“Stop talking and give us a hand.” Augustin Bonenmayr strode toward the large white block of stone, which was emblazoned with the relief of a simple cross. He yanked aside a dirty red velvet cloth covering the altar; then they all pushed against the stone block. The abbot gave orders in a loud voice. “One, two, three-now!”
With a loud grinding sound, the block tipped, then fell over. A cloud of dust formed, and after it settled, Bonenmayr looked down intently.
Bare earth.
So exhausted that they nearly fainted, the monks collapsed on the floor.
The abbot took a deep breath and sat down on the overturned altar. Sweat poured down over his eyeglasses so that he could only vaguely see. He removed the pince-nez and polished them.
He had forgotten something. What?
The solution to the riddle was correct-of that he was certain. If the solution was correct and he still couldn’t find anything at the location, it could mean only one thing:
The place had changed.
His gaze wandered along the vaulted ceiling. All the way at the top, in the middle, he noticed the keystone had a number inscribed on it. Putting his glasses back on, he squinted to read what it said.
MDXI
Augustin Bonenmayr let out a little cry and clenched his fists. How could he be so stupid? The St. John’s Chapel they were in was only built in 1511. This couldn’t be the right place. The abbot knew from studying the centuries-old monastery records that there had been a St. John’s Chapel in Steingaden before that.
But where…?
Bonenmayr closed his eyes and concentrated. After a while it all started coming back to him. Was it possible? Had the answer always been so close at hand?
A smile spread across his face.
“Put down the pickaxes!” he ordered. “We’re going to look somewhere else!” He stomped out into the darkness. “And this time we’ll find this damned cross, even if I have to burn this whole monastery to the ground!”
Immobilized with terror, Magdalena felt Brother Jakobus throw his whole weight against her and smelled the fire that had turned his robe into a gigantic torch. Desperately, she tried to push away his burning body, but his hands held her in a tight grip down on the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see how long strings of a sticky, viscous substance were dripping down on her. Brother Jakobus must have taken pitch from the buckets in the corridor and rubbed it all over his body. The crackling heat from his tunic almost caused her to faint. The monk was looking directly into her face now. Fire had burned off his hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes, and all that was left were two deranged, glowing white eyes and a black hole that had once been his mouth from which a high-pitched, almost childlike cry emanated.
“Come back, Magdalena…!”
Frantically, Magdalena turned her head to one side and could see Benedikta waving her pistol toward the burning monk, trying to shoot without striking Magdalena, who was still pinned beneath him. The monk’s robe had ripped apart and, in some places, was sticking to him, burning into his skin. Magdalena could feel the flames lick at her own clothing.
A shot echoed through the corridor. The bullet ricocheted off a rock right next to Magdalena, but Jakobus didn’t let go and Magdalena could hear Benedikta cursing. The shot had missed.
The hangman’s daughter was losing consciousness. The acrid smoke burned her lungs, and like an army of ants, a sharp pain ran down her leg where her dress had caught fire.
Once again the black hole in his scorched face opened up. “Maria Magdalena, do not leave me! Stay with-”
Augustine’s Confessions struck Brother Jakobus on the side of the head like a brick. Simon delivered the heavy blow with both hands, then raised the heavy book again and again, pounding the charred body, flailing away even as the book caught fire.
A sooty, trembling hand reached up, seizing Simon’s wrist and pulling him relentlessly to the ground. Simon stumbled, and in a flash, the burning monk had fallen upon him as well. With horror, Simon stared into the monk’s face, which had congealed into a black lump, with only the whites of his eyes still ablaze. Charred fingers gripped Simon’s neck, choking him.
My God, how can he still be alive?
The monk’s face came closer and closer, his hands gripping him like glowing iron bars, cutting off his breath. His eyes bulged.
He’s killing me…A dead man is killing me…Oh my-
Suddenly, a violent twitching ran through the monk’s body, he stared off into space and, with a last soft hissing sound like a flame being extinguished, slowly tipped over, his mouth wide open in a muted cry. Then all went silent.
Behind the monk Magdalena stood holding in her right hand a shining silver object that dripped with blood. She looked at it with bewilderment, as if realizing only now she had stabbed the monk with it.
“A…letter opener,” she said finally. “I took it from the library, thinking I might sometime be able to…use it.” She threw it to the ground and ran her hands down her soot-stained dress.
Coughing, Simon stood up and eyed her. The hem of her skirt was torn, holes were burned into her bodice, and her thick black hair was singed in places. Her whole body trembled as she stared off into space. But then she seemed to pull herself together. Simon was proud to be in love with this girl.
She’s a real Kuisl, he thought, and nobody’s ever going to intimidate her.
Magdalena kicked aside the charred mass that had once been Brother Jakobus. “He had some illness that slowly made him lose his mind,” she whispered. “What a horrible way to die…”
“Not any worse than what your father will do to me and the medicus when he burns us at the stake for desecration of holy relics,” Benedikta said. “Now let’s move along.”
They were still standing at the intersection of the tunnels. Simon looked around in every direction. “Where shall we go?” he asked.
Benedikta looked to the right, thinking it over. “This monk brought Magdalena something to eat and drink from the monastery every day. Certainly, he was trying to flee there now as well, but changed his mind. So let’s turn right.”
They followed her through the narrow passageway. This led gradually upward, and they were soon standing before a huge wooden door.
Benedikta grinned and bowed slightly. “Voilà, the entrance to the monastery!” Then she pressed the door handle down.
It was locked.
She shook it a few times and finally pushed against it with all her weight. The door creaked and shook, but it wouldn’t open.
“Are you crazy?” Simon hissed. “You’ll wake up everyone in the monastery!”
Benedikta looked at him angrily. “Is that so? Do you have better idea of how to get out of here?”
“Let’s first have a look at the other passageway,” Magdalena interjected. “We can always come back here and try to beat the door down.”
Benedikta nodded. “Not a bad suggestion, Little Hangman’s Girl. Let’s go!”
They ran back down the corridor to the intersection and took the other tunnel. In contrast to the first, this one had a low ceiling and seemed to go on and on through the darkness. Simon still could not bring himself to set fire to any of these books. Destroying the Confessions was his limit. And so he followed the two women, who lit the way with the burning parchment pages. If he’d looked closer, he would have seen that Aristotle and St. Thomas Aquinas had just gone up in flames, but he really didn’t want to know about that.
Finally, the corridor ended at a low door with rusty metal fittings. It looked much older than the door at the end of the other corridor. The door handle and lock were tarnished, and it seemed they hadn’t been used in years.