“The sorcerer,” Magdalena shivered in the cold, moldy air. “But would he kill Virgilius and the two assistants, and make sure Nepomuk would burn for it, all because he was interested in lightning rods?”
The hangman shook his head slowly. “I don’t know,” he finally responded. “Until now our man has done everything possible to get a hold of the three hosts. How does that all fit together?” He sighed. “A shame the abducted watchmaker was found dead in the well; I’m sure he could have explained it for us.”
Magdalena was just about to reply when they heard a distant banging and scraping farther down the corridor.
“It appears we have a visitor,” Kuisl grumbled, reaching for the cudgel still hanging on his belt next to the hunting knife. “Well, let’s greet our guest properly.”
Paralyzed with fear, Simon watched the life-size puppet in the middle of the room move its red lips. It clattered and rattled as the words came out of its mouth, sounding very human.
“This poison is astonishing, isn’t it?” Aurora said. Her high voice sounded strangely hoarse, almost squeaking. Simon was sure he’d heard it somewhere before, but in his fear he couldn’t remember when or where.
“I brought it back from one of my many travels,” the puppet continued. “The poison comes from the West Indies. The natives there use it in hunting, but also against other men. Usually it brings immediate death, but apparently it didn’t survive the long trip unscathed-which makes it actually all the more interesting.”
Aurora’s mouth flapped as if she were gasping for air. “I’m actually considering whether to try my experiment first on you,” the automaton said. “After all, you’re rather like a lifeless puppet in your present condition, and it would be interesting to see whether I can breathe life into you. But I probably wouldn’t have the time. The moment at which nature and faith meet in this unique synthesis is simply too brief.”
Once again Simon tried to raise his arms and legs from the cold, hard stone floor, or to at least raise his head, but it was impossible. His whole body was paralyzed; he could see the automaton only out of the corner of his eye. He was so horrified it was almost impossible for him to think rationally.
This is impossible, an insistent, distraught voice inside his head told him. An automaton can’t think and speak, can it? Is this the notorious golem conjured up by its master, Virgilius, who has now become its victim?
As Simon stared up at the ceiling, where the bird was still chirping, he finally realized what had been bothering him all this time. The bird’s call was a series of identical tones, and the silver nightingale wasn’t a living creature but just a pretty toy. The lifeless skulls of nameless monsters glared at him from their places on the shelves, and the technical apparatuses among them seemed as cold and hostile as if they’d come from another planet.
Suddenly Simon could hear soft whimpers nearby-cries and moans that were all too familiar to him. His heart skipped a beat when he realized where they came from.
Peter and Paul! My God, my children are over there.
He wanted to call their names, but they literally stuck in his throat-not a sound came out.
“Oh, it appears the two children have awakened from their deep sleep,” Aurora said, smiling. “Don’t worry, my loyal assistant gave them only a few poppy-seed cakes. After all, I still need the children. You never know what your stubborn grandfather has up his sleeve, do you?” The puppet’s voice now became shriller and more hateful-quite out of character with its delicate appearance. “You’ve brought this all on yourself,” it screamed. “Why do you have to stick your noses in things that don’t concern you? All I needed was the hosts. But no, you felt compelled to persuade good old Maurus to let you continue snooping around.”
As the children’s whimpering grew louder, it became clear they were in the next room. Simon listened as Peter started to cry loudly and Paul shouted for his mother. The medicus thought his chest would explode. His children were terribly afraid; they were right nearby, and he couldn’t help them.
“The poor little fellows,” Aurora’s voice sounded full of pity, even though the smile remained fixed on her face. “The little ones are calling for their mother, that bitch. A few times my helper almost got her-once up in the tower, then with the rifle, and finally with the sack of lime. Why didn’t she understand my warnings? Evidently she’s just as stubborn as her father.”
Then Simon had an idea. Until that point, Aurora’s face had been just a vague shadow he could see out of the corner of his eye. Now he succeeded in turning his head a fraction of an inch to get a better look at her. What he saw stunned him.
The puppet’s mouth moved even when it wasn’t talking.
“I think we should allow the two little ones to see their father now,” a hoarse voice said close to where the automaton was standing. “What do you think, Aurora? You be good and stay here, and I’ll let the children out of their cage. I wonder what they’ll say to a father who’s become nothing more than a stiff puppet?”
There was a sound of receding footsteps. As Aurora’s mouth continued flapping up and down, Simon could see the shadow of a man heading into the next room at the edge of his field of vision.
Aurora crackled, squeaked, and rattled, her lips moving up and down, but she didn’t speak.
It had been the sorcerer speaking the whole time.
Magdalena held her breath and listened as the banging and scraping started in again. She was still standing with her father in the ancient cesspit of Andechs castle. He’d quickly stashed Nepomuk’s little notebook in his pack, along with the book with the remarkable drawings, and now he listened closely, too.
“It’s not coming any closer,” he said. “It sounds like someone moving a few heavy crates.” He turned to the arched doorway and said, “Come, let’s have a look. Perhaps the sorcerer is trying to move out and taking his whole laboratory with him.”
As they ran down the low-ceilinged passageway, it seemed to Magdalena as if they’d crossed half the length of the Kien Valley. Where might they be now? Under the monastery? Somewhere deep below the forest? She couldn’t imagine how her father could keep his bearings in these surroundings. The hangman was clearly too large for these narrow, low passageways. His huge body kept banging against the rock, and his shirt and trousers had taken on the color of lime, dirt, and stone.
Now the scraping sound got louder, until finally it seemed to be directly above them. They turned another corner and came to a sudden stop.
They had reached the end of the corridor.
The hangman’s daughter stared at the hard granite wall. A small trickle of water emerged from the stone in front of them, accumulating in a dirty pool at their feet as tiny pebbles fell from the ceiling.
“Great,” she panted. “We’ve come to a dead end. We’d better turn around and-”
Magdalena stopped short as her father put his finger to his lips and pointed up. Turning and looking up, she could see a stone slab in the rock directly above her. In contrast with the stone around it, it was strangely light in color, as if it had been just placed there recently. The dragging sound came from above.
“I think I know where we are,” the hangman whispered, pointing at the solid granite all around them. “If this used to be the escape tunnel for the castle, then we are in all probability directly beneath the former cellar of the keep.” Briefly he stared into space. “Back in the war, we stormed a castle up in Saxony,” he continued in a low voice. “There was so much screaming and butchering. The last inhabitants of the castle were as stubborn as mules and withdrew to the solid rock keep. When we finally broke through after two weeks, we found no one there. They had all fled through a tunnel like this.”
“Now what do you suggest?” Magdalena asked impatiently. She didn’t like when her father started telling old war stories. “We can hardly attack them as you did back then, with shouts and rattling sabers. Especially since the stone slab overhead looks so heavy.”