Death and the Devil

“You of all people come up with a stupid idea like that?” Jacob broke in. “No sensible person would let a leper into his house.”

“But Rolof is not a sensible person, everyone knows that. Don’t try to beat me at my own game. At least we’ve made it this far. Once we’re inside we’ll get rid of these clothes, then I challenge anyone to prove they saw two lepers go in.”

He knocked loudly on the door several times.

“No one in,” said Jacob.

“Impossible.” Jaspar shook his head in bewilderment and thumped the door with his fist. The house echoed with the sound. “Rolof’s always in at this time.”

“Perhaps he’s asleep.”

“Not impossible,” agreed Jaspar, annoyed. “I think you’re right, Fox-cub, he’s taking a nap. Just you wait!” With that Jaspar hammered on the door with both fists, as if he were trying to make a hole in it. Jacob looked around nervously. That wasn’t the normal behavior of a leper anymore. Jaspar seemed suddenly to come to the same conclusion. He stopped hammering and started looking worried.

“What if they’re waiting for us inside?” whispered Jacob.

“That’s what I was trying to establish by knocking,” Jaspar growled.

“Without success.”

“Huh! Anyway, these servants are thick as two short planks. They won’t even give us a good look. They’ll be too scared.”

“But what if—”

“If your long-haired friend’s there, we run for it.”

Jacob was hopping nervously from one foot to the other. He swung his rattle a bit for good measure. Then he grabbed Jaspar by the arm. “I think we should get away while the going’s good.”

Jaspar raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, yes? And go where?”

“I—” That was the question. Where? “No idea. To Richmodis and Goddert’s place, perhaps?”

“Oh, brilliant!” Jaspar mocked. “What a genius! He’s too cowardly to go in himself, but he’s quite happy to put Richmodis in danger.”

“All right, all right.” Jacob turned away, his face red with shame. “A stupid idea, I agree.”

“It was. But we all say stupid things sometimes. Come on, let’s just go in and get it over with.”

Jaspar pushed open the door and they went in. It was dark in the room, just a few embers glowing in the fireplace.

“He hasn’t even kept the fire up, the useless lump!”

Jacob peered into the gloom. “You can’t see anything.”

“We’ll soon see something. Where’s the candlestick?”

Jaspar stomped across the room to a shelf opposite the fireplace, while Jacob tried to make something of the dark shapes. The table, a stool, the bench by the fire.

A shadow, massive, motionless.

“Jaspar—”

“Don’t interrupt. Now where’s that blasted candlestick?”

“There’s someone here.”

“What?” There was a clatter. A spark flared up, then another, and the room was gradually bathed in soft, golden candlelight. It fell on the fireside bench and on Rolof.

“God in heaven!” Jaspar whispered. Hesitantly they went over to him. Jacob felt he wanted to be sick. He also wanted to look away but found he couldn’t.

“Whatever have they done to him?”

Rolof’s eyes were staring at the ceiling. His nose had been smashed in. But that was a mere detail compared to the way the murderer had arranged the body. A long hank of thick dark hair cascaded down from his wide-open mouth onto his chest and curled up over his fat belly. Which had been—

“They’ve slit him open,” Jacob gasped.

Jaspar was grinding his teeth. “Yes.”

“But why? What had he done to them, goddammit? He was no danger to them. He…” His voice failed. With sudden realization, he pulled the hair out of Rolof’s mouth. “Richmodis,” he croaked.

Jaspar pointed to Rolof’s forehead. “Look.” It sounded almost matter-of-fact, as if he were drawing attention to some interesting object. Except that his finger was trembling.

Jacob leaned forward. “What on earth is that?”

There were smears on Rolof’s forehead. Symbols joining up to make a complicated pattern.

“Writing,” replied Jaspar. “That’s why he did that to him. The murderer needed blood to write.”

“And what—”

“A message.” He sank down on the bench beside Rolof and put his head in his hands.

Jacob shuddered. He was afraid to hear the truth, although by now he suspected it. “Out with it,” he said hoarsely. “What is the message?”

“She’s alive. Silence.”

RHEINGASSE

Johann rested his chin on his hand and stared across the table, uncertain what to reply.

After Matthias had sent the servant to tell Urquhart the way to the old warehouse, Johann had tried to call an immediate meeting of the group, a vain hope on a busy weekday. At least Theoderich, a somewhat tipsy Daniel, and Heinrich von Mainz had turned up. In a few short sentences he told them about the hostage. Their reactions varied. While Heinrich, as usual, had no clear opinion, Theoderich looked unhappy. Johann could understand that. They had set off an avalanche. The situation was beginning to get out of control. Now it was Urquhart who was making the rules, while the original purity of their goal was being increasingly tarnished by crude necessity. The means were becoming an end.