In the middle of the garden a surprise awaited her.
Behind some rosebushes, she found a stone water basin surrounded by four benches. In the basin itself stood a full-size marble statue of a mythical beast-a bearded man with the hooves and horns of a goat, his lips pursed scornfully and blowing on a strange flute. With dead eyes, he looked out at the forest where steep cliffs led down to the garden.
Magdalena sat on one of the benches and gazed at the statue in astonishment. She’d never seen anything like it before. The creature seemed a bit like the devil in the frightening depictions of hell in the churches of the Priests’ Corner, but in contrast to them, this figure had a roguish smile and seemed almost friendly. What in the world was such a statue doing in the monastery?
The hangman’s daughter suddenly froze. It was surely just her imagination, but for a moment the head of the statue seemed to turn just slightly in her direction. The creature’s smile seemed no longer friendly, but more like that of a goblin looking to play a wicked prank.
And then Magdalena was certain-the statue’s head was moving.
The stone devil turned its head toward her. Slowly, unrelentingly, its gaze enveloped her-almost as if it were struggling to tell her something. Had its mouth opened just a bit? Magdalena sat rooted to the bench, wondering whether the creature would suddenly begin to speak.
In the next moment a slender stream of water shot out of the devil’s mouth, striking her right in the face.
With a scream, Magdalena fell backward off the bench, and the frightened children turned around to look at her. Her bodice was soaked and her backside ached from her sudden fall into the herb garden, but otherwise she was uninjured.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to frighten you so,” a voice said behind the trellises. “But the temptation was just too great. My brother always enjoyed himself immensely with this performance.”
Magdalena turned toward where the voice was coming from and saw none other than the abbot himself walk out from behind the trellises.
“But Your Excellency,” she began hesitantly. “I mean… how is it that-”
“I came here to think a bit,” the abbot interrupted with a smile. “About myself and my brother. Actually pilgrims aren’t permitted in the garden, so anyone who enters has to be prepared for surprises like this.”
In the meantime, Magdalena had gotten a hold of herself again. Straightening her wet bodice, she took a seat alongside her children on the stone bench.
“Excuse me,” she said, embarrassed. “But as a midwife, I was just interested in knowing what sort of herbs grew in your garden. I must say I’m impressed.”
The abbot chuckled. “By what? By the herbs or by our faun?”
“Faun?” Magdalena asked, perplexed.
Rambeck pointed at the statue with the horns and goat hooves. “That’s what the Romans used to call this creature. A wild man of the forest who loves drinking and dancing. There are people who compare him to our devil, but that’s naturally nonsense.” He sat down beside Magdalena. “My brother had it brought here over the Alps, and… well… he changed it a bit,” he said, winking at Magdalena. “There’s a device for moving the head in any direction, and the stream of water from his mouth works by a complicated system of pumps. But you mustn’t ask me for details. Such water devices were always my brother’s hobby.” Rambeck stood up and took Magdalena by the hand. “Come along. I’ll show you something that the children will also enjoy.”
They walked together through the labyrinth of trellises and walls until they found themselves in front of a little grotto at the bottom of the cliffs. In the dim light of the cave, Magdalena could make out another basin with around a dozen waist-high statuettes around its edge. Like the faun, they were strange and different-out of place at a monastery. One figure grasped a trident in its hand; another a bolt of lightning; and beautiful women, carrying mirrors and hunting spears, stood beside them.
“The ancient Greek gods,” Rambeck declared. “Naturally just imaginary figures, but they add a certain character to our garden. Virgilius designed this grotto, as well as the faun and a few other devices in our little enchanted herb garden-all according to the plans of long-deceased scholars.” He leaned in toward Magdalena. “There are those who say that civilization was far more advanced in those days, not only in the healing arts but also in the other sciences. Virgilius loved being here in this remote spot, devoting himself to his hobby-building automata. See for yourself.”
The abbot pulled a concealed iron lever inside the grotto, and as if by magic, the figures began dancing around the basin on an invisible track, all to the soft notes of a glockenspiel. The children laughed and pointed their little fingers at the spectacle; only Magdalena felt uneasy, and it took her a while before she knew why.
“That’s the music I heard that night,” she cried out in shock finally, “When someone tried to shoot me near the wall of the monastery.”
“Shoot you?” The abbot looked at her in astonishment.
“The sorcerer, or whatever he is, has already tried to kill me twice.” Magdalena told Rambeck briefly what had happened to her in the last few days.
When she finished, he looked at her skeptically. “Do you really believe it’s the same person who kidnapped my brother?”
Magdalena nodded as she continued listening to the sound of the glockenspiel. “The same person-even if we don’t know why he’s so anxious to have the hosts.” She hesitated, remembering her conversation that morning with her father and Simon at the cemetery. “Or the same creature.” Perhaps there really was a golem or some animated automaton haunting the castle. After pausing briefly, she pointed to the circle of spinning statues in front of them. “Your brother was very interested in automata, wasn’t he? All of this here, and the one at home. What did his colleagues have to say about that?”
The abbot smiled. “You can put up with anything-even the devil-if he looks out for you. Virgilius did much for the monastery. He provided running water in the cells and built a furnace that heats most of the building. His glockenspiel and dancing figures often added a touch of lightness to the gloomiest days here.” Rambeck stared off into space. “Recently he’d taken an interest in lightning,” he said. “Brother Johannes did some research in this area, and they were exchanging ideas. It was unfortunate that lightning struck the steeple again just at that time.”
“Ah, I know,” Magdalena replied. “A really unfortunate coincidence. It’s a shame there’s still no way to ward off lightning strikes.” She remembered what her father told her about his conversation with Nepomuk, but she decided to keep silent and not incriminate the apothecary even more.
The abbot sighed. “I’m sure Virgilius had a solution for it.”
Magdalena tried to steer the conversation in another direction. “As a watchmaker, did he have an enemy in the monastery?”
“One enemy?” Rambeck chuckled. “Superstition is a widespread affliction among monks, and as long as I’ve been here in the monastery, I’ve tried to protect Virgilius from it. But there was a lot of gossiping behind his back. Brother Eckhart, our present cellarer, for example, considers even a clock in the belfry the work of the devil.” He frowned. “Later, when I was called back to the university in Salzburg, it was our librarian for the most part who made his life difficult, though such a learned man as Brother Benedikt, who has read so much in his long life, surely knew better.”
The eleven o’clock bell tolled from the church belfry, and Rambeck slapped his forehead. “What a fool I’ve been, wasting time here while my colleagues have been waiting. I must return to the sacristy to prepare the liturgy.”
Once more he forced a smile. “As long as I’m abbot, I’ll see to it that everything follows its usual course. No one will be able to say afterwards that I was a bad superior.”