For example, to good-looking, suntanned lads like Matheo.
But in the next moment she saw what a fool she was. She didn’t understand what was going on inside her. Recalling her conversation with the attractive young man, she suddenly felt so incredibly foolish, simply ridiculous. She felt as if he could see right through her. Hadn’t he flashed her that strange smile, as if he could read her thoughts?
She slowed her pace as she gradually calmed down. Her frantic flight was actually pretty stupid. What had really happened? Magdalena had only teased her a little. That harmless ribbing was just the drop that caused the barrel to overflow. The long trip, the bizarre severed arm on the riverbank, her happy reunion with Georg. . The stress and excitement were probably getting to her. She hadn’t seen her twin brother for two years, but his greeting the night before had seemed cool to her. Yes, Georg had been glad to see her, but she’d thought he would at least want to spend the next day with her. Instead, he went out to flay an old horse, and she went shopping for her future aunt.
The things they’d bought. .
Suddenly she stopped. She had left her packages up in the wedding house! Should she turn around? Surely then she would meet her big sister, and she had no desire to talk with Magdalena. She was still too ashamed because of her bad behavior. Besides, Magdalena had probably picked up the packages of onions, tobacco, and herbs and was on her way back to the hangman’s house. She could put it out of her mind and keep going.
Barbara looked around to see where she was. She had left the noisy harbor behind and was walking down a wide street toward the city moat. On an impulse, she turned into a narrow lane lined by houses crowded closely together. The roofs almost touched, so that only a few rays of sunlight reached the ground. There was no more crying of fishwives to be heard, and the only sound was that of a faraway church bell.
She soon realized she had gotten into a real labyrinth. In all directions there were intersections and forks in the road leading to shadowy squares and niches. Here and there were stinking, gurgling ditches, which after a few feet disappeared under a small bridge or house. Only occasionally did she see any pedestrians, but she was too afraid to ask for directions. Strangers weren’t welcomed anywhere, she knew from her experiences in Schongau.
She was about to take a turn into another side street when she felt a burning sensation between her shoulder blades, a gnawing and itching, as if someone were watching her. She turned around and just caught a glimpse of a gray, indistinct figure scampering over one of the low-hanging roofs. She heard a scratching sound, and a roof shingle fell directly at her feet.
“For heaven’s sake. .,” she said, but then fell silent on hearing a thumping sound coming from the house in front of her.
Somewhere inside, a door squeaked.
As she examined the house more closely, it occurred to her how deserted it seemed. The shutters were askew, the paint had flaked off, and the roof had partly caved in so that the exposed rafters looked like gnawed-off ribs. This had to be one of the abandoned houses they had all noticed the night before.
Now sounds could be heard inside. Someone was running down the stairs.
Or perhaps something, Barbara suddenly thought.
She recalled the horror stories about the beast, and all the severed body parts that had been found both in and outside of the city.
Suddenly she felt entirely alone and forsaken.
“Is. . is someone there?” she asked in a hoarse voice.
Though everything inside her was screaming for her to turn and run as fast as she could, she moved forward as if being pulled by an invisible string in the direction of a run-down cottage. As the hangman’s daughter, Barbara had inherited from her father not just his obstinacy and love of books but also his notorious curiosity.
I don’t have to actually go inside, she thought, just have a quick look.
With a pounding heart she stepped to the window, whose rotted shutters were hanging open. It was so high she had to pull herself up to peer over the windowsill. In front of her she saw an empty room with an oak parquet flooring that had been partially torn up, presumably for use as firewood. The ruins of a tile stove were scattered about, moldy rags were lying in a corner, a rusty candelabra was-
“Hey, what the hell are you doing here? Snooping around?”
A guard’s face had appeared so suddenly in the window that Barbara screamed, let go of the windowsill, and fell back into the dirt. She stared open-mouthed at the guard, who was wearing a metal helmet and a rusty chain-mail shirt, and for a moment she took him to be a furry beast.
“Don’t you know these abandoned houses are off-limits, you filthy brat?” he said.
Now a second, older guard appeared alongside him and placed his hand on his colleague’s shoulder. “Take it easy,” he said, trying to calm the younger man down. “When we were kids, we were curious, too, always wondering what was going on in the abandoned houses. The girl wasn’t up to any mischief.”
“You know exactly what the captain said,” the first guard whispered hoarsely. “No witnesses. Suppose-”
“Shh.” The older man pulled him away from the window. “You’ve already said too much.” He smiled and turned to Barbara. “And you, scram. There are no treasures or ghosts here, only garbage and rats.” Suddenly he frowned. “Who are you, anyway? I’ve never seen you before.”
“I. . I’m just visiting my uncle,” Barbara replied, scrambling to get up on her feet. “Sorry to disturb you. I’m leaving.”
She ran down the narrow, shaded lane as the guard ran after her, shouting.
“Hey, little girl! Which uncle do you mean? Stop!”
But she didn’t stop; she kept on running until she finally saw sunlight in front of her again. As she stepped out of the labyrinth of gloomy lanes, she was relieved to see she had reached the city moat. It stank of decay and feces, but at least she felt the sun on her face again.
By the time Barbara arrived at the hangman’s house shortly thereafter, the incident with the guards was nothing but a distant memory.
Just as Magdalena was running out of the wedding house on her way to the harbor, she remembered the package that Barbara had put down earlier beside the stage. The little brat was so angry at her older sister that she’d forgotten it.
“Damn it, is it my job to look after everything?”
She cursed as she ran back through the portal and up the stairs. If she showed up at the hangman’s house without the things she’d bought, Katharina would be terribly disappointed-to say nothing of her father, impatient for his tobacco. She walked out onto the dance floor, grabbed the bundle, and hurried back out, intending to give her saucy little sister a good tongue-lashing.
The actors were too busy to notice her. Just the same, Magdalena had to smile. It looked like Barbara had fallen for the suntanned youth.
She’s growing up. It won’t be long before she’ll start driving Father crazy with stories about her boyfriends. And why won’t the old man treat her the same as he did me?
On the stair landing, she heard a mumbling voice coming from a chamber off to one side. Curious, she turned and saw a room full of old chests and theater props. Markus Salter, the playwright, was standing with his back to her, leaning over a small trunk, whispering in an indulgent tone, almost as if speaking with a child. When he glanced over his shoulder and saw Magdalena, he quickly closed the trunk and turned to her. He looked as if he’d been caught doing something forbidden.