What mystery is hidden behind these walls-or beneath them?
Stiffly, Simon descended the stairway as Brother Benedikt continued to eye him distrustfully, and didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until he was outside. His heart pounding, he took the chronicle out from under his robe and wiped his sweat from the leather binding. Then he broke out in a broad grin.
At least he’d have something to read tonight.
After Magdalena had put the children to bed, she sat down, exhausted, in the main room of her cousin’s house to relax from the tribulations of the day and absent-mindedly stirred a cup of steaming mulled wine. She’d been singing bedtime songs to the children for almost an hour, and now she was hoarse, as one might expect. Three-year-old Peter in particular couldn’t fall asleep and kept asking for just one more. After being away from the children the last three days, they now clung to her all the more. At least her sickness had passed, even though her stomach still felt a bit queasy.
Magdalena wished she could share her feelings with her husband, but as so often, Simon was completely wrapped up in his own plans and thoughts. She sighed softly. Especially now, she wished she had a little support. She was still wearing a bandage around her neck where the silent bullet had grazed her the night before, and though the wound seemed to have healed well, she remained fearful that the stranger might strike again. Or was Simon perhaps right… had she just imagined all this? Was the stranger in the belfry perhaps just some drunken monk she’d disturbed in his befuddled condition? And was the shot in the dark nothing more than a ricocheting bullet from a hunter’s rifle?
Lost in thought, Magdalena took another drink from her cup of wine. The knacker Michael Graetz had gone off to the tavern in Erling for a mug or two of beer, and her only companion was the silent Matthias, huddled down on the bench by the stove across from her. Once again she noticed what a handsome young man he was. He was perhaps in his early twenties, and with his powerful arms, black apron open in the front, and red hair, he looked a bit like one of the drifters who would occasionally pass through Schongau to sing songs and perform magic tricks.
Graetz had told her that the redheaded lad couldn’t speak because marauding soldiers had cut out his tongue when he was a child, and for this reason she didn’t expect him to approach her. It was strange to be seated in a room with someone staring at you, however, without even being able to say a word.
“Don’t you want to go down to the tavern with your master?” Magdalena ventured, just to have something to say. “It was a tough day, and no doubt your throat is dry.”
The silent helper shook his head, and a gurgling sound came from his throat. He was pointing at Magdalena’s cup of wine.
“Ahh dahh ring…” he stammered.
“You don’t drink?” she replied.
Matthias beamed, seeing he was understood.
“And why not?”
The handsome fellow seemed to think a bit; then his face turned into a threatening grimace as he spread his fingers out like claws.
Instinctively, Magdalena moved off to one side. “Ah, it makes you sick?” she asked hesitantly.
Matthias sighed and rolled his eyes as if he were drunk. Finally, he reached for a pitcher of water and drank it in one long gulp.
“Aaah.” he exclaimed, rubbing his stomach like after a good meal. “Aach eer… ush eer.”
“You’re right,” Magdalena murmured. “Alcohol sometimes changes men into beasts, lustful beasts, or snoring bears.” She laughed self-consciously, and the good-looking assistant stared back at her unambiguously. Suddenly she felt the heat and closeness of the room closing in around her and stood up, blushing.
“Say,” she began somewhat awkwardly, “do you think you could keep an eye on the two sleeping kids for a little while? I’d like to get out for some fresh air, and since you’re not going to the tavern…” She smiled at him, and for a moment Matthias seemed befuddled, trying to sort things out in his mind, reaffirming Magdalena’s impressions that the knacker’s assistant was not only handsome but unfortunately a bit dense. He didn’t seem especially enthused at Magdalena’s suggestion, but finally he nodded.
“Then… until later,” she said softly. “And thank you very much.”
She quickly tossed on a scarf, stood up, and left. Outside, in the cool night air, she almost had to laugh at herself. What in the world was wrong with her? Evidently, events of the last few days had rattled her so much that now even a mute knacker’s boy could throw her off her stride. The children, too, had upset her more than she’d expected while their father was busy with more important things.
Magdalena took a deep breath, then decided to go up to the monastery and search for her husband. It annoyed her that Simon was gone again in the evening, leaving her to care for the children. He really should have returned some time ago; perhaps she’d even meet up with him on the way.
The distant singing of drunken men wafted through the cool night air, and in the fields around the village little fires were burning. Many of the pilgrims spent the night outside, and by now several hundred people had set up camp at the foot of the Holy Mountain.
Steering clear of the fires and the warm and inviting lights of the tavern, Magdalena climbed up the steep pathway toward the monastery, and was soon enveloped in silence. The stone wall around the monastery where she and Simon had sat in the warm sun yesterday noon had now become a black strip silhouetted against an even darker background. There was a cracking of branches in the bushes on either side of the path, and once Magdalena even thought she heard footsteps. She hurried along the path, finally passing through a gate and entering the monastery grounds. Here too, in contrast with the loud activity during the day, quiet prevailed. Somewhere she heard a single bell sound. Two drunks coming from the monastery tavern approached her, but they, too, stumbled silently past.
Finally she reached the square in front of the church and started looking for Simon. Just where could he be? He was only going to pay a quick visit to the abbot with her father, but that was at least three hours ago. Had the two of them paid a visit to the ugly Nepomuk in the dungeon?
Magdalena’s mind wandered as she stared at the piles of stone and sacks of lime lying all around the square. Workers had put up scaffolding on the walls and front of the church to make repairs to the roof. A wailing tomcat scurried across the boards in search of his mate, and Magdalena looked up, smiling, to see the animal disappear through a crack in the wall of the belfry.
It suddenly occurred to her that she still didn’t know what the strange device was up in the belfry. Should she have another look now? Perhaps she could find out if her fall from the belfry was really just a foolish accident.
Magdalena resolutely opened the church portal a crack and slipped inside. The church was empty. She reached for one of the dozens of flickering candles on a side altar and carefully climbed the steps to the balcony. From there, a rickety, partially repaired winding stairway led up into the tower.
Magdalena walked as best she could on the interior side of the steps, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. At least the darkness offered her the advantage of not knowing what was just a few yards ahead of the flickering candles and spared her the dizzying sight of what lay below. With heart pounding, she climbed step by step until she finally reached the upper platform with the three bells. Carefully she raised the candle and looked around.
“What in God’s name…?” She held her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.
The stretcher with the metal clamps, as well as the iron stakes, had disappeared.