17
THE EVENING OF SUNDAY, JUNE 20, 1666 AD
The first thing Simon heard was the chirping of a bird, one so lovely he thought he was in a beautiful garden, if not in paradise.
He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were stuck shut as if they were smeared with honey. Startled, Simon tried to get up, but something kept pulling him down. His arms had to be bound-he couldn’t lift them even an inch-and the harder he tried, the more it seemed to him his limbs were not bound but somehow baked into a hard cast. His feet, his legs, his entire upper body, felt like it was under a layer of clay that he couldn’t break through.
This must be a dream; in a moment I’ll wake up alongside Magdalena, bathed in sweat but healthy, and we’ll both laugh about my silly nightmare. Then we’ll look in on the two children, and then…
His train of thought came to an abrupt halt when he recalled what had happened in the hours before. He’d had to run from the guards with Kuisl; then he fell off a cliff; and finally he found this cave in the forest, where he heard the automaton’s music. He’d entered the cave, and then… What had happened then?
Simon tried to remember, but from that moment on, he just drew a blank.
Again he struggled to move, but he still couldn’t lift a finger. All the while the bird kept singing; its chirping sounded like that of a nightingale, if somewhat strange and metallic.
Simon tried to breathe calmly. He’d had dreams like this before and knew he would wake up as soon as he could move just a bit. He tensed his muscles until he could feel cold sweat running down his forehead-but all in vain. Making one last desperate try, he was relieved to find his eyelids had opened at least a crack. Light shone through the narrow slits, a harsh light that shot through him and made him wince. Once more he struggled to open his lids, but he felt as if he was trying to move heavy boulders.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he managed to open his eyes completely. It took a while for them to get used to the dazzling light, but he could now make out-at first vaguely, then more and more clearly-part of a room. He stared up at a birdcage hanging from the rock ceiling with a little silver-colored bird inside chirping merrily away. Simon’s back felt slightly cold; apparently he was lying directly on the stone floor.
With great effort, he rolled his eyes downward and to the side, where he could make out more of the room. Now he noticed a weathered wooden door and bookshelves on either side holding the strangest objects: some appeared to be technical devices, while others were apparently natural in origin. In the torchlight, the objects seemed as eerie as if they’d come directly from hell.
Or is this place hell itself?
A mummified skull no larger than a fist bared its teeth and grinned at him from atop a dusty velvet pillow, while a yard-long curved horn reminded the medicus of the legends about unicorns. Alongside these lay huge, strange animal skulls, one of which had a sort of thorn where a nose should have been. There was also a brownish egg the size of a child’s head, carved mussels, jewelry boxes decorated in ivory, a few crystal glasses, but also a golden astrolabe and one of those famous globes that depict the world in the form of a sphere.
Simon wished he could pinch himself, but for that he would have needed to move his hands. He tried to open his mouth to cry for help but could barely manage to raise his lip in a nervous spasm, like a wolf baring its fangs. Grimacing convulsively, he now heard a sound quickly approaching.
The now familiar melody of the automaton.
The music was accompanied by a squeak and clatter, and after a while Simon realized these sounds came from the little wheels of the automaton Aurora, the same one that had been rolling around in the watchmaker’s workshop a few days ago. At that time, Simon had found the automaton, and also the music, remarkable, a technological wonder. Now the song sounded so frightening that, despite his paralysis, the little hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
Rolling his eyes, Simon could see the door opening as the life-size automaton rumbled into the room. Aurora still looked as beautiful as the first time they’d met in the watchmaker’s house. Her red ball gown fluttered around her copper legs, her hair was put up artfully, and her lips were the color of fresh blood.
The lifelike doll rolled a few more yards, then stopped in the middle of the room as the music slowed, then finally stopped.
With a stiff grin, Simon could move his eyes far enough down to see the automaton. For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still; the only sound was the soft chirping of the bird.
The figure smiled but remained silent.
Finally it began to twitch. There was a cracking and rattling inside it as the upper body of the narrow-waisted dress teetered back and forth. For a moment, it seemed the machine might tip over, but then the lips suddenly opened like the blades of a pair of scissors.
Simon tried to scream, but not a word came out. He could only watch as his worst fears took shape.
From inside the puppet came a squeaking, like that of a clock that hadn’t been oiled in a long time, then a high-pitched, gravelly voice sounded.
“Greetings, bathhouse surgeon. I have waited a long time for someone to help me while away the time. You’ll make a nice toy, don’t you think?”
With that, Aurora had begun to speak.
Shivering, Magdalena and her father ran through the low-ceilinged passageway that led them deeper and deeper into the mountain.
Perhaps a good half hour had passed since they’d entered the cave, though the hangman’s daughter couldn’t be sure. Down here, time seemed to run slower. In addition, it was pitch black; the only light came from a small, warm circle around her father, who ran ahead with the torch. Behind them, all was engulfed in darkness again.
Until now, they hadn’t encountered anything unusual. At the far end of the cave occupied by the hermit woman, a tunnel and a flight of stairs led downward. For a while they proceeded straight ahead, occasionally passing niches holding rotted pieces of wood, rusty iron implements, and whitened bones, but neither Jakob nor Magdalena stopped to examine them. She was sure that her children were down here somewhere-abducted by the same madman who’d been stalking her. And now it seemed this person had also captured her husband.
It upset Magdalena to think that the abductor evidently assumed they knew more about him, but so far they didn’t have any idea who the Andechs sorcerer could be. The prior? The Wittelsbach count? Or perhaps someone else they didn’t even know?
Magdalena choked with fear for her children and for Simon. She ran along behind her father as if in a trance, hitting her head from time to time on the low ceiling but not feeling the pain. Kuisl also seemed half-crazed; never had she seen him so angry.
“If he’s done anything to the two young ones, then God help him,” he growled as they again passed a few rotted beams and bones covered with moss. “He’ll wish he’d never been born, the scoundrel.”
It occurred to Magdalena that the old hermit woman outside the cave had spoken of a helper. Would her father be able to take on two abductors? The Schongau hangman had seen more than fifty summers come and go, and even if tried to hide it, his movements were no longer as effortless as they used to be. When the hermit woman had cursed him earlier, he looked old to Magdalena for the first time.
Suddenly Kuisl stopped. In front of them, two similar-looking corridors forked off. From one, a slightly moldy odor emanated, and from the other, fresh air.
“Now what?” Magdalena asked, turning to her father. “Shall we split up?”
Kuisl looked at her skeptically. “So you can run right into this sorcerer’s arms?” he grumbled. “Forget it. It’s enough if I’ve lost my grandchildren and my chicken-hearted son-in-law to this scoundrel, without losing my daughter, as well.”