“What happened?” she asked anxiously.
“Something grabbed me by the leg,” Georg said through gritted teeth. “I think it was another of those damned traps. It. . hurts. . so much.”
Magdalena crawled over to her brother, passing her hand down his leg until she felt something metallic and sharp that had clamped down on his right ankle. The fresh blood stuck to her fingers. While she was examining Georg, Bartholomäus crawled over to them. He coughed, rubbed his eyes, and bent down to have a better look.
“By all the saints! That’s a wolf trap,” he gasped. “This madman actually put out wolf traps here.” With his powerful fingers he pulled apart the two jagged jaws that had clamped down on Georg’s ankle. Georg let out a short cry, then just moaned softly. “We’ve got to get Georg out of here as quick as possible and care for the wound,” Bartholomäus said, throwing the trap into a corner with disgust.
“But what about Father and Barbara-” Magdalena started to say.
“Forget both of them,” her uncle interrupted. “If we want to save Georg, we’ve got to get him out of here right away. Everything will be going up in flames here in a minute. The floors are dry and crumbling, and there’s a cellar under the entire house. When it starts to burn down there, the wind will come roaring through the halls like in a chimney.” He held Magdalena’s hand. “You must be strong now. If Barbara and your father are somewhere down below, there’s nothing more we can do for them. But we can help Georg.”
“Then you take care of Georg,” she said as another fit of coughing shook her entire frame. “I’m going to keep looking for them-”
“Girl, come to your senses. There’s nothing more you can do here-your stubborn father made a mess of it all. Now we’ve got to salvage what we still can.” Georg moaned as Bartholomäus began pulling him away. “Now hurry up and help me. With my stiff leg and all the smoke, I can’t get this heavy guy out fast enough by myself. The windows are nailed shut-we’ll have to go all the way back to the front.”
Magdalena bit her lips and clenched her fists. She’d never in her life felt so helpless. Did she really have to decide between Georg and Barbara? The twins, so different from one another, were like her own children. How often she’d given them a goodnight kiss or sung them a song. She’d watched them grow up. And now she had to decide their fate in this lonely house in the forest. Was this really the end?
What shall I do? Oh, God, help me. What shall I do?
Bartholomäus had pulled the groaning Georg to his feet, but it was clear her brother couldn’t walk by himself.
“Hurry up!” Bartholomäus yelled, tugging at her dress. “This whole place is about to collapse.”
“I. . I can’t,” she mumbled as the wooden floor beneath her grew hotter and hotter. The first tongues of fire were already licking through the cracks.
“You must.” Bartholomäus gave her a shove. “Do you want to burn to death? Is that what you want? Do you want Georg to die along with you just because you can’t decide?”
“Georg won’t die,” she replied in a flat voice. “I’ll help you take him out, but then I’m coming back to look for Father and Barbara. I’ll never-”
At that moment a form emerged out of the smoke from one of the doorways. The man coughed, but he stood up straight. He waved the smoke aside with his hands and staggered toward them. For a moment, Magdalena thought it was a ghost.
But then the ghost started to speak, and she knew who it was.
“Out! Get out, all three of you,” Jeremias said. “I know where Barbara is, and I’ll get her out, just as surely as I’m the former executioner of Bamberg.” He shuffled quickly past them. “And now, please get out-this is my job.”
Somewhere far below, several timbers could be heard collapsing.
17
THE BAMBERG FOREST, NIGHT, NOVEMBER 2, 1668 AD
Outside, in front of the house, Simon nervously clutched the pistol in his hand. The wind had gotten stronger; the tops of the trees creaked and groaned, and the howling of the wind made it almost impossible to hear what was happening inside the house.
It had been quite a while since Magdalena, Georg, and Bartholomäus had entered. Simon had thought it best to stay behind the thornbush and wait to see what happened. From there he could keep an eye on everything, and if necessary he could. .
He hesitated.
Indeed, what could he do?
It was his job to stop the abductor if he should leave the building, but no one had told Simon how to do that. Suspiciously, he eyed the loaded weapon in his hand. He probably wouldn’t have any luck with the old firearm unless Salter was standing directly in front of him, and even then it was questionable whether it would fire at all.
Simon sighed and wiped a few raindrops from his face. Until just a while ago, at least he had Jeremias at his side, but during the long wait, the old man had grown increasingly silent. He had just stared at the dilapidated hunting house, shaking his head occasionally and mumbling softly to himself. It looked like he was thinking it all over. Once or twice, during brief lulls in the wind, Simon thought he heard muffled cries coming from the house. What was going on in there, anyway? Should he go and have a look? He never should have let Magdalena enter the house. But once his wife had put her mind to something, it was very hard to get her to change.
Impossible, actually.
Just as he’d decided to sneak closer to the house, smoke had suddenly started pouring out some of the windows, and then flames appeared on the ground beneath them.
At that moment, Jeremias stood up and ran toward the house, where he disappeared through one of the windows.
Leaving Simon alone.
The iron pistol in his hand felt cold, and in a strange way reassuring, but nevertheless his fear increased, as well as a gnawing uncertainty that tormented and paralyzed him. Almost his entire family was over there in that strange building, which was burning down before his eyes. He couldn’t just stand idly by. He had to help. But how? Should he perhaps rush into the burning house, hoping to find Magdalena and the others? But what if-
Suddenly, very close to him, there was a menacing growl, deep, almost like an approaching whirlwind.
The werewolf, Simon thought.
But then he scolded himself for being such a fool. Good Lord, there was no such thing as a werewolf, there was only a madman taking his cruel revenge-and he was over there in the house and not here in the thornbush.
What was it, then?
Again he heard growling, and a rustling sound as if something large was creeping through the thicket.
Right toward him.
That was more than he could take. With the pistol in his hand he ran toward the building, where smoke was now pouring out on all sides. He turned around a few times but couldn’t see anything in the darkness.
But he did see something right in front of him.
Two figures, a man and a woman, came crawling out of a cellar door. At first he thought they were Jakob and Barbara, but as they came closer, that hope vanished. The man was far thinner and shorter than the hangman, and the woman at his side was considerably older than his sister-in-law. He didn’t know either of them, but he guessed that the man was Markus Salter. He was holding a knife to the throat of the woman and pushing her in front of him.
With a determined look, he pointed his weapon at the abductor. Finally he knew what he had to do. He was trembling slightly and hoped Salter wouldn’t notice it.
“Stay right where you are, you rotten scoundrel!” he shouted, “And drop your dagger if you value your life.”