He looked into the hallway once more. He could hear the countess sobbing in the sick room while her husband murmured some words of consolation. Hesitating briefly, Simon slipped into the room and hurried to the table. Frantically he searched the documents, which were all written in Latin and clearly dealt with the monastery’s relics. Instinctively, he stopped.
What in the world did the count have to do with the relics?
Simon discovered a list of dozens of items in the holy chapel, among them the victory cross of Charlemagne, the stole of Saint Nicolas, and a sudarium from the Mount of Olives.
Other ancient parchment rolls here dealt with the history of the Wittelsbachs and of the monastery. Hastily, Simon scanned the ones telling of the earlier castle of the Andechs-Meranier, its destruction by the Wittelsbachs, and the founding of the monastery of Andechs. He learned of the miraculous discovery of the relics that had been hidden during the storming of the castle and had come to light only centuries later, thanks to a mouse. He read of the increasing crowds of pilgrims, and he read that the relics had often been hidden or spirited away in times of war. None of this was really news to Simon, who had read it all before in the small Andechs chronicle. New, however, was another parchment sheet lying among the others on the table.
A map.
Torn on the edges and burned in places, the map clearly showed the outlines of a castle, with corridors that branched off into labyrinths and ended in several marked exits. A few trees sketched in around the castle suggested a forest, and below that there seemed to be a lake and some rocks indicating cliffs. After a while Simon was able to decipher a few hastily scribbled words.
Hic est porta ad loca infera…
“Here is the gateway to the underworld,” he mumbled. “What in God’s name…”
He was just bending over to examine the map closer when a sound caused him to spin around. Footsteps in the corridor. In a panic, the medicus looked for some way to escape, but the only way out was a large glass window at the back of the room. He ran toward it, turned the knob in the middle, and opened it. Looking down, he could feel his legs wobble under him.
God, don’t let this be the only way out of here.
Two stories below was the deserted courtyard. Beneath the window, a narrow ledge-about a hand’s-breadth in width-ran along the entire front of the building.
The footsteps in the hallway came to a stop just outside the office door. Simon crossed himself one final time, then stepped out on the ledge, closed the window, and moved one step to the right so he was not visible from inside. And not a second too soon, for in the next moment, he heard the latch being pressed and someone entering the room.
I hope he doesn’t notice that the window is ajar, Simon thought. If the count closes the window, my only option is to jump or knock politely and ask to be hanged.
He heard the easy chair in the office being moved aside.
He’s sitting down. The count is sitting down. Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus, don’t let him nod off. I can’t stand being out here that long.
Simon tried not to look down, but out of the corner of his eye he could see the ground fifty feet below seemingly reaching up to him. He sensed he was going to pass out, and his legs felt like rotting wood beneath him. An invisible force seemed to pull him toward the abyss.
Just as he was about to lose all hope, he heard the scraping of the armchair again, then the door to the corridor squeak closed.
Simon waited a few seconds, then worked his way carefully back toward the window. Casting a sidelong glance into the room behind the glass, he finally pushed the door open with a gentle, silent swing. He tiptoed back into the room and closed the window again. His jacket was soaked in sweat, and his knees so weak that walking on the parquet beneath him felt like wading through a deep swamp.
With three deep breaths, he hurried silently to the door where he first listened and then rushed out into the empty corridor. A few moments later, Simon hobbled past the guards at the door and nearly tumbled down the stairway.
“Everything… Everything is fine,” he shouted, his voice cracking, though he tried to sound more or less normal. “Just a bit tired. Now let’s all pray for the little count. Good night.”
“Did you see how ashen the bathhouse surgeon was?” the fat watchman asked, as Simon disappeared down the stairs. “If you ask me, he caught an infection from the little one.”
“Shady quack doctor,” the other hissed. “I’ll bet the count will have him hanged if that blasted fever doesn’t get him first.” He sighed, scratching himself hard between the legs. “It’s really time for us to get out of this hellhole.”
Simon staggered out into the courtyard and looked up at the ledge where he’d stood just a few minutes before. Just the sight made his head spin again. Deep in thought, he walked through the inner gate leading from the courtyard into the narrow lanes in front of the monastery, where he was immediately engulfed in an unending stream of noisy pilgrims.
His head was spinning, due only in small part to his experience on the ledge. What sort of map had he seen on the table in the count’s study? Was it the same the librarian was so eager to find, the map showing the way to the monks’ subterranean hiding place? And what was the strange reference to a door into the underworld?
The more the medicus thought about it, the more he was convinced that Leopold von Wartenberg was somehow implicated in the strange events taking place in the monastery. The count was clearly involved in the matter of the relics, and had been sent there personally by the elector for some mysterious reason. Besides that, he had a map presumably showing the corridors in the basement of the old castle-the same ones haunted by a golem, and the same ones where the effeminate novitiate master had almost met his death.
Simon pushed his way past the pilgrims as he hurried back to the clinic, where he’d last left the Andechs chronicle. In his free time, he’d leafed through it again and again, and now he positively had to read the little book to the end. Perhaps there was something in the little book pointing to what the count was searching for here. Or was the count himself the sorcerer?
As Simon entered the clinic, he was met by a dejected Jakob Schreevogl. The whole clinic stank of urine and garbage, Schreevogl’s jacket was smeared with sweat and dirt. The stress of the last few days was clearly visible in the face of the Schongau councilor.
“We have another death to announce,” the patrician said softly.
Simon’s heart skipped a beat. “Not Brother Laurentius, I hope?”
Schreevogl shook his head. “It’s one of our Schongau masons, Andre Losch. God rest his soul.” He sighed deeply. “I still can’t believe it. Andre was such a bear of a man. Three days ago, he was carousing with the other master masons in the tavern and suddenly-”
“Just a moment,” Simon interrupted. “In the tavern, you said?”
Schreevogl nodded. “That’s right. All three were brought here with high fevers, along with the Twangler brothers, but Andre’s case was the worst.”
Simon remembered now what had been bothering him during his conversation with the count. Leopold von Wartenberg mentioned his family had also dined in the monastery tavern.
And only now did it occur to the medicus that other patients had been there as well-not just Losch, but little Martin and the Twangler brothers, too.
Evidently many of the more well-to-do pilgrims had eaten there, and Simon could see now that the sickness seemed to especially affect those with means to eat there.
He chewed his lower lip as he turned this over in his mind. Did the fever have some connection with the tavern? What could it be?
Suddenly he had a terrible suspicion.