“Citizens of Regensburg, lend an ear! A fire broke out in our beautiful city yester eve, destroying three dozen homes. Lives, too, were lost. Some say the devil himself is among us, along with his playmate.” Whispers went up among the crowd as it eagerly awaited the grisly details. After a dramatic pause the crier continued:
“The city council is pleased to inform all citizens that it was not the devil who set the fire, but it was a foul deed by the hand of man. Two persons who were seen in the Wei?gerbergraben area last night are under strong suspicion of having committed this dastardly crime. Persons in question are a little man with a limp and a black-haired girl in a coarse linen skirt…”
What followed was a detailed description of the two suspects. The blood drained from Simon’s face as he listened. The watchmen were looking for him and Magdalena! Perhaps someone in the cathedral square had recognized him already! In fact, a murmur was passing softly through the crowd, and someone rose and approached the guard, pointing toward the river in the approximate direction of the Whale. Simon backed up against the wall of a nearby building and peered into a small lane behind it that branched into a labyrinth of ever-narrower alleys. A curious older couple stared down at him from a second-story window, so in spite of his swollen ankle, Simon hurried away, limping. He had to warn Magdalena as fast as possible! He only hoped it wasn’t already too late.
Just as he was about to turn the corner, he heard a voice call to him from a dark entryway: “If it’s through these alleyways you want to escape, let me guide you, or someone will surely cut your throat even before the watchmen can arrest you for arson.”
An old man clad in rags emerged from a stone portal. In the dim light it took Simon a few seconds to recognize him as Hans Reiser, the blind beggar he’d healed the day before in the market square. Reiser’s stubbled, pockmarked face beamed at Simon with joy. He wore a patch over his right eye, but he gave Simon a cheerful wink with his left as he ran up to the medicus with arms wide open.
“I prayed to God to send you back to me again so I could repay you!” he cried out. “Thanks be to God. He heard my prayers!”
“Very well,” Simon said in a low voice. “Perhaps some other time. At the moment-well, I’m in a bit of a hurry, so please-”
Reiser put his finger to his lips and grinned. “You needn’t tell me a thing. I know the authorities are looking for you and the girl because of the fire last night.”
“But how do you-?” Simon began.
“We beggars know many things,” the old man interrupted in a whisper. “The citizens think of us as lice-infested, starving sacks of shit who hold out our hands for every last little coin, but in reality we’re even more powerful than many of the guilds.” He winked. “We even have our own guild house, though it’s not as fine as those of the merchants, bakers, or goldsmiths. Believe me, nothing remains a secret from us for long.”
“You promise you won’t betray me?” Simon whispered.
Horrified, Reiser shook his head. “Betray my savior? Am I Judas? I wish to help you!”
“But what do you intend to do?”
“For starters, we’ll make you and your girl disappear,” the beggar replied. “I’ve already sent a messenger to the Whale who will bring the girl back here to us. I also know you’re trying to find out more about the bathhouse murders. Let’s see if we can’t find some clues for you.”
“But that’s impossible!” Simon cried. “We haven’t told anyone about the murders!”
“Aha, and your conversation in front of the bathhouse just yesterday morning?” Reiser grinned. “In Regensburg the walls have ears, and most of those ears belong to us beggars. Now quit standing there gaping like a fool and come along!”
Tentatively Simon followed. “Where are we going?”
Reiser looked over his shoulder to glance at the medicus with his good eye. “To the king of the beggars. I’ve already spoken with him, and he will grant you an audience.”
“Who?”
Reiser giggled. “The head of our guild, you idiot! Consider yourself lucky; it’s a great honor to be invited to see him. And now hurry along before the guards catch up!”
Shaking his head, Simon followed the old man through the labyrinth of narrow lanes and trash-filled courtyards. Darting shadows reminded them that they weren’t alone.
Magdalena awoke to a knocking sound that grew louder and louder. She was about to get up and give the troublemaker pounding at the door a slap when she realized the noise wasn’t coming from outside but from her own head. She slowly opened her crusted eyes but closed them again as a flash of light seared her pupils. Next she attempted a cautious squint as she groped for a pitcher of water she vaguely remembered had been standing beside the bed when she collapsed the night before. She grabbed it and poured its cold contents all over her face. Spluttering, she shook the water from her hair. The pounding had stopped, but a sharp ache still coursed through her head in waves.
The thought of waves immediately made her nauseous.
Suppressing the need to throw up, she tried to remember the night before. The fire in the bathhouse, their narrow escape, their arrival at the Whale… After Simon went up to bed, she’d loitered down in the tavern, showing the men there that holding one’s liquor wasn’t just a matter of body weight or years of training. The Kuisls were widely known for their cast-iron stomachs. The night before any execution, Magdalena’s father would get so drunk that Anna-Maria Kuisl had to lug him cursing and hollering into their bed in the wee hours of the morning. Yet odd as it was, without fail the hangman would be on the scaffold stone-cold sober just a few hours later, even if he did look rather grim-an appropriate appearance for a hangman on execution day. Magdalena had apparently inherited this particular brand of stamina from her father. Throughout the night she had also chewed on some of the bitter black coffee beans Simon so adored, and that had no doubt helped her stay at least partly sober.
Simon?
“Simon? Are you there?” she croaked, feeling the empty bed beside her. She sat up with a moan. The medicus must have gone downstairs already. She wondered whether he was still angry at her for having stayed down in the tavern the night before, drinking with the little Venetian. She opened the door and staggered down the stairway, her head pounding. The scent of frying bacon permeated the air, causing her stomach to rumble loudly. In the main room she saw the tavern keeper behind the bar, helping herself that very moment to a slug of brandy.
When she noticed Magdalena, she pointed back to the kitchen. “If you’re looking for your drinking friend, he’s in there,” she mumbled, taking another swig. Magdalena nodded and went back to the smoke-filled kitchen where wood logs glowed inside an enormous hearth.
“Simon?” she asked, but the only person in the room was Silvio Contarini, who stood by the hearth, whistling as he stirred the contents of a clay bowl with a spoon. Next to him bacon was sizzling in a pan, permeating the room with a delicious aroma.
“Ah, you slept in?” The Venetian winked at Magdalena and pointed toward the pan. “I’m preparing an old Italian home recipe, uova strapazzate allo zafferano, scrambled eggs with saffron and bacon. Would you like some?”
Although Magdalena had intended only to inquire about Simon, now that she saw the golden egg hissing in the pan, she couldn’t resist.
She nodded, and her mouth began to water. “A little… yes.”
With the elegance of a royal cupbearer, Silvio set a plate, knife, and spoon down in front of her on the table and poured diluted wine from a carafe.
“The perfect cure for a hangover,” he said with a grin, serving her a hearty portion of eggs and bacon. “Guaranteed to bring the color back to una ragazza’s cheeks. I hope it doesn’t bother you if I call you una ragazza, a girl. You look so-well, so young.”