Magdalena, who seemed to have calmed down somewhat, flashed him a devious grin. “We need someone to distract them while I have a look around in there. Can you do that?”
Simon looked at her in disbelief. “You’re asking me to…”
She grinned again and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re always quick on your feet; just think of something.”
Then she headed briskly for the door, where the guards were already eyeing her expectantly.
“Have you got the monster locked up good and tight?” she asked them blithely. “Down in the Wei?gerbergraben, the most blood-curdling stories are going around. They say the man is as big as a tree and tore the heads off the bathhouse owner and his wife like they were nothing more than chickens. What’s going to happen if he gets out, eh?”
The guards’ expressions went from attentive to boastful. “Let that be our concern, woman,” one of them replied gruffly. “We’ve put all kinds of rascals in here under lock and key.”
“Really?” Magdalena pursed her lips and batted her eyelashes. “Uh, like who?”
One of the guards puffed out his chest. “Well, you’ve probably heard of Hans Reichart, the swine who robbed and murdered five townfolk-stabbed them in the back, no less. We chased that shameless bastard all over city, but in the end the hangman got him on the wheel and impaled that broken bag of bones on a stake. As a reward, we each got to keep one of Reichart’s fingers.” The watchman held up his left hand and crossed himself superstitiously. “No one’s so much as stolen a kreuzer from me since.”
Magdalena swallowed hard. It was clear her father risked a similar fate.
“I wish I’d been there for the chase,” she said finally. “You’re both such big, strapping fellows.” She winked and ran a finger down the breastplate of one of the guards, with a quick but suggestive glance downward. “Up top, I mean, of course.”
The soldier grinned back. “You’re welcome to have a look down below, you know.”
At that moment laughter and noise erupted nearby, and with a sigh, the guards broke off their brief flirtation and turned their heads to watch as a young man climbed onto a cart and began loudly extolling the virtues of some elixir.
“Dear citizens of Regensburg, step up and taste my newest miracle cure! This theriaca is brewed from dried snake meat and a secret mixture of exquisite herbs I myself gathered in cemeteries by the light of the full moon. It works wonders for cases of infertility, toothache, and stomach pain. On my honor, I swear it will give sight to the lame and make the blind walk again.”
“Stay here, girl,” one watchman growled, beckoning to his comrade to follow. “Let’s see what all this racket is about before I get to tell you about how I worked over Schaidinger not long ago, a dirty dog who robbed the offertory box.”
“Oh, um… wonderful,” replied Magdalena, smiling grimly as the determined watchmen headed toward the cart.
Beads of sweat on his brow, Simon waved about a little bottle he’d hastily removed from his satcheclass="underline" a harmless cough syrup containing ivy, sage, and honey, which was all he’d been able to find on short order. When he noticed how Magdalena had engaged the two watchmen in conversation, he couldn’t think of any other way to create a diversion than to climb up on a cart and start making ludicrous proclamations. Simon had seen the itinerant quacks and mountebanks in Schongau, and during his student days in Ingolstadt. These self-anointed miracle doctors crammed their carts full of bizarre ingredients like scorpion oil, elephant fat, and pulverized stardust. In spite of, or perhaps because of, their exotic antics, these men were the highlight of every local carnival.
And indeed, it didn’t take long for a group of curious onlookers to gather around Simon in the city hall square, all of them laughing and shouting.
A rotten head of cabbage just missed him as it flew past his head. “Hey, quack,” one called, “how about you give some of your miracle drug to the bathhouse owner whose gut was slit wide open? Perhaps he’ll come back to life!”
With a stiff grin, Simon shook his head, keeping an eye on the two officious watchmen who approached as Magdalena slipped through the narrow doorway.
“I would never dare interfere in God’s mysterious ways,” he cried out, his voice cracking. “When the Lord calls us, we are obliged to follow. It’s not up to us to bring back the dead, were it even in my power to do so!”
Good God, what is this nonsense I’m spouting! Simon thought. I can only hope that Magdalena is in and out in a hurry.
“Hey, you!” The two bailiffs had finally reached the cart. “Get down this instant! Who the hell do you think you are, hawking your magic brew on a Sunday in front of city hall? Don’t you know that around these parts quackery is against the law?”
“Quackery?” shouted Simon, tearing at his hair in feigned outrage. “I am a medicus with university training who has come upon hard times. Permit me at least to demonstrate my art.”
“Nothing doing,” one of the guards replied. “You’ll come down right now, and into the stocks you’ll go until morning. That’ll purge this nonsense from your head!” He pointed at a stone column smeared with rotten fruit and excrement off to the side of the square adjacent to the market tower.
Simon’s face turned a shade whiter. Magdalena, I’ll never forgive you for this…
“Just give him a chance!” a bystander chimed in. “Maybe he really is a medicus, and if he isn’t-well, you can still give him a good thrashing.”
After a moment’s consideration the soldier nodded. “All right, then, it’s Sunday and the people want some entertainment; so come on, doc-show us what you can do.”
The other bailiff appeared to have been struck by an idea and, with a broad grin, waved for someone in the crowd to approach. “What good fortune! We’ve got a patient for you right here.”
Ducking, Magdalena hastened through the gate, which was slightly ajar, and entered an expansive vault whose low ceiling was so covered with soot and dirt it was pitch black. A few cannons stood rusting in the corner. On her left she spied the wooden gate of a cell that turned out to be empty. Farther back, in a room next to a pile of cannonballs, a few soldiers were sitting around playing dice.
When Magdalena attempted to breeze by, one glanced up and glared. “Hey, girl,” he cried. “What are you doing here?”
Magdalena curtsied and looked demurely at the ground. “The two gentlemen at the gate said I could have a look at the bathhouse monster.” Feigning embarrassment, she fumbled with her bodice. “Is it true that at the full moon he changes into a werewolf, with fur and teeth and all that?”
“Who told you that?”
“The-the two gentlemen, upstairs, just a minute ago.” Like a stupid farm girl, Magdalena drew little circles in the dirt with her right toe and pouted. “And they said I should come back at night sometime so I could see it-I mean, see how he changes.”
The man laughed and winked at his comrades. “Sure, girl, go ahead and have yourself a look! And when the big bad wolf growls at you, we’ll come and save you.” He pointed toward a corridor on the left where a door stood open, then picked up the dice again. “You’ll find the monster back there-just be careful he doesn’t bite you.”
She curtsied again as the other guards laughed, then entered the dark corridor. Looking around frantically, she saw a few sturdy doors with iron fittings. Which one is it? She didn’t have much time. The guards would no doubt come after her soon enough, most likely with an invitation to join them in one of the cells for a little fooling around. She didn’t even want to think about what might happen after that.
“Father!” Magdalena whispered, knocking against the wooden walls. “Can you hear me? It’s me, your daughter!”
There was a clatter behind the middle door, and finally Jakob Kuisl replied.
“Magdalena! Good Lord, what are you doing here in Regensburg?”
The hangman’s daughter pressed her forehead against a small hole beside the door no bigger than the palm of her hand. In the dim light she could see her father’s head, his shaggy, matted beard, and the whites of his eyes gleaming out of a dark face. The stench of rot and excrement nearly took her breath away.