“Please be careful,” Jeremias scolded, pointing at the walls covered with damp mold and saltpeter, “or the crypt will soon have two new inhabitants.”
Jakob looked around carefully. Only now did he notice how brittle and crumbling the walls of the corridor were. He now also noticed niches hidden in the shadows, from which the empty eye sockets of human skulls glared back at him, surrounded by splintered arm and leg bones and a few rib cages covered with moss and mold. As they continued forward, the niches became more numerous, and soon the two intruders were surrounded by crowds of the dead waiting in the stone rooms for life to return. Jakob couldn’t help remembering that today was All Souls’ Day.
It’s been a long time since anyone brought any soul bread down here to these poor wretches. Will they rise up out of purgatory today just the same?
“We’re now in what is probably the oldest section of Bamberg,” Jeremias whispered to him. “There was a castle on this hill long before King Henry II, the last of the Ottos, built the first cathedral here, and no one knows how long these bones have lain here. Perhaps even a few of the first Babenberg counts are among them. They must have been a rather debauched crowd.”
“I don’t give a damn who’s here as long as they don’t get in my way with their bones,” Jakob growled. He pointed ahead, where some of the bones had evidently fallen out of their niches. Skulls and large thighbones were piled up, blocking the tunnel.
“What a hell of a mess,” Jeremias hissed. “As I said, it’s been a long time since anyone cleaned this place up. Evidently, the tunnel has been completely forgotten in the last decades. Well, all the better for us.” He kicked the bones aside, and his feet made a crunching sound as he moved ahead. Suddenly he leaned down and picked up a skull.
“Well, look at this,” he said, turning to Jakob and pointing to a fist-sized hole in the back. “What’s your professional opinion, my dear cousin and colleague? Was it a club, a morningstar, or-”
“Didn’t you say we only had an hour?” Jakob interrupted. “Quit fooling around and keep moving, or you can lie down and join them.”
With a sigh, Jeremias dropped the skull and moved ahead. Twice again they had to climb over mounds of bones, then they came to a winding staircase with worn steps that led upward. Finally they found themselves before a weathered wooden door covered in cobwebs.
“Thank God, the door is still here,” Jeremias exclaimed with relief. “Now I can tell you. I was afraid they’d walled it up in the meantime.”
He took out a ring of keys and grunted as he struggled to open the lock.
“I’ll bet no one has oiled this in a long time. I don’t know if I-”
“Get out of my way,” said Jakob, pushing Jeremias aside. He turned the key, the lock creaked and finally gave way, and then he pushed against the door. It opened with a hideous squeal.
“Jesus, not so loud,” Jeremias moaned. “I hope they’re all up there at the mass, but you never know if these pale, work-addicted archivists ever take a break.”
They entered a paneled corridor that branched off in two directions. When Jakob turned around, he could see that the door they’d closed behind them was almost invisible between the individual wooden panels, with only the door lock to indicate a hidden passage.
“The corridor to the right goes to the council room,” Jeremias whispered, “and the one on the left to the bishop’s archive. Keep moving, now, we don’t have much more time.”
He hurried ahead, and soon they were standing in a wide hallway with boxes and shelves full of parchment rolls, notebooks, and tattered documents on both sides. By the dim light of the candles, the corridor looked endless.
“Damn it! How are we going to find an individual document here?” Jakob cursed. “This is worse than a needle in a haystack.”
“Not really,” Jeremias replied. “The inquisitors in those days were perhaps cruel, but also extremely conscientious. Several times, I had to deliver the minutes of individual sessions here. They’re arranged by year. See for yourself.”
The old man had been shuffling along past the shelves and boxes, but then he stopped and pointed at a tiny brass plaque affixed to the side of one shelf and bearing the number 1625.
“At best, we have only until the cathedral bells ring again,” Jeremias warned him. “Then we’ll have to go back. So let’s get started. What do you think-in what year might the trial have taken place?”
“How should I know?” Kuisl replied. “For God’s sake, you were the hangman then.”
“Calm down, you’re right.” Jeremias raised his hand apologetically, then put it to his scarred nose. “So, let me think. The first great wave of persecutions was, I think, in 1612, but at that time I was just a young boy, and my father was the executioner here. So it must have been later, when the current victims or their relatives were already on the Witches Commission. Do you have the list with you?”
Jakob nodded and pulled out a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket. Just that morning he’d made a list of all the victims of the supposed Bamberg werewolf. There were six names on the list.
Klaus Schwarzkontz
Thadäus Vasold
Agnes Gotzendörfer
Barbara Leupnitz
Johanna Steinhofer
Adelheid Rinswieser
“Let’s have a look,” Jeremias murmured. “The first two victims were, in fact, commission members at the time, I’m sure of that, and so was Egidius Gotzendörfer, the late husband of Agnrd Gotzendörfer. Barbara Leupnitz was the daughter of Johannes Schramb, one of the scribes at the time-”
“We know all that already,” Jakob interrupted impatiently, tapping his gnarled finger on the two remaining names. “What about Johanna Steinhofer and Adelheid Rinswieser? Could you find out anything about them?”
“Well, guess what?” said Jeremias with a grin. “I asked Berthold Lamprecht, the tavern keeper of the Wild Man, as I told you I would, pretending I felt bad about the two young women and asking about their parents. And lo and behold, Johanna Steinhofer also comes from a good family. She’s the granddaughter of Julius Herrenberger, a very influential patrician at the time who died some years ago. I remember that he, too, was on some of the Witches Commissions.”
“And how about the last one?” Jakob asked. “This Rinswieser?”
“Bull’s-eye.” Jeremiah nodded his confirmation. “Adelheid Rinswieser is the youngest daughter of Paulus Braun-now deceased, but at one time a social climber who, despite his youth, managed to get a position in the city council with trickery, money, and cunning. I assume he also sat on one of the commissions, though I honestly can’t remember him. Oh, and by the way, Johanna Steinhofer’s fiancé and Adelheid Rinswieser’s husband are now on the current council.” Jeremias grinned and rubbed his thumb and index finger together. “Money is attracted to money.”
Jakob frowned without commenting on Jeremias’s last words. Looking around, he discovered a small desk in a niche with a quill and ink pot. He quickly unfolded the note, crossed out some names, and wrote some new ones alongside.
Klaus Schwarzkontz
Thadäus Vasold