If it kept raining like this, they’d have to hang him out to dry in the morning.
Back on the ground floor, he noticed the narrow door in the back wall leading to the riverbank. It, too, was barred on the inside. He opened it and went out onto the wharves. The wind whipped his coat around his legs. He saw the cargo ships, tugging at their moorings, bringing stone from the Drachenfels for the new cathedral. Between there and Three Kings Gate he could just make out two more entrances in the wall, but they were bound to be barred. Cursing, he went back in and climbed out of the yard in the same laborious manner he had come in. In Bayenstraße, panting and wheezing, he was close to giving up.
He looked around. The night watchmen patrolled here every hour. Their lantern was not to be seen. On to the next, then.
A pleasant surprise at last. Two worm-eaten planks were all that was left of the gate to the next yard. One wall less to climb over. Quickly he went in. Seeing nothing in the yard, he went to the door and pushed at it. It wasn’t barred and opened much more easily than he expected, so that he almost lost his balance and fell over. Steadying himself, he took out his torch as the door swung silently shut behind him. Once the tar was burning well he took a few steps forward.
In front of him was a large handcart. It didn’t look as if it belonged in this abandoned ruin and there were blankets strewn all over the floor. It made such a bizarre sight that he stood staring and it was a while before he sensed another noise apart from the howling of the wind. A faint whimpering, like a child or an injured animal. Hesitantly, he raised his torch higher and went around the cart. In the flickering light he saw a massive pillar. And another. And another.
The fourth pillar had eyes staring at him.
The girl had been tied to the stone with a large number of leather straps. She certainly wouldn’t be able to move a muscle. She had been gagged but not blindfolded. A mass of dark hair fell down over her forehead and onto her shoulders.
Despite the picture of misery she presented, Kuno let out a laugh of triumph. He rammed the torch firmly between the planks of the handcart, hurried back to the pillar, and untied the piece of cloth around her mouth. She spat out the gag herself.
“Oh, God!” she panted, then filled her lungs with air and coughed. “I thought I was going to suffocate.”
“What are you called?” Kuno asked in excitement.
“What?” She shook her head as if to clear it.
“That’s all right.” Kuno stroked her cheek reassuringly and took out his dagger. Quickly he began to cut through the straps tying her to the pillar. “Don’t worry, I’ve come to get you out. I’m a friend.”
“A friend?”
Her knees gave way, but Kuno caught her in time. She was still tied up with straps. Working calmly with his knife, he freed her legs, then her arms. She immediately tried to get to her feet and gave a loud groan. Her limbs must be completely numb.
“Wait, I’ll help you.”
“No.”
Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up by the pillar. “I have to do this myself. Who are you, anyway?”
“My name is Kuno.”
Quivering, she stood up and started to massage her wrists. She gave way at the knees again but managed to stop herself from falling.
“Did Jacob send you?” she asked, breathless. “Or Jaspar?”
“Jaspar?” Kuno echoed. Daniel had mentioned a dean and—“You mean the Fox?”
“Yes.” She staggered toward him and clutched him. “Where are they?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know. I don’t even know your name.”
“Richmodis. But then—”
“Do you think you can walk?”
“Just about.”
“Wait.” There were some poles leaned against one of the walls. “You need something to support yourself with.”
She saw what he was looking at and shook her head. “They’re no use, Kuno. They’re too heavy. I’ll manage.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. But how did you—”
“Later. We must get away from here.”
He hurried to the door. She was stumbling, but determined to keep up with him. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“I’ll take you to my house,” he said with a grin of satisfaction. “It’s just a short walk and the weather’s perfect, quite delightful. Take my arm.”
She smiled and Kuno opened the door.
Daniel was standing outside.
GODDERT
Goddert von Weiden felt as though he had been chopped up into pieces, then roughly sewn back together again. He hadn’t worked so hard for years. The bells were about to ring nine and he still wasn’t home. And as if that wasn’t enough, he was sopping wet. True, you could object that for the last two hours he had not so much been working as sitting drinking dark beer with one of his more generous customers. But they’d talked business, oh, yes, indeed.
You’re an old fool, Goddert told himself as he splashed his way through the mud toward the Brook. Who goes out in weather like this? He didn’t even meet a pig or dog. With every new torrent that poured over him he felt his rheumatism get worse and thought longingly of a warm fire and the contents of Jaspar’s cellar. Even the sound of his steps, the squelch as he pulled his feet out of the mud, seemed to mock him. Left, right, left, right—old, fool, old, fool.
Then he remembered Jacob and shook his head. Richmodis was right. What was he trying to prove? That the world would come to a standstill without Goddert von Weiden? Even more stupid was to try to compete with the younger man. No one else was interested and, anyway, he could only lose and make himself look ridiculous. No fool like an old fool.
He decided to apologize to Richmodis. He felt a flush of pride. Where was there a man big enough to ask his own daughter to forgive him? Then she’d tell him all the latest news about the strange story Jacob had got himself involved in, and he’d stretch out his feet in front of a roaring fire and thank God for the roof over his head.
His footsteps had stopped beating out “old fool.”
With rasping breath he plodded up the Brook to his house. The shutters were closed, no light could be seen through the gaps. Was Richmodis asleep already?
He went in. It was dark inside. “Richmodis?” he shouted, then clapped his hand to his lips. What a peasant he was. To wake the poor child. Then he remembered how busy he’d been all day. He’d earned some supper. And the fire was cold. What kind of way to behave was that, going to bed before your father had come home from a hard day’s work? She could at least have put a jug of wine out for him.
“Richmodis?”
He lit an oil lamp, then, grunting and groaning, went up to the bedroom. He stared in astonishment. She wasn’t there! She wasn’t home at all.
Of course she isn’t, you nincompoop, he told himself. She said she was going to see Jaspar, though what she really meant was that redhead. She’d still be sitting there, unable to tear herself away, while Jaspar kept refilling the glasses.
A cozy little party. A party without Goddert von Weiden?
Never!
Nodding sagely, he went back down, put out the lamp, and set off again.
THE WAREHOUSE
The man stood facing them with drawn sword. She had seen him before. His name was Daniel Overstolz. He had been a magistrate before Conrad von Hochstaden had broken the power of the patricians and redistributed the offices. Since then Daniel had the reputation in the city of being a philanderer who would chase after any skirt and was too fond of the bottle. He was seen often enough riding through the street with his cronies. The women liked him for his good looks and cheerful disposition, though he was also said to be heartless and not particularly intelligent.
He wasn’t good-looking at the moment. His hair was plastered all over his head and his face oddly puffy and twisted.
“Judas,” he hissed.
Kuno took her arm and stepped back. “Take it easy, Daniel. You’ve got it wrong.”
br /> Daniel Overstolz followed them and they fell back again. “Oh, yes?” sneered Daniel. “I’ve got it wrong, have I? Where were you off to with your little tart, then?”
“Daniel, please, there’s no point in us fighting.”
“Oh. Please, is it? I’m flattered. Not long ago you were at my throat, now you’re dripping with politeness and respect. Who do you think you are, you bastard? You think yourself so superior, don’t you, you sanctimonious prig. Traitor! What gives you the right to destroy our alliance and send us all to the gallows?”
Kuno raised his hands in appeasement. “That’s not it,” he said urgently. “Don’t you see, the alliance is already broken. We’ve done too many things that are wrong. That wasn’t what we agreed. That wasn’t what we were supposed to be fighting for.”
Daniel stared at him, a grim look on his face, then at Richmodis. Without knowing what it was all about, she nodded. “Kuno’s right, we—”
“You’ll keep your mouth shut, you damn whore,” he screamed at her. With a couple of strides he was beside her and pulled her away from Kuno by the hair. She tried to resist, but her aching legs gave way and she fell to the ground. Horrified, Kuno jumped to her aid. The next moment the point of Daniel’s sword was at his chest.
“Not a step closer, rat.”
“Daniel,” said Kuno. His voice was trembling, but he kept himself under control. “We have to talk about this. You were a magistrate yourself—”
“Was a magistrate. Yes.”
“You dispensed justice. Have you forgotten? You were a good judge; people admired and respected you because you weren’t corrupt. You despised violence and sought the truth. You would never have shed the blood of innocent people.”
Richmodis stood up, trembling. Daniel was still holding her hair, but he didn’t move.
Cautiously, Kuno raised his hand and slowly pushed the sword to one side. Then he took a step toward them. His eyes were shining.
“Think back, Daniel. Think how important justice was to you. We all subscribed to a common goal because we believed in a higher justice. I still believe in it. Our goal was good, but it led to evil the moment innocent people were sacrificed for it. Look into your heart, Daniel. You lost your position, but not your self-respect. I know what loss means. I lost my parents and my only friend; in our blindness we sacrificed him. I blame myself as much as the rest of you. I know how you feel; I can understand the fury, the disappointment, the longing for revenge. Revenge is sweet, but forgiveness is sweeter, Daniel, far sweeter. Please help me to put an end to this madness.”
“Don’t move.”
“All right, Daniel, all right.”
Daniel twisted Richmodis’s head around so she was facing him. “A fine speech. What do you think? I’d like to hear your opinion.”
She looked into his eyes, fear tightening her throat. “Yes,” she whispered. “Kuno’s right. You should listen to him. I don’t know what this is all about, but I’m sure you’re not bad. I believe what you really want is peace.”
“Do you hear?” said Kuno, hope in his voice.
Daniel still had not moved. Then he nodded deliberately. “It’s nice that you believe in me. It’s truly wonderful to know.” He grinned. “That means it will be an even greater pleasure to send you both to hell.” He broke out into wild laughter and raised his sword. “Good-bye, fools. For your information, Kuno, I took whatever bribes I could. I wasn’t interested in justice, but I had power, d’you understand, Kuno, power. That’s what it was all about, power. And now I have the power to chop off your head, then rape this whore here before I send her after you and—urrrrgh!”
Like lightning, Richmodis had bent down and slammed her elbow into Daniel’s stomach. He doubled up. Kuno hit him on the back of the neck, sending him tumbling to the ground.
“Run!” Kuno shouted.
Daniel’s sword came up and stabbed Kuno in the leg. He groaned and staggered back, his hand feeling for his dagger.
When Daniel got to his feet, his face was twisted in a mask that had nothing human about it. He growled like a wolf. As his blade came slashing down, Kuno just managed to avoid it, but tripped and fell.
Richmodis looked around in desperation. Her eye fell on the heavy poles by the pillar.
“Run, for God’s sake,” Kuno shouted, rolling over to one side as Daniel’s sword came crashing down on the stones in a shower of sparks. The next moment he had his dagger in his hand.
“Bastard!” panted Daniel.
She couldn’t just run away. There seemed to be a thousand knives pricking at her as she hurried over to the pillar and grabbed one of the poles. It was heavy and splintery.
Kuno was defending himself desperately. He got back to his feet, warding off Daniel’s blows with his dagger. The blood was running down his thigh.
An angry hissing came from Daniel’s throat. He fell on his opponent again. The storeroom echoed with the clash of iron and Kuno’s dagger flew out of his hand in a high arc. Daniel laughed and plunged his sword in Kuno’s side. When he pulled it out, it was red with blood.
Kuno stared at him in disbelief. Then he fell to his knees.
“Farewell, Kuno dear,” Daniel panted, his sword uplifted for the final blow.
“Daniel!” Richmodis shouted, raising her improvised club.
Daniel turned and understood—too late. The club came swinging down and smashed into his face, the impact sending him flying over Kuno. He landed on his back with a thud and the sword fell out of his hand.
Richmodis dropped the pole, grabbed the sword, and raised it above her head.
“No!” Kuno groaned. “Don’t!”
He was holding one hand to his side. The other was stretched out toward Richmodis. “No. We must—get away. Leave him—”
Breathing heavily, the sword still raised, Richmodis stood over Daniel, who was covering his face with his hands and whimpering.
“Yes,” she said hoarsely.
“You’ll have to—support me. Give—give me the sword.” Kuno was deathly pale. Richmodis tried to pull him up. He pushed himself off the ground and managed to get his arm around her shoulders.
“Where’s your house?”
He shook his head. “We can’t go there. Not now. If Urquhart finds out—”
“Don’t talk,” said Richmodis grimly. “Try to keep going for a while.”
She grasped him firmly and together they staggered out into the storm.
GODDERT
Goddert pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders and walked as fast as his short legs would carry him. He had nothing against rain, but this was too much of a good thing. Was the time at hand? The apocalypse?
For a brief moment he thought he could see the night watchman’s lantern in the distance by St. Severin’s Gate; then another squall came, blurring everything.
“Urgghhh,” said Goddert, giving precise expression to his opinion of the meteorological situation as he shook himself and knocked on Jaspar’s door. “What are you up to in there? I need a drink.”
No answer. That really was the limit. His late wife’s brother was not inviting him in. He gave the door a vindictive thump. It swung open.
Goddert peered in. It was pitch dark in here as well, just a faint glow from the ashes in the fireplace. Where the hell were they all? And why hadn’t he brought a lantern? Just like an old fool.
He felt his way in and tried to think where Jaspar kept his candles. Since he was here, he might as well have a drink. Someone who had been out in this awful weather twice now could hardly be expected to go home unfortified. Jaspar surely wouldn’t object to him having one for the road, however much he kept saying he preferred to be asked.
Throwing his wet cloak into a corner, he felt his way along the table to the bench by the fire. He needed to sit down. By this time his eyes had become more used to the darkness. Was that a candlestick on the table? He grasped it, carried it over to the fireplace, and tried to light the wick from the embers. After a couple of attem
pts, he succeeded. Pleased with himself, he took the candlestick back to the table to leave it there while he went to look for something to drink.
He saw Rolof.
He froze.
“Our Father, who art in heaven,” he whispered.
He began to tremble uncontrollably. The candlestick fell to the floor and the candle went out. Stumbling, he backed toward the door. “Richmodis,” he moaned, “Jaspar, Rolof. Oh, God, what shall I do, oh, Lord, what—”
A heavy hand was placed on his shoulder. “Nothing,” said a voice.
THE WAREHOUSE
Daniel was crawling nowhere on all fours. Every direction was the same. There was a flicker of light in front of his eyes, but the light came from inside his head. Otherwise he couldn’t see anything at all.
He felt his face. His nose and forehead hurt horribly. His fingers touched something wet and sticky. A terrible thought came into his head.
The whore had knocked his eyes out.
It brought him to his feet. With a howl of rage he set off running blindly, tripped over something, and fell flat on his face. Once more he pulled himself up. Someone was whimpering. He tried to work out where the noise was coming from until he realized he was making it himself. Both hands stretched out in front; he cautiously stepped forward without the slightest idea where he was heading. His fingers encountered masonry. After a while they came to a corner. He would keep feeling his way, he decided, until he found the door. Then across the courtyard and along the house walls—
Suddenly his fingers felt a different texture. Cloth.