He heard loud voices in the distance, perhaps night watchmen calling to one another. Georg shook his head, still clouded by alcohol. It would be best for him to pick up the children and get home as fast as possible, and. .
Georg’s heart skipped a beat as he remembered how he’d gotten to the Blue Lion. He’d left the boys with Jeremias. That was hours ago. Unless he was really lucky, Magdalena had long since come back home and would be sick with worry. She’d scratch his eyes out if he told her what happened. There was nothing he could do about that-it was the price he’d have to pay for getting drunk. At least the children were in good hands with Jeremias.
Jeremias.
Georg was about to continue on his way toward the City Hall Bridge when he stopped again. The name of the old custodian started him thinking. One thought that had been stirring in his alcohol-befuddled brain suddenly popped out. Standing there at that moment, in the cold autumn night, with freezing hands and water streaming from his hair, it all became clear.
He had seen something.
Something very suspicious that now, after the fact, brought all the pieces of the mosaic together to form a clear picture.
Jeremias. . the children. . the sword. .
Georg began to run.
In her cold, dark prison, Adelheid, the apothecary’s wife, made preparations for her imminent death.
She knew her death would come, sooner or later, in the form of that man whose hood she had ripped off the day before in her escape attempt. She just didn’t know the exact hour.
Or how she would die.
Her heart raced as she thought of all the instruments she’d seen in the torture chamber that had brought death to so many others before her. The rack, the sharp-pointed cone, glowing hot tongs, bronze boots, arm and leg screws. . Which one would the man use first? Which one last?
The candle had gone out hours ago, and since then the man hadn’t brought a new one. Darkness enveloped her like wet, black soil, and she felt as if she’d been buried alive. By now, she was sure her prison had to be somewhere in the forest. From time to time, as if through a heavy woolen blanket, she could hear the muffled chirping of birds and, when the wind was blowing especially hard outside, the cracking of branches. Since her eyes could see virtually nothing, her other senses had become all the more intense. She could smell the hard dirt floor, the mold on the walls, the tiny feces that the mice left in their nests and passageways. Sometimes she even thought she could hear the sound of roots growing all around her-a constant cracking and crunching-but that was probably her imagination.
Then there was the cold. In their house in Bamberg, the Rinswiesers had a cellar where they stored beer and other perishables. In the winter, Adelheid’s husband cut blocks of ice from the frozen Regnitz, which he stored deep under the house to keep things cool. Adelheid called this the ice hole, and it was as cold there in the middle of summer as in mid-February. She never stayed longer there than absolutely necessary.
And now she’d been lying here for many days in just such an ice hole. And it would probably be her grave.
She was surprised that the man hadn’t returned. There was still a tiny spark of hope in her. She couldn’t stop thinking how the man had cried the day before-an almost childlike sobbing. Or was that already the day before yesterday? It seemed he’d intended to take her to the horrible torture chamber, but then he’d changed his mind. When she recovered consciousness, she found herself tied to the bed like an animal awaiting slaughter. Her throat was sore from the leather noose he’d used when he almost strangled her, and it was hard for her to swallow. The clay cup next to the bed had fallen to the floor, so she was tormented with a terrible thirst that got worse by the hour. But until now, he had spared her. Why?
Suddenly the thought came to her that perhaps the man hadn’t spared her at all, but had chosen the worst of all tortures for her.
He’d just let her rot away down here, in this icy hole.
In her dark, cold grave.
“Help! Help!” she screamed. “Is anyone there? Anyone at all?”
But her throat was so sore and dry that her cries turned into a muffled rattle. She coughed and vomited sharp, acidic mucus.
I’ll slowly freeze here, dying of hunger and thirst. How long will it take? Two days? Three? Longer?
She struggled to sit up, but the leather straps were tied so tightly over her chest they took her breath away every time she moved.
Adelheid closed her eyes and tried to stay calm. She wasn’t dead yet, and she would fight to the end. There was still hope. If the man left her down here to die like a wounded animal, it would be the end for her, but if he came back, she would appeal for his sympathy. He had cried. She didn’t know why, but he had feelings. Since she’d seen his face, he was no longer a monster, but a person. Perhaps at that moment he’d viewed himself again as a person. Did he perhaps regret what he had done?
On the other hand, Adelheid also knew he couldn’t really allow her to live now. She had seen his face, she would recognize him.
If only for that reason, she had to die.
“Help!” she cried again but stopped when the pain in her throat became too severe. She broke out sobbing, though she knew that the tears were draining the last bit of fluid from her body.
How long would it still be? How long? How-
Suddenly, through her crying and wailing, she heard a soft sound. Adelheid froze in shock. Yes, something was there. Definitely. A scraping and scratching, and it came from somewhere above her.
“Is someone there?” she asked excitedly.
The scratching continued. Now she realized it came not from the ceiling, but from near the top of the wall. Was someone digging down to her? Had they finally found her?
“Here!” she cried out in a hoarse voice. “Here I am! Here-”
What happened then made her fall silent for a moment.
Something up there was growling loudly and deeply. There was an ugly rattling and a deep rumble, as if the mythical Cerberus, the hound of hell himself, had awakened from a long sleep.
My God, the monster! It’s outside. It’s digging down to me.
Adelheid held her breath. The scratching and scraping, which until just a moment ago had sounded so promising, suddenly had become an evil sound from the bowels of the earth.
Then she noticed a slight brightening in the room. It took some time for her to realize that a tiny ray of moonlight was coming from the same corner as the sounds, through a slit in the wall. Evidently there was a window up there that had been covered by soil, and now someone or something was digging its way down to the window.
Again she heard the terrifying growl.
She cringed. If it was an animal, it had to be very, very large, and it was trying to dig its way down to her.
The beast. God in heaven, protect me. Holy Saint Georg, protect me.
13
BAMBERG, TEN O’CLOCK AT NIGHT, NOVEMBER 1, 1668 AD
Without stopping to check if anyone was following him, Georg ran through the dark streets of Bamberg. A horrible thought had seized him with such force that at first he rejected it.
You’re just imagining things. Stay calm. Try to think things through, like Barbara or Magdalena would.
But the more he thought about it, the more anxious he became. The very possibility that his assumptions might be correct made him run faster and faster. He needed certainty. Perhaps it would have been better to ask his father for advice first, but now there was no time for that. Besides, who was to say he was right? It was quite possible he was just imagining things and would make a fool of himself in front of his father and the others. It was better, then, for him to check out his conclusions by himself. At least his fear had sobered him up somewhat.