of the man’s emotions, but thought, Maybe it’s not in my best interest to taunt a man who’s holding a hand cannon to my chest.
“How about Donnelly . . . does that name sound familiar?”
Georg swung his arms out wide, trying not to pay attention. “Your eye-patch is fake, this tunnel is a ruse, we never met before a few weeks ago . . . are you even from Brühl?” The hunter shook his head and put his hands on his hips, but then whatever Konrad had just said registered in his mind. “Wait,” he said, “did you say Donnelly?”
Konrad nodded.
Georg pulled at his beard. “Konrad . . . Donnelly.” He paused and his eyes focused on the weapon pointed at his face. “Like . . . my wife?”
Konrad sighed. “Yes, goddammit!” he shouted, and spittle flew from his mouth. His anger intensified. “Agnes goddamn Donnelly.”
Georg’s eyes narrowed, and the rage started to seep back into his mind. Although Josephine had reminded him of his wife, he hadn’t heard Agnes’ name spoken out loud in years. “How do you know my wife?”
Konrad looked like he was going to slap his own forehead. He shook his head and said, “You really are dense . . .” he trailed off, and sighed. “She was my sister, you fool! You are my brother-in-law!”
Georg pulled at his beard some more, trying to rack his brain. All the memories of the past were blurry. He’d worked years to forget those times. “That’s impossible,” he said, “she never mentioned your name once.”
Konrad looked to the ground and shuffled his feet. “She was ashamed of me for leaving our family to go to war, rather than helping our parents. But she was still my sister, and I always loved her.” He paused, and then his voice became dark. “And you killed her.”
Georg’s face turned hot, and he shook his head furiously. “You’re delusional. I would never harm Agnes.”
“Your wife, and your unborn child. Why do you think they call you Sieghart the Savage? You’re a madman, Georg! You were responsible for your own family’s death—for my sister’s death! I am here for vengeance. You weren’t there to protect them. I don’t care how they died—her husband was not there to protect her!” A few tears rolled down Konrad’s scarred cheek.
Georg gnashed his teeth so hard that he felt they would break. Through a clenched jaw he said, “I was at war.”
“You’ve been at war your entire life.”
Something in Georg’s mind snapped, and words became muddled in his mind. He couldn’t hear Konrad speaking—no one had the right to speak of his dead wife and son.
He roared and dug deep, pushing off the ground with both of his legs. He rushed toward Konrad and closed the gap with one long stride. His mind broke and went berserk.
He let the savage out of its cage.
Konrad Donnelly squeezed the trigger.
The bullet whipped from the arquebus and planted itself in Georg’s left shoulder. The hunter’s entire left side, from hip to shoulder, went immediately numb, and the bullet caused his body to jerk back.
But the momentum of Georg carried him, and the big hunter crashed into the stout soldier with a bone-crushing thud.
The torch flew from Konrad’s hand and bounced against the wall behind him. His arquebus fell to the ground.
The stout man struggled to wrestle Georg, trying to stay on his feet. They both grimaced and circled each other with their arms on each other’s shoulders.
Georg bared his sharp yellow teeth and snapped at Konrad like a wolf. Spit and phlegm flew from his mouth, onto Konrad’s beard and face. Though he could only feel his right arm, he felt no pain—only an unbridled rage.
Still circling and grabbing at each other, Konrad put his left leg behind Georg’s right foot, and squeezed hard on Georg’s shoulder. Blood spurted from the wound and oozed around Konrad’s hand.
Georg screamed.
Konrad pushed with all his weight, and Georg tripped over the man’s foot and fell to the ground, on his back. A cloud of dirt billowed into the air around him.
Konrad went low and straddled Georg’s chest. He swung hard and punched Georg in the face.
Georg growled like an animal, even as his nose broke and his eyes became bloodied and bruised.
Georg felt his strength start to leave him as Konrad kept raining punches down on his face.
Then the hunter bucked his chest, causing Konrad to become unbalanced. Georg reached out with his good hand and punched Konrad in the stomach. The air flew from Konrad’s lungs, and he let out a wheezing cough and grabbed his stomach.
Georg took the moment to twist his body and push with all his strength. Konrad was stout and strong, but Georg was still bigger, and with his right arm he managed to writhe in the dirt and get his legs on top of Konrad’s.
Georg spun on top of Konrad and straddled him. With his left arm dangling, Georg let out a vicious snarl and brought his huge right hand around Konrad’s thick throat. He squeezed as hard as he could.
Konrad’s face started turning purple, and he used both hands to reach up and throttle Georg’s neck.
They became locked in a strangle hold.
Georg felt his good hand start to weaken, and the color on Konrad’s face returned.
The hunter tried smothering Konrad by leaning forward and pressing down on his mouth and nose, but then Konrad suddenly let go of Georg’s neck.
Georg watched Konrad reach for something in the dirt.
Konrad snatched the arquebus from the ground, and he hoisted it.
Georg’s eyes went wide.
Konrad swung the butt of the weapon around his body, trying to smash it into Georg’s head.
The hunter ducked low, putting his head on Konrad’s chest, and the arquebus whizzed over him. Konrad held onto the barrel of the weapon and brought it back for another swing.
Georg growled. Air was coming in ragged gasps, and he used the only weapon he had at his disposal. He ducked ben
eath the swinging weapon and lunged downwards, baring his teeth. He brought his face to Konrad’s neck and clamped down as hard as he could, with his jaw.
Konrad shrieked and blood gushed from the wound as Georg tore the flesh from his neck.
The hunter clenched down even harder and felt the tendons and skin rip in his mouth. Blood dribbled down his chin. With his mouth as a vice, he ripped backwards and tore Konrad’s throat out.
The blood bubbled, and Konrad’s screams became a raspy gurgle. The soldier grabbed at his torn throat, and his body started to spasm and twist and the blood pooled around his neck. Both of his eyes turned glossy, and then murky, and then gray.
He stared into Georg’s eyes with an odd look, and then his writhing stopped.
Georg sat over him and huffed as the blood dripped from his mouth, face, and beard. He spat out bits of flesh and then heard a noise from above. His eyes shot upward, to the opening of the crevice, and he squinted as he stared at the blinding sun.
A silhouette stood at the top of the ladder. “Oh my God!” the voice screamed. “The nightmares are true! The legend is true! The Devil is here in Bedburg!”
Georg narrowed his eyes to adjust to the light.
Sister Salome had a hand covering her open mouth. She shrieked and took off running.
Georg looked down. He was crouched on all fours, over Konrad’s dead body, with blood pouring down his beard and chin and pooling at Konrad’s head, and he realized at that moment that he looked more like a monster than he ever thought possible.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
DIETER
As Pastor Hanns Richter left the jailhouse that morning, he gave Dieter a slight nod, as if he knew the priest had spoken on his behalf. The pastor shuffled through the throng of angry bystanders, ducking from thrown vegetables and rocks.