“You knew all along, didn’t you?” the hangman retorted. “You knew your brother was behind all this.”
Maurus Rambeck shook his head wearily. “Not at first, though I’ll admit I had my suspicions. Virgilius had been pestering me for weeks about the hosts. He wanted me to get them for him, just for a while, and he would give them back. Naturally I didn’t go along with that.”
“Curses on you, Maurus,” the watchmaker snarled. He’d moved a few steps closer to his brother, the crying child still in his arms. “All these… these problems wouldn’t have come up if you’d just given me the hosts. I could have switched them with other ones. No one would have noticed, and Elisabeth would be back with me again.”
“Forget about your Elisabeth,” Maurus shouted. “Don’t you realize that you can’t bring her back, Virgilius? She’s been dead now for more than thirty years.” The old man drew closer to his younger brother, his eyes flashing with anger. “Elisabeth’s remains are rotting in some cemetery in Augsburg. Her flesh, her red lips, her tender breasts that you longed for so much have all turned to dust long ago. Only her spirit lives on, but you can’t bring that back, either. Only God can do that.”
“No! That… that can’t be! She… she must come back to me; she just has to.” Virgilius stamped his feet on the ground like an angry child, shaking Paul so violently the boy started screaming. When the hangman advanced, Virgilius ran back to the opening and held the struggling child over the void.
“Get back! Everyone get back!” he screamed. “We’re going to wait for the lightning to come from heaven and bring my woman back to me.” He held his head out to the sky, opened his mouth as if to drink from the falling drops, and closed his eyes to let the water stream down his face.
“Elisabeth was Virgilius’s great love,” Father Maurus tried to explain, looking sadly at his mad brother. “Back then, his name was Markus. He was smart, well-read, and extremely sensitive, and when Elisabeth died, it broke his heart. Our parents thought it would pass, and so did I, but instead things became worse and worse until my brother would no longer even get out of bed or eat or drink. A doctor finally concluded that sending him abroad would help him forget.” He sighed. “So my wealthy father gave him money, and my brother embarked on long voyages. In fact, he seemed to be getting better; he sent us optimistic news from Africa and the West Indies. We should have suspected the madness was still simmering beneath the surface.”
Virgilius started humming a soft melody, the same one his automaton played, but the sound clashed with the crying of the child like a poorly tuned instrument. Kuisl wondered again how he might overpower the watchmaker, but the child was still dangling over the void.
“When my brother came to Andechs and started work here as a watchmaker, I thought he was cured,” Rambeck continued, shaking his head. “But then he built this… this monster.” Disgusted, he pointed at the grinning automaton. “He dressed it like Elisabeth; he even gave it her nickname. It must have been that damned book about golems that sent him over the edge. From that point on there was nothing I or anyone could say to him. He didn’t respond to my letters, so not until I returned from Salzburg and assumed the position of abbot did I see how bad the situation was. But then it was too late. All he ever wanted was the sacred hosts.”
“And when he didn’t get them, he simply staged an abduction and extorted you,” the hangman replied harshly. “Admit it, you knew he was behind it.”
“I… suspected so. When I found the book in our library about golems, it slowly dawned on me what Virgilius was up to.” The abbot shook his head regretfully. “I knew I could no longer stop him, but I also didn’t want to turn him over to the bailiffs. After all, he’s my brother. They would have tortured him and burned him alive.”
“So instead my friend Nepomuk has to die,” Kuisl growled.
Father Maurus shrugged apologetically. “The whole thing was like a little trickle that grows and grows until a river just carries you away. It was driving me crazy. When you caught me in Virgilius’s house, I was on the point of confessing, but I still had hope you might be able to stop him, that I could learn where he was hiding out.”
As Virgilius continued humming the automaton’s melody, Kuisl watched him cautiously, but Paul was still dangling over the void, crying.
“It wasn’t Virgilius who dug up the dead monk in the cemetery; it was you, and you set fire to him and threw him in the well,” Kuisl thundered now at the abbot. “You were afraid we’d catch on to what he was doing. Admit it.”
“That’s true,” Maurus smiled. “It seemed too dangerous to have you turn him in to the judge in Weilheim, so I set fire to the corpse of our dearly departed brother Quirin, who’d been suffering from consumption, and placed one of Virgilius’s walking sticks beside it. I even cut off Quirin’s ring finger so he would look just like Virgilius. After all, a corpse can’t commit a murder, can it?” He winked at the hangman. “Tell me how you figured it out.”
“It was you yourself who raised my suspicion when you found the body in the well so quickly,” Kuisl replied. “Besides, how could a hunchback with a walking stick have dug up a grave? And there were no prints in the ground from a cane. The only thing I couldn’t figure out was this handkerchief.”
The abbot looked bewildered. “What handkerchief?”
“Alongside the grave we found a lace handkerchief with the initial A. My superstitious son-in-law thought it belonged to Aurora.”
“Oh, that?” Rambeck laughed softly, shaking his head again. “I must have lost the handkerchief near the grave. A stands for abbot. Every abbot in this monastery receives such cloths, along with gloves, napkins, and other such frilly things. They all bear this insignia.”
Virgilius’s humming finally stopped. The hunchbacked watchmaker’s eyes were still closed as he held the boy out in the rain like a sacrificial offering.
“I… I understand,” Virgilius murmured suddenly as if in a trance. “I finally understand. There can be no new life until an old one dies. It all makes sense. You here, Maurus, are the messenger of Christ, and the hangman is a messenger from hell-and then this boy. Above all the boy. God sent him to me.”
There was another blinding flash of lightning as Virgilius stepped just a bit closer to the opening. Solemnly, he held the crying child up to the black clouds.
“O, God of vengeance, take this living sacrifice from me and give me back my Aurora,” he pleaded.
Then he dropped the boy over the side.
Like corpses, Magdalena and Simon lay motionless on the ground of the monastery garden, while Peter played atop the ivy-covered walls, undeterred by the steady drumbeat of rain. Behind them, the last section of the grotto had collapsed, sealing the entrance to the underworld off forever.
Simon coughed and spat phlegm and water, but the cool rain had helped relieve his paralysis somewhat. Now he could even talk, though the words came out with a strange drawl. In faltering sentences, he told Magdalena what had happened in the passageways.
“He took Paul with him,” he gasped. “Along with that damned Matthias. I… I knew right away that that fellow wasn’t to be trusted.”
Magdalena shrugged sadly. “You’re right, but that doesn’t bring our son back. Even if he’s alive, he’s out there somewhere in this storm. If I only knew-” Suddenly she jumped up. “Of course. How could I forget?” she laughed. “This damned fear muddles my mind. They’ve surely gone up to the belfry.”
Simon frowned. “The belfry?”
Magdalena nodded vigorously. “Remember, Simon? It must have been Matthias who almost threw me off the tower. I presume I interrupted him setting up everything for his master’s great experiment. This time, they intend to carry it out. The lightning will surely strike the belfry.”