That unknown person… and the strange melody.
Was it the same man who’d pushed her from the belfry the day before?
“Well, are you back among the living?” Simon bent over her with a smile and handed her a bowl of steaming oatmeal. “My poppy-seed potion obviously worked well. It’s afternoon; with just a few interruptions, you’ve slept more than sixteen hours.”
“I… I probably needed it,” Magdalena replied, still a bit drowsy. “But I’m damned hungry now.” She attacked the oatmeal with gusto. Not until she had wiped the last morsel away with her finger did she lean back, sighing.
“That was good,” she murmured, “very good. Almost as good as the porridge my cousin makes, the scruffy knacker.” Suddenly her face turned serious. “I should be glad I’m still alive and can eat at all,” she added softly.
Simon caressed her sweaty forehead. “I made you a compress with shepherd’s purse, horsetail, and marigold,” he said, with concern in his voice. “The wound on your neck should heal well, but you were spouting all kinds of crazy things last night. What in the world happened to you?”
Magdalena sighed. “If only I knew.” Then she told Simon about what she had seen during evening mass, the strange melody, about being ambushed and the shots that came from behind the wall.
“It was the same song Brother Virgilius’s automaton was singing?” Simon looked at her skeptically. “Are you sure?”
Magdalena shrugged. “In any case, it was a glockenspiel, and it came from somewhere inside the mountain… down below.” Suddenly a chill came over her again. “Do you think that automaton really killed its master and the apprentice and is now looking for other victims somewhere down there? Is it a… a golem?”
“Nonsense,” Simon replied. “Those are nothing but horror stories. Only God can create life. But I do think these monks have something to do with it.”
Magdalena grinned triumphantly. “Then do you believe now that the ugly Nepomuk is innocent? I said so right away.”
“You mean Brother Johannes?” Simon handed Magdalena a pitcher of water, and she gulped it down eagerly. “If he really isn’t a sorcerer, he’ll be sitting just as before in the old cheese cellar,” he mused. “So he can’t be the one who shot at you last night. Perhaps it was just a hunter who thought you were a wild animal. It was, after all, pretty dark.”
“Simon, don’t be silly. Do I look like a wild boar?” Magdalena shook her head and cringed, as the wound began to sting again. “That was no hunter; it was that stranger. Sometimes I believe you think I’m just a hysterical woman.”
Simon smiled. “Oh, God, no, I’d never dare to think that. But it’s true that you sometimes… well… seem over-stressed.”
“Good heavens, I’ve rarely felt as clear-headed as now,” Magdalena snapped. “But if you say one more time that I’m sick, I’ll probably really start feeling that way.”
But Simon was already lost in thought again and seemed not to have heard. “The monks are indeed behaving very strangely,” he continued, haltingly. “All this talk in the monastery council about the blasphemous experiments Johannes and Virgilius were carrying out. What did the monks mean by that? And what was the abbot doing with the prior and one of the Wittelsbachs in the relics chamber so late at night? You said that Maurus Rambeck seemed very distracted during mass…”
“Just like the young novitiate master,” Magdalena spoke up. “He looked like he’d been crying and got a poke in the ribs from the prior. And the fat cellarer was standing guard up on the balcony. If you ask me, they have a secret and are afraid someone will learn about it.”
“But Count Wartenberg?” Simon frowned. “What in God’s name does that Wittelsbacher nobleman have to do with it?”
“The cellarer said Wartenberg had the third key.”
“The third key?” Simon shook his head, stood up, and stretched. “Things are getting more confusing just when I have my hands full here. This damned fever is like a plague.” He pointed to the door where two pilgrims were just carrying in another patient, a deathly pale farmer dressed in coarse linen, whose weak moans joined the chorus of the wailing and rattling of the other patients.
“Basically this pilgrimage is one huge source of infection,” Simon grumbled. “For years, both my father and I have preached that what makes people sick is not vapors escaping from the ground, but that people infect one another. Thousands will come to Andechs in the next few days and carry this fever back with them to their cities and villages. It would be better for people to stay home and pray there.”
“It’s too late for that now, Master Fronwieser. The best we can do is to care for the people, so they can return home healthy.”
Simon turned around to see Jakob Schreevogl carrying in a child. He was weak, sweat was streaming down his forehead, and his eyes were closed.
“The parents believed that a hundred rosaries and the donation of a candle would assure their child’s survival,” the alderman sputtered. “Fortunately I was able to convince them to leave the boy in your care, at least during noon mass. It’s a disgrace.” Carefully he placed the child down on a bale of straw in the corner of the low-ceilinged vault, then looked at Simon with a tired smile. “When I see sick children, I can’t help thinking of my little Clara and how you cured her back then, Fronwieser. I hope you can help this boy as well. Every child is a gift of God.” The young alderman reached for his belt and took out a purse of clinking coins. “Here, take this. I actually wanted to buy an arm’s-length bee’s-wax candle with the money and donate a new confessional booth, but I have the feeling the coins are better off invested here.”
“Thank you,” Simon murmured, weighing the purse in his hands. There must have been thirty guilders in it. “I’ll ask the abbot for permission to buy medicine and clean bed linens with it.”
Schreevogl waved him off. “Just decide for yourself. The abbot really has other concerns at the moment. Rumors of this horrible murder are going around, and some golem is said to be haunting the monastery. If Rambeck isn’t careful, his flock will be nothing but anxious sheep at the Festival of the Three Hosts.” He winked at Magdalena, who had sat up in bed now. “But if I know you, you both already know more about this than I do.”
“If we learn anything about the murderer, you’ll be the first to know, we promise.” Magdalena stretched again and stood up. She was still wavering slightly but otherwise seemed to have recovered. “And now excuse us for a moment. I’d like to…” She stopped short as a shadow fell over her face. Something large was standing in the doorway, blocking the sunlight. It was a man in a black overcoat with broad shoulders, carrying a crude walking stick in his callused hands, his face concealed by a wide-brimmed hat. The giant bent down and placed two little boys gingerly on the ground. They ran toward Magdalena with shouts of joy.
“Looks like Paul has finally learned to walk,” the hangman grumbled. “It’s about time. I thought he’d always be crawling through the house like a little worm.”
“My God, Father!” Magdalena shouted, running toward her children, who embraced her warmly. She laughed out loud with relief. In all the excitement, she’d completely forgotten the letter she’d sent the day before. Now that her father and children were with her, she felt everything would turn out well.
“Spare your mother, you rascals,” Kuisl scolded, raising his finger playfully. “You’ll crush her. It’s hard to believe that they were clinging to my coattails just a minute ago.”
“Even the best grandfather can’t replace a mother.” Smiling, Simon came over to his father-in-law and held out his hand. As they shook, Simon could feel his bones cracking. He never ceased to be amazed at the strength of the Schongau executioner.