The Hangman's Daughter Part 17

Father Konrad Weber fell silent once more. Just when Simon thought that he would say nothing more, he spoke up once again, in a very low voice.

"If the destruction goes on like this I won't be able to defend my decision to build the leper house before the council much longer. Too many are opposed. Even the provost feels that we cannot afford such a building. We shall have to resell the land again."

"To whom?"

Again, silence.

"To whom, Father?"

"Until now, n.o.body has shown any interest. But I could well imagine that young Schreevogl might soon show up at the parish house..."

Simon stood up in the narrow confessional and turned away.

"Thank you very much, Father."

"Simon?"

"Yes, Father?"

"The confession."

With a sigh Simon sat down once more and listened to the priest's monotonous words.

"Indulgentiam, absolutionem et remissionem peccatorum tuorum tribuat tibi omnipotens et misericors Dominus...May the almighty and merciful Lord grant thee pardon, absolution, and remission of thy sins..."

It was going to be a long day.

When Simon finally left the confessional, Father Konrad Weber paused for a moment. He felt as if he had forgotten something. Something that was on his tongue just before and he couldn't remember it now. After thinking about it for a short while, he returned to his prayers. Perhaps it would come to him later.

Simon sighed as he stepped from the dark church out into the open air. The sun had moved over the rooftops by now. Jakob Kuisl had gone to sit on a bench near the cemetery and was sucking on his pipe. With eyes closed, he was enjoying the first warm day of spring and the excellent tobacco he had found at the building site. He had left the cool church a while ago, and when he saw Simon approaching, he blinked.

"Well?"

Simon sat down next to him on the bench. "I believe we have a clue," he said. Then he told him of his conversation with the priest.

Lost in thought, the hangman chewed on his pipe. "All this talk about witches and sorcerers is pure nonsense as far as I am concerned. But the fact that old Schreevogl practically disinherited his son, that's worth thinking about. So you think young Schreevogl could have messed up the building site in order to get his land back?"

Simon nodded. "It's possible. After all, he had wanted to build a second kiln there, as he told me himself. And he's ambitious."

Suddenly Simon remembered something.

"Resl, the waitress at Semer's inn, told me about the soldiers meeting someone upstairs at the inn," he exclaimed. "One of them was limping, she said. That must have been the devil we saw today. Perhaps it was Jakob Schreevogl who met with the devil and the other soldiers up there at the inn."

"And what does all of that have to do with the fire at the Stadel, with the symbols and with the dead children?" Jakob Kuisl asked while he continued sucking on his pipe.

"Perhaps nothing at all. Perhaps the Stadel mess and the children are really the work of the Augsburgers. And young Schreevogl only took advantage of all the excitement in order to destroy the building site without being noticed."

"While his ward was being abducted?" The hangman rose, shaking his head. "That makes no sense! If you ask me, there are just too many coincidences all at once. Somehow it ought to fit together: the fire, the children, the symbols, the ruined leper house. Yet we don't know how..."

Simon rubbed his temples. The incense and the priest's Latin babbling had given him a headache.

"I don't know what to do anymore," he said. "And time's short. How much longer will Goodwife Stechlin remain unconscious?"

The hangman looked up to the belfry, where the sun had already pa.s.sed the crest of the roof.

"Two days at the most. And then Count Sandizell will arrive, the representative of the Elector. If we don't have the true culprit by then, they won't screw around for long, and the midwife will be done for. They'll want to get rid of the count and his entourage as quickly as possible. He only costs them money."

Simon rose from the bench.

"I shall go and see Jakob Schreevogl now," he said. "That is the only lead we've got. I am sure something's fishy with that leper house."

"Go ahead and see him," grunted Kuisl. "As for me, I'm going to smoke a little more of the devil's tobacco for a while. There's nothing better to help a person concentrate."

The hangman closed his eyes again, breathing in the fragrance of the New World.

Johann Lechner, the court clerk, was on the way from his office to the Ballenhaus. On his way he noticed with some discomfort the whispering women and the grumbling workmen in the square. As he pa.s.sed them, he dealt them light shoves and slaps here and there. "Go back to work," he called out. "There's a proper way to do everything. It will all be cleared up. Now return to your work, burghers! Or I shall have to have some of you arrested!"

The burghers slinked off to their workrooms, and the market women resumed sorting out their merchandise. But Johann Lechner knew that they would start gossiping again as soon as his back was turned. He would have to send a few bailiffs to the square to prevent a disturbance. It was high time for this tiresome business to be concluded. And just now it was impossible to talk to the d.a.m.n midwife! The aldermen were breathing down his neck, wanting to see results. Well, perhaps he would soon be able to show them some. After all, he still had a second trump in his hand.

The court clerk rushed up the steps of the Ballenhaus to the second floor, where a small room with a locked door was provided for the more prominent burghers, those one did not want to throw into the rat-infested hole in the Faulturm tower or in the dungeon in the keep. A bailiff was posted in front of the door. He greeted Johann Lechner with a nod before opening the ma.s.sive lock and pus.h.i.+ng back the bolt.

Martin Hueber, the wagon driver from Augsburg, was sprawled over a small table in an alcove, peering through the window at the square below. When he heard the court clerk enter he turned around and greeted him with a smirk.

"Ah, the court clerk! So have you finally come to your senses? Let me go, and we won't say another word about this matter."

He rose and walked to the door, but Lechner let it slam shut.

"I believe there must be some kind of misunderstanding here. Martin Hueber, you and your team are suspected of having started the fire at the Stadel."

Martin Hueber's face turned red. He slapped his broad hand on the table.

"You know that's not true!"

"No need to deny it. A few Schongau rafters saw you and your men."

Johann Lechner lied without blinking an eye. With great curiosity he awaited the Augsburger's reaction.

Martin Hueber took a deep breath, then sat down again, crossing his arms over his wide chest in silence.

The clerk kept insisting. "Why else would you have been down there at nightfall? You had already unloaded your freight in the afternoon. When the Stadel went up in flames you were suddenly there, so you must have been hanging around beforehand."

The wagon driver remained silent. Lechner went back to the door and reached for the handle.

"All right then. We'll see if you maintain your silence under torture," he said as he pushed down the handle. "I shall have you taken to the keep this very day. You've already met the hangman down by the raft landing. He'll be glad to break a few of your bones."

Johann Lechner could see the turmoil behind the wagon driver's brow. He bit his lip, and finally the words burst forth.

"It's true, we were there," he cried, "but not in order to burn down the Stadel! After all, our own merchandise was in there too!"

Johann Lechner returned to the table.

"And what was it you wanted there?"

"We wanted to give the Schongau rafters a thras.h.i.+ng, that's what we wanted! Up at the Stern that wagon driver of yours, Josef Grimmer, gave one of our men such a beating that he'll probably never be able to work again! We wanted to make sure that such a thing would never happen again, but by G.o.d, we didn't set fire to the Stadel! I swear it!"

Fear gleamed in the wagon driver's eyes. Johann Lechner experienced a warm feeling of satisfaction. He had suspected something, but he had not believed that the Augsburger would cave in so quickly.

"Hueber, it doesn't look good for you," he continued. "Is there anything to support your case?"

The wagon driver thought briefly, then nodded.

"Yes, there is something. When we were down by the landing we saw a few men run away, about four or five of them. We thought they were yours. Just a little while later the Stadel was burning."

The court clerk shook his head sadly, like a father who is immensely disappointed with his son.

"Why didn't you tell us this earlier? It would have saved you a lot of suffering."

"But then you'd have known that we had been there before," sighed Martin Hueber. "Also, until just now I really did think these men were yours. They looked like town bailiffs."

"Like town bailiffs?"

The Augsburg carter was struggling for the right words.

"More or less. After all, it was already getting dark, and they were quite a ways off. I didn't see much. Now that I think about it, they may have been soldiers."

Johann Lechner gave him a puzzled look.

"Soldiers..."

"Yes, the colorful clothes, the high boots, the hats. I believe one or two of them were also carrying sabers. I...I'm no longer sure."

"Well, you really should be sure, Hueber."

Johann Lechner walked back to the door. "You should be sure, or else we'll have to help you remember. I'll give you one more night to think it over. Tomorrow I shall return with quill and parchment, and we'll set it all down in writing. If some uncertainties still remain, we'll quickly clear them up. It just so happens that the hangman is not busy right now."

With those words he closed the door behind him and left the wagon driver alone. Johann Lechner smiled. They would see what the Augsburger would come up with overnight. Even if he was not responsible for the fire, his confession would still be worth its weight in gold. A Fugger wagon driver as the ring-leader of a conspiracy against the wagon drivers of Schongau! The Augsburgers would have to eat humble pie in future negotiations. It might even be possible, under such circ.u.mstances, to increase the rates for warehousing Augsburg goods. After all, the Stadel would have to be rebuilt at great cost. It was wonderful how everything was working out. Once the midwife confessed, all would be well again. Fronwieser, that quack, had said that she would be ready for interrogation tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow at the latest.

It would just take time and patience.

The Schreevogl house was in the Bauernga.s.se, in the Hof Gate quarter, not far from the castle. In this neighborhood stood the houses of the patricians, three-story showpieces with carved balconies and paintings on their facades. The air smelled much better here, mainly because it was far away from the malodorous tanneries down by the Lech. Servant girls were shaking out bedding on the bal.u.s.trades, while merchants came to the door to supply the cooks with spices, smoked meat, and plucked geese. Simon knocked on the tall door with the bra.s.s k.n.o.b. After a few seconds he could hear steps inside. A maid opened and led him into the entrance hall. A short time later Jakob Schreevogl appeared at the top of the wide spiral staircase. With concern he looked down on Simon.

"Any news about our Clara?" he asked. "My wife is still sick in bed. Under no circ.u.mstances do I wish to upset her unnecessarily."

Simon shook his head. "We were down at the Hohenfurch Road. The building site of the leper house is completely ruined."

Jakob Schreevogl sighed. "I already know that," he said and with a gesture invited Simon to have a seat while he himself settled into a cus.h.i.+oned chair in the antechamber. He reached into a bowl of gingerbread cookies and started chewing slowly. "Who would do such a thing? I mean, of course there was opposition to the construction in the council, but from there to go and destroy the entire leper house..."

Simon decided to speak openly with the patrician.

"Is it true that you had already made firm plans for a second kiln on that land before your father left it to the church?" he asked.

Jakob Schreevogl frowned and put the gingerbread back into the bowl. "But I've already told you. After the argument with my father he quickly changed his will, and I could bury my plans."

"And your father, too, shortly thereafter."

The patrician raised his eyebrows. "What are you implying, Fronwieser?"

"With your father's death you no longer had any chance of having the will changed again. Now the land belongs to the church. If you want it back, you'd have to buy it back from the church."

Jakob Schreevogl smiled. "I understand," he said. "You suspect me of interfering with the construction until the church would give me back the land voluntarily. But you forget that before the council, I had always spoken for the building of the leper house."

"Yes, but not necessarily on a piece of land that is so important to you," interrupted Simon.

The patrician shrugged. "I am already conducting negotiations regarding another piece of land. The second kiln will be built but at another location. This particular spot on the Hohenfurch Road wasn't important enough for me to put my good name at risk for it."

Simon looked Jakob Schreevogl straight in the eye. He could detect no trace of deception.

"Who, if not you, could be interested in destroying the leper house?" he asked finally.

Schreevogl laughed. "Half the council was against building it: Holzhofer, Puchner, Augustin, and, leading them all in opposition, the presiding burgomaster Karl Semer." He quickly became serious again. "Which doesn't mean that I would suspect any one of them of such a thing."

The young patrician rose and started to pace back and forth across the room. "I don't understand you, Fronwieser," he said. "My Clara has disappeared, two children are dead, the Zimmerstadel has been destroyed, and you are questioning me here about a burned-out building site? What is that supposed to mean?"

"We saw someone at the leper house this morning," Simon interjected.

"Who?"

"The devil."

The patrician caught his breath as Simon continued.

"In any case, the one they call the devil now," he said. "It may be a soldier with a limp. The one who abducted your Clara and who was hanging out with other soldiers at Semer's inn a few days ago. And who met an apparently important person from the town upstairs in the inn's conference room."

Jakob Schreevogl sat down again.

"How do you know that he met someone at Semer's inn?" he asked.

"A servant girl told me," Simon replied sharply. "Burgomaster Semer himself claimed to know nothing about it."

Schreevogl nodded. "And what makes you think that this person was someone important?"

Simon shrugged. "Soldiers are hired for money; that's their profession. And in order to be able to pay four men, much money is needed. The question is, what were they hired to do?"