The Werewolf of Bamberg (60 page)

“It’s possible Salter knows the lodge from earlier times,” Magdalena added, “or that he discovered it on his last visit to Bamberg. Or perhaps—”

“There’s no time for a long discussion,” her father interrupted gruffly. “My little girl is in danger, so let’s get moving.”

“But if it isn’t this hunting lodge?” Georg added skeptically. “If—”

“If, if, if.” Kuisl glared at his son. “Do you have a better plan? Or do you just want to sit around here and brood, while this madman is possibly even now tearing out Barbara’s fingernails?”

“Perhaps we could at least alert the city guards,” Simon said. “After all, this man is dangerous. Don’t forget that he’s tortured and killed seven people.”

“If that’s all that’s bothering you, I can reassure you,” Jakob replied. “I’ve dispatched and sent to their final resting places far more people than this little wolf-man.” He turned to the others. “So who wants to come along with me?”

Timidly, Georg raised his hand, but Jakob just looked down at him. “You? I’m surprised—this is no job for a bed wetter.”

“We’ll all come along with you,” Magdalena announced in a severe tone. “Barbara is not just your daughter, she’s also our sister.”

Her father sneered. “Ha! That would be some state of affairs if my own daughter could tell me whom I can take along and who stays behind.”

“Do you seriously believe I’m going to stay home with the two boys on my lap while my little sister is perhaps at this very moment being tortured?” she hissed. “You’d have to tie me down.”

“Then who’s going to take care of the children, and Katharina?” he grumbled. “Simon, perhaps?”

“I’m coming along, too,” Simon replied firmly. “And Georg is a brave, strong fellow. We’ll surely be able to use him.”

“I think it would actually be good for Katharina if we let her take care of the children,” said Bartholomäus. “Then she’d have something to do to distract her from her sorrow. I’ve also asked her aunt to come over. She’s such a chatterbox that Katharina won’t even have time to worry.”

“So that means that you, too—” Jakob started to say, but Bartholomäus cut him off.

“After all, she’s my niece,” he answered. “You can forget about leaving me behind. You would be blabbing to everyone that your little brother weaseled out. So let’s go.”

As he turned toward the door, there was a hiccupping sound from the far end of the room, and the scratching of a chair being pushed back. Jeremias had struggled to his feet, swaying a bit, but his voice was clear and determined.

“I’m coming, too,” he said, clinging to the table for support. “This madman was out to get me, and not Barbara, so I’ll come along and pay him a visit. That’s the least I can do for your girl. I’m already responsible for the death of
one
young girl, and that’s enough.”

“Well, what can I say, but don’t throw up in the Regnitz.” Jakob raised his head and looked each one in the eye. Then he let out a deep sigh. “It seems no one here is going to listen to me, anyway. So be it, and now let’s all go out together on our wolf hunt.” His eyes suddenly turned to narrow slits. “But I swear to you, if this werewolf harms even a hair on Barbara’s head, I’ll bring him to the Schongau torture chamber and skin him alive with my own hands.”

A dull pain pounded inside Barbara’s head as she groaned and rolled restlessly back and forth.

Where am I? What happened?

She tried to sit up, but there was something holding her back. She shook, and pain shot through the back of her head. At the same time, she realized her hands and feet were in shackles. Now everything started to come back to her.

Markus Salter. The man in the boat box. All the blood.

“Help!” Barbara screamed without knowing where she was or whether anyone could hear her. Her vision was still blurred from the blow with which Salter had knocked her unconscious.

“Help! Is anyone there?”

“You can spare yourself all the shouting,” said a hoarse voice nearby. “I’m the only one here, and I can’t help you.”

Barbara struggled to turn her aching head. She squinted, and after a while her vision grew clearer. She was lying on the bare floor of a stone room illuminated by just a single torch. Dressed only in the wet monk’s robe, she shivered in a draft of cold air coming through a tiny opening near the ceiling, through which she could see the night sky.

A woman was lying on a cot in one corner. Her blond hair was dirty and matted, her once-beautiful dress tattered, and her cheeks sunken like those of a corpse. Nevertheless, she attempted a smile.

“I’d like to tell you there’s nothing to fear, little one,” she said in a weakened voice. “But I fear that would not be the truth.”

“Where is he?” Barbara asked.

“Our abductor?” The woman groaned as she tried to turn in Barbara’s direction. Only now did Barbara realize that she, too, was shackled. “I thought you could tell me. He only said he’d have to go and get the scribe.”

The scribe . . .

Barbara was shocked. The face of the person shackled and lying in the boat box had been so covered with blood that she hadn’t recognized at first who it was. But now she knew. It was Hieronymus Hauser, Katharina’s father. Shortly after the Kuisls arrived in Bamberg, he’d come to pick up his daughter one night at the executioner’s house. A pleasant-looking, chubby man whose features she’d almost forgotten until now. What, in God’s name, was going on?

“If you want to know why he’s doing this, little one, I can’t tell you,” the woman continued as if reading Barbara’s mind. “But you must know we are not the first. He brings all his prisoners here—old and young, women and men—then he questions, tortures, and kills them, as if they were witches. For days I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out why he does it, but by God, I just don’t know, any more than I know why he has spared me until now.”

“He’s an actor,” Barbara whispered. “He comes from a group of itinerant actors.”

“I know, my dear. Earlier, he was going on and on about how we were coming to the final act, and we were just his bit players. I think we have to assume he’s insane.” The woman heaved a sigh and suddenly appeared deeply saddened. “So there’s probably no point in wondering why he’s doing this. We will die . . . for no reason. But who says there always has to be a reason to die?” Then she turned again to Barbara with a tired smile. “If I understood him correctly, you are a hangman’s daughter. Is that right? I’ve never seen you in town before.”

“I come from Schongau,” Barbara whispered. “That’s down by the Alps.” She told the woman a bit about herself and what she’d experienced in Bamberg. It helped, at least for a short time, to clear her head and put the nightmare behind her. The stranger told Barbara her name was Adelheid Rinswieser and she was the wife of an apothecary in Bamberg. Evidently she was one of the people who’d disappeared, and gradually Barbara came to the awareness that the nice man Markus Salter was indeed the horrible werewolf—and that she was now one of his victims.

Suddenly, small details came to mind: Salter’s constant fatigue, his dark gaze, the wolf pelts in Matheo’s chest, and Salter’s sudden decision to take her out of Bamberg just after she’d told him she was the niece of the Bamberg hangman.

Now she remembered how surprised, almost horrified, he’d acted when she told him.

After lying there in silence for a while, listening to the rain outside pouring down harder and harder on the roof, she asked, “What is he going to do with us? Is he going to kill us, like all the rest?”

“When he’s finished with us here he’ll take us over to another room,” Adelheid replied darkly. “I’ve seen it. It’s . . . horrible, like something out of your worst nightmares.” She looked at Barbara gloomily. “But listen, I’ve still not given up. Now there are two of us, and soon perhaps three if that scribe is still alive and comes to join us. Perhaps then we’ll have a chance. Perhaps—”

She hesitated on hearing a bolt being slid back above them on the ground floor. There were heavy footsteps and something came bumping down the stairs, one at a time. Barbara assumed that Salter was dragging the heavyset Hieronymus Hauser down to the cellar. But strangely, the steps were not heading toward their cell, but in the opposite direction. She heard another door squeaking as it opened.

“Oh, God,” Adelheid gasped. “He’s taking him to the torture chamber and starting with him right away.” Her eyes flickered in the dim light. “I don’t know if I can stand that again.”

Tensely, the women listened for sounds at the other end of the hall. Apparently Salter had left the door to the hall open. The women could hear groans, then a rasping and clicking sound, and then the steps once again.

This time the steps were approaching.

16

T
HE RIGHT BRANCH OF THE
R
EGNITZ
, EVENING
, N
OVEMBER
2, 1668 AD

N
IGHT WAS FALLING AS THE
small group approached the wooden bridge that separated the city from the gardens around St. Gangolf to the north. Earlier, the Kuisls had paid a visit to Aloysius’s house and armed themselves. Jakob and Bartholomäus had picked out some heavy cudgels made of ash wood, Georg and Magdalena each carried long hunting knives that Aloysius had given them, and Simon took Bartholomäus’s old wheel-lock pistol that was so rusted it could probably only be used as a club. Only Jeremias remained without a weapon.

“My appearance is all the weapon I need,” he said with a grin as they walked along the pier in the rain. “Wait and see—when that fellow spots me in the dark, he’ll take off like a shot.”

“Maybe we should have brought along Bartholomäus’s execution sword,” Magdalena said, taking a dubious look at her rusty hunting knife. “It looked sharper than this old bread cutter.”

“To do what? Chop wood?” her father said with a smirk. “Only a woman would make a suggestion like that. Out on the battlefield, a large two-hander like that might be useful—I had one once myself—but not in this dense forest and swamp. If we’re going to storm the house, I’d rather have a cudgel.”

He swung his club around menacingly, and Magdalena instinctively stepped back. She hated it when men showed off with their weapons. On the other hand, she did feel a bit safer with the hunting knife in her hand. She couldn’t help thinking how this nice fellow Markus Salter had probably killed seven people.

And soon, perhaps, two more.

Earlier, when Magdalena had said good-bye to her two boys, she’d wondered briefly if she really should go along. It would be dangerous, and as a woman she wasn’t much use in a fight. But then she thought of Barbara, and her mind was made up. She could never sit idly at home while her sister was in mortal danger.

So she gave each of the boys a kiss and told them she had to go along with Father and Grandfather to look for Aunt Barbara. The children had looked at her with serious expressions, as if they understood how important and dangerous this mission was.

“Then will Barbara come back again?” Peter had asked in a soft voice.

Magdalena had nodded and held her boys closely so they would not see the tears in her eyes. “Of course,” she whispered. “You’ll see—by tonight she’ll be lying in bed beside you again and singing you a song. Now be kind to Aunt Katharina and help her bake cookies. That will surely make Barbara happy when she comes home.”

She’d wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, then followed the others out into the damp and gloomy streets.

In the last light of day, Magdalena caught sight of the massive wooden pilings that supported the magnificent Sees Bridge. The posts stood on islands of gravel surrounded by dark, swirling water. At the first piling they came to, there was a long rowboat rocking in the gurgling stream with someone standing in the boat, waving for them to get in.

“It’s lucky for us that Answin is out on the north branch of the river today,” Bartholomäus said, waving to the old ragpicker. “I told Aloysius to let him know we needed his boat.”

“Answin?” Simon asked hesitantly. “Isn’t he that corpse collector you were talking about?”

Bartholomäus nodded. “Exactly. But I can put your mind to rest—there are no other passengers in the boat at the moment—at least no dead ones, if that’s what you were thinking.”

Answin threw them a rope from the boat, and Jakob and Bartholomäus pulled it ashore. One by one they stepped over the side and took their seats in the boat.

“What a lovely bunch you’ve put together, Bartholomäus,” said Answin, smirking at his new passengers. “A cripple, a giant, a dwarf, a wench, and a scaredy-cat. Are you going to the circus?”

“Who’s the dwarf?” Simon whispered in Magdalena’s ear. “Does he mean—” But Bartholomäus quickly replied, cutting him off.

“You can’t always pick your comrades-in-arms,” the executioner replied with a grin. “Anyway, each one of them is better than a drunken city guard.” Then he continued in a serious tone. “We’re looking for my future father-in-law and my niece. If you can help me today, I’ll be indebted to you.”

Answin waved him off. “Just invite me to your wedding, that will be enough. And when you have time, tell me what the hell is going on here.”

“We’ll have plenty of time for that as we head upriver,” Bartholomäus replied. “Now cast off—we’re on our way to Wunderburg.”

They had to row against the current, but in November it was not very strong. Besides, Jakob, Bartholomäus, and the bull-necked Answin were all strong rowers, moving them along with vigorous strokes toward their destination.

Bartholomäus briefly told Answin, in words interrupted by vigorous tugs on the oars, where they were going and what they planned to do. Magdalena looked out at the rain-soaked countryside slowly disappearing in the fading light of day. As soon as they passed the city walls, the area turned swampy, traversed by many little canals, pools, and streams through the peat bogs. The fog-enshrouded Bamberg Forest extended down to the river, with willows and misshapen birches reaching out greedily toward the water. From far off came the mournful howl of a lone wolf, and instinctively Magdalena cringed.

On their way to the Sees Bridge, Magdalena and Bartholomäus had told the others about their discovery of the baboon that had broken out of its pen. They felt reassured now that there was no actual werewolf prowling around, but that didn’t make the locale any less sinister.

And the most evil animal is still man,
Magdalena thought.

After a while, they turned into a small tributary almost completely concealed in the reeds. Low-hanging branches brushed against Magdalena’s face. Now it was so dark that even the trees on the nearby shore were visible only as dark outlines. Just the same, Answin seemed to know exactly where he was headed.

“There used to be a little dock here, when Wunderburg was still a suburb,” he said in a soft voice, “but since the war, the forest has slowly reclaimed the area. But this is still the best way to approach the old hunting cabin. Aha!” He stopped short and pointed ahead into the darkness with his oar. “It seems we’re not the first to take a trip here today.”

Magdalena squinted and now saw another boat tied up at the shore. Answin steered his boat right alongside, and everyone got out. Bartholomäus limped over to the other boat.

“Just look here,” he mumbled after a quick inspection. He held up his right hand and rubbed his fingers together. “There’s blood on the boat box.” He cautiously opened the box and stuck his head in for a look. “Here, inside, as well. I’d say we’re on the right track.”

Magdalena heard a soft grinding sound, and it took a while before she realized it was her father, standing right next to her, grinding his teeth.

“I’ll kill him,” he whispered under his breath. “Very, very slowly. And it will hurt very, very much.”

“But I don’t think our werewolf killed his prisoners here in the boat,” Jeremias said, apparently having heard Jakob’s whispered words. By now he was more or less sober again. “That isn’t the way he’s been going about it. He wants to torture them slowly, just the way I tortured his relatives back then. We can only hope he hasn’t gotten that far yet.”

Magdalena felt like she would vomit. What, in God’s name, was that madman doing with her sister?

“Then let’s not waste any time,” she said, looking around. “Where is this damned hunting lodge?”

Bartholomäus pointed to a narrow deer path leading into the forest. “It’s not far now. We’ll have to keep quiet if we want to surprise the fellow.”

“I’ll stand here by the boat and wait for you,” Answin said. “Forgive me, but I have a wife and five hungry young mouths to feed, and they need their father to come back home alive. Besides . . .” He hesitated for a moment. “Well, there are stories going around about this house that I don’t like. It’s said the master of the hunt back then was a bad character—he had his own way of dealing with poachers. Some of them vanished and were never seen again. So watch out that the same doesn’t happen to you.”

Bartholomäus nodded. “Thanks, Answin, we’ll take care of ourselves. Just one last favor, please. If you hear me shouting, then something has gone wrong. Please alert the city guards.”

“We should have done that before,” Simon replied gloomily, “but once again, no one wanted to listen to me.”

“Exactly. So let’s go.” Jakob took the lead, and the others followed him into the dense forest.

As soon as they were under the tree cover, Magdalena could hardly see her hand in front of her face. The rain came pouring down. Nevertheless, she had refrained from lighting the lantern so as not to alert Markus Salter any sooner than necessary. After a while the undergrowth disappeared, and they entered a part of the forest with tall-standing firs and scattered birches, and the view improved. Somewhere an owl hooted, but otherwise all they heard was the sound of the pouring rain and their own steps through the damp, moldy leaves. Repeatedly they had to find a way around swampy pools of water.

They had made their way perhaps a stone’s throw or two from the river when Jakob suddenly stopped and pointed ahead of them through the trees, where the outlines of a large building surrounded by a low wall became visible.

“Is that it?” he whispered to his brother, who had come up from behind.

Bartholomäus spat on the ground. “That’s it. It looks dark in the house, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. There are a few cellar rooms whose windows were all boarded up long ago. Let’s sneak up a little closer and perhaps we’ll be able to see something else.”

“I’ve seen enough,” Jakob hissed. “My Barbara is in there, so I’m going to get her and bring her out.”

“Father,” said Georg softly, having approached from behind without their noticing, “it doesn’t make sense for you to just go bursting in. Salter could hold Barbara hostage or even kill her. So let’s see if there isn’t some way we can get in without being noticed.”

Jakob grunted, which was apparently tantamount to a concession. They passed through a rusty gate in the crumbling wall, then crept toward a large thornbush just a few steps from the building.

Magdalena could see now that it must have once been a stately hunting lodge. It was two stories high and built of sturdy pine and beams of dark oak on a stone foundation. The remains of a terrace extended along one side of the building, ending in a neglected, overgrown garden of fruit trees and overturned statues. Shingles had fallen off the roof and some of the siding had broken away, but the building still looked huge and solid.

Like a gloomy old castle,
Magdalena thought,
with an evil witch living inside.

Some of the stories she read to her boys told of terrifying witch’s houses, mostly small and dilapidated, but for the first time Magdalena had the feeling that such a house really existed.

And it was a very, very big one.

Suddenly something strange happened. The rain stopped, and a strong wind arose, howling and whistling as if to warn the house of possible intruders. Magdalena began to shiver, and not only because of the cold. She remembered what Answin had just told them.

There are stories going around about this house that I don’t like.

“The front door appears to be locked,” Jeremias whispered, pointing to the massive two-winged portals leading from the terrace into the house. “But a few of the windows are open. Besides, there’s probably a back door for the servants, which they can—”

He stopped short on hearing a long, drawn-out scream that chilled Magdalena to the bone.

“Barbara!” Jakob howled, standing up from where he was crouched behind the bush.

“For God’s sake, be quiet,” Bartholomäus hissed. “We’re trying to surprise him, so—”

But the Schongau hangman had already stormed off like a mad bull toward the building.

“Stop this jackass before he ruins everything,” Bartholomäus demanded, turning to Magdalena. “You may be the only one he still listens to.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” Magdalena mumbled, closing her eyes briefly and saying a quick prayer.

Then she ran off after her father.

Barbara froze when she heard the bolt on the cell door being pushed aside. Drenched in rain and sweat, Markus Salter stood before her in the doorway with that familiar sad smile on his face—only now he didn’t appear melancholy anymore, but simply crazed, like a dark angel that had just fallen from heaven.

“It’s time,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Let’s get it over with.”

Without another word, he went over to Adelheid Rinswieser and loosened her shackles in a few places. He lifted her up, almost tenderly, until she was finally standing—unsteadily, as her feet were still bound. He held a gleaming dagger up to her throat.

“Now, very slowly, we’ll go over to the other room,” he ordered her. “Please don’t resist, or I’ll have to hurt you prematurely, and I don’t want to do that.”