Death and the Devil

It brought him to his feet. With a howl of rage he set off running blindly, tripped over something, and fell flat on his face. Once more he pulled himself up. Someone was whimpering. He tried to work out where the noise was coming from until he realized he was making it himself. Both hands stretched out in front; he cautiously stepped forward without the slightest idea where he was heading. His fingers encountered masonry. After a while they came to a corner. He would keep feeling his way, he decided, until he found the door. Then across the courtyard and along the house walls—

Suddenly his fingers felt a different texture. Cloth.

Cloth that was moving.

Daniel shrank back against the wall. “Kuno?” he whispered.

Someone took a step toward him.

“Can’t you see I’m defenseless?” Daniel panted. “You wouldn’t—I mean—that witch blinded me, Kuno, look, she smashed my eyeballs. Oh, God, Kuno, I’m begging for mercy. I’m begging you now. I’m blind, do you hear, blind—”

“Don’t exaggerate. You’re not blind. It would help if you opened your eyes.”

Daniel froze. Then he blinked. His lids were stuck together with blood, but suddenly he could see again. In the gloom of the warehouse he could make out the silhouette of a very tall man in front of him. “You’re not Kuno.”

“No. I am your obedient servant. I see that my charming guest has flown the coop. I presume you didn’t help her on her way?”

“Urquhart?” Daniel exclaimed in surprise.

“That remains to be seen.” There was a note of caution in the voice. “More important is, who are you? What I do with you depends on who you are, so your answer had better be good. One I find convincing.”

“Is Daniel Overstolz convincing enough?”

“Worth considering. If you’re telling the truth, I will be Urquhart. If not, then your executioner.”

“This is outrageous!” Daniel felt his old arrogance return. “My father is Johann Overstolz, one of the most powerful men in Cologne. We pay you for your services, not for your insolence.”

There was a brief silence, broken by the sound of a slap as Daniel’s head jerked to one side.

“What—?” he gasped.

“The next will come from the other side,” said Urquhart calmly. “Then from this side again. We can keep it up until dawn, if you like. I have time until then, as you well know. It’s obvious you’re an Overstolz. Only rich merchant scum that bought its patent of nobility and never held a scholarly book in its hand would show itself up with such empty-headed yapping. What are you doing here?”

“When I tell my father—”

“No, I will tell your father. I will tell your father that my bargaining counter has escaped, leaving behind his son, who appears to have taken a beating. From the young lady herself? Do you think he’ll enjoy hearing that? Will he be proud? Or perhaps you aren’t his son at all? We can easily find that out.”

Daniel felt the other grasp his collar and pull him toward him. “Quickly now. I need to speak with Matthias.”

“But Matthias was going to meet you every two hours—”

“That would be too late, blockhead. Where is he now?”

“I don’t know,” wailed Daniel.

“Then your father will know. If he is your father.”

He let go of Daniel, shoving him back against the wall. Daniel coughed and spluttered. “It’s not my fault,” he muttered.

“No, of course not.” Urquhart smiled. “Nothing’s ever anyone’s fault, is it? Now tell me what happened. And get on with it.”

WAITING

Goddert yelped. He shook the hand off and took a leap he would not have believed himself capable of.

“Good Lord above!” he exclaimed. “Did you give me a surprise!”

“Sorry.” Jaspar regarded his hand as if it were a poisonous spider. With a shrug of the shoulders he picked up the candlestick and disappeared into the darkness. They heard him rummaging around for a while, then saw him again as the candle lit up.

“Where have you been?” Goddert was babbling and Jacob could see that his nerves were in tatters. Rolof was still stretched out on the bench as if he were sleeping through everything as usual.

“Goddert, there’s something we have to tell you—” Jacob said.

“Tell me? And what about that?” Goddert’s trembling finger pointed at Rolof.

“He’s dead.”

“Christ almighty, I can see that!”

“That’s not important for the moment, Goddert—”

“Not important?” Distraught, Goddert ran over to Rolof and back again. He dug his fingers into his shaggy beard and looked around wildly. “And where’s Richmodis?” he croaked.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Do me a favor and sit down, will you?”

Goddert went paler than he already was and sank down on a stool. Jacob felt like simply running away. It was his fault everything had turned out like this. He brought misfortune to everyone. What could they say to Goddert?

“You, too, Fox-cub,” ordered Jaspar.

Abashed, he sat down opposite Goddert and tried to look him in the face.

“Nothing’s happened to Richmodis?” Goddert asked, like a child.

“I don’t know.” Jaspar shook his head. “I don’t know. No idea, Goddert. She’s been kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?”