In Schongau the blizzard raged, too, and people stayed inside their warm houses, hoping they wouldn’t run out of firewood. In the surrounding forests, the howl of wolves could be heard now and then, and on the rooftops snow piled up, making the beams creak. Even the oldest Schongauers had rarely seen a storm like this, and it was certainly the worst since the Great War had ended.
The streets and narrow lanes in town were empty except for a single figure making his way through the blizzard, up from the Tanners’ Quarter, toward the dungeon. Jakob Kuisl held onto his wide-brimmed hat with his right hand, shielding his eyes with his left and trying to see ahead through the chaos. He looked like a black giant in a sea of white. He cursed under his breath. His pipe had gone out in the blizzard, and though he needed it to concentrate now more than ever, it would no doubt take a long time for him to relight the wet pipe.
Immediately after the council meeting, Johann Lechner had told the hangman he would send him out to hunt for the second group of thieves. This time, however, he would be allowed to pick out his men himself. The hangman decided to keep the company small. From what the robber chief told him, he knew that there were probably only four bandits roaming around out there, but they were all experienced fighters. Somehow they had managed to find out the planned routes of individual merchants, even though the victims all claimed they had discussed their plans only among themselves. Was there a leak somewhere among the Schongau patricians? Could one of them be involved in the raids?
Matthias Holzhofer’s injured drivers had been questioned but revealed little. The attackers were disguised, they said, wrapped in black coats and armed with crossbows, muskets, and rifles. They were clearly a small but ferocious group and far superior to the ordinary highway bandits.
To learn more about this mysterious group, the hangman decided, despite the blizzard, to visit the dungeon and question Hans Scheller again.
There was no watchman standing guard at the door to the massive tower, and Jakob Kuisl assumed the bailiff was either in the tavern or inside the dungeon. Who could blame him in such weather? The hangman knocked loudly on the iron-reinforced door and heard steps coming from inside.
“Who’s there?” a voice asked.
“It’s me, Jakob Kuisl. Open up before the storm blows me away.”
There was a grinding sound as a key turned in the lock. The door opened a crack, and the pinched face of the city bailiff Johannes peered out. “What do you want, huh? Your last visit cost me a fine of eight kreuzers and an extra day of guard duty. Lechner’s not happy when somebody crosses him.”
“Let me talk with Scheller once more.” The hangman gave the door such a shove that the bailiff was pushed aside.
“Hey, Kuisl, you can’t do that!”
Kuisl tossed him a little bag. “Take this and be quiet.”
The bailiff looked inside curiously. “What is it?”
“Chewing tobacco. From the West Indies, where the snakes are as fat as the trunks of oak trees. Chew it, but don’t swallow. It will keep you awake and warm.”
Withdrawing to a stool in the corner with his little bribe, Johannes sniffed at the dried weed. “Chew it, huh?” He looked at the hangman again. “But don’t crush Scheller’s other hand, or he’ll die on us in the dungeon, and it’ll be my fault.”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
The hangman approached the cells in the rear, where the robbers were detained. In contrast to his last visit, they appeared listless now. The men and women crouched in the corners on filthy straw. They had wrapped themselves in threadbare coats and tried to keep each other warm against the January cold. In their midst lay the feverish boy, trembling all over. The wind whistled through the barred window behind them. Alongside the robbers sat a bowl of moldy bread and an apparently empty pitcher of water. A bucket of excrement stank so badly that Kuisl had to step back. Hans peered out at him from behind the bars with an empty gaze, his small right finger festering like a bloated sheep intestine.
“It’s you again,” he whispered. “What else do you want?”
The hangman spun around. “What kind of a pigsty is this?” he shouted at the bailiff, who was still absorbed in the exotic, fragrant plant. “These people have nothing to eat or drink, and there are no blankets or fresh straw! Do you want them to die before they are executed?”
The bailiff shrugged. “You can see for yourself what the weather is like outside. I’ve asked twice for food, but none arrives.”
“Then go and get it yourself.”
“Now?” Johannes looked bewildered. “But the storm-”
“At once!” The hangman walked over to him, grabbed him by the collar, and lifted him off the stool so that his feet dangled in the air. His face turned bright red, and his eyes bulged.
“That’s the way Scheller is going to feel soon,” Jakob Kuisl growled, “and so will you, by God, if you don’t do what I say at once. Fresh water, bread, warm blankets-do you understand?”
The bailiff nodded, and Kuisl let him down again.
“And now get out.”
Without even turning around, Johannes rushed out. Snow and wind blew in through the open door, but as soon as the hangman closed it, silence prevailed once more in the dungeon. The only sounds now were the soft whine of the baby and the distant howling of the wind. The robber chief looked at Jakob Kuisl in astonishment. Just as he was about to ask a question, the hangman spoke up.
“Did the medicine I gave you help the boy?”
Scheller nodded, still speechless about what he had just witnessed. “Why did you do that?” he asked finally.
Jakob Kuisl didn’t answer. “I spoke with Lechner,” he said. “No torture on the wheel, a quick, clean hanging, and the women and children will be let go.”
Scheller broke into a wide smile, but soon he turned serious again. “How long do we have?” he asked.
Jakob Kuisl took a draw on his cold pipe. “If the weather permits, the trial will be in a few days. After that there will be three more days-that’s the custom. Semer, the tavern keeper, will serve you your last meaclass="underline" bacon, dumplings, sauerkraut, and for each of you, a jug of muscatel to keep you warm on your last walk.”
Hans Scheller nodded. “A full week, then.” He stopped. “It’s good it’s over,” he said finally. “This wasn’t really any way to live.”
The hangman changed the topic. “There’s still something I have to ask you about the other gang of robbers. You said there were four of them. Four plates, four cups, four knives…”
Hans Scheller nodded. “As I said, the fourth probably had just gone out into the woods to relieve himself.”
“But the fourth plate,” the hangman continued. “Was it dirty? Did it looked used?”
The robber chief stopped to think. “Now that you mention it…actually, no. You’re right…Three plates that had been used were around the fire, but the fourth was stashed away in one of the saddlebags along with a cup.”
Jakob Kuisl chewed on his cold pipe stem, cursing to himself because it had gone out. “That must mean that the fourth man hadn’t been with the others for a while. Perhaps he was in town.”
Hans Scheller shrugged. “Who cares where the fourth man was? Perhaps he had run away earlier.”
The hangman told him about the town clerk’s suspicion that information about the merchants’ secret routes had been leaked to someone. The robber chief nodded.
“I understand. The fourth man hangs around in town and informs his comrades about the routes. Then all they have to do is help themselves. After all, the wagons are not very well guarded, and the merchants are not afraid of anything. Not a bad plan.” He grinned, and Kuisl could see that almost all of his top teeth were missing. “Sounds like a plan I would make up.” Suddenly, he stopped. “I just thought of something.”