But it wasn’t just his visit to Theuerstadt that was a total disaster, it was the entire trip. He’d come here for only one reason, to finally see his son Georg again after two years—only to find that his uncle had completely spoiled him. Georg had become rebellious and impudent, and even worse, he stood up to his own father and defended his uncle. The fight in the street the day before had brought them somewhat closer together, but Georg’s attitude revealed that Bartholomäus had told him more than Jakob wished.
“I don’t know what all this fuss is about for the wedding,” Jakob grumbled, struggling to make his way across the wooden bridge behind the agonizingly slow carts, holding both boys by the hands. Below them, the right branch of the Regnitz flowed along lazily. “Your mother and I didn’t need to have any big party back then. There wasn’t any money for it, anyway. We invited the midwife Stechlin, the knacker and his servant, and the night watchman—that was it, and we all had a good time just the same, without all these so-called friends, cousins, aunts, and uncles, who just want to hang around all day eating the free food.”
Magdalena scowled at her father. “Didn’t you want to have your sister and brother there for the celebration?”
“Hah! Ask Bartl. He never would have come to my wedding.”
“But why?” Magdalena took her father by the arm and stopped for a moment. “Something happened between you two. Don’t you want to tell me?”
“Maybe some other time. I’m tired now, and if I’m not mistaken, we still have one more thing to get for my future sister-in-law. So come along.”
Jakob pulled himself away and stomped ahead, through the Bamberg Gate and down the little lane leading to the Fishermen’s Quarter north of the city hall on the left branch of the Regnitz. Magdalena and the children followed at a distance.
They had promised Katharina to ask the furrier about finding them a piece of fox fur for the hem of her wedding dress. Jakob’s sister-in-law had given them precise directions, but it was difficult to find the right house in the labyrinth of tiny, winding streets, many of which ended at the water’s edge. Water rushed past the dilapidated piers, where the boats bobbed up and down in the stream. Many of the half-timbered buildings had boat sheds opening onto the river, and the air was heavy with the smells of rotting fish and moldy nets spread out to dry between wooden poles on the docks and balconies.
Several of the fishermen eyed Jakob Kuisl cautiously as he stepped out of an alley leading straight to the piers. In front of a small half-timbered house on the left, a number of leather hides fluttered in the wind, slapping noisily against the wall of the building, where a bloody deer hide had been hung on a wooden frame to dry. Jakob turned around to Magdalena.
“This is probably the house,” he said. “It would be best for you to stay outside on the pier with the children, so they don’t fall in and drown. I’ll be right back.”
He knocked, and a small old man immediately opened the door. He had a wrinkled, unshaven face that was barely visible under his bearskin cap, and he gave off a moldy smell more familiar to Jakob than that of violets and pansies.
“What do you want?” growled the old man. “Did Johannes the leatherworker send you? Tell that greedy bastard I’m not finished with the tanning, but just the same I’m not going down one kreuzer on the price.”
“Katharina, the fiancée of the Bamberg executioner, has sent me,” Kuisl responded. “She needs a nice fox fur for her wedding.”
“Ah, the wedding of the executioner.” The man grinned, revealing his three remaining teeth. “There’s a lot of tongues wagging because the innkeeper of the Wild Man is letting the hangman celebrate in his place. But we all stink the same when the devil takes us away to the dance.” He giggled. “I would know—I’m the furrier, after all. Come in, big fellow.”
He motioned for Jakob to enter the cottage. The hangman had to duck to get through the low doorway. A magnificent bearskin hung over a chest, empty eye sockets staring at the hangman and, below them, a huge mouthful of sharp teeth. The furs of martens, weasels, and polecats lay on a table in the middle of the room next to some scraping knives, and a string of rabbits hung by their ears from a stick over the oven. There was a smell in the room of the wild, the hunt, and death.
“And are you sure Katharina doesn’t want badger fur?” the old furrier asked, rummaging through some furs on the table. Finally he pulled out a beautiful black piece and waved it in front of Kuisl’s face. “That’s much more impressive, while it’s still one of the furs that those in her social caste are allowed to wear.” He stopped and looked suspiciously at the Schongau hangman. “Who are you, anyway? I’ve never seen you here before.”
“Just a member of the family,” Kuisl replied curtly. Then he shrugged. “Katharina wants a fox fur, so that’s what I’ll bring her. What does it cost?”
The little old man waved him off. Putting the badger fur aside, he reached into a trunk containing some musty-smelling, rather shabby-looking remnants. “Keep your money, big fellow. It’s never a bad idea to stay on good terms with the future wife of the executioner, is it? Anyway, fox is not an expensive fur like ermine.” He handed Kuisl a reddish fur full of holes. “Here, take it. The creature got caught last week in one of my rabbit traps. It was foaming at the mouth and snapping in all directions before I killed it. If you ask me, the thing had rabies, a terrible sickness going around in the forests now. My brother-in-law’s nephew was bitten a few years ago by an infected fox, and now . . .”
He paused when he saw Kuisl leaning over the trunk and pulling out another fur. The hangman held it in his hand, thinking. It was dark gray, with a long tail and sharp claws.
“Why are you interested in the wolf skin?” the old man grumbled. “I can’t believe Katharina wants to have the big, bad wolf decorating the hem of her wedding dress.” He waved him off, giggling. “That’s just something for poor people. I’m happy I was able to sell five of them all at once a few days ago. Otherwise, who knows how long they would have been rotting away here.”
“What did you do?” Kuisl stared at the furrier as if he’d just seen a ghost.
The little old man shrugged, not knowing quite how to answer. “Well, uh, I also found it a bit strange, because no one actually wants to have wolf skins. They say it brings misfortune. Especially now, when this werewolf is supposed to be prowling around the city. But if someone offers you a good price for these old, battered things, you don’t ask. I still have two of them, so if you want—”
“What did the man look like?” Jakob interrupted.
The old man pushed his fur cap back on his head and started thinking. “I can’t remember very well, which is funny, actually, because I usually have such a good memory for these things. Hm, wait . . .” His face brightened. “Now I remember. He had a beard, and a kind of floppy hat, and he was wearing a broad cape. Exactly!”
Kuisl spat on the floor. “That describes about every other person you bump into on the street. Can’t you remember anything else?”
“Unfortunately not.” The old man frowned. “Why is it so important for you to know?”
“Thanks for the fox,” said the hangman without answering the question. Then he put down the wolf’s hide and headed toward the door with the mangy fox fur. Suddenly he turned around. “Oh, and if this man drops by again, get in touch with me over at the executioner’s house. As you said, it’s never a bad idea to stay on good terms with the hangman.”
“You still haven’t told me who you are,” the furrier replied, and his little eyes flashed suspiciously. “How do I know you’re not just some random punk that the executioner is about to string up on the nearest tree?”
“I’m the hangman’s brother, and I string up people myself—punks, and sometimes guys who are too curious.”
Then Jakob Kuisl turned away, stooping down to get through the doorway, like a giant leaving a dollhouse.
Outside, Magdalena had to watch the boys closely to make sure they didn’t push each other off the dock. F
or a while they’d been playing hide-and-seek among the skins and furs fluttering in the wind, but now they’d started tussling with one another alongside the rushing water. Though Paul was the younger of the boys, the two were about the same size, and as usual, Peter was losing. Soon his brother had dragged him toward the water and out onto the pier.
“Mama, Mama! Paul’s going to drown me like a witch,” Peter cried.
“For heaven’s sake, can’t the two of you ever play like . . . like . . .”
Magdalena was about to say girls but caught herself just in time. Sometimes, in her dreams or in moments of reflection, she could see herself telling stories to a little daughter sitting on her lap, as she once had with Barbara. Then the pain and sorrow at the loss of her child came back again, and even now she could feel a burning in her throat. She loved her boys with all her heart, but she still felt there was something in them she couldn’t know. Peter took after his father, and Paul . . . Well, there were days when she almost feared his temper tantrums.
She ran after the boys and pulled them apart. Luckily, she still had some licorice left from the gardens around St. Gangolf, and she gave a stick to each of them. Soon they were busily sucking and the fight was forgotten.
Impatiently, Magdalena looked back at the furrier’s house. Why was her father staying so long? For a moment she regretted not going with Barbara to the theater performance that day, but Katharina had asked for her help. And she felt guilty for leaving the children with their aunt every day, even though Katharina clearly enjoyed having them. Surely she wished for some of her own. Why had it taken her so long to find a husband? She came from a good family, and though she was a bit overweight, she was always smiling and was an excellent cook. Magdalena knew that executioners had a hard time finding a suitable wife. Bartholomäus could count himself lucky that—
A creaking sound tore her from her reveries. Carefully she turned around and noticed a figure just two piers away, behind one of the fisherman’s nets that was hung out to dry.
It was no doubt a man, as he was wearing a floppy hat and a wide cloak; she thought she could also make out a beard. At first Magdalena figured he was just one of the many fishermen from that part of town, but then she noticed that he wasn’t working on the nets but just standing there, clearly observing her and the boys. Was he, perhaps, a robber waiting for dusk to fall so he could attack her in a dark alley? The man seemed strangely familiar to her. She looked up anxiously at the sky. The sun was a glowing ball of fire setting behind the Michelsberg hill to the west, and shadows were already falling over the city. She wondered where her father was.
She was about to walk over to the furrier’s house when the door swung open and out came Jakob Kuisl, holding a fox fur that looked like a dirty rag in his hand. He had a pensive look on his face.
Magdalena took a deep breath of relief and slowly started walking over to him, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.
“Do you see the man with the floppy hat over there behind the nets?” she said in a soft voice. “I think he’s watching us.”
Jakob Kuisl squinted and finally nodded.
“Yes, I see him, and I’d like to have a little talk with him, man to man, if you know what I’m saying,” he added with a growl. He turned in the man’s direction, but Magdalena held him back.
“Father, whatever you have in mind, just remember you’re not as young as you used to be, and I’m worried that you—”
“Damn it,” he interrupted angrily. “The day my daughter starts worrying about my age is the day I’ll willingly go to my grave. But first I have a few questions I want to ask that fellow over there. You wait here.”
Silently, he disappeared behind a frame holding a large beaver pelt. For a brief moment she could hear the sounds of his receding steps, but then all fell silent. Magdalena sighed and shook her head.
“Your grandfather is as stubborn as a mule, and an idiot, do you know that?” she said to the children, who were still peacefully sucking on their licorice sticks, their legs dangling from the pier.
“You say the same thing about Georg,” Peter replied, “and about Dad, as well . . . and about the wagon drivers in Schongau who are always playing cards and getting drunk down at Semer’s tavern. Are all men stubborn mules and idiots, Mama?”
Despite her annoyance, she couldn’t help smiling. “Well, most of them, but your grandfather much more than the rest. I hope he doesn’t hurt himself.”
Hiding behind the drying racks, Jakob Kuisl disappeared behind the furrier’s house, then slunk down a cluttered alleyway parallel to the river, and from there back to the other piers. Some children playing in the street looked up anxiously as the grim giant hurried past them in his flowing cloak.
Kuisl’s thoughts were racing. Ever since he’d seen the wolf’s pelt in the furrier’s trunk, he had an odd suspicion—so odd it just might be correct. Especially after learning that a stranger, just a short time ago, had bought a whole bunch of wolf pelts from the furrier.
Could it be possible?
He wanted to get to the bottom of this as fast as possible. If the man hiding behind the nets turned out to be the stranger the furrier had mentioned, that would explain a lot of things.
But if it is him, why did he come back?
A muddy path led from the lane down to the pier where the man had just been standing. Kuisl stayed close to the wall of the house. From the corner of his eye he could see a few fishermen watching him suspiciously from their boats out on the river, but he couldn’t let them distract him now. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the open.
The stranger was still standing behind the frame holding the fishnets, but in the gathering darkness it was hard for Kuisl to see more than the vague outline of a man wearing a floppy hat and an overcoat. Slowly, the hangman walked along the path—the only access to the pier, so the man wouldn’t be able to escape. Unless he decided to fight. But Jakob had been in many fights, more than most people.
“Hey, you,” the hangman said, addressing the stranger. “Stop, I need to have a word with you.”
When the man saw he’d been discovered, he froze like a cornered animal. And then he did something Kuisl never would have expected.
He jumped.
It was a full three yards to the next pier, almost ten feet, but the man landed safely on the creaking planks. For a moment it seemed like he might fall backward, but then he got his balance again and ran down the pier toward the shore. Kuisl was startled to see that the stranger had a slight limp. He knew only one person in Bamberg who limped—and that was his own brother.
That’s impossible, he thought. Or is it?
Cursing, he turned and ran back through the little alleys full of rotted rowboats up on jacks, handcarts, and barrels of fish. The man with the floppy hat had a lead of at least twenty paces, and Kuisl had to remember what his daughter Magdalena had said earlier: he wasn’t so young anymore. In a fight he could count on his experience, but in running, younger was better. Nevertheless, he’d already gained a few yards on the stranger when suddenly he made a sharp right and ran back down to one of the four piers.
“Now I’ve got you,” Kuisl panted.
He ran toward the pier as fast as he could and only at the last moment saw what the other was planning to do. A small rowboat was tied to one of the posts with the oars tossed carelessly into the stern. In one fluid move, the man jumped in, pulled out a knife, and quickly cut the rope. Just as Kuisl reached the end of the pier, the boat cast off and started floating down the river with the current. The distance between them grew from one second to the next.
There was no time for Jakob to reflect. He just kept running and, with a final sprint, jumped off the pier toward the boat, and—
Missed.
He hit the cold water with a loud splash, the waves closed over him, and in the next moment his clothes filled with water and threatened to pull him under. As he thrashed about wildly, Kuisl pulled off his heavy coat. Only then, and with powerfu
l strokes, could he make his way back to the surface. Breathing hard and paddling to keep afloat, he looked around in all directions.
The boat was drifting slowly down the river, already some distance away. Jakob watched as the stranger put the oars in the oarlocks and pulled vigorously.
Then the boat disappeared around the river’s next bend.
The man with the floppy hat was breathing heavily as the small, half-timbered houses in the Fishermen’s Quarter, with their balconies and piers, slowly receded. Night was falling over Bamberg, but the shadows did not fill him with happy expectations, as usual, but something approaching fear. His foot hurt, and his whole body shivered. To add to his misery, he’d evidently sprained his ankle jumping off the pier. That was nothing critical, but it showed him he was not invulnerable.
For the first time, he’d been not the hunter but the hunted.
He cursed himself under his breath for returning to see the furrier, but on his most recent visit he’d taken a liking to the beautiful furs, and so he planned to buy the last two pieces in order to continue his search for prey. For now, he enjoyed the musky odor and softness of the furs. When he wrapped them around him, he felt like someone else. The first time, it was the apothecary’s wife who had given him the furs to try on. They were like a second skin wrapped around him, protecting him, and turning him into some sort of monster.
Something that inspired fear in people—as much fear as he had once known, long ago.
But then he’d made an unforgivable mistake. It had given him a feeling of power to observe unnoticed, practically invisible, a potential victim, and this thrill had almost caused his ruin. He bit his lip nervously. His coat, floppy hat, and fake beard might conceal his true features—but he’d still have to be very careful.
The buildings along the river were thinning out—just a few more sheds and an old mill. Then the beginning of the forest, the wilderness, the realm of the beasts—a realm where, more and more, he was beginning to feel at home.