“And the other?” asked Matthias, fascinated.
Johann shrugged his shoulders. “They can’t decide whether he drowned or suffocated.”
“Well, well, well.”
Johann stood up and went to the window. “Matthias, I can’t say I feel happy about all this. I thought Urquhart was going to be our instrument, but I’m starting to feel like the butcher who took on a wolf as his assistant. You understand what I’m saying?”
“Of course.” Matthias went over and held up the scroll in front of his face. “But before you start worrying about Urquhart, you should read his message.”
With a dubious look, Johann took the scroll. He read it, read it again, then shook his head in disbelief. “He’s taken a hostage?”
“Yes. And we’ve got a safe hiding place.”
“Not in the house again!”
Matthias made a calming gesture. “No, not in the house. I was thinking of the old warehouse by the river. No one ever goes there. Everything will be over by tomorrow, God—or the Devil, if you prefer—willing. Then he can do what he likes with his hostage, and with all the foxes and deans he can find. The important thing is that they all hold their tongues until then.”
“Tomorrow,” whispered Johann.
Matthias grasped his arm, squeezing it hard. “We’re so close to success, Johann, we mustn’t lose heart now. Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow! Let’s keep our minds fixed on tomorrow.”
Johann kept looking out of the window. Life outside was so peaceful, so orderly, everything in its place. What would things be like after tomorrow?
“Send one of the servants to show him the way,” he said.
“The servants are too woolly headed,” Matthias snapped. “The one who came to tell me they’d lost Jaspar and the Fox, for example, forgot to mention the two dead bodies in the bathhouse. I’d prefer to see Urquhart myself.”
“Too risky. It was bad enough bringing him to the house.”
“I—”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have thought of a better idea. Send one of the servants to go with him, no, better get him just to tell Urquhart the way—and hand over a supply of leather straps,” he added with a humorless smile. “Hostages are best when they’re tightly tied to one’s interests.”
“He’ll make sure of that.” Matthias grinned.
“I hope so.” Johann ran his fingers through his hair, then went back to his desk. “With all this to worry about, the work’s just piling up,” he moaned.
“Perhaps. But it’s worth it.”
“Yes, you’re right, of course. See the necessary steps are taken. I’ll inform the others.”
In the doorway Matthias turned around. “By the way, Kuno wants to come back,” he said hesitantly.
Johann looked up. “Did he tell you that?”
“Yes. Just now.”
“And what did you say?”
“I sent him away. Although—” Matthias frowned. “Perhaps it would be better to send him straight to hell.”
“I didn’t hear that,” said Johann grimly.
“No? Oh, well,” said Matthias, “a time and place for everything, eh, Johann? A time and a place for everything.”
THE LIVING DEAD
Thrrummp!
A hole in the road. Full of water.
Jacob would have liked to be able to feel his body all over. He had the suspicion his breastbone had slipped down to somewhere near his pelvis. For the time being, however, he had to abandon his efforts to free his fingers from the grip of the planks above. As long as the cart was still moving, there was nothing for it but to wait patiently and pray to some saint or other who had been in a similar situation.
He was sopping wet. Windmills were whirling inside his head. No saint had ever been through anything like this. They were grilled over a low flame, boiled in extra-virgin olive oil, cut up with red-hot pincers, or pulled in all directions at once by four horses. None had ever gone to heaven via a cart shaft. It was ridiculous.
Jacob stared at the planks. By now he knew every line and curve of the grain. His imagination turned them into rivers through a dark forest, into unmade roads like this one, pitted and fissured; the panorama of wormholes became a hellish, crater-pocked landscape and the knothole a mysterious land beyond human knowledge. You didn’t realize what there was in a simple piece of wood until you were forced to stare at it from close proximity.
After what seemed like an eternity he heard the carter shout, “Whoa.” As far as he could tell from his admittedly restricted viewpoint, there was nothing around that suggested human habitation. He saw the carter’s legs as he jumped down. They moved away, parted. There was a splash as a stream of urine hit the ground.
Jacob tried once more to free his fingers from the planks. He went about it systematically this time, one by one, instead of trying to pull them all out at once. He began with the little finger of his left hand, twisting and jiggling it, freeing it little by little until it was released. One out of ten! At least it was a start. If he could get one out there was hope he might eventually be able to resume an upright posture.
He just had to keep on twisting and jiggling.
The relieved carter came back, climbed up into his seat, and urged the horses on. He would have to make do with just the little finger for the moment.
Some time later Jacob saw walls along the side of the road. Once he briefly heard voices. Then, with a repeat of the nerve-jangling noises, the cart turned off to the right onto a flat area, where it halted. Clearly it was likely to be a longer stop this time, since the carter had disappeared into a building a few yards away.
Patiently Jacob set to work. Now that he no longer had to brace himself against the swaying and shuddering of the cart, it turned out that things weren’t as bad as he thought. The remaining fingers of his left hand did cling rather obstinately to the planks, but once they were free, the right hand slipped out by itself and Jacob fell off the shaft onto the dusty ground.
With a sigh of relief, he lay there, trying to recover. Then he examined his hands. His knuckles hurt and were bleeding, but he didn’t care. He had escaped and that was the only thing that mattered.
Only—escaped to where?
Like a little mouse, silent and on all fours, he crept out from under the cart and surveyed the terrain. His first impression was of a spacious courtyard or, rather, a gently rising square ending a little way ahead in an ivy-covered wall with closely planted trees behind. On the right was a long row of low buildings, not dissimilar to a monastery dormitory, with a wide entrance leading into a still larger open space. Beyond it the squat tower of a small church could be seen, also surrounded by trees. From the closest building, where the carter had gone, Jacob could hear the faint sound of voices.
He walked around the cart and saw a wall with a gate, through which they had evidently come.
A gate that two men were just closing.
He quickly pulled the hood back over his head. He couldn’t make out what kind of building this was. It didn’t seem to be a monastery, nor a village or hamlet, and the walls were too low for a castle compound. The men wore cloaks and hoods, but they weren’t monks. His preferred option was to run away, but that was no longer possible. The two men could turn at any moment. Better to take the bull by the horns.
Assuming a dignified priestly posture, he went over to one of the cloaked figures and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said.
The man turned around.
Jacob recoiled in horror. He was staring at a decaying skull without nose or lips. Where the left eye should have been was a hole gleaming with yellow pus. The other was regarding him expressionlessly.