The Hangman's Daughter

  Suddenly he remembered that tonight something entirely different would also be celebrated. How could he have forgotten. This was the night of April 30—Walpurgis Night! Witches danced in the forests and mated with the devil, and many people armed themselves against evil by means of magic: magic signs in their windows and salt before their doors. Did the terrible murders and strange symbols have anything to do with Walpurgis Night after all? Even though Simon doubted it, he still feared that this night could be a pretext for some burghers to kill the alleged witch in the jailhouse. His time was running short.

  He walked past the castle into the Bauerngasse and was soon standing in front of the Schreevogls’ house. A servant girl was standing on the balcony, warily looking down at Simon. Word had gotten around in the meantime that he was having an affair with the hangman’s daughter. When Simon waved at her she disappeared into the house without a greeting to inform her young master.

  A short time later Jakob Schreevogl opened the door and let Simon in.

  “Simon, what a pleasure! I hope the suspicion against me has been dissipated. Do you have anything new about my Clara?”

  Simon wondered for a moment to what extent he could confide in the patrician. As before, he was not sure of the role Jakob Schreevogl was playing in this drama. He therefore decided to be very brief.

  “We believe that soldiers murdered the children because they had seen something they were not supposed to see. But we don’t know what that could have been.”

  The patrician nodded.

  “I suspect that as well. But the council does not want to believe you. Only this morning they met again. The bigwigs want to have everything sorted out. And so a witch and the devil fits their picture a lot better, especially now when time is running short. The Elector’s secretary is arriving tomorrow.”

  Simon winced.

  “Tomorrow already? Then we have less time than I hoped.”

  “Besides, Semer denies that the soldiers met with someone upstairs in his rooms,” continued Jakob Schreevogl.

  Simon uttered a dry laugh.

  “A lie! Resl, Semer’s maid, told me that it happened, and she was able to describe the soldiers exactly. And they did go upstairs!”

  “And if Resl was mistaken?”

  Simon shook his head.

  “She was absolutely sure of herself. It’s more likely that the burgomaster is lying.” He sighed. “In the meantime I no longer have any idea who to trust…but I came for something else. We have an idea about Clara and Sophie’s hiding place.”

  Jakob Schreevogl hurried over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders.

  “Where? Tell me, where? I’ll do everything I can to find them.”

  “Well, we believe they could be hiding at the building site for the leper house.”

  The patrician blinked in disbelief.

  “At the building site?”

  Simon nodded and started to walk up and down nervously in the antechamber.

  “We found traces of clay under the fingernails of the dead children. Clay that could have come from the leper house building site. It is quite possible that the children saw something there from their hiding place and don’t dare to come out now. However we did search all around and didn’t find anything.”

  He turned again to the patrician.

  “Do you have any idea where the children could have hidden? Did your late father tell you anything? About a cavern? A hole under the foundations? Was there some other building on the property, a building whose cellar could still exist? The priest was talking about an old altar from pagan times…”

  Jakob Schreevogl settled into a chair next to the chimney and thought for a long time. Finally he shook his head.

  “Not that I know of. The property has belonged to our family for several generations. I believe that even in my great-grand-parents’ time, they had cows and sheep grazing there. As far as I know, there was a chapel or church there long ago and quite possibly also some kind of sacrificial altar. But that was very long ago. We never did much with the property until I decided to have the kiln built there.”

  Suddenly his eyes shone.

  “The town records…Something like this must be recorded there!”

  “The town records?” asked Simon.

  “Yes, there is a record in the town registers for every contract, every purchase, and even every donation made in town. Johann Lechner in particular takes great care as the court clerk to see that everything is in good order. When my father left the parcel to the church, an official certificate of donation was prepared. And as far as I can remember, an old map of the property still in my father’s possession was attached to that document.”

  Simon felt his mouth go dry. He had the feeling of being close to a solution.

  “And where are these…town records?”

  The patrician shrugged.

  “Well, where would they be? In the Ballenhaus, of course. In the clerk’s office next to the council chamber. Lechner keeps everything in the closet there, everything that is of any importance for the town. You could ask him if you may have a look.”

  Simon nodded and turned to the door. There he turned around once more.

  “You have helped me very much. Thank you.”

  Jakob Schreevogl smiled.

  “You need not thank me. Bring me back my Clara—that would be thanks enough.” The alderman ascended the wide stairs. “And now you’ll excuse me. My wife is still sick. I shall go look after her now.”

  Suddenly he stopped once more. He seemed to remember something.

  “There was something else…”

  Simon looked up at him expectantly.

  “Well,” Jakob Schreevogl continued, “my father saved a good deal of money in his life. Very much money. As you know we had a falling out shortly before his death. I had always assumed that after the argument he had left his entire fortune to the church. But I spoke with the priest…”

  “And?”

  “Well, the only thing the church has is this piece of land. I’ve looked everywhere in our house, but I have not been able to find the money anywhere.”

  Simon barely heard him anymore. He was again outside, in the street.

  In long strides the physician rushed to the Ballenhaus. He was quite certain that the court clerk would never let him look at the town records. At the building site that morning he had made it very clear to him and the hangman what he thought of their suspicions, which was pretty much nothing at all. Johann Lechner wanted peace in the town and not some physician snooping around in his records and possibly discovering a secret that could cost one of the patricians his head. But Simon knew that he simply had to see that contract. The only question was how.

  In front of the Ballenhaus two bailiffs carrying halberds were hanging around and watched as the last of the market women cleaned up their stalls. Now, in the afternoon, the two guards were the only ones still on duty. Simon knew that there would also no longer be any aldermen in the building. The council meeting had been at noon today, the patricians had long gone home to their families, and the court clerk was over in the castle. The Ballenhaus stood empty. He only had to get past the two bailiffs.

  Smiling, he approached the pair. One of them had been his patient at one time.

  “Well, Georg, how is your cough?” he asked. “Did it get any better since I gave you the linden blossoms for your infusion?”

  The bailiff shook his head. As proof he coughed a few times loudly.

  “Unfortunately not, sir. It’s gotten worse. And now my chest also hurts. I can barely do my service. I’ve already prayed three rosaries, but that didn’t help either.”

  Simon looked at him thoughtfully. Suddenly his expression lightened up.

  “Well, I may have something that could help you. A powder from the West Indies…” He pulled out a small bag and looked apprehensively up at the sky.

  “Actually it should be taken as long as the noonday sun is straight overhead. It’s almost too late now.”
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  The bailiff Georg coughed a second time and reached for the little bag.

  “I’ll take it, sir. Right now. How much is it going to cost?”

  Simon handed him the medicine.

  “For you, only five pennies. However you must dissolve it in brandy, otherwise it has no effect. Do you have any brandy?”

  Georg started to think. The physician thought that he would have to help him along, but then the bailiff’s face lit up.

  “I can get some brandy. Over at the inn.”

  Simon nodded and took the money.

  “Good thinking, Georg. Run over there quickly. It won’t take you long to get back.”

  Georg took off while the second guard stood undecidedly at his post. Simon looked at him pensively.

  “Do you also have a cough?” he asked. “You look so pale. Any chest pains?”

  The guard seemed to think it over, and then he looked over to where his colleague was just disappearing into the inn. Finally he nodded.

  “Then go run after him, see to it that he gets more brandy,” said Simon. “Each of you must dissolve it in a goblet, better even, two goblets full.”

  The bailiff’s sense of duty was wrestling with the prospect of one or two goblets of brandy, and for medicinal purposes to boot. Finally he followed his friend.

  Simon grinned. He had learned a few things from the hangman by now. Amazing what can be done with a little bag filled with clay!

  The physician waited another moment until the two were out of sight. Then he looked around carefully. The market square was empty. He quickly opened the big door a crack and slipped inside.

  A smell of spices and musty linen greeted him. Sunlight fell in narrow strips through the large, barred windows. It was already getting dark in the hall and shadows were creeping across the room. Bags and crates were stacked one on top of the other like sleeping giants against the wall. Alarmed, a rat scurried out from behind a crate and disappeared in the darkness.

  Simon crept up the wide steps to the upper level and listened at the door to the council chamber. When he could not hear any sound he opened it carefully. The room was empty. Half-full wine pitchers and crystal glasses were standing on the big oaken table in the middle of the room, and the chairs around it were pushed back. A huge oven with green tiles, some of them painted, sat in the corner. Simon held his hand against it. It was still hot. It looked as if the aldermen had left the room for only a short recess and would return at any moment.

  Simon crept through the room and tried as best he could to keep the floorboards from creaking. On the eastern wall hung a yellowed oil painting showing the Schongau aldermen assembled around the oaken table. He looked at it closer. At first glance he realized that it had to be quite old. The men were wearing the ruffled collars that were fashionable a few decades ago. The jackets were stiff, black, and buttoned all the way up. The faces with their carefully trimmed goatees were severe and expressionless. Still, he thought he could recognize one of the men. The alderman in the center, the one with the piercing eyes and the bare hint of a smile must be Ferdinand Schreevogl. Simon remembered that the old Schreevogl had once been presiding burgomaster of the town. The patrician held in his hand a document covered with writing. Simon thought he also knew the man next to him. But where had he seen him before? He thought about it, but much as he tried, he could not think of a name. He was certain that he had seen him lately, but of course now as a much older man.

  Then he suddenly heard voices and laughter down on the market square. The two bailiffs had apparently followed his recipe. He grinned. It was quite possible, though, that the medicine was taken in a somewhat higher dose than prescribed.

  Simon softly tiptoed through the council chamber. He crouched down as he passed the windows with the lead-lined panes so as not to be seen from the outside. Finally he reached the small door to the archive. He pushed the handle down. It was locked.

  Cursing softly he reproached himself for his stupidity. How could he have been so naive as to think that the door would be unlocked? Of course the court clerk had locked it! After all, it led to his holy of holies.

  Simon was about to turn back, but then he thought some more. Johann Lechner was a reliable man. He had to see to it that at least the four burgomasters had access to the archive, even if he happened to be absent. Did this mean that each of the burgomasters had a key? Hardly. It was much more likely that the court clerk would be keeping the key here for the others. But where?

  Simon gazed around at the Swiss pine ceiling with its carved scrolls, the table, the chairs, the wine pitchers…There was no cabinet, no chest. The only large piece of furniture was the tiled oven; a monstrosity at least two paces wide and reaching almost to the ceiling. Simon walked over to it and gave it a closer look. In one row, about halfway up, scenes of country life were depicted on the painted tiles. A farmer with a plow, another farmer sowing, pigs and cows, a girl with geese…In the center of the row was a tile that looked different from the others. It showed a man with the typical wide hat and the ruffled collar of an alderman. He was sitting on a chamber pot brimming over with paper scrolls. Simon tapped on the tile.

  It sounded hollow.

  The physician took out his stiletto, inserted the blade into a crack and pried the tile out. It slid easily into his hand. Behind it was a tiny niche in which something was glittering. Simon smiled. As far as he knew, old Schreevogl had this oven built during his tenure as burgomaster. In the stovemakers’ guild he had been considered a real artist. Here, one could also see something more––that he had also had a sense of humor. An alderman defecating scrolls? Would Johann Lechner’s father, the court clerk at the time, have recognized himself in the drawing?

  The physician removed the copper key, fitted the tile back into its place, and returned to the door that separated him from the archives. He inserted the key into the lock and turned it. With a slight squeak the door opened inward.

  The room behind it smelled of dust and old parchment. Only a small barred window opened on the market square. There was no other door. The afternoon sun fell through the window; dust particles floated in the light. The space was almost empty. Along a rear wall stood a small, unadorned oaken table and a rickety chair. All along the left side there was a huge cabinet that reached almost to the ceiling. It contained innumerable little drawers stuffed with documents. Heavy leather-bound folios stood on the larger shelves. Several books and loose pages lay on the table, and next to them a half-full glass inkwell, a goose quill, and a half-consumed candle.

  Simon groaned softly. This was the court clerk’s domain. For him all of it had a certain order, but for the physician it was only a confusing collection of parchment rolls, documents, and tomes. The so-called town records were not books at all, but a huge box of loose slips of paper. How could anyone find the map of a parcel in here?

  Simon approached the cabinet. Now he realized that letters were painted on the drawers. They were distributed apparently without rhyme or reason over the rows of shelves, abbreviations obviously familiar only to the court clerk and perhaps the members of the inner council. RE, MO, ST, CON, PA, DOC…

  The last abbreviation gave Simon pause. The Latin word for a deed, a record, or any kind of instrument was documentum. Would deeds of donation also be kept in this drawer? He pulled the drawer out. It was filled to the top with sealed letters. Even a first glance showed him that he had been right. All the letters bore the seal of the town and were signed by high-ranking burghers. There were wills, sales agreements, and exactly what he was looking for––deeds, among them those of money, natural produce, and for parcels of land willed by burghers who had died without heirs. Further down were more recent documents, all of them indicating the parish church as the beneficiary. Simon sensed that he was reaching his goal. The Schongau church had recently received a number of gifts, especially for the construction of the new cemetery at Saint Sebastian’s. Lately, anyone who felt his end nearing and wanted to secure an eternal resting place di
rectly at the city wall willed at least part of his fortune to the church. Then there were donations of valuable crucifixes, holy images, pigs and cattle, and land. Simon kept looking and at last came to the bottom of the drawer. There was no contract regarding the piece of land on the Hohenfurch Road…

  Simon cursed. He knew that somewhere here the solution of the secret had to be found. He could practically feel it. Furiously he returned the drawer to the closet to push it in and take out a new one. As he stood up he brushed against the pages that had already been lying on the table. They floated to the floor. Hastily Simon picked them up, but then he stopped. A document in his hand was torn on one side, as if someone had quickly ripped off part of it. The seal had been broken in haste. He glanced down at it.

  Donatio civis Ferdinand Schreevogl ad ecclesiam urbis Anno Domini MDCLVIII…

  Simon froze. The deed of donation! However it was only the first page, the rest had been torn off very neatly. He quickly looked through the documents on the table and checked the floor. Nothing. Someone had taken the document from the closet, read it, and taken away the part that was important to him—probably a sketch of the property. He did not seem to have had much time however, in any case not enough to return the document to the drawer. The thief had quickly shoved the piece of paper under the stack of the other documents on the table…and had returned to the council meeting.

  Simon shuddered. If someone stole this document, it could only be someone who knew about the key behind the tile. That meant Johann Lechner himself…or one of the four burgomasters.

  Simon swallowed hard. He noticed that his hand, still holding the document, was trembling slightly. What had the patrician Jakob Schreevogl told him earlier about the meeting?