“I can’t take you to His Excellency,” the soldier shouted back. “The archbishop is occupied with the preparations for the procession.” He gave an indignant snort, then went on more calmly. “But I could call the archbishop’s secretary. Would that do?”
Success!
“All right,” he said with feigned sullenness, “if that’s the best you can do.”
The guard nodded and sent two of his comrades up the stairs. Jacob waited, hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t know precisely what a secretary was, but it sounded important.
Surprisingly quickly a short, skinny man appeared with the two soldiers at the top of the stairs and descended with mincing steps. A gold chain lay resplendent on his lilac-and-black robe, his hands were in gloves of burgundy leather. A kindly face with watery blue eyes was framed by a fluffy white beard. He came up to Jacob and smiled. When he spoke, Jacob noticed the accent of some Latin country.
“The Lord be with you and with thy spirit.”
Jacob sniffed in embarrassment. “Yes. Of course. Definitely.”
The secretary put his head to one side. “What can I do for you, my son? I was told you had information for the archbishop, but are unwilling to say what.”
“I must talk to him,” said Jacob. “The archbishop is in great danger.”
“Danger?” The secretary came closer and lowered his voice. “Don’t speak so loudly in front of the soldiers, my son. They’re loyal, but you never know. Archbishops have occasionally been murdered by their own nephews. Whisper in my ear. Who wants to harm our archbishop?”
Jacob leaned forward and whispered, “Conrad is to be killed today. I don’t know if it will be during the procession or the service, but they intend to kill him.”
A horrified expression appeared in the secretary’s blue eyes. He clapped both hands to his mouth and took a step back. “Who intends to do that?” he breathed.
“The patricians, I’m afraid. There’s a conspiracy—”
“Stop!” The secretary gave the guards a suspicious glance. “We can’t discuss this here. I am staggered by what you have told me, my son, profoundly shocked. I find it unbelievable. You must tell me everything you know, everything, do you hear?”
“Most willingly.”
“After that I will take you to Conrad. Follow me.”
He turned around and went up the stairs. Jacob followed. Somewhat amused, he observed the secretary’s affected walk. “Peacock” was the word that came to mind. Probably Italian. Bram had often told him how Italian nobles and clerics loved fine materials and had costly hats made of ermine and sable. His eye ran over the slim figure.
He almost fell down the stairs.
Trembling, he clutched the banister and wondered what to do. There must be many rich citizens in Cologne who wore expensive shoes, but so far he had only seen one pair with purple lilies on them.
Now he was seeing them again.
“Excuse me, Herr—er—” he said.
The secretary turned to face him, bathing him in a rosy glow. “My name is Lorenzo da Castellofiore, my son.”
Jacob forced a smile to his lips. “Well, Lorenzo da—well, I’ve just remembered I have to—I have to—”
Lorenzo’s eyes went on the alert. “Yes, my son? What is it?”
“My horse. I think I forgot to tether it. If you wouldn’t mind waiting a moment, I’ll just pop outside and—”
Lorenzo’s expression froze. “Guards,” he shouted, “arrest this man.”
Jacob’s eyes darted to the bottom of the stairs. The soldiers came on the double, swords unsheathed. For a moment he was completely at a loss. Impossible to get past the guards, and even if he did, he’d have to unbolt the door, and by the time he’d—
He swung around and slammed his elbow into Lorenzo’s stomach. With a strangled cry, the secretary doubled up. Jacob grabbed him and pushed him at the soldiers. Then, without waiting to see the result, he took the last steps two at a time as the staircase echoed to the crash and clank of armor and Lorenzo’s high-pitched screams.
In front of him was a corridor that ended in a wall some way ahead. On the left were two openings. Jacob hesitated for a moment, clearly long enough for the guards to get back to their feet, for he could hear them clattering up the stairs.
Without further thought he ran through one of the openings.
“Catch him,” Lorenzo roared with all his might. “That bloody gang, that bunch of misbegotten layabouts! Your mother should have drowned the lot of you at birth. He mustn’t escape.”
Jacob did a pirouette and his eyes popped. He was in an immense, magnificent room with carved beams and pillars. The far end was entirely taken up with huge stalls of polished black wood. The floor was covered with an elaborate maze of inlay work, while the opposite wall was broken by a long balcony with trefoil windows, the middle part of which was open.
The arcades. He was in the Hall.
The soldiers appeared in the doorways, brandishing their swords menacingly, followed by a very-red-in-the-face Lorenzo. Jacob desperately looked for another way out, but there was none, only the arcade windows, and they were too high to jump down into the street. He fell back and saw the triumph in Lorenzo’s eyes.
“The man who stole a guilder from Matthias Overstolz,” he hissed. “How nice of you to come to see us. Better surrender if you don’t want us to spread your stinking corpse all over the room. What do you think?”
The guards approached. Jacob stumbled and looked down. A jump after all? But it was too high. He’d only break his legs.
There was something rising up outside the arcades, branching out.
A tree.
He let his shoulders droop and nodded resignedly. “You’ve won, Lorenzo. I’ll come with you.”
The soldiers relaxed. Their swords sank. Lorenzo grinned. “A wise decision, my son.”
“Yes,” said Jacob, “I hope so.” He spun around and was at the window in one leap. Lorenzo shrieked. Jacob jumped up onto the balustrade. The street yawned below. The tree was farther away than he had thought.
Too far. He wouldn’t make it.
“Go on,” Lorenzo shouted, “get him. You’re letting him escape.”
Will it never end? Jacob groaned to himself.
He bent his knees and sprang. He sailed out of the arcades and over the street. For one wonderful moment he felt light as a feather, free as a bird, as free from gravity as an angel. Then he crashed into the boughs with a snapping of twigs.
Branches tore at his face and limbs. He tried to find something to hold on to, to arrest his fall, but he just kept falling down, the tree giving him the worst thrashing he’d ever had. Something struck him a painful blow across the back and the world turned upside down. He scrabbled for the nearest branch, like a cat, and hung there for a moment, kicking his legs. Then he dropped to the ground, got to his feet, and shot down the nearest alleyway.
By the time the guards in their heavy armor had unbolted the door and dashed out into the street, he was well away.
RHEINGASSE
“You did what?” said Johann angrily.
Theoderich looked embarrassed.
Matthias tried to calm him down. “Urquhart told me he had made sure he left the servant looking as if the dean could have done it. That gave me the idea of increasing the pressure on this Jaspar Rodenkirchen.”
Johann shook his head in disbelief. “Increasing the pressure! The last thing we need is the sheriffs hunting high and low for Rodenkirchen, and you go and increase the pressure! Why didn’t you at least wait until you’d gotten him?”
“That’s what I meant to do,” Theoderich insisted.
“Meant to? But you’d no idea where he was.”