“Perhaps she’s not even in the burning house,” Simon ventured, trying to console her. “Salter suggested he might’ve taken her somewhere else.”
“She’s inside,” said a soft voice beside them. It was the blond woman, who Magdalena realized must be Adelheid Rinswieser, the wife of the Bamberg apothecary, who had been missing for more than a week. “Barbara was his last victim,” she continued sadly, “along with that old scribe.” Timidly, she placed her hand on Magdalena’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
Magdalena felt something wet on her cheeks-tears, running down her face in streams. She felt as if someone had kicked her hard in the stomach.
“I must go to Father,” she mumbled in a flat voice. “He needs me now.”
She stood up and walked over to Jakob, who was still sitting alone on the tree trunk, looking like a craggy boulder that had washed up ages ago in a forest clearing. She sat down next to him, and together they stared into the crackling flames now rising over the roof of the old lodge.
“It’s my fault,” the hangman said suddenly. “I was so. . angry. I went charging in there all by myself, like a wild bull. Bartl is right. I am a good-for-nothing.”
“Father, what are you saying?” Magdalena replied in a soft voice. “You couldn’t have stopped it. All of us-”
She stopped, suddenly seeing another figure staggering out the front door. Burning wooden beams from the roof came crashing down and glowing shingles flew through the air, but the figure staggered on. Only now did Magdalena see it was Jeremias, holding something in his arms carefully, like a treasure.
It was a delicate human form, wrapped tightly in a blackened monk’s robe, but Magdalena knew right away who it was.
“Barbara!” she shouted, running toward them.
Magdalena’s cries tore Jakob out of his profound grief.
He thought at first that his mind was playing tricks on him, but then he looked up and saw Jeremias stumbling toward the group, holding the motionless girl in his arms. He jumped up, rushed the few steps over to the two, and took his daughter in his huge, muscular arms. He hadn’t cried since the death of his wife, but now tears ran down over his bearded, smoke-blackened face.
“Barbara, Barbara,” he sobbed. “My little girl, I’m so sorry.”
Magdalena and the others had come running over as well. Barbara’s hair had almost all been singed away, and her face and fingers were covered with soot and little red burn blisters. Her hands and feet were still in shackles, though the ropes were singed. Her chest moved rapidly up and down, like that of a sick little bird. “At least she’s still breathing,” Simon said, carefully examining her. “This heavy monk’s robe apparently saved her life. The material must have been soaked with rain, so it kept the worst of the heat out.” Carefully he helped Jakob lay the unconscious girl down on the forest floor, and together they removed the steaming robe, singed at the edges.
“Bring me some water,” the medicus cried. “Quick!”
Jakob ran to a nearby pool and scooped up some water in his hat, then they washed Barbara’s face and gave her a bit to drink. She opened her eyes, looked briefly at Jakob and the others, and a smile spread across her face.
“Father,” she murmured. “You didn’t abandon me. I’m thirsty. .” Then she passed out again.
“You will have all the water in the world, my little girl, if you just stay with us,” Jakob whispered, moistening Barbara’s dry lips with a few drops he squeezed out of a wet handkerchief.
“I think she’ll make it through,” Simon said after carefully inspecting her burns. “But I do need a few healing herbs, both for her and for Georg, as soon as possible, and we can only get those in Schongau.” He sighed. “For the time being, I’d be happy if we could just find a bit of shepherd’s purse or a handful of elder leaves to prevent an inflammation.”
“I can get you elderberry leaves,” Magdalena said happily, pointing back at the burning building. “I think there’s a big elderberry tree by the house that still has some of its leaves.” She quickly disappeared in the darkness while Simon and Jakob continued caring for the wounded.
Which now included Jeremias. Along with his old scars he now had some burn wounds, and he wheezed with every breath.
Jakob bent down and gently took his badly burned hand. “Thank you,” he said, his voice trembling. “Thank you for saving my daughter.”
“I owed that to our Lord God,” Jeremias groaned. “One life for another. I never should have killed Clara, even if she would have betrayed me, that devious, calculating wench. I had no right to do it.”
“Only God has the right to take a life,” Jakob replied. “We hangmen are only his tools.”
Jeremias smiled. “If that’s the case, I’m an often-used tool, ragged and old, and beyond repair.” He coughed dryly.
“How did you know where Barbara was in there?” Jakob asked. “How could you find her, and I couldn’t?”
Jeremias had another coughing fit, this time spitting out blood mixed with soot. “I. . remembered,” he finally croaked. “Long ago I was here, as a very young hangman’s servant. The master of the hunt at that time was a cruel man. If he caught poachers, he liked to string them up himself, and sometimes he tortured them beforehand, in order to learn about their accomplices. He had his own private torture chamber down in the cellar. My father and I helped him set it up.” He gave Jakob a sad look. “I’ve seen so much evil in my life, cousin, and there are many things I’ve tried to forget, but I wasn’t always successful.”
“I have nightmares myself, sometimes,” Jakob admitted, almost inaudibly. “Like my father, like Bartl, like all of us who have to do this dirty work for the nobility. We must never let our bad dreams overcome us.”
He looked down at Jeremias sympathetically. The horrible events in his earlier life as Michael Binder had robbed the old man of all feeling, and possibly made him a bit mad, but now, at the end, he appeared to be returning to what he once was: a young man in love with his Carlotta.
“I couldn’t save the old scribe,” Jeremias gasped, repeatedly interrupted by dry coughs. “The entire room was already in flames. I found Barbara in a little room across the hall. It seems she had sought shelter there, where the flames were not so. .” He shuddered and grimaced with pain. “Damn! This hurts almost as much as before, when I threw myself into the trough of lime.”
Jakob wanted to remove Jeremias’s shirt to get a better look at the wounds, but the blackened material had eaten its way into the flesh. The hangman saw that it was too late for any help.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jeremias murmured. “Sooner or later the end will come, even for an executioner. Look after your children instead.” He smiled. “You’ve got such great children. You can’t say enough about them. I wish I had such wonderful children myself.” He clung to Jakob as another wave of pain coursed through his body. “Just one more thing,” he said. “I’ve got to know before I go. Would you have turned me in to the city guards? Tell me, would you?”
Jakob hesitated. “I think I would, yes,” he finally said. “Every crime must someday be atoned for.”
Jeremias let go of him and closed his eyes. “You’re. . a. . good. . man, Kuisl,” he whispered. Then his head fell to one side.
Jakob listened to his heart, then took his own singed coat and laid it over the old man, as if he were just sleeping. There was still a smile playing over the man’s lips.
He looked as if he was at peace.
With a sigh, Jakob turned to the others. Barbara was in a deep sleep, but her breath was now more even. Simon had washed her, so her skin no longer looked as black and burned. Alongside her, Georg groaned loudly in pain, but the wolf trap at least had not severed a tendon, and he was able to hobble around. Jakob himself still felt dizzy from the smoke and the blows to his head, but he’d gotten far worse beatings before in barroom brawls.
Just the same, this monster nearly killed me, he thought. By God, I’m really getting too old. .