The Hangman's Daughter

  “You’re not bad, hangman,” said the devil between two breaths. “But I knew as much. Even back in Magdeburg I saw an equal opponent in you. Your agony will amuse me. I have heard that in the West Indies the savages eat the brains of their strongest enemies in order to acquire their strength. I think I’ll do that with you.”

  Without any forewarning he jumped directly toward Jakob Kuisl. The saber whirled through the air, aimed directly at his throat. Instinctively the hangman lifted his club, deflecting the blade to one side. The larchwood split, but it did not break.

  Jakob Kuisl rammed his elbow into the devil’s stomach, causing him to gasp with sudden alarm, then he ran over to the opposite wall. They had changed sides. Shadows were dancing across the walls, lantern and torch bathed the chamber in a reddish, flickering glow.

  The soldier moved about, groaning in an almost lascivious way and holding his sword hand across his belly. Nevertheless he never for a second let the hangman out of his sight. Kuisl used the pause to look after his wound. There was a large gash in his doublet near his shoulder and blood was spurting out. Nevertheless the wound did not appear to be deep. Kuisl made a fist and moved his shoulder until he felt a stabbing pain. Pain was good; it meant that his arm was still working.

  Only now did Jakob Kuisl have time to get a closer look at the bony hand of his opponent that had once caught his attention in Magdeburg. It actually seemed to consist of individual finger bones connected to one another with copper wire. On the inside was a metal ring. The devil had stuck the burning torch into this ring, where it was now swinging slowly from side to side. The hangman figured that other objects could also be attached to that ring. From the war he was familiar with different prostheses, most of them carved rather roughly out of wood. He had never seen a mechanical bone hand like this one.

  The devil appeared to have noticed Kuisl’s stare.

  “You like my little hand, eh?” he asked swinging the hand and torch back and forth. “I like it too. These are my own bones, you know? A musket ball shattered my left arm. When the wound became gangrenous they had to cut off my hand. I had them make me this pretty souvenir from the bones. As you can see, it perfectly serves its purpose.”

  He held the hand up so that the light of the torch illuminated his pale face. The hangman remembered how the soldier had hidden earlier in the ceiling of the shaft. Only now did he realize that the man must have pulled himself up with nothing but his one healthy hand! What power lay in that body? Kuisl felt that he did not have the slightest chance. But damn it, where was Simon?

  To gain time he continued his questioning.

  “So you were told to mess up the building site, weren’t you? But the children saw you doing it, and that’s why they had to die.”

  The devil shook his head.

  “Not quite, hangman. The children had bad luck. They had been hiding down here when we received our instructions and the first portion of our money. Moneybags was afraid they might have recognized him. He gave us the order to make sure they would never talk.”

  The hangman winced.

  So the children had known the devil’s employer, the patron! They knew who was behind all of it!

  No wonder they didn’t dare return to town. It must have been a very powerful man, someone they knew and someone they knew people would be more inclined to believe than themselves. Someone whose reputation was at stake.

  Time. He needed more time.

  “The fire at the Stadel, that was pure diversion wasn’t it?” he said. “Your friends set the fire while you slipped into town to steal away Clara…”

  The devil shrugged.

  “How could I have gotten to her otherwise? I kept my ears open. The boys were easy. After all the little rascals were hanging around outside. And sooner or later I would have caught that redheaded girl too. But little Clara was sick. She had caught a cold while snooping around, poor darling, and she had to stay inside…”

  He shook his head compassionately before continuing.

  “And so I had to figure out a way to make sure the dear Schreevogl family would leave their foster child alone at home. It was clear that this patrician had goods stored down in the Stadel. And when it burned, he and his servants came running immediately just as I expected. Unfortunately the little brat still got away from me, but now I’m going to get her. That is…as soon as I’m finished with you.”

  He feinted a move with his saber but remained standing where he was, as if trying to seek out his opponent’s weak point.

  “And the witches’ marks? What are those all about?” asked Kuisl, speaking slowly and without leaving his post in front of the exit. He had to keep the other fellow entertained. Talk, continue to talk until Simon finally came to his aid.

  A shadow of confusion passed over the devil’s face.

  “Witches’ marks? What damn witches’ marks? Don’t talk nonsense, hangman.”

  The hangman was taken aback but did not let it show. Could it be that the soldiers had nothing to do with the marks? Had they been following the wrong track all this time? Did the Stechlin woman practice some witchcraft after all with these children?

  Did the midwife lie to him?

  Still, Jakob Kuisl continued to ask questions.

  “The children had a mark on their shoulders. A mark just like the ones witches wear. Did you paint that on?”

  There was a brief moment of silence. Then the devil burst out in shrill laughter.

  “Now I understand!” he cried. “So that’s why you locked up the witch! That’s why you all thought there was witchcraft involved! What a bunch of stupid moneybags you are in the end! Ha! The witch burns, and all is well once more. Amen. Three paternosters on top of it. Why, we couldn’t have concocted anything better than that!”

  The hangman thought frantically. Somewhere they had gone wrong. He had the feeling that the solution was very close. Just one more piece of the mosaic, and everything would fit together.

  But which piece?

  He had other problems for the moment. Where was Simon? Had something happened to him? Was he lost?

  “If I am going to go to hell anyway,” he continued, “why not tell me who employed you?”

  The devil laughed again.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know, eh? Actually I could well tell you but…” He grinned viciously, as if he had suddenly thought of something very funny. “You know a lot about torture, don’t you? Isn’t it also a type of torture when someone is looking for a solution and cannot find it? When someone still hopes to know the truth even when dying and yet cannot find it? Well, that is my torture. And now, die.”

  Still laughing, the devil feinted once, then twice, and was suddenly directly in front of the hangman. At the very last moment, Kuisl held his club against the saber. The blade still kept moving closer and closer to his throat. Standing with his back against the wall he could do no more than return pressure for pressure. The man before him had immense strength. His face came closer to Kuisl’s, and the blade with it. Inch by inch.

  The hangman could smell the wine on the other man’s breath. He looked into his eyes and behind them saw an empty shell. The war had sucked this soldier dry. Perhaps he had always been insane, but the war had done the rest. Jakob Kuisl saw hatred and death, nothing else.

  The blade was now only a hairbreadth away from his throat. He had to do something.

  He let his lantern fall to the floor and pressed the soldier’s head backward with his left hand. Slowly the blade moved away from him.

  I must…not…give…up…Magdalena…

  Shouting, he gathered the last of his strength and threw the devil against the opposite wall, where he slid to the ground like a broken doll.

  The soldier shook himself for a moment, then he was again up on his feet, saber and torch in hand, ready to strike again. The last of Jakob Kuisl’s courage seemed to fade. This man was invincible. He would always keep getting up. Hatred was releasing energy in him that normal mortals simply did not posse
ss.

  Kuisl’s lantern lay in a corner. Fortunately it had not gone out.

  Fortunately?

  An idea raced through the hangman’s brain. Why hadn’t he thought of it earlier? It was risky, but probably his only chance. Without taking his eyes off the devil, he reached for his lantern, still flickering on the floor. When he had it in his hands once more, he smiled at his opponent.

  “Just a little unfair, isn’t it? You with your saber, me with my club…”

  The devil shrugged.

  “All of life is unfair.”

  “I don’t think it has to be that way,” said Kuisl. “As long as we have to fight, then at least under the same conditions.”

  And with that he blew on the lantern’s flame and extinguished it.

  His face was swallowed in darkness. He was no longer visible to his opponent.

  In the next instant he threw the lantern at the devil’s bone hand. The soldier cried out. He had not counted on such an attack. Desperately he still tried to pull away his hand, but it was too late. The lantern landed on the white bones and ripped the torch from its anchor. It fell to the ground where it hissed and went out.

  Blackness was so total that the hangman felt as if he had sunk to the bottom of a bog. He caught his breath and then threw himself with all of his strength on the devil.

  CHAPTER

  15

  MONDAY

  APRIL 30, A.D. 1659

  ELEVEN O’CLOCK IN THE EVENING, WALPURGIS NIGHT

  MAGDALENA, TOO, COULD SEE NOTHING BUT DARKNESS. Her mouth was filled with the musty taste of the gag, and the ropes were cutting into her wrists and ankles, so that all she could feel was a slight tingle. Her head wound still hurt but had apparently stopped bleeding. A dirty linen rag prevented her from seeing where the men were carrying her. She was slung over the shoulder of one of the soldiers like a dead animal. On top of all of this, the continuous swaying was making her quite nauseous.

  The last thing she could remember was that this morning she’d left the town through the Küh Gate. Where had she been before that? She had been…looking for something. But for what?

  The headache returned. She had the feeling that her memory of it was just beyond her reach, but every time she tried to grasp it, the headache struck her forehead like a hammer.

  When she had awakened the last time, the man her father called the devil was stooping over her. They were in some barn, and there was a smell of straw and hay. The man placed a piece of moss on her forehead to stem the bleeding, and with his left hand, which was strangely cold, he was caressing her dress. She pretended to be unconscious, but she could hear the soldier’s words quite clearly. He had bent down and whispered into her ear: “Sleep well, little Magdalena. Once I return you’ll be praying that all this may be no more than a dream…Sleep while you still can…”

  She had almost screamed with fear but had successfully continued feigning unconsciousness. She kept her eyes firmly shut. Perhaps that would give her a chance to escape.

  Her hope vanished when the devil bound and gagged and finally blindfolded her. Obviously he wanted to avoid at all costs her waking up and seeing where he was taking her. Slumped across his back, she had traveled through the forest for quite a while. She smelled the pines and the firs and heard the call of a screech owl. What time might it be? The cool air and the call of the screech owl made her assume that it must be night. Hadn’t the morning sun been shining before she was captured? Had she been unconscious for a whole day?

  Or longer, perhaps?

  She was trying to stay calm and not tremble, but she was beginning to panic. The man carrying her mustn’t notice that she was awake.

  At last she was rudely dropped on the forest floor. After a while, she could hear the voices of men approaching.

  “Here’s the girl,” said the devil. “Take her to the assigned meeting point and wait there for me.”

  Someone had brushed over her dress with a branch or something similar and pushed it up. She didn’t move.

  “Mmm, what a tasty morsel your girl is,” a voice said right above her. “A hangman’s wench, you say? And the playmate of that spindly quack…Oh, she’ll be delighted to make the acquaintance of true men for a change!”

  “You leave her alone, understood?” the devil thundered. “She belongs to me. She’s my personal revenge on her father.”

  “Her father killed André,” another deep voice said. “I’ve known André for five years. He was a good friend…I want to have fun with her as well.”

  “Right,” the first one piped up again. “You’re going to slit her open anyway. So why shouldn’t we get to play a little before that? We’re entitled to taking our revenge on that dirty cur of a hangman as well!”

  The devil’s voice took on a threatening undertone.

  “I say leave her alone. When I come back we’re all going to have fun. I promise. But until then, hands off her! She might know something, and I’m going to tickle it out of her. We’ll meet no later than daybreak at the assigned place. And now shove off.”

  She could hear footsteps crunching across the forest soil, slowly becoming fainter. Then the devil was gone.

  “Crazy idiot,” one of the soldiers murmured. “I don’t know why I keep standing for that sort of thing.”

  “’Cause you’re scared, that’s why,” the other one said. “’Cause you’re afraid he’ll beat you up just like Sepp Stetthofer and Martin Landsberger! May God have mercy on their black souls…We’re all of us afraid.”

  “Afraid! Nonsense,” the first one said. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do, Hans. We’re going to take the girl and clear out of here. Let Braunschweiger dig for his goddamned treasure by himself.”

  “And what if he does find it, eh? Let’s stay till dawn. What have we to lose? If he doesn’t return, so what? And if he shows up with the money, we’ll pocket it and leave. No matter what happens, I’m not going to travel with that chiseler anymore after tomorrow morning.”

  “Right you are,” the second man growled.

  Then he picked up Magdalena, who was still feigning unconsciousness, and flung her over his back. The swaying continued.

  Now, dangling from the man’s shoulders, Magdalena was racking her brains. What had happened before the devil knocked her out? She could recall having gone to market to buy food and drink for her father and Simon. There had been a talk with children in the street, but she couldn’t exactly remember what it had been about. After that, all that was left were shreds of memory. Sunlight. People gossiping in the streets. A ransacked room.

  Whose room?

  The headache returned, and it was so severe that for a brief moment Magdalena thought she’d have to vomit. She swallowed the pungent taste and tried to concentrate on where they were going. Where were the men taking her? They were walking uphill, she could tell that much. She heard how the man beneath her was panting and cursing. The wind was stronger now, so they must have left the forest. Eventually she heard ravens cawing. Something was softly whistling in the wind. She was beginning to have an idea.

  The men stopped, dropping her like a bundle of sticks. The ravens were cawing quite close by. Magdalena knew now where she was. She didn’t need to see it at all.

  She could smell it.

  The black shadow flew toward Simon, putting his hand over his mouth. Simon struggled, trying to free himself. Where was his stiletto, damn it? Just a moment ago he’d struck it against his flint, but now it was lying somewhere out there in the dark and beyond his reach. The hand on his mouth was pressing harder, so that he could hardly breathe anymore. Alongside him, Sophie began to scream again.

  Suddenly he heard a familiar voice right at his ear.

  “Shut up, for Christ’s sake! He’s right nearby!”

  Simon twisted and turned under the strong arm, which finally released him.

  “It’s you, Kuisl,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Shh.”

  In spite of the dark
ness, Simon could now distinguish the hangman’s massive form directly in front of him. It seemed oddly stooped over.

  “I got him…the lunatic. Think he isn’t…quite dead yet. Have to be…silent…”

  Jakob Kuisl spoke haltingly and with difficulty. Simon felt something warm dripping onto his left upper arm. The hangman was injured. He was bleeding, and it wasn’t just a small cut.

  “You’re wounded! Can I help you?” he asked, trying to feel for the wound. But the hangman gruffly brushed the physician’s hand aside.

  “There’s no…time. The devil can…be here any moment. Oohhhh…” He was holding his side.

  “What happened?” Simon asked.

  “The devil followed us…stupid fools that we are. I…put out his light and fled. But I also whacked him a couple of times with my cudgel. Dirty bastard, damn him. May he go back to hell, where he came from…” The hangman’s body shook. For a moment Simon thought he was trembling with pain, but then he realized that the huge man was laughing. Suddenly, the hangman fell silent again.

  “Sophie?” Jakob Kuisl asked in the darkness.

  The girl had been silent up to now. Now her voice came out of the darkness right next to Simon.

  “Yes?”

  “Tell me, girl, is there another exit?”

  “There…there is a tunnel. It leads away from this chamber. But it’s fallen in.” Her voice sounded different, Simon thought. More composed. She sounded like the orphan girl he had gotten to know on the streets of Schongau—a leader who was capable of mastering her fear, at least temporarily.

  “We did start clearing away the rocks, because we wanted to know where the corridor went,” she continued. “But we didn’t finish it…”