It wasn’t coming from the dog compound.
He looked around. A sickly sweet odor from a pit several paces away on his left almost made him throw up. He could see scraps of fur and bones lying beneath a cover of white lime, and a black cloud of flies buzzed over it.
The garbage pit. At least in this respect Aloysius had not been lying.
Holding his breath, Jakob turned to the two nearest sheds. One of them was nothing but a hastily nailed-together shelter for storing wood. The other building was considerably larger, built of thick pine boards with a solid-looking door on the side and narrow slits at eye level around the exterior.
That was where the growling was coming from.
Jakob approached the door warily. He could see fresh footprints in the mud leading from the blockhouse to the shed and beyond. It was evident that someone had been here just a few moments ago. The hangman saw a bolt with a rusty padlock but, on closer inspection, realized the recent visitor had not closed it carefully and the bolt had not been slid over all the way.
Perhaps he intends to come right back.
The angry growling grew louder, deep and threatening, almost like that of a bear. Kuisl removed the lock from the bolt, placed it carefully on the ground, then began to slowly push the bolt aside.
Something scratched at the door.
He paused, then opened the door a tiny crack. Even if it was dangerous, he simply had to see what was in there. It was quite possible this something was the answer to many of his questions.
Suddenly he heard a sound behind him, and out of the corner of his eye saw a knotty cudgel coming at him. Instinctively he ducked, so that the blow hit him not on the back of the head but only on his shoulder. It came down with full force, however, so that it knocked him to the ground like a fallen tree, as mud and wet leaves splattered his face.
Before the stranger behind him could deliver a second blow, the hangman turned on his back and lifted his feet to kick his attacker. His eyes were covered with mud, but he could feel he’d scored a direct hit. His attacker groaned and fell over backward.
Jakob wiped the mud from his face, blinked his eyes, and saw Aloysius lying in front of him, whimpering and clutching his groin. Alongside him lay the club he’d use to strike the hangman.
“You rotten bastard,” Kuisl panted. “Just who the hell-”
“Watch out! The door!” shouted a voice.
Jakob saw his brother Bartholomäus jump out from behind the shed. Though he had a limp, the Bamberg executioner was as fast as the devil. He threw himself against the door while something heavy pushed on it from inside, barking and growling loudly. The door opened a crack and Kuisl saw a ghostly white body with two red, glowing eyes.
“Quick! Help me!” Bartholomäus shouted.
Jakob scrambled to his feet and shook himself, as if trying to forget a bad dream, then pushed with all his weight against the door to close it. With a gasp of relief, his brother bolted and padlocked the door. The angry barking continued for a while and the door and hinges shook, but they didn’t give way. Finally, the only sound was a soft growling and the moaning of Aloysius, who had managed to get back onto his feet.
“What in the world was that?” Jakob panted when he got his breath back.
“That?” Bartholomäus wiped the sweat from his forehead. “An alaunt, or, actually, two of them. If I hadn’t gotten here in time, they would have torn you apart like a baby deer. That would have been a fitting punishment for your curiosity.”
“An alaunt?” Kuisl tried to ignore the deep growling behind him. “What in God’s name is an alaunt?”
“It’s perhaps the most beautiful race of dog that God ever created. Strong, fearless, snow-white fur, the perfect hunting dog.” Bartholomäus took a deep breath, and his tone of voice softened. “Unfortunately, they almost died out in recent centuries. A few are still said to be living today in the Spanish Pyrenees. The alaunts were once the war dogs of an ancient tribe. They’re the ancestors of most large hounds today, like the powerful molossers and the mastiffs that we keep here for the bishop. .” He pointed to the dog compound and beamed with pride. “But the alaunts are the strongest and largest of them, with a body the size of a calf. I’ve been able to raise a litter of the hounds.” He looked lovingly toward the shed, where the growls turned to whimpers and happy barking. Evidently the dogs recognized their master’s voice. “Brutus, Damian, and Cerberus. They are my pride and joy.”
“You just said there were two dogs in there,” Kuisl said in a soft voice. “Tell me. . where is the third?”
Bartholomäus hesitated for a moment, then threw his hands up with a sigh. “Oh, what does it matter, sooner or later you would have figured it out anyway. Yes, the third dog ran away-my dear Brutus, the largest of them. Aloysius left the door open briefly while he was feeding them, and the damn thing ran off through the hawthorn bush and was gone.”
Jakob remembered the large white form he’d seen in the forest a few days before, and its strange growl-and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
“Are you telling me a beast like that is wandering through the forest out there, killing animals and people, only because my little brother has become a dog breeder?” he asked, trying to sound calm.
Bartholomäus rolled his eyes. “I know what you’re going to say-that Brutus is this werewolf. That’s what a lot of people would think if they knew about him. That’s the reason I haven’t told anyone, and why Aloysius and I have been looking for him. We’ve already gone as far as the river near where the hunt master lived, sticking our noses in all the caves and root holes. He’s got to be somewhere. Right, Aloysius? We’ll find him-if not today, then certainly very soon.”
He turned to his servant, who, in the meantime, had drawn closer and was still holding his groin, his face contorted with pain. Aloysius nodded meekly.
“Believe me, Jakob,” Bartholomäus pleaded. “Brutus has nothing to do with these horrible events. No doubt he’s killed a few animals in the forest, and he might be dangerous to a person walking alone there, but remember-some of the victims were killed in the city, and their severed limbs were found in Bamberg. That can’t have been Brutus. How would he have gotten into the city? Besides, he escaped only about a week ago, and these murders began much earlier. Believe me, he’s somewhere here in the forest.”
Jakob nodded hesitantly. It sounded like Bartholomäus was right. That would explain why both his brother and Aloysius had tried to keep him from looking behind the house, and why Aloysius had declared so emphatically that no one could steal the bishop’s hunting dogs.
“I assume the bishop knows nothing about the dogs you are breeding?” he asked.
His brother nodded. “If Philipp Rieneck knew, he’d certainly take the three and lock them up in his menagerie along with the apes, peacocks, and parrots. The bishop loves rare animals, but in one of those miserable cages the poor beasts would surely die. I know what I’m talking about. It’s my job to clean out the cages and feed the animals. The bear is a mere shadow of his former self, and the old gray baboon is getting meaner every year because he has no companion to play with.” Bartholomäus pinched his lips, and there was a hint of suspicion in his eyes. “In fact, he’s as possessive over the animals in the menagerie as over his own hunting dogs, though he certainly cares more for them than the many missing people.” Jakob had to wonder if his brother would ever feel as much love for Katharina or his future children as for his dogs.
“Why did you mark the entry on sleep sponges in Lonitzer’s herb almanac?” Jakob suddenly asked.
Bartholomäus looked at him in astonishment. “Why did I. .?” He paused, then shook his head in disbelief and laughed. “Come now, Jakob. Don’t tell me you really thought I drugged the young prostitute and then killed her. How could I have done that? After all, we were together when we found them. Please.”