The Schongau executioner had already dozed off.
Teuber spread a blanket over him, ducked through the low entryway, and pushed the wine barrel in front of the opening again. He would return early in the morning with herbs and medicines that would help Kuisl bear at least the worst of the pain.
Teuber stomped up the steps and out into the cool night air. A moment later Dorothea appeared beside him and squeezed his hand; her cold, calculating manner seemed to have vanished now as they looked up into the clear, starry sky together.
“So you really believe he’s innocent?” Dorothea finally asked.
Teuber nodded. “I’ve never before been so sure of anything. He doesn’t have to stay long, I promise. Perhaps only a few days, until he’s able to take a few steps again.”
Fat Thea sighed. “Do you realize what you’re saddling me with? Tomorrow half the council will be here, to say nothing of the soldiers at Peter’s Gate. If just one of them catches sight of this monster-”
“Thea, I beg you.” Teuber brushed a gray lock out of his friend’s face and looked at her earnestly. “Just this once.”
The Regensburg executioner knew he could count on Dorothea, but it was also clear just how dangerous the matter was for them both. Teuber had known Fat Thea for almost twenty years. She started out as a simple streetwalker but for the last few years had run this house at Peter’s Gate, becoming the most powerful prostitute in the city. Nevertheless, it would take just one word from the aldermen, one slip-up, one false accusation, to send her back to where she came from.
Back to the gutter.
“How’s your daughter?” Teuber asked abruptly, trying to change the subject. “Is she still as beautiful as I remember?”
Dorothea smiled. “More so, and she knows it. I have to hide her from her suitors, or they’ll drive me crazy.” Her face became serious again. “I want Christina to have it better than I did. Tomorrow, when the councilors come here, their purses will be jangling. Who knows, maybe I’ll just up and quit, marry a good-looking bookbinder, and spread my legs for him alone after that.”
Teuber grinned. “Consider that carefully. In a few months the Reichstag is coming to Regensburg, and the ambassadors will be pounding at your door. You’ll earn so much you’ll be shitting gold.”
All at once he had an idea. “Tomorrow when the aldermen visit, can you do a little snooping for me?”
Dorothea eyed him crossly. “Don’t you think one favor is enough? What else do you want?”
“There were three inquisitors present when Kuisl was being tortured,” Teuber mused, “and all three are members of the counciclass="underline" Rheiner, the president of the court; young Kerscher from the tax office; and a third one I don’t know. Can you find out who that was?”
Dorothea shrugged. “If it was an alderman, it’s possible he’ll be with the group tomorrow night as well. Almost all of them intend to come. I even had to bring a few girls in off the street, since at least two of the noble gentlemen will most certainly want to be whipped…” She made a disgusted face. “It will be a tough job, but I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Thanks, Thea, I don’t know how-”
“One of my girls missed her monthly menstruation,” she interrupted crossly. “Take care of her and give her a few of your herbs. I have no use for a child around here.”
Teuber nodded. “I’ll see what I can do-”
“And find the madman who’s been killing my girls out in the streets these last few weeks,” Dorothea interrupted again. “He’s knocked off half a dozen already. Something’s not right. Someone’s lurking around out there, and I can only hope it isn’t the monster I’ve got in my cellar now.”
Without another word, she disappeared into the tower, where giggles and an occasional moan could still be heard. Alone now, Teuber stood outside the door and watched a falling star shoot across the sky.
Dear God, see that my family gets through this unharmed…
He took a deep breath, trying to shake the fear that had been raging inside him like a wild beast since the previous night. If the aldermen could find even the slightest piece of evidence against him, a new hangman would drag the old one off to the scaffold, and his wife and children would be driven from town to live out the rest of their days in the forest. The little ones would slowly die of hunger, asking their mother again and again why their father had done this to them.
The Regensburg executioner climbed into his wagon and set out for home. Dense fog crept in through the city streets and beneath his coat and trousers, causing a shiver to run up and down his spine.
He knew the shaking didn’t come from the cool night air alone.
“Do you know what your little Venetian friend might be looking for here?” Simon whispered, pointing to Silvio Contarini, who still crouched behind the pews.
“First, he’s not my little Venetian, and second, I have no idea,” Magdalena replied in a low voice. “But if you absolutely have to-”
“Shh!” Simon put his finger to her lips, but it was too late. The stranger by the Saint Sebastian altar seemed to have heard something, for he quickly screwed the secret tube together and placed it back in the statue’s right hand. Then he reached for his rapier and tensed up. Step by step, holding the blade in front of him, he approached the column behind which Simon and Magdalena hid. Beads of sweat broke out on Simon’s brow, and he held his breath, hoping the intruder wouldn’t see them. The footsteps paused, and just when the medicus thought perhaps the man had turned to look elsewhere, the stranger’s monstrous head darted out from behind the pillar.
The stranger seemed just as surprised as Simon and Magdalena. For a moment it looked as if he wanted to say something, but before he could, a shadow rushed toward them from the left. Silvio Contarini leaped over several pews, knocked over a few chairs, and finally threw himself at the intruder. Their blades clashing, Silvio drove his opponent farther and farther back toward the sarcophagus.
In a movement so fast it was nearly imperceptible, the stranger feinted to the side and then struck Silvio’s upper torso, ripping the entire length of his velvet coat from top to bottom. The attacker thrust his rapier a second time, and the little Venetian foundered and fell to his knees. A cold smile spread over the stranger’s face as he raised his weapon to deliver a coup de grace to the heart. The blade sloped down like the head of a venomous snake.
“No!” Magdalena screamed. “You-you monster!”
Instinctively the hangman’s daughter grabbed the silver statuette of Saint Sebastian from the altar and flung it toward the stranger.
With a dull thud the heavy figurine struck him on the back of the head.
The man reeled, flailing his arms, then crashed to the floor like a fallen angel. He lay there so long Magdalena thought he might even be dead, but moments later he struggled to his feet again, breathing heavily. Like a drunk, he reached for his rapier, staggered, and tried to find something to hold on to. In this manner he made his way step by step down the center aisle. Even disoriented he somehow seemed as dangerous as ever.
Simon and Magdalena were about to run after him when they heard someone moaning nearby. Silvio. The Venetian seemed more seriously injured than it first appeared. He was bleeding from his left arm and chest, and a bright red gash ran across his right cheek. He struggled to get up, panting, but then tipped back over on his side and lay motionless on the floor.
“My God, Silvio!” Magdalena rushed to the ambassador. For a moment Simon was tempted to pursue the stranger, but the man had already disappeared, and all Simon could see was the fog creeping in through the open church portal.
“Grazie,” Silvio gasped. He leaned against the sarcophagus, breathing heavily. “If you hadn’t thrown that statue, then…”