“You can trust them,” said Teuber. “If any of them betrays you, I’ll break every bone in his body and toss his corpse onto the pile like a dead animal to rot alongside the others.” He smiled. “And besides, you’re one of us, a hangman without honor, just like the whores, beggars, street performers, and knackers. We all ought to stick together.”
Kuisl pointed at the slimy mountain, from which pieces kept breaking off and sliding to the ground. “What are you going to do with all that stuff? Bury it?”
Teuber shook his head and pointed behind him. “From here the rubbish goes right into the Danube, a few cartloads of it every day. The city pays us well for our work.”
“Us?”
The Regensburg executioner spat noisily. “All I do is bring it here. The real work is done by the knackers and the gold diggers. They empty the sewers and bring the mess here.”
Kuisl looked down at his feet, where iridescent yellow sewage ran over his leather boots.
The gold diggers…
So that’s what the ferret meant!
“Pure gold,” Philipp Teuber added, pointing at the pile of garbage fermenting in the rising sun. “I think it was a Roman kaiser who once said that gold doesn’t stink. Believe me-without my men the city would choke on its own filth.”
“How did you find me?” Kuisl asked abruptly.
“After you fled Fat Thea’s place, city hall really gave me hell,” Teuber said. “I think the noblemen know it was me who helped you break out of the jail, but they can’t prove it.” He tapped Kuisl on his bandaged left shoulder. “It’s all better, isn’t it? I told you, my remedy-”
“Be quiet you wise-ass,” Kuisl interrupted. “Finish your story.”
Teuber caught one of the many bluebottle flies that buzzed around the trash heap and crushed it between his fingers. “The whole city knows you were hiding out in the bishop’s palace,” he finally said. “It was clear that you’d have to get out at some point, so I asked my gold diggers to keep an eye out. They see more than any soldier does; plus they manage to keep out of sight themselves.” He wiped the sweat and dirt from his forehead. “But that won’t do you any more good than it’s done already. You’ve got to get out of here, and fast.”
“There’s one thing I have to do first,” Kuisl replied.
“I know what you have in mind, and that’s why I brought you here.” Teuber looked Kuisl in the eye before he continued; his words were measured. “I now know who the third inquisitor is. Fat Thea told me.”
Kuisl’s gaze wandered aimlessly over the city wall as if he sensed something lurking behind it.
“Since last night I believe I know, too. If it’s who I think it is. But it’s not possible…” He hesitated. “He sent me a letter-a letter from a dead man.”
“Weidenfeld?” Teuber asked incredulously. “But…”
“Weidenfeld, ha!” Kuisl took out the crumpled note he had discovered in his breast pocket just two hours before. “The bastard was inside the bishop’s palace! At first I thought I was dreaming-until I found this letter.” Gingerly he held up the paper as if it were poison. “He must have brought it to me while I was sleeping. He probably bribed the guards and managed to slip in unnoticed. Or he’s a ghost.” His face darkened. “This man is dead. I killed him with my own hands. It’s impossible he’s alive.”
“Ghost or no ghost,” Teuber retorted. “If vengeance is what he’s after, why didn’t he simply slit your throat while he was inside the bishop’s palace?”
“He wants something more. He wants to torment me as long as he can. Look.” Kuisl handed the paper to Teuber. Squinting, the Regensburg executioner read the few lines, whistling softly between his teeth.
“Is it true what it says here?”
Kuisl’s lips became as narrow as the edge of a knife. “I–I don’t know,” he said finally. “To find out I’ll have to pull out each and every one of the bastard’s fingernails, one by one. And if he’s indeed a ghost, I’ll whip him straight back to hell.”
Teuber frowned. “But where are you planning to look for him? You have no idea where this damned Weidenfeld could be. Besides, I still don’t understand what this name is supposed to mean. That’s not the third inquisitor’s name. He goes by-”
“You idiot! You dumb ass!” Kuisl exploded. “You still don’t get it? Weidenfeld is not the name of a man; it’s the name of a place!”
Silence fell between them; only the shoveling of the gold diggers behind them was audible.
“A… place?” Teuber shook his head in disbelief. “But…?”
“Look here.” Kuisl pointed to the first line on the tattered sheet. “‘Greetings from Weidenfeld,’ it says, just as in the first letter he sent to Magdalena. It’s a greeting from a place! The names of all the battlefields I ever fought in were scratched on the walls in that celclass="underline" Magdeburg, Breitenfeld, Rain on the Lech, Nordlingen… and Weidenfeld. He’s the one who inscribed them down there to torment me. He even gave the dates, damn it!” Kuisl closed his eyes as if he were trying to remember something. “P.F.K. Weidenfeld, anno domini 1637. How could I ever forget that day! It’s the day he died.”
“So Weidenfeld is a battlefield?” the Regensburg executioner asked.
Kuisl gazed absently into space. “Not a battlefield, but a bad place, a wicked place. I tried to banish it from my mind forever, but it has been haunting me for years; I buried it but couldn’t banish it. When I opened the letter last night, it all came rushing back.”
Teuber’s eyes widened. “By all the saints, I think I’m beginning to understand. The second line of the letter-”
“I must go,” Kuisl interrupted gruffly. “At once. He’ll be waiting there for me.”
He began to climb over the muck toward the hole in the city wall but slipped suddenly and landed again on his injured shoulder.
“Damn!”
“Wait!” Teuber ran after him. “You’re injured, you have no weapon, and you don’t even know your way to Weidenfeld from here. If you-”
“Let me go! You don’t understand!” Kuisl drew himself up and continued to march to the top of the trash heap. Behind the ruins of the wall the Danube sparkled like a green ribbon in the sunlight, and soon the Schongau hangman disappeared through the ivy-covered breach in the city wall.
“I don’t understand? You damned thick-headed fool! Who do you think you are? My priest?” Teuber picked up a handful of rocks, then debris, and flung them through the hole in the wall. “You shameless good-for-nothing! Just how do you think you’re going to fight this devil all by yourself? He’ll tear you to pieces before you can utter an Ave Maria. Don’t you see you’re playing right into his hands?”
But no answer came from the other side. Teuber sighed, then hesitated a moment before ascending the pile of garbage.
“You’d better not believe I’ve risked the life of my entire family just to watch you die now, you bastard! Just hold on; I’m coming, too!”
Moments later he disappeared from sight.
The gold diggers shook their heads, picked up their shovels, and got back to the work of ridding the city of trash. Today was shaping up to be sultry and foul.
Simon stood in the shadow of a huge salt warehouse next to the boat landing, waiting nervously for the Stone Bridge to open. His heart was pounding as he watched the bridge guards slowly open the gate.
Just like Jakob Kuisl and his daughter after him, Simon had made his way through the hidden corridor into the storage room and out into the city from there. He had hoped he might find Magdalena somewhere in front of the bishop’s palace, but she was long gone. Only a short while ago this might have infuriated him, but now he was relieved. He knew where he could find her-at the home of that smug Venetian dwarf. There, at least, she’d be safe. And, considering what he now had in mind, it was best he acted alone.