As he hastily unfolded the letter, they seemed to glow with hatred.
At once a cold smile spread across his face. He took out another piece of paper and wrote a few lines on it, then tucked the real letter inside his coat.
“I’ll pose a riddle for the girl and this quack,” he whispered, more to himself than to the guard. “Sometimes you have to throw the dog a bone so it has something to chew on. Or else they’ll draw some very stupid conclusions. Here, give this to Teuber.” With these words, he handed the guard the paper.
As the bailiff entered the bustling city hall square, he felt such relief that he dropped his first few coins right away on a strong glass of wine. Nevertheless, cold shivers ran up and down his spine.
There were people you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, and then there were people you wouldn’t wish even on an alleged murderer.
7
REGENSBURG
NOON, AUGUST 20, 1662 AD
Do you have any idea what might be detaining your amico?”
Silvio Contarini gallantly offered Magdalena his arm. She hesitated briefly, then permitted the Venetian to guide her through the narrow Regensburg streets, while she towered over him by at least a full head.
“To be honest, no,” she said uncertainly. “Perhaps he just stepped out for a breath of fresh air. I only hope nothing has happened to him.”
“Didn’t you say he likes coffee?”
Magdalena nodded. “Coffee and books, yes, he’s addicted to both.”
“Then I know a place where Simon could be.”
Silvio guided her along a wide paved avenue with oxcarts and coaches rumbling by. He took care to walk on the outside to shield her from the occasional splashes of mud from passing vehicles. The hangman’s daughter couldn’t help but smile. This man was a real cavalier! She decided to allow herself to feel like a lady, at least for a short time-to give herself over to the care of her diminutive companion.
The two soon reached the city hall square. Across from the magnificent building was a neat, freshly whitewashed gabled tavern, complete with glass windows, bright stucco work, and a newly thatched roof. Patricians in wide trousers and tight-fitting jackets paraded in and out alongside brightly made-up women with broad-brimmed hats and elaborate pinned-up hair. Silvio tugged at Magdalena’s sleeve impatiently, pulling her toward the entry.
“You don’t believe they’ll let me in, looking the way I do!” she whispered, horrified. “I look like a despicable chambermaid!”
The little Venetian examined her uncertainly. “That may in fact be a problem. Take this,” he said, handing Magdalena his cloak. Only then did she notice that a small dagger was tied to the inside of the Venetian’s belt, its handle inlaid with rubies.
“Later we’ll find you some clothes more befitting your beauty,” Silvio said resolutely. “We can’t allow a bella signorina such as yourself to go running around looking like a washerwoman.”
Magdalena pulled the wide, much too warm woolen cloak over her shoulders until only her face and her shaggy black hair were visible. She could only hope that no one noticed her shoes. She also realized that after the previous night’s events, she no doubt had a strong odor.
“Oh, God, I can’t do it…”
“Come now!” Silvio nudged her into a lavishly furnished taproom filled mostly with elderly gentlemen and flashy young ladies at their sides. The Venetian found two free seats and snapped his fingers. Shortly thereafter a smartly dressed maid appeared, curtsied several times, and set out a steaming pot of coffee and two cups.
“As far as I know, this is the first coffeehouse in the whole German Empire,” the Venetian said, filling Magdalena’s cup to the brim. “At least I haven’t heard of any other. And believe me, I would hear of it.” He slurped his coffee with great relish. “If your friend likes coffee as much as I do, it’s quite possible we’ll find him here.”
Magdalena gazed around at the guests, though she knew in advance it was wasted effort. “Nonsense!” she whispered. “How would Simon know about a place like this?”
The Venetian shrugged. “So be it. At least the two of us will have the chance to get to know each other better now.”
Chuckling, Magdalena took a sip of the hot, stimulating drink. “Admit it, you set this up. You wanted only to be alone with me.”
“Would that be a crime?”
The hangman’s daughter sighed. “You are incorrigible! Very well, then,” she said, leaning toward the Venetian, “tell me about yourself. Who are you?”
“Let’s just say I’m a frequent and welcome visitor in this establishment who is always scrupulous in paying his rather exorbitant bills,” Silvio said with a grin.
Then all at once he turned serious. “This city is very important for la vecchia Venezia, you know,” he continued. “Especially now, when representatives from all over the world are here to discuss how to proceed against the Turks.” He raised his cup solemnly. “The Moslems gave us this marvelous drink, but unfortunately they now wish to do us the dubious honor of exporting their religious beliefs as well. Thus, my doge, in his infinite wisdom, decided I should take up residence as his permanent ambassador in the mightiest city of the German Empire.”
“You are the representative of Venice in Regensburg?” Magdalena gasped. “But why then are you living at the Whale? I mean-”
Silvio waved her off. “No, no, I don’t live there, but-come si dice-the boredom!” He rolled his eyes theatrically. “All these smartly dressed ambassadors, always the same old conversations… politics, ugh! This evening, again, I have to host another mindless ball.” He folded his hands as if in prayer. “D’una grazia vi supplico, signorina! Lend me the honor of your company at the ball. It will be my only light in these dreary hours! You’ll be my salvation!”
Magdalena’s laugh stuck in her throat.
Seated at a neighboring table, a man in a dark cloak had pulled his hood far down over his face, but the hangman’s daughter was nevertheless certain he was watching them. In contrast to the other guests, the stranger was neither smoking a pipe nor drinking coffee. He sat hunched over as if he had become part of his chair.
“The man opposite us,” she whispered, assuming an icy, forced smile to avoid attracting suspicion. “Don’t look now, but I believe he’s watching us.”
Silvio raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
“Believe me, I’ve had some experience with this sort of thing as of late. This stranger isn’t the first one in my life I’ve caught spying on me.”
“If that’s the case…” The Venetian ambassador placed a few silver coins on the table and slowly stood up. “We’ll leave by the back door. If he follows us, we’ll know you’re right.”
Nodding and greeting people amiably as they passed, the pair crossed the crowded room to an inconspicuous door. They hurried up a staircase to the floor above, ran along a dark corridor, and finally arrived at an opening so tiny it seemed more like a window than a door. Silvio pressed the door handle and nudged Magdalena onto a ramshackle balcony. A ladder led down into a back courtyard stacked with old boxes and barrels. The Venetian put his finger to his lips and pointed down. Magdalena sensed Silvio was well acquainted with this escape route. Her heart pounding, she began to descend the rungs behind him.
Just as they reached the courtyard below, the man in the black cloak appeared on the balcony above them.