Thinking he caught sight of something moving out of the corner of his eye, he made an abrupt about-face, prepared to show a purse snatcher just what he was up against. No doubt the robber would turn on the spot and flee.
“Who dares approach the city guard-”
The knife plunged into the small gap between his cuirass and armpit and cut straight through to his heart. As blood spurted from his mouth, he stared back at his attacker in disbelief.
“But… why…?”
His knees buckled and he sank to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut. One final twitch, and he was still. The coin purse slipped from his limp fingers.
The murderer bent down to feel for the gatekeeper’s pulse, then for good measure slit his throat. At the latest, his colleagues would discover their commander’s stiff corpse the next morning, another tragic victim in a growing wave of crime in Regensburg. His attacker wiped the hunting knife on Buchner’s cloak and, contented, sauntered off with the purse of guilders, humming softly to himself. It was simply not worth the risk of having some garrulous bailiff foil his plan, especially now that this girl had appeared on the scene. No one suspected she’d show up in Regensburg looking for her father. Now what was he going to do about her?
The man decided the matter could wait a while. The hangman’s daughter wasn’t going anywhere, and the more pressing matter now was to dispose of some of the evidence. All would be taken care of, all in good time…
Smiling, he fingered a matchbox in his coat pocket. Soon enough all his worries would vanish like a puff of smoke.
Simon and Magdalena waited until the night was as black as the bottom of the Danube before heading downstairs to the tavern of the Whale. With considerable reluctance, the medicus had finally agreed to Magdalena’s plan to search the bathhouse for some clue that might exonerate Jakob Kuisl.
As he descended the creaking stairs, Simon noticed with astonishment that the tavern, empty just a few hours before, was now at full capacity. Every table was occupied with weatherworn raftsmen and craftsmen smoking their pipes, but more well-to-do citizens were there, too, with their lace collars and sparkling buttons. Laughing loudly and gossiping, they rolled dice as wine flowed so freely that the scrawny server could barely keep their steins full. A dark cloud of tobacco smoke enveloped the men, many of whom held women in their laps: garishly made-up and giggling, groping their patrons’ crotches as they licked their dark, wine-stained lips.
At his usual spot in back by the stove, the Venetian reclined, staring dreamily at the chaotic scene around him and sipping his wine now and then. He was the only one in the room with a leadcrystal glass in front of him.
“Ah, la bella signorina and her brave protector!” he exclaimed in greeting as Magdalena and Simon entered. “Have you abandoned your love nest in order to devote yourselves to the joys of the night? Sit with me, signorina, and tell me whether you’ve read my little book yet! I’m-come si dice-dying to know what you think of it.”
Simon shook his head coldly. “Sorry, we have other plans for tonight.”
Silvio Contarini winked at them. “For that you could have just stayed upstairs, no?”
Magdalena smiled and pulled away. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to stick your nose into other people’s business? Enjoy your wine, and we’ll see you later.”
“But what about my book?” he called after them. “The poems? Via piacciono questi versi?”
“I’ll wipe my backside with your book tonight,” Simon replied softly, closing the door behind them.
They were immediately engulfed in silence; only the muffled sound of laughter could be heard through the thick windowpanes. A warm breeze was blowing a moldy odor off the Danube.
“Simon, Simon.” Magdalena shook her head with mock severity. “Can you please be a little more polite? Or I might be tempted to believe you’re jealous!”
“Oh, come now!” Simon stomped ahead. “I just can’t stand it when someone uses such cheap tricks to seduce a woman!”
“Cheap?” Magdalena grinned, catching up to him. “You’ve never written me any poetry. But no need to worry; the Venetian is much too short for me anyway.”
They avoided the large square in front of the cathedral and hurried westward through the stinking, narrow back streets. At this hour it was so dark in Regensburg that they could barely see their hands in front of their faces. Simon had brought along a little lantern from the Whale that he held under his jacket; this at least threw faint light a few yards ahead. They didn’t dare risk any more light, as it was long past curfew, and if the watchmen caught them, they would no doubt both wind up locked in a cell and spend the next day in the stocks in the city hall square. Moreover, the light attracted thieves and murderers, who even now were no doubt lurking in doorways and around dark corners, looking out for drunks on their way home from the taverns and hoping to relieve these poor, besotted souls of their purses, their sterling silver buttons, and their finely polished boots.
Just as he had earlier that day, Simon imagined a robber skulking around every corner: once when he heard the sound of pebbles crunching just a few yards behind them, and later when he heard the faint sound of footsteps. In a narrow passage where the houses were built so close they almost touched, a legless beggar reached for Magdalena’s skirt; she rid herself of that nuisance with a single well-placed kick. But otherwise, except for a handful of drunks they encountered, all was quiet.
After a good quarter-hour that seemed infinitely longer to the medicus, they finally reached the Wei?gerbergraben. Along the road a canal flowed gently and emptied into the Danube, and before them the bathhouse loomed up out of the darkness. A tired watchman clutched his halberd in the entryway, looking as if he might just collapse at any moment.
“Now what?” Simon whispered. “Shall we ask the guard if we can have a look around?”
“Idiot!” Magdalena scolded. “But it is strange, isn’t it, that they’re still guarding the house? After all, the murder took place a while ago.” She stopped to think for a moment. “Let’s see if we can enter from the courtyard in back-nobody will see us that way.”
Simon grabbed her sleeve. “Magdalena, think about it: if they catch us inside, they’ll draw and quarter us along with your father! Is that what you want?”
“Then you can stay outside.”
Magdalena broke away and slipped through a little alleyway barely wider than her hips that separated the bathhouse from the neighboring building. With a sigh, Simon followed.
They climbed over slimy heaps of garbage and a foul-smelling mass of something that on closer inspection turned out to be a pig carcass. Dozens of rats scurried about. A few yards in, a hole appeared in the wall and, behind it, what seemed to be a back courtyard.
Simon’s gaze wandered over a mildewed wooden tub, some nondescript piles of junk, and a newly built well. Behind this was a small garden with pots of soil neatly arranged in rows. A small door gave entry to an outbuilding.
Magdalena hurried over to it and shook the handle gently. It was locked.
“Now what?” Simon whispered.
The hangman’s daughter pointed to a window that appeared to open into the bathhouse. The shutters were open a crack.
“Looks like my uncle wasn’t especially cautious,” she said in a soft voice. “Or somebody’s been here before us.”
The shutters creaked as she pushed them aside, then she boosted herself up and into the building. “Come on,” she whispered to Simon before disappearing into the darkness inside.
Having crawled in behind her, Simon held up the lantern to illuminate the cavernous room in which they found themselves. It seemed to extend all the way to the front of the building and was divided into niches, each containing a wooden tub. Fresh towels were stacked on shelves all along the walls, and next to them stood rows of vials filled with fragrant oils.