Death and the Devil

With a jerk that almost tore his scalp off, Urquhart grasped his hair and pulled him back up so vigorously he shot across the platform straight into the tread wheel.

The next moment Urquhart was there, leaning in.

“Not a good idea, to send you the same way as Gerhard,” he said. His eyes gleamed with perverse amusement. “Might interfere with my mission. Cause too much of a stir to have you lying down there, don’t you agree? Let’s continue our chat up here—”

Jacob tried to say something. All that came out was a weak groan. His desperate fingers clutched at the axle of the wheel he was inside to pull himself up.

Urquhart drew back his fist. “—seeing it’s so pleasant.”

The blow almost knocked Jacob out. His head crashed against the side of the wheel.

He had to get out of it. Urquhart was about to beat him to death.

“No,” he panted.

“No?” Urquhart placed his right hand on the top of the wheel. “Oh, yes.”

Out, out of here, Jacob thought. I must get out. He staggered to his feet and immediately fell down again as, with a squeal of protest, the huge drum slowly started to turn. For a moment he saw his feet above his head, then he tumbled back down. The wheel started to rotate more quickly, above and below were the same. Jacob was going around and around, arms outstretched. He could hear Urquhart laughing. It seemed to be coming from all sides and everything went black.

With what remained of his strength, he braced himself with both hands, threw himself to one side, and fell out of the wheel.

His head was still going around and around. Completely disoriented, he crawled across the planks. He heard rapid steps and looked up just in time to see Urquhart’s foot coming toward him. The toe of the boot struck him on the chest, sending him flat on his back.

The world around started to grow colder.

Urquhart came up to him and shook his head. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said. It sounded almost sympathetic.

Jacob coughed and felt the blood running down his chin. His lungs seemed unwilling to take in air. “I know that.” He had to force the words out.

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just run away?”

“I was too slow.”

“You’re not slow.”

“Oh, yes, I am.” The air whistled as he sucked it in. “You’re always too slow when you run away.”

Urquhart hesitated. Then he gave an unexpected nod as his hand disappeared inside his cloak. When it reappeared Jacob saw the all-too-familiar little crossbow. The disfigured face twisted in a smile. “Welcome to nowhere, Jacob.”

Jacob turned his head away.

A voice rang out. “Urquhart of Monadhliath!”

The effect was startling. A look of pure horror appeared on Urquhart’s face. He swung around, pointing his bow with outstretched arm in the direction the voice had come from.

Jaspar’s voice!

Breathing heavily, Jacob rolled onto his side and crawled on all fours to the wheel. Away from Urquhart was the only thought in his head.

But the murderer seemed to have forgotten him. He was looking around wildly for Jaspar, who was nowhere to be seen, though his voice was still to be heard.

“Do you remember the children, Urquhart? What they did to the children? You wanted to stop them. Remember?”

It came from below. Jaspar must be somewhere on the scaffolding. Gasping with pain, Jacob pulled himself up and stood there, swaying. Urquhart leaped across to the side of the scaffolding and looked down into Dranckgasse. At the same time Jaspar’s head appeared farther away.

“But you couldn’t stop them,” he cried.

With a scream of fury, Urquhart whirled around toward him. But Jaspar had disappeared again.

“Lies!” he shouted. “Lies! I wasn’t there when it happened.”

From below came a clattering, like footsteps running, then it faded. Urquhart took a step forward, but there was nothing there. No boards, no struts, no rails. Urquhart drew back.

Then he turned to face Jacob again. His eyes had lost their icy coldness. All they registered was pure horror. The bolt was aimed at Jacob’s forehead.

“Do you sometimes dream of the children?” came Jaspar’s voice, echoing across the roof.

Urquhart’s hand started to tremble. The next moment he was running along the planks away from Jacob. He leaped the gap to the next platform, ran to the edge and—staggered. He doubled up. The arm with the crossbow sank, his free hand went to his head.

Jacob held his breath.

Jaspar appeared on the rungs, directly in front of Urquhart. He looked tense. After a quick glance at Jacob, he clambered onto the platform. His eyes were flickering with fear, but his voice was steady, each word cutting like a sword.

“You are Urquhart, duke of Monadhliath,” he said.

Urquhart drew back a step.

“You came down from the Scottish Highlands to join Louis of France in the sixth Crusade. You wanted to serve the Lord your God and win back the Holy Land, but what you saw after you took Damietta was the face of Satan.”

Urquhart did not move.

“Remember Damietta.”

Jacob watched in disbelief as Jaspar went up to the huge figure and slowly stretched out his hand. He must be out of his mind!