Simon, lost in thought, mumbled something unintelligible.
“What are you muttering about?” Nathan asked. “Didn’t you hear me? We’ve got to get away from here as fast as we can!”
“I’m wondering where Silvio may have taken Magdalena and the ergot,” Simon said softly. “He was talking about some alternative plan, one that would claim far more victims. What the devil could that be?”
“Maybe he wants to make some other use of the ergot,” Nathan replied with a shrug. “He could slip it into wine or beer, or God knows what else.”
Simon shook his head. “With wine or beer, he’d have to find a willing brewer or vintner to play along, and that’s much too risky. Things didn’t work out too well with Master Baker Haberger, as you know. It has to be something much simpler. But what?”
He paused, trying to recall Silvio’s last words as he left Simon to die in the mill. What was it again the Venetian had said exactly?
Man does not live by bread alone…
What do humans need to survive? Something to eat, a roof over their heads, a fire for warmth, water…
Water.
Simon slapped his forehead. “Of course!” he exclaimed. “Everyone in Regensburg needs water! For washing, drinking, brewing… Silvio intends to dump the ergot into the city wells-it’s the only way he can really be sure everyone in the Reichstag will come into contact with it!”
Nathan shook his head, thinking. “How can he do that?” he wondered. “There are wells all over Regensburg. Will he go to each one individually and pour his poison in? Somebody would surely notice that.”
“Of course not! He’ll have to introduce the ergot into the water before it gets to the wells…” Simon stopped for a moment, then asked excitedly, “Is there a spring somewhere around here that could be the city water supply? A reservoir? An aquifer perhaps?”
“I don’t know about an aquifer,” Nathan replied. “But-”
“What is it? Speak up!”
The beggar king’s mouth stretched into a broad grin, and his one remaining crooked gold tooth sparkled in the midday sun. “Of course, it’s a real possibility. This Venetian is a sly old fox indeed.”
“What do you mean?” Simon asked. “Magdalena’s life is at stake! Speak up before I throttle you!”
Nathan gave the medicus a look of pity. “How will you do that, seeing as you’re tied up?”
He bent down to Simon. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll untie you and tell you where Silvio took your sweetheart. But in return, when this is all over, you’ll have a look at my teeth and make them look exactly as before. Promise?”
“I’ll personally make you a brand-new set of teeth, if necessary,” Simon promised. “Now cut these damned ropes!”
Magdalena heard the explosion as the wagon was rumbling over the Stone Bridge. Bound and gagged, she lay among sacks in the middle of the wagon and winced when she heard the first earsplitting sound. Something in her snapped.
God! Simon! she thought. It can’t be! Not Simon, not after everything we’ve been through together!
To the last second she’d been hoping for a miracle; she’d prayed to each of the Fourteen Holy Helpers to intercede, to keep the mill from exploding, but her miracle hadn’t happened. The building had erupted around her beloved Simon, with whom she had fled to Regensburg to live and grow old.
Why in God’s name did we ever leave home?
Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with sweat, flour, and soil, while all around her shouts went up. Even under the sacks she could hear the muffled babble of many voices and the pounding of men’s feet as they ran to the bridge railing to gape at the crackling, fiery drama.
“It’s the big grain mill on the Wohrd!” Magdalena could hear someone shout. “I bet the flour exploded. My grandfather once told me about something like that happening…”
“No doubt the miller was drunk again…”
“He was smoking! That new, hellish tobacco they’re importing! Lit his pipe and blew himself straight up to heaven, along with home and grain.”
“Step aside, folks! A shipment for city hall, make way!”
The last voice belonged to Silvio, who shouted and cracked his whip as he tried to get through the gathering crowd. Magdalena had heard him bribe the watchman at the ramp with a handful of clinking coins. The people up here were so busy watching and gossiping about the catastrophe that the large wagon barely attracted any attention.
They weren’t stopped at the gate leading from the bridge into the city, either. As the wagon rumbled on through the streets and alleys, Magdalena heard the occasional sound of marching feet-presumably guards rushing to the Wohrd from all parts of the city-and bells ringing somewhere. No one seemed interested in the overloaded wagon carrying Silvio and the five raftsmen. Once in a while a hand pressed to Magdalena’s mouth-apparently to check that she was still breathing-then took the opportunity to grope her breasts or her legs or tighten her bonds.
Finally the wagon came to a halt. Magdalena tried to guess where they were, based on the sounds around them, but except for distant voices and bells she heard nothing. Her whole body itched; bugs crawled through her hair. She couldn’t move a muscle. She lay there like a living sack of grain, breathing in dust, flour, and ground ergot.
“Haaaalt! In the name of the city, come down from the wagon!”
It was the commanding voice of a gate guard, clearly used to giving orders and having them heeded, too. Magdalena held her breath. Could he be her salvation? Perhaps one of the raftsmen had told them, and now the entire city was looking for the poison!
“What is this all about?” Silvio asked indignantly. “Don’t you see we’re in a hurry? Open the gate!”
“I’m sorry, but we have to search every wagon leaving the city,” the watchman replied. “The Regensburg monster has escaped, the one responsible for the double murder in the Wei?gerbergraben. We’ve got to be sure he doesn’t flee the city.”
Magdalena clenched her fists. At least they hadn’t caught her father yet! But why was Silvio trying to leave the city with the wagon? She’d assumed they were on their way to city hall or perhaps the Heuport House. What could the Venetian do with the poisoned flour outside of town?
“A worthy task, constable,” Silvio replied, now distinctly more polite. “But with me that’s really not necessary. My men loaded the sacks themselves. Do you think the Venetian ambassador would provide cover for a murderer?” He laughed softly, and again Magdalena heard coins clinking.
“I–I-didn’t recognize you,” the guard gasped. “Excuse me, Your Eminence. But this is just a modest little wagon, and I would have expected you-”
“A little unannounced trip to the country; I do like to see what my servants are up to. Now would you please let us pass?”
“Well… naturally, Your Excellency. And a good day to you!”
The wagon rolled on again while Magdalena cursed through her gag. That was her last chance! Silvio would soon be force-feeding her the ergot, and what awaited her then? She thought of Resl, the maid of Schongau baker Berchtholdt, imprisoned in her own nightmares, her limbs turning black, crying and howling until the dear Lord released her from her pain at last.
Would that be her fate as well?
After about another quarter-hour the wagon stopped and the raftsmen climbed down, whispering softly to one another. Evidently they’d reached their destination. Bags were hastily offloaded and carried away. Squinting at the blinding sunlight, Magdalena took a while to recognize Silvio standing over her, smiling.
“If you could promise me you’d be quiet, I just might be persuaded to remove your gag,” he said, pushing a lock of sweaty, matted hair from her face. He plucked a bug from her hair and crushed it between his fingers. “Do you think that’s possible?”