Once more the organ rose to a mighty, shrill, earsplitting swell so loud that, for a moment, he imagined he could hear the screams of his dying victims as they pointed at him, castigating and accusing him.
But then the organ stopped, the incense drifted away, and the faithful rose from their pews and headed for the taverns in the surrounding villages-to eat, drink, and fornicate. Faith vanished, leaving nothing but stone and wood, an empty building with no trace of anything divine.
The sorcerer arose, crossed himself and exited through the narrow church portal among the other pilgrims and monks.
The image of the charred corpse still on his mind, Simon headed back to the clinic. The pilgrims leaving the church were laughing and talking loudly, but he hardly noticed them as he continued mulling over the events of the last few hours. He wished he could speak with his father-in-law about them, but Kuisl had disappeared the previous day around noon. Simon wasn’t particularly worried. The old man often disappeared overnight in the forest when he went to collect herbs-though not in a forest possibly haunted by a madman.
Simon had no doubt the madman was still on the loose. Brother Benedikt’s dramatic words about God’s holy anger were nonsense. But where and how in the world had Brother Laurentius come into the possession of the stolen monstrance? And what part did the automaton play in all this? The medicus quickened his pace. Perhaps the novitiate master would be well enough now to at least say a few words.
Entering the clinic behind the monastery, Simon looked for Jakob Schreevogl. Now that Simon himself was mainly responsible for the count’s sick son, the patrician’s help was indispensable. Then he remembered that Schreevogl was with the count.
But in his place was another man.
A huge figure bent over Laurentius with his back to Simon. It looked as if he was trying to strangle the patient with his huge hands. The medicus ran toward the stranger and pulled him around by the shoulder.
“For God’s sake, stop-” he shouted, but then held his hand up to his mouth in shock. “Good Lord, Kuisl,” he gasped. “It’s you! Where have you been all this time? You scared the hell out of me.”
“You scared me, too,” said the hangman, glaring at his son-in-law. “I thought for a minute you were one of the damned guards. Since when is an executioner and healer forbidden to examine an injured person?” He cast a sympathetic glance at the unconscious novitiate master. “Of course it doesn’t look like much can be done to save this fellow here, not even by me.”
Simon noticed that Kuisl was no longer wearing his Franciscan robe but his own clothing. “Don’t you think it’s dangerous to walk around here like this?” he whispered, pointing to the far end of the room. “We have a few Schongauers here, and they might recognize you. If the church learns that a dishonorable hangman-”
Kuisl interrupted him with a brusque wave of the hand. “To hell with the robe,” he grumbled. “Anyway, they’re looking for me in that robe.”
“They’re what?”
“First tell me what the novitiate master is doing here and why everyone out there is blathering on about a miracle,” the hangman replied. “Who knows, maybe putting your story and mine together will give us a complete picture.”
“As you like, but let’s go to a corner,” said Simon, lowering his voice. “Most of the patients are too weak to understand anything, but one never knows.”
They withdrew to a quiet corner of the room where some mildewed boxes and barrels were piled up. Looking around at the dozing patients and whispering, Simon told Kuisl about finding the injured novitiate master and the monstrance. He also told Kuisl how Virgilius’s charred corpse had been found in a well by the monastery. The hangman listened silently, stuffing his pipe. Once he’d finally managed to light it with a burning pine chip, he pointed his foot toward the unconscious Laurentius.
“This fellow here, by the way, is why I disappeared yesterday noon. I thought it best to disappear in the forest for a while.” He took a deep draw on his pipe and told Simon about the conversation he had overheard between Brother Benedikt and Laurentius and about his hasty flight from the building. He also mentioned the love letters he’d found in the novitiate master’s chest and the old plan the librarian had lost a few days ago.
“In any event you’ll no doubt have to snoop around without me from now on.” Kuisl finally grumbled. “That’s actually fine by me. The old robe smelled like one huge gassy priest.”
“Damn,” Simon exclaimed. “We seemed so close to solving the mystery. It looks as if everyone in this monastery has something to hide.” He counted off on his fingers: “Nepomuk and the dead Virgilius had some heretical ideas; the abbot stole the hosts, even if for honorable reasons; the prior is an overly ambitious schemer; the novitiate master a sodomite-and now the librarian, too, appears to be hiding something in the basement of the monastery.”
“You’ve forgotten the cellarer, who obviously was helping him in all this,” Kuisl interrupted.
Simon rubbed his sweaty brow, trying to piece it all together. “What in God’s name can the two have concealed down there? And where is the hiding place? If I understand Laurentius correctly, he did see this automaton in the corridors of the monastery.”
“They’ve sealed the entrance in any case, and the plans showing how to get there have suddenly and mysteriously disappeared.” Kuisl grinned. “But wait-in your enumeration of these scoundrels and charlatans, you forgot the Wittelsbach count. We still don’t know what role that perfumed poodle is playing in the whole affair.”
Simon sighed. “For now, Wartenberg is quite convincingly playing the role of the anxious father. If I can’t heal his son soon, things really look bad for me.”
“The most important thing at the moment is to get this fellow to speak.” The hangman pointed at Brother Laurentius, who lay on his bed breathing in short gasps. “He’s the key to all this. If Laurentius can tell us where the monstrance comes from and who beat him so badly, we can probably solve the mystery.” He took another deep draw on his pipe and looked up at the ceiling absent-mindedly. “I’m afraid certain people don’t want him to talk.”
“What do you mean by that?” Simon asked, confused.
“What does that mean?” Kuisl laughed softly. “If you were the murderer and learned that your victim was still alive-what would you do?”
“Oh God,” Simon blanched. “Do you think-”
“I think that Laurentius’s life isn’t worth a speck of fly shit if someone doesn’t keep an eye on him.” Kuisl rose and headed toward the exit. “And I’m afraid that’s something only you can do. The church higher-ups know my disguise as a Franciscan now, and it would be too dangerous for me. And as the Schongau executioner, I can hardly sit here and care for the sick.”
“You want me to do that? Impossible.” Simon shook his head vigorously. “You forget I’m looking after the count’s son. And Magdalena is all in a huff because I’m never around to care for the children.”
“They’ll get over it. Anyway…” The hangman stopped in the doorway and looked into the sunlight. “During the daylight, the sorcerer won’t dare show up; too many patients are awake. If he strikes, it will be at night. You can calmly go about caring for your patients during the day and keep watch over the novitiate master at night. It would be best to rub his wounds with an ointment of bear fat, marigold, and chamomile.” Raising his hand in a wave, he added, “Now farewell, bathhouse surgeon. I’ve not had anything to eat since noon yesterday-except for the berries and mushrooms I found in the forest.”
Simon wanted to tell his father-in-law one more thing, but Kuisl had already disappeared. Groaning softly, the exhausted medicus sat on the edge of Laurentius’s bed and stared down at his seriously injured patient.