The Werewolf of Bamberg (54 page)

He handed the report to Jakob, who quickly perused the pages.

It didn’t take the Schongau hangman long to realize they were on the right track.

Magdalena, her brother, and her uncle were wandering through the streets of Bamberg in a desperate search for Barbara and Hieronymus Hauser.

Since Georg was familiar with the town, he searched the western part as far as the Green Market while Magdalena and Bartholomäus combed through the eastern section. At first, Katharina had intended to take part in the search, but then she quickly realized she was much too confused and upset to be useful. She therefore volunteered to remain at their house by the Sand Gate and keep an eye on the two boys. Magdalena hoped that the monotonous children’s games would calm her aunt down a bit.

In contrast with the preceding days, the little streets were calm now. A heavy November fog had settled over the houses, so it was impossible to see farther than to the next corner. In addition, it was drizzling slightly. Everything sounded strangely muted, as if buried under a wet blanket. Occasionally, heavily clothed citizens carrying baskets came toward them, evidently on their way home from the cemetery, where they had taken soul bread for their deceased. Some freezing beggars were standing behind empty bowls in front of the small churches in town, but otherwise half of Bamberg seemed to be at the mass in the cathedral. All Souls’ was a high feast day on which work was strictly forbidden, and for many it was an opportunity to sit in their warm houses by the fire, knitting, baking, or repairing broken household items.

Magdalena watched as her uncle, with a grim expression, hobbled along beside her. It was astonishing how quickly he moved, despite his crippled foot. They’d briefly cast glances inside empty buildings, looked under bridges, and asked the ragpicker Answin and a few beggars, but they hadn’t turned up the slightest lead. The whole time Bartholomäus had seemed strangely disinterested, and Magdalena assumed Katharina’s rude remark was still bothering him.

I should never have gotten engaged to an executioner . . .

As a hangman’s daughter, Magdalena knew all too well how it felt when people looked away when they saw you and secretly crossed themselves. How hard it had to be when his own fiancée apparently regretted her decision—and if she believed a curse hung over the hangman?

“That nonsense that Katarina said earlier,” she ventured, looking her uncle straight in the face, “you mustn’t take seriously.” They were heading down Lange Gasse toward the city wall, in the hope of possibly learning something from the city guards. “She only said those things because she’s afraid.”

Bartholomäus glared at her. “How do you know about—” he began, but then he waved it off. “Oh, what difference does it make? Katharina’s right, you know. A curse does seem to be lying over this wedding. Executioners should marry executioners’ daughters and not put their noses up too high in the air. It’s unbecoming to us.”

“My father also didn’t marry an executioner’s child,” Magdalena said. “Nor did I—I married a bathhouse owner who’d studied medicine. So you can do it, too.”

“Your father always wanted something better,” Bartholomäus grumbled, “even as a child. You probably got that from him.”

Magdalena rolled her eyes. “Tell me why you’re always so angry at Father. I understand he made a bad mistake back then when he abandoned you, but that’s ancient history, and he was still practically a child. Why can’t you just let it go?”

“There are some things that keep seething inside you and you can’t forget. It’s a daily reminder.” Bartholomäus pointed at his leg and pulled up his trousers. “This foot here, for example. You weren’t there, Magdalena. You didn’t look into his eyes when he left me behind on the roof, like I was an annoying burden too heavy to carry. The damage was too great to repair.”

“Perhaps you expect too much of people, Uncle Bartholomäus. You have to learn to forget—”

Bartholomäus interrupted her with a sardonic laugh. “Hah! Is that what your father says? He himself can’t forget. Why do you think he burned the magic books belonging to Grandfather Jörg Abriel, back then? Because they reminded him of our family and everything the Kuisls and Abriels once represented. We were good hangmen, but we were also good healers and magicians—a strong, feared family. And my brother takes off and becomes a . . . mercenary.” Bartholomäus practically spat out the last word. “He betrayed not only me, but all of us. Do you understand now why I cannot forget?”

Magdalena nodded hesitantly. “I understand. But if you don’t at least try, how will you ever know you can’t?”

“Believe me, I’ve tried. Why do you think I agreed when Katharina pleaded with me to invite my relatives from Schongau? Jakob is my big brother, and at one time I really loved and respected him.” Bartholomäus sighed. “But he doesn’t exactly make it easy to forgive him. He’s so pig-headed.”

“In that regard, you’re both alike,” Magdalena replied.

They walked along silently, side by side, until they’d reached the far end of Long Street. The fog was now so thick that only the outlines of the houses were visible. The gate to the city had to be somewhere nearby.

“I think we can call off the search,” said Bartholomäus, who had now regained his usual self-confidence. “With fog like this I couldn’t even find my front door. How can we be expected to find two missing persons under these conditions? Besides, the humidity and this damned drizzle are bothering my stiff leg.”

“Let’s just go as far as the city gate,” Magdalena suggested, “then we’ll go back to your house and see if Georg has found anything yet.”

She tried to sound confident, but she was finding it difficult. By now, even she was convinced that the search was in vain. Did they seriously think they’d find Barbara and Hieronymus this way? Earlier, they’d called from time to time into the dense fog, as if looking for two children who’d lost track of the time. But their search of the empty sheds and dilapidated houses was basically nothing more than an act of desperation. If Barbara was really hiding somewhere out of fear, she’d eventually show up again on her own, and if the two had been abducted, then . . .

Magdalena didn’t even want to think about that possibility.

“We’re turning back,” Bartholomäus said suddenly in a firm voice, interrupting her dark thoughts. He pointed ahead, where the outlines of the city gate appeared out of the fog. “See, here’s the city gate. Let’s go back home to Katharina. She needs our help now more than—”

Just then they heard a muffled cry nearby, and then a second one.

“What . . . what was that?” Magdalena said.

Bartholomäus shrugged. “How should I know? In fog like this you can’t even see your hand in front of your face, much less—”

“Help! Help!” someone cried again, this time more clearly and closer to them. “The werewolf! It’s after me! Help me!”

“Has the whole city gone mad? For God’s sake . . .” Bartholomäus let out another unspeakable curse, then hobbled forward toward the shouts. With clenched fists, ducking down as if ready for a fight, he said softly, as if to himself, “Perhaps someone has frightened my Brutus. He could get hurt.”

“Nonsense,” hissed Magdalena, running alongside him. “How could the dog get through the town gate without being noticed? In any case, no matter what it is, we’d better be careful.”

The contours of a large building now appeared in the fog. It was one of the last houses on the left, backed closely up to the city wall. A figure appeared and came running toward them. As it got closer, Magdalena could see it was an old beggar. Over his ripped shirt he wore a threadbare gray woolen coat that fluttered along behind him. The old man was shaking all over, though Magdalena couldn’t tell if it was from cold or fear. His eyes were wide-open in panic.

“The werewolf,” he wailed, pointing at the building behind him. “I have seen him with my own eyes. He’s in there. He’s got a silver pelt and long, pointed teeth. My God, he’s horrible. At first he ran on all fours, but then he suddenly stood up.” The beggar’s face twisted into a grimace, revealing his nearly toothless mouth, as he raised his hands and flexed his fingers into the shape of claws. “And this is how he looked! By God, I swear it!”

“A silver pelt, pointed teeth, and walking on all fours?” Bartholomäus mumbled, stopping to ponder the man’s words. “That’s just the way the drunk night watchman Matthias described the werewolf, that night.” He scratched his nose, thinking. “Hm, perhaps they both drink the same cheap wine, or else . . .” He looked sternly at the beggar. “You’re drunk again, Josef, admit it.”

The beggar, incensed, held his hand up to his consumptive chest. “I swear, I wish I were. Then it would be easier to bear the horror of it all. I’ve not had a drop for days.”

“Then tell me how large this fearsome beast was,” Bartholomäus shot back.

“Uh, very large . . . or perhaps not quite that large . . .” Josef stopped to think, picking his nose. “I don’t really know. It’s dark in there, and besides . . .” Furious, the man with the skinny chest stood up straight and glared at Bartholomäus and Magdalena. “Go see for yourself. The beast is still inside.”

Now, for the first time, Magdalena had a moment to inspect the building from which the beggar had just fled. It was probably one of those homes abandoned at the time of the witch trials and that had still not found a new owner. No doubt the half-timbered building had once been attractive, but now the paint had peeled off, and the doors and windows had been boarded up long ago. One of the windows, however, appeared to have been broken into recently.

“Sometimes I go there to spend the night,” Josef explained, pointing anxiously at the house, “even if some people say it’s haunted. They say the souls of those executed still scurry through the halls. Until today only mice and rats were scurrying around there, but now . . .” He shuddered and crossed himself. “Never again will I set foot in that house. That I swear, by all things holy. Never again.”

“There’s no need for you to do that,” Bartholomäus replied. “Go, now, and fetch the city guards. We’ll stand watch here until you get back,” he said with a wink. “If it’s really a werewolf, you surely have a big reward coming to you.”

Josef didn’t need to be asked again, and a moment later, the shaky old man had disappeared in the fog. Meanwhile, Bartholomäus prepared to climb in through the open window.

“You’re not going in there all by yourself, are you?” Magdalena asked, astonished. “Suppose the werewolf really is—”

“Do you think, then, that Josef would still be alive?” Bartholomäus interrupted. “Come on. I have a suspicion . . .”

Without another word of explanation, he slipped through the window opening.

Magdalena shook her head and climbed in after him. The two Kuisl brothers, she noted once again, were very much alike: curious, pigheaded, and fearless.

Once inside, she carefully slipped down from the windowsill. Though there was no fog inside the house, it was even darker there. Just a few rays of light entered through the partially boarded windows, and there was a repulsive stench of mold, urine, and cheap brandy. Evidently, Josef’s oaths about his sobriety were not very credible.

Magdalena squinted and looked around. A few broken pieces of furniture were scattered on the floor, and a wardrobe stood in one corner. It might have been very valuable at one time, but now its splintered doors hung crooked on their hinges. There were sooty smears on the bare walls, and in one place someone had recently tried to light a fire.

Bartholomäus had vanished. Apparently he’d already moved on to the next room, from which Magdalena suddenly heard an odd sound, like someone clicking their tongue, followed by a strange growl that caused her stomach to tighten with fear.

What, for heaven’s sake, was that? The werewolf? Or those ghosts the beggar was telling us about?

Magdalena shook her head, angry at herself. She’d let herself get carried away by all the horror stories.

Again she heard the growling, closely followed by the tongue clicking. Her heart pounding, she tiptoed across the creaking floorboards through the mouse droppings until she finally reached the doorway to the next room. It was so dark that at first she could see only shadows, but after a while her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness.

She was looking out at a broad landing, with what were once grand staircases leading up and down. Her uncle knelt at the foot of the stairway leading up. He had stretched out his hand and was making those strange clicking sounds she’d heard before.

A few steps above him stood the strangest animal Magdalena had ever seen.

It had a silvery gray pelt and what looked almost like a lion’s mane around its head, as well as a long snout, like a dog’s, and two glistening, evil-looking red eyes. The creature had a tail and moved on all fours, but suddenly it stood up against the banister. Magdalena cringed.

It had hands like a human. Now the beast opened its mouth and snarled, showing a row of sharp, menacing teeth. There was only one thing that kept Magdalena from letting out a scream and fleeing.

The creature was no larger than a three-year-old child.