The Werewolf of Bamberg (36 page)

“Don’t you get it?” Magdalena said, looking around impatiently. “Father and Uncle Bartholomäus are going to dress up like monsters so the guards will think a real werewolf is attacking them. Later, when they wake up, a large, dead wolf will be lying next to them. They’ll think it’s the real werewolf that had attacked them before.”

“And where are we going to find this wolf?” Simon wondered.

Magdalena pointed toward the door. “In the shed next door. A real beast that Aloysius caught in one of his traps. Rigor mortis will have set in already, but in their excitement the guards will never notice.” She winked at her uncle. “After all, they’d just been attacked by a ferocious werewolf.”

“Hold on just a moment.” Bartholomäus bent over the table with a threatening look in his eye. “Maybe I’ll give you the key to the dungeon, fine, but there’s no way I’m going to wrap myself up in a stinking animal hide.”

“Think of your darling little pets,” Jakob said in a grim tone. “You want to keep them, don’t you? So help us. It’s as simple as that.”

“Just stop this!” Magdalena looked at her father angrily, then turned to Bartholomäus and said in a conciliatory tone, “You’re doing it for Barbara. She is your niece, after all. Besides, you’ve said yourself you don’t want this werewolf trial. If we can present people with a dead werewolf, perhaps we can still stop this madness. Katharina would surely want the same thing.”

“Keep Katharina out of this. It’s bad enough that you bring me into it.” Bartholomäus bit his lip and seemed to be struggling. “Very well,” he finally said. “I’ll do it. But if anything goes wrong—”

“It’s not your fault,” his brother interrupted. “Understood.” He turned around to Simon. “Do you think you can talk your Jewish friend into giving us a few more ingredients?”

Simon thought for a moment. “It depends. What were you thinking of?”

“Brimstone, charcoal, and saltpeter.” Jakob grinned again. Despite his age, he sometimes seemed to Simon like a kid thinking up new tricks. “All three ingredients are used separately as medications,” the hangman explained with visible satisfaction, “but together they make up the most devilish stuff man has ever thought up: gunpowder. At the end, we want to give our werewolf a send-off that all of Bamberg will be talking about, don’t we?” He clapped his hands. “We don’t want to cover anything up. Besides, sulfur stinks so much, they’ll think the beast comes straight from hell. Matheo will get out of the dungeon, and no one will suspect my brother of having opened the door.”

Magdalena nodded. “So this is the way we’re going to distribute the work. Simon will get the necessary ingredients today from Doctor Samuel, Georg will go to the furrier for the furs and hides, and tomorrow night, Father, Uncle Bartholomäus, and I will sneak down to the dungeon in the old courthouse.”

Simon looked at his wife, confused. “Why you? I thought—”

“At first I wasn’t especially crazy about the idea, myself,” Jakob interrupted, “but Magdalena convinced me that she could perhaps distract some of the guards. We don’t know how many there are. If there are only two or three of them, Bartholomäus and I can manage, but if there are more, we’ll have a problem.”

“Damn it! If something goes wrong, you’ll all be hanged as heretics and devil worshippers,” Simon groaned. “Do you realize that?”

“I think they’d rather break us on the wheel and cut our guts out,” Jakob replied. “That’s what they used to do in Schongau. What do you think, Bartholomäus?”

His brother nodded. “They could also boil us in oil, which is what they sometimes do with warlocks and counterfeiters, but to do that they need a competent hangman. It will be hard to find one so quickly. Perhaps the Nuremberg executioner?”

“Just stop that,” Simon groaned. “That . . . that’s dreadful.” He turned to his wife. “Magdalena, I won’t allow you to be part of this madness.”

But Magdalena just shrugged and turned away. “Oh, come, Simon. We’ve survived all sorts of adventures together. And besides, you forget that most of the guards will probably be down at Geyerswörth Castle. Nothing will happen.”

Simon closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Why did he have to marry such a stubborn, rebellious woman?

I can only hope that our sons turn out a bit more like me. But at least in Paul’s case, I already have my doubts.
He shuddered.

In the excitement, he’d completely forgotten to inquire about the children. “And where are Peter and Paul?” he asked, frowning. “They’re not at Katharina’s house. She’s there with her father crying her eyes out.”

Magdalena squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry, they’re being well cared for. The old tavern keeper over at the Wild Man is keeping an eye on them and telling them exciting stories. I looked in on them a while ago, and they’re fine. I just thought it would be better for us to have a good talk and not be distracted.” She looked over at her younger brother and smiled. “But as soon as Georg gets back from the furrier’s, he’ll be a good uncle and care for them. Won’t you?”

Georg folded his arms in front of his chest and jutted his chin forward. “Hey, that wasn’t what we agreed on. Magdalena gets to go along with Father and Uncle Bartholomäus to free Matheo, and I’m supposed to stay home caring for the kids and singing lullabies? That’s not fair.”

“Damn it, Georg. You’re only fifteen,” his father growled. “It’s bad enough that Magdalena is involved in this. You’ll stay here, and that’s my last word.”

Georg was going to object, but when he saw the severe look on his father’s face, he kept quiet. After a moment’s silence, Bartholomäus cleared his throat.

“There’s something else I’ve got to tell you,” he began cautiously. “Before I started out for the Bamberg Forest this noon, I was down at the river. I spoke with the ragpicker Answin on account of the filth in the moat. Answin also has the job of making sure the Regnitz stays more or less clean, so I thought he could help me to clean the moat, too.”

“And?” Jakob asked harshly.

“Well, this morning Answin fished another body out of the water. I only got a brief look at it, and it’s in bad shape, but I think it’s Thadäus Vasold—you know, the missing councilman.”

“Damn it!” Jakob jumped to his feet. “Why didn’t you say that before? We must have a look at the body. Every victim has something to tell us about the murderer. Now Answin has probably taken it to the guards’ office in city hall.”

Bartholomäus shrugged. “Not necessarily. Sometimes he keeps the body—especially if it is in as bad condition as Vasold is—and the guards come to him and inspect the corpse there before it’s buried.”

“Then let’s pay a visit to Answin as soon as we can, before it gets dark.” Jakob was already halfway out the door. “I don’t think we’ll be allowed to examine the corpse, as we did the last time, if it’s already in the hands of the guards,” he said, rubbing his huge nose. “And I’m convinced this dead man has a story or two to tell us.”

Without another word, he disappeared into the street.

A short while later, Simon and Magdalena were sitting alone at the table. Bartholomäus had followed Jakob down to the river, and, after sulking a while, Georg had started on his way to the furrier’s. On his way back, he’d pick up the two boys at the Wild Man. For the first time in a long while, Simon was sitting together undisturbed with Magdalena—there were no whining children, and no grumbling father-in-law to constantly tell him what to do.

The sweet smell of resin came from a few logs crackling in the fireplace, and Simon suddenly noticed how hungry he was. He’d had nothing to eat that day except for a skimpy breakfast before the council meeting. He walked over to the stove, cut off a few slices of smoked sausage hanging from the chimney hood, put them onto two plates along with some bread, then pushed one plate down the table to Magdalena, who immediately started eating.

For a while they ate silently while Simon tried to gather his thoughts. There was so much to discuss that he hardly knew where to begin. Magdalena was still firmly determined to stay for the wedding that had been postponed indefinitely. Perhaps now, however, everything would happen much faster than they’d expected. Once Matheo was free, there would be no reason for Barbara to hide from her father, and perhaps they could soon leave for home.

But it’s also possible we’ll be branded as witches and conjurers of werewolves, then quartered and boiled in oil.

Suddenly, Simon had lost his appetite. He poured cups of diluted wine for his wife and himself, then took Magdalena’s hand. “Are you really sure you want to go through with this?” he asked. “If something goes wrong tomorrow night—”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Magdalena snapped, and pulled her hand away. “Besides, a family always has to stick together, no matter how tough things get. That’s something you’ll have to learn if you want to become a real Kuisl.” She gave him a wan smile. “I’m especially happy that Father and Uncle Bartholomäus will work together to get this poor fellow out of the dungeon. Perhaps that will help, finally, to end their hostility.”

“You dropped a few hints before,” he said. “Did you finally learn what came between the two of them long ago?”

Magdalena nodded gloomily. “Oh, yes, I know. Perhaps I even know more than I want to.”

Hesitantly, she told Simon about the death of her drunken grandfather and her father’s sudden flight from Schongau.

“And he simply left Bartholomäus and little Elisabeth behind, all by themselves?” He frowned. “Just what was he thinking?”

“He was still just a boy, Simon. And he didn’t want to become an executioner. I can understand what he did,” she said with a dark expression. “I had the impression that Uncle Bartholomäus was bothered even more by something else . . . Something to do with our family, with my great-grandfather’s legacy.”

“What sort of legacy?” he asked, surprised. “I’ve never heard anything about that.”

But Magdalena just shook her head. “I’ll tell you about it some other time. It’s . . . a family matter.” She hesitated, then nodded with determination. “Most of all, I’m glad we’ve put all this madness behind us.” Then she looked at him with curiosity. “But you haven’t told me yet about what happened this morning in the council meeting.”

Simon sighed and shrugged. “Actually, nothing of importance, except that the suffragan bishop evidently has some sort of fever coming on. Also, they’ve offered a reward to anyone who can provide a tip about other suspects. You can imagine how many werewolves we’ll have in Bamberg before long.” He took a sip from his cup, then paused. “But after that, something really strange happened. It has to do with Bartholomäus’s future father-in-law. That’s why I didn’t want to talk about it before, when your uncle was here. He might have gotten angry and refused to help us.”

In a low voice he told Magdalena about his visit to the Hausers, his conversation with Hieronymus, and the latter’s strange behavior.

“He went straight over to the old courthouse, and from there probably right to the bishop’s archive,” he said finally.

“The bishop’s archive?” She stopped to think. “What do you think he was looking for there?”

“Well, it’s possible it didn’t have anything to do with us. But perhaps it did. Who knows, but it appears he was going to check something in the records.”

“Do you think we could find out what that was?” she asked.

Simon laughed, at a loss. “I’m afraid that would be hard to do. If the archive is as large as I think, there are thousands of files there. It would be like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.” He shook his head. “Hieronymus would have to tell us himself, and he probably won’t do that.”

He pushed the cup aside with a sigh and stood up. “It’s time for me to pay a visit to Samuel and ask him for the necessary ingredients for your cloak-and-dagger operation.” One last time he gave Magdalena an earnest look. “And then let’s pray this hocus-pocus doesn’t send us all to an early grave.”

“Damn it all, won’t you wait?” Jakob heard the voice of his brother behind him and the familiar scraping sound as Bartholomäus dragged his crippled leg through the mud.

Jakob stopped and turned around. “Have you decided to come along after all?” he asked crossly.

“You . . . you don’t know Answin,” Bartholomäus gasped, out of breath, as he caught up with his brother. “If I’m not there with you, he won’t tell you a damn thing.”