Though Magdalena had seen many churches, she was filled with awe by the Andechs abbey church. Some of the most important Christian relics were housed here on the Holy Mountain. The church interior was just as awe-inspiring, with numerous altars along the sides and in the nave and doors leading to additional side chapels. Mighty columns supported the high vaulted ceiling and colorful stained glass sparkled everywhere amid the candlelight.
What impressed Magdalena even more than the opulence and splendor were the candles placed all around the church, brought here by pilgrims over the course of many centuries. On the walls, innumerable votive pictures, some yellow with age, bore testimony to miraculous acts of salvation.
“Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis…” As the abbot spoke the sacred words, worshippers all around Magdalena fell humbly to their knees. She, too, knelt and bowed her head but couldn’t help glancing up at Maurus Rambeck, who appeared extremely upset. Several times, he seemed confused or lost his place, and his face was as pale as a corpse. Magdalena wondered whether this had anything to do with recent events or perhaps the presence of the noble family. She, too, was having difficulty concentrating on her prayers.
“Domine, non sum dignus, ut intres sub tectum meum. Sed tantum dic verbo, et sanabitur anima mea…”
While Magdalena joined in murmuring the words of invitation to Holy Communion, she glanced up to the gallery, where the church dignitaries had gathered. From Simon’s descriptions of the church council, she thought she recognized the fat cellarer, as well as the white-haired librarian and the sensitive novitiate master. The latter, in fact, a relatively younger man, seemed strangely withdrawn. His eyes were red, and now and then he pulled out a silk handkerchief to wipe his face until a hook-nosed monk on his right finally poked him hard in the ribs. It took Magdalena a while to figure out this was the prior. He whispered something to the novitiate master, whereupon the latter put his handkerchief back in his pocket and mumbled a soft prayer. The other members of the council also seemed strangely tense.
Something is fishy here, Magdalena thought. Did the death of the two young assistants and the disappearance of a Brother really upset the monks so much?
Finally, the abbot finished, raising his hand in the benediction, and the pilgrims pressed toward the exit to the accompaniment of loud organ music. Magdalena stayed seated in the pew for a while, watching as Maurus Rambeck descended from the apsis into the nave and bowed before Count Wartenberg. They exchanged a few words; then the count turned to his family and sent them to their quarters. Finally, the count and the abbot walked up a flight of stairs to the gallery, which was empty now except for the prior who awaited them there. The three men spoke softly for a while before exiting together through a small door. Magdalena noticed how the prior kept looking around cautiously as they left.
What in all the world was going on here?
After hesitating briefly, Magdalena stood up and approached the stairway leading up to the gallery. Now after evening mass, the church was almost empty. Only a few acolytes still moved about, extinguishing the many candles. It was getting noticeably darker.
The hangman’s daughter looked around again, then started up the well-worn staircase.
“Are you lost?”
Leaning on the railing above her, a broad-shouldered monk looked down suspiciously at her. It was the cellarer, and he was clearly in a bad mood. “The gallery and the choir are reserved for the monks. They’re not open to visitors,” he growled. “Especially not women. What are you looking for here?”
“I’m… I’m looking for the sacred relics,” Magdalena stuttered. “I’ve come all the way from Lake Constance on foot to pray before them.”
“Stupid woman,” the monk grumbled. “Do you think the sacred treasures just stand around here where anyone could steal them?” He pointed to the little door the church officials and the count had passed through. “They are kept in the inner sanctum, where only a chosen few have access. If you wish to see the holy three hosts, you must wait till next Sunday.”
“And the noble gentleman who just came up here with two of your Brothers?” asked Magdalena, affecting the voice of a simple farm girl. “He’s allowed to see the treasure?”
“Count Wartenberg?” The cellarer laughed. “Naturally. As a member of the House of Wittelsbach, he always has the third key. Now get moving, before I chase you out.”
“The third key?” Magdalena was clearly astonished. “Which-”
“Get out, I told you!” The monk approached her threateningly. “Curious daughters of Eve. You should all be thrown out of the church. Brood of vipers!”
Magdalena raised her hands defensively, then rushed down the stairs, crossing herself and bowing obsequiously, until she finally eluded the cellarer.
Outside the main portal, she spat hard and mumbled a curse. That fat milksop would live to regret treating her like that. Something here was fishy, and she was damn well going to find out what was behind all these strange events.
Magdalena tossed her woolen shawl around her shivering body and took a deep breath. The square in front of the monastery was deserted now. Only piles of stones and sacks of limestone and mortar betrayed that this was a busy building site by day. In the nearby forest, trees rustled in the wind and scattered drops of rain fell on the pavement.
Just as Magdalena was about to descend the wide lane to the tavern to tell Simon the latest, she heard a sound that made her stop short. It was so faint and discreet that she took it at first for the singing of a far-off nightingale. Finally, she realized what she was really hearing.
Somewhere behind the monastery, music was playing.
Magdalena started. The glockenspiel! Hadn’t Simon said the automaton that vanished had a glockenspiel built into it? She couldn’t help but think of the golem the monks had spoken of, the one now supposedly haunting the monastery.
What was it again that Simon said? An object that springs to life when life is breathed into it… It involves some very complicated rituals…
For a moment she hesitated; then she set out to find the source of the music. The sound seemed to come from the right, where an old wall separated the church square from the forest. There she found a little gate, and behind it, some weathered stairs leading to a path along the wall. On the other side, a steep gorge led down into the Kien Valley. In the distance, she could see the vague outlines of a chapel.
For a moment, Magdalena thought she couldn’t hear it anymore, but then the sound returned: it was somewhere in front of her, soft, but still clearly audible. She stopped and held her breath, listening intently, and also thought she could hear a rattle and whirring. Now the melody was close, not in front of her, or behind her, but… beneath her.
Magdalena was transfixed. The sound seemed to be coming from somewhere inside the Holy Mountain. She looked around in the gathering twilight for a cleft in the rock, or a cave, but couldn’t find anything of the sort. As she continued to search, the melody became softer, as if its source were gradually moving away.
That’s when she heard something whiz by, brushing her neck, and she felt as if she’d been stung by a big horsefly. Putting her hand to her neck, she felt dampness, and when she took her hand away again, she could see blood in the moonlight.