“Does your Signore Fracasomethingorother say anything about how to cure this sickness?”
“Alas, research hasn’t reached that point yet, but-”
“I’m afraid your explanations will have to wait a bit,” Magdalena interrupted. “One look at my father’s face tells me he certainly doesn’t want to talk with us about medicine.” She pointed at the door, where Jakob Kuisl had just appeared. Like a great ship at sea, the hangman plowed his way through the low-ceilinged room toward them, looking very out-of-sorts.
“We’ve got to talk,” Kuisl growled. “Something unexpected has happened, and I’m sure it has to do with these murders.”
A quarter hour later, Simon and Magdalena sat on a wall not far from the infirmary while the hangman paced restlessly in front of them. He told them briefly about the theft of the three hosts and the conversation he’d overheard in the chapel. To the casual pilgrim passing by, he looked just like an ill-tempered monk lecturing two pilgrims.
“That’s dreadful,” Magdalena gasped. “If the hosts don’t turn up by the time of the festival, people will surely assume they were stolen by the golem. All of Andechs will look like a witch’s cauldron.”
“I assume that’s exactly what this insane murderer wants,” Simon replied.
Magdalena looked at him questioningly. “Do you think there’s any connection between the two murders, the disappearance of Virgilius, and the theft of the hosts?”
“That would fit in very well with the plans of our unknown evil-doer,” Simon replied with a shrug. “This devil clearly wants to sow panic among the pilgrims: first the murders and the automaton and now the theft. The only question remaining is what this madman is trying to accomplish.”
Kuisl stopped pacing and wiped the sweat from his brow beneath the hood. “Sow panic? I’m not so sure of that,” he grumbled. “Maybe this is all about something quite different. Don’t forget, Virgilius said someone was interested in those damned experiments with lightning. I, in any case-”
“Shh,” Magdalena squeezed her father’s hand and pointed furtively toward the end of the street where two more pilgrims had just appeared: the Schongau burgomaster, Karl Semer, and his son. The older patrician headed straight for Simon, ignoring the two others. At the last minute Kuisl was able to pull the hood far down over his face.
“Fronwieser, it’s good I found you here,” the burgomaster began in a condescending tone. “I’m sure you completely misunderstood me in our conversation two days ago.” With a broad smile Semer reached out to him, but Simon declined to shake hands.
“Well, in any case,” Semer continued, smoothing his jacket awkwardly with his hand. “Have you spoken with the abbot recently? His Excellency refuses to see me, and Count Wartenberg also seems quite annoyed. First he comes late to the mass, then he leaves before it’s over, slamming the door behind him. Do you have any idea what’s happened?”
Simon folded his arms in front of his chest. “I’m sorry, but I’m fully occupied with the infirmary,” he replied in a flat voice. “I really can’t help you with that.”
Semer sighed. “If you can’t help me, perhaps you can help my son,” he said, pointing to Sebastian, who was standing at his side, his eyes flashing in anger. Clearly Sebastian was suffering even more than his father from having to beg for a favor.
“My son will soon take over the business in Schongau-the business, and no doubt my position on the council,” Karl Semer said in a whining voice. “If you help me, it could work out to your advantage, Fronwieser.” There was suddenly something threatening in his voice. “But if the deal with the count falls through, if my investments in the upcoming festival should be a loss, then…” He paused dramatically. “I can make your life very difficult, mister bathhouse surgeon. Taxes, the permission to practice, a license from the town… Do you have such a license, Master Fronwieser?”
“You have the gall to threaten us?” Magdalena snarled. “A lot of other people have tried the same thing.” Her voice was now so loud that some of the passing pilgrims turned around. “Just remember, Semer,” the hangman’s daughter continued in a softer voice, “someday you, too, will need the help of a doctor, and God forbid that my husband gives you the wrong medicine.”
“Quiet, hangman’s girl.” The burgomaster didn’t even deign to look at her but stared off into the distance. “Brood of vipers. A woman like you should be thankful she’s allowed to marry a bathhouse surgeon. In other places, they would put you in the pillory or burn you at the stake for saying things like that. So what do you say, Fronwieser?” Jutting his chin out aggressively, he turned back to Simon. “Are you going to see to it that the judge holds a speedy trial for the demonic apothecary so that peace and quiet return here? Or would you rather be chased out of town with your dishonorable and querulous woman?”
Simon was preparing a harsh response when he heard a loud cracking next to him. He looked to the side and noted in horror that his father-in-law was clenching his fists so hard his knuckles had turned white. Beneath the hood Kuisl looked like the very personification of the Grim Reaper just before he swings his scythe.
My God, Kuisl, calm down, Simon was thinking. If Semer recognizes you now, it’s all over. Then we’ll have another trial, and the Weilheim hangman will punish his own colleague.
The Schongau burgomaster seemed to have noticed Simon’s gaze. Annoyed, he looked over at the huge monk with the hood drawn down over his head, and frowned. “Have we met before?” Karl Semer asked. “I’ve never seen you in the monastery. Such a large man would have caught my attention.”
“An itinerant Minorite helping me with my patients,” Simon stammered before Kuisl could reply. “Brother Ja… Jakobus,” he corrected himself quickly. “A great healer. We thank God we have him.”
The mayor continued staring at the silent monk. “Strange,” Semer murmured. “I think I’ve seen your healer somewhere before.” He turned to his son. “What do you think?”
Sebastian Semer shrugged indifferently. “I don’t know. All these monks look the same to me.”
“So be it.” Finally Karl Semer turned back to Simon and Magdalena. He seemed to have already forgotten the Minorite underneath the hood. “But think it over carefully before you pick a fight with me, Fronwieser,” he threatened again. “Up to now the Schongau council has approved your bathhouse, but that can quickly change. What would they say in Munich if they found out that the Schongau bathhouse surgeon married a dishonorable woman and he didn’t even have the proper permits?”
Simon pretended to concede. “Very well,” he sighed. “You’ve won. I’ll speak with the abbot. But now I really must go to take care of my patients.”
“Fine, fine.” Karl Semer smiled thinly. “I see we understand each other. I’ll come back tonight. And now, farewell.” Then he pointed at Magdalena in disgust. “One day I’m going to order the father of this hussy to cut out her tongue before she gets you all in a lot of trouble.”
Magdalena started angrily, but Simon managed to quiet her with a severe glance.
“I’ll… I’ll see to it myself that she’s a little more careful with what she says,” he quickly replied. “I promise.”
“That’s all right, then.” With a slight nod, old Semer turned to leave with his son but suddenly turned back to Simon. “Ah, Fronwieser, it just occured to me…” he began hesitantly. “Didn’t you say your father-in-law would be coming to Andechs? I haven’t seen him yet. Has he arrived?”
Simon froze, but tried to keep his voice as calm as possible. “His… his wife is unfortunately too ill. He’ll no doubt have to remain in Schongau.”