Gasping for air, Georg ran through the deserted fish market toward the wedding house; the outer gate was still open. Normally, two guards were stationed here, but evidently they had more important things to do tonight. No doubt they were off somewhere hunting werewolves. Georg wished he could learn more about it, but first he had to make sure the children were safe.
He entered the dark interior court and turned right, toward the door to Jeremias’s room. He took a deep breath and listened, but couldn’t hear a sound-no voices, no cries of children. He knocked timidly.
“Who’s there?” came a voice from inside after a while. Georg thought it sounded nervous and tense.
“It’s me, Georg,” he whispered. “I’m sorry it got so late.”
A bolt was pushed aside and Jeremias’s scarred face appeared in the opening. He was smiling broadly.
“Ah, it’s only you,” he said with relief. “I thought something had happened to you. The guards have been reporting the most horrible things about what’s going on in the city.” He winked. “But looking at you, it seems you’ve been quenching your thirst a bit too much. Your first time getting really drunk, eh? Well, that can be terrifying.” He opened the door. “Come on in, I’ll help you get yourself together again.”
Georg entered the room and looked around. There was only a single candle burning on the table beside a board with chess pieces on it. The draft coming through the open door made the cage with the sleeping birds swing back and forth gently, and a mangy cat was dozing on the bed. He didn’t see the children anywhere.
“Where are the boys?” Georg asked anxiously.
Jeremias pointed toward a small door on the left next to the bookshelves. “I took them over to the bench by the stove in the tavern. It’s nice and warm there, and since the guards came and threw everyone out, it’s quiet and empty. Biff is watching them, so you don’t have to worry.” He pointed toward the bed with the straw mattress. “It would be better for you to spend the night here with the children. No doubt you’ve heard what’s going on out there tonight.”
Georg nodded absentmindedly. He sat down on a stool by the table while Jeremias busied himself at a little tile stove in one corner. Finally, the crippled old custodian turned around and handed Georg a steaming cup.
“Here, drink this,” he said. “It’s hot small beer mixed with honey and a few strong herbs-the best cure for the aftereffects of the accursed devil’s brew.”
“Bless you.” Georg gratefully took a sip. It tasted sweet and at the same time bitter, and in fact it did clear his head a bit.
“Do you play chess?” Georg asked after a while, pointing to the chessboard on the table. “Who with?”
Jeremias laughed. “Not with Peter yet, though the little fellow has a really good head on his shoulders. No, I play against myself.” He winked at Georg. “Believe me, I’m a merciless opponent.”
Georg gave a wan smile, and his gaze wandered over the medical books on the shelves, then farther across the floor to the chest, with whose contents the boys had been playing so enthusiastically that afternoon.
I was right, he thought, his heart pounding. At least regarding the medical books, my memory wasn’t deceiving me. And for the rest. . well, we’ll see.
“This is really an impressive library,” Georg began hesitantly. “I just realized my father has most of the same books.”
“Really?” Jeremias raised his eyebrows. “Well, there aren’t a lot of really good books about medicine. I’m sure you know that-”
“Lonitzer’s almanac of herbs and plants, for example,” Georg interrupted, pointing to a rather thin, dog-eared book whose title was easy to recognize on the book’s spine. “Uncle Bartholomäus has one of those, too. It’s a book consulted often by hangmen, because it contains many recipes on how to dispatch the condemned man quickly and, above all, painlessly into the hereafter. At least that’s what my uncle told me.” Georg hesitated for a moment. “There are also some instructions on what to do to a condemned man to break his resistance.”
Jeremias suddenly pricked up his ears. “Ah, indeed?” he said with surprise. “What, for example?”
“Well, it just happens my father told me of one method just recently,” Georg replied, his voice trembling a bit. His head felt dull and heavy, but he kept a careful eye on Jeremias. “There’s the so-called sleep sponge. It’s often used in surgical operations, as well, to sedate patients. My father thinks the victims of this werewolf were drugged first, to make them easier to take away and kill. Are you familiar with this sleep sponge?”
“The werewolf sedates streetwalkers and then rips open their rib cages? Is that what you’re thinking? Very original. Your father must be a very imaginative hangman.” Jeremias chortled, and the scars on his face seemed to spring strangely to life. Then he shrugged. “To answer your question, perhaps I have indeed heard about this sleep sponge. But unfortunately I don’t know anything more about it.”
“Really? That surprises me. After all, its main ingredients are standing right there on your bookshelf.” Georg pointed at the crucibles and vials. “Hyoscyamus niger, Papaver somniferum, and Conium maculatum. The first time I was here, I couldn’t make any sense of the Latin names, but later, in the tavern, they occurred to me: henbane, opium, and spotted hemlock.” He smiled between clenched lips. “I may not be as smart as Barbara, but sometimes I remember the seemingly most insignificant things. It must be true that alcohol doesn’t always make you dumber. Sometimes it helps you to figure things out.”
For a long while the only sound was the soft chirping of the birds in the cage. Some had been awakened by the conversation and were flapping their wings excitedly.
The crippled custodian with the scarred face continued looking at him cordially, but Georg thought he noticed an anxious flicker in the man’s eyes.
“I’ve always recommended alcohol as a means of healing,” Jeremias said finally. “It can be amazingly effective, especially if the patient is unaccustomed to it. The same is probably true for the sleep sponge.” He folded his arms and leaned back on the bed. “I have a hunch that alcohol has provided you with additional insights. Is that so?”
Georg nodded. “Indeed.” He took another sip of the stimulating drink before continuing. His voice sounded more confident now. “I told you before that my Latin was not so good. I always hated it when Father pestered me about it. But there’s no getting around the fact that hangmen have to learn Latin. Most of the books on healing are written in it, and that’s the way we earn most of our money-with healing, much more than killing. So every day I had to translate Latin with my father, and I’ve even remembered some of it. Barbara was always better, of course.” He looked at Jeremias approvingly. “Your Latin, by the way, is excellent, as far as I can tell. Recently you’ve spoken Latin with me several times. Homo homini lupus-man is a wolf to man. Do you remember? Those were your words.”
Jeremias smiled and raised his hands disarmingly. “Very well, I’ll admit I speak a respectable Latin, and I have a few herbs that I probably shouldn’t have, but so far your reflections have led you to no conclusions, and that surprises me. What else do you have, detective?” he asked, playfully shaking his scarred head.
Georg sipped his drink and thought some more before continuing, slowly, as if he was groping forward word by word.
“My father always told me, when we were learning Latin, that when you get lost, sit back and look at the whole sentence, not just the individual parts. They only make sense when you take them all together. With you, too, I’ve been looking at the whole thing, and there was a part I just couldn’t fit in anywhere-at first.”