Death and the Devil

Jacob said nothing. She was right, really. If he tried to look after everyone he felt sorry for there wouldn’t have been enough room in the whole of Berlich.

“Have an apple,” he said, somewhat helplessly.

Her hand didn’t move, but it was pure pride. Her eyes were fixed on the fruits. “They look good,” she admitted.

“Of course. They belong to the archbishop. Belonged.”

“I wish you hadn’t gone to get them.”

“Why?”

“Now you’ve got it into your head you’ve seen the Devil. It sends shivers down my spine.”

“I don’t know if it was the Devil.”

“It wasn’t anyone. Wilhilde’s client said two men were standing opposite the back of the chancel and saw Gerhard slip.”

“They’re lying.”

“Why should they do that? You fell out of the tree and people came and the black shadow chased you. So why didn’t all the people see the black shadow, tell me that, then?”

“Maria.”

“Because there wasn’t one!” she concluded triumphantly.

“So why am I telling you all this? Do you take me for a liar?”

She gave a sly smile. “No. But you might want to attract attention to yourself with your fairy story, so that all sorts of people will want to hear it. And fill your glass to get you to tell it. The next thing, there’ll be an investigation and you’ll be summoned before the Holy Inquisition.” At this she quickly crossed herself. “They’ll want to hear what you have to say, and in no time at all the insignificant fox will have turned into a great big bear.”

“You’re crazy. We don’t have the Inquisition in Cologne. Anyway, do you think anyone would listen to me if even you don’t believe me?”

She gave him a thoughtful look. “Yes, I do. There are plenty of fools in the world. They’ll believe anything as long as the story’s spine-chilling enough.”

“But it’s true!”

“Jacob!” There was a threatening undertone in her voice. “Do you want to make me angry?”

“Christ Almighty!” He was getting angry, too. “Gerhard spoke to me!”

“It gets better all the time.”

“He said—”

“I can’t wait to hear.”

The mocking tone was just too sharp. Jacob had had enough. He stood up and went to the door without a glance at Maria. There he stopped, his eye tracing the grain of the wood in the floorboards.

He was so furious he was trembling all over. “Perhaps you will find your nobleman to take you away from here,” he spat out. “Though I can’t imagine anyone would stoop so low.”

Her speechlessness was tangible.

Jacob didn’t wait for a reply. He strode out and down the stairs, swearing he would never set foot in this house again.

Never again.

He was almost at the bottom when he heard her howl of fury. Something flew out of the open door and hit the wall with a crash. She’d probably thrown the candlestick at him. Clenching his teeth, he went out into the rain, while Clemens and Margarethe exchanged bewildered stares before returning to their business with a shrug of the shoulders.

He did not see the shadow that appeared at the far end of the street, and the shadow did not see him.

They missed each other by a heartbeat. to bend down. He drew back his black hood.

Urquhart went to the whorehouse, thumped on the door with his fist, and entered without waiting. The doorway was so low he had

A hunched, greasy fellow roasting something over the fire stared up at him with wrinkled brow. Two women were sitting dozing on a bench. One was quite pretty, the other probably cheap. There was a smell of cabbage, burned meat, and something indefinable it was better not to inquire too closely about.

“Good evening,” he said softly.

The old man by the fire started to say something, then stopped. He subjected Urquhart to a thorough scrutiny. A servile smile appeared on his face. He jumped up, as far as his bent back allowed, and shuffled across the room toward him. He had clearly decided that Urquhart might be good business. The prettier of the two women gaped at the blond giant and hastily nudged the other, who started and opened her eyes, revealing a severe squint.

Urquhart slowly moved to the middle of the room and looked round. The landlord regarded him expectantly. “A girl?” he asked tentatively.

Urquhart gave the old man a speculative look. Putting one arm round his crooked shoulders, he took him to one side and whispered, “Later. Perhaps you can help me.”

“Perhaps.” The landlord drew out the word, grinning up at Urquhart. “And perhaps you will take pity on poor people like us. Otherwise—I mean, you get more forgetful as you get older—”

Urquhart smiled. “Oh, you won’t forget my visit, I can promise you that.”

“That’s different.” The hunchbacked landlord put on his most eager-to-please expression. “What can I do for you?”

“Someone, whose name I’ve forgotten, was here tonight. His hair”—he gave the landlord a confidential wink—“is at least as striking as mine. Though probably less well acquainted with a comb.”

A light appeared in the landlord’s eyes. “Red? Bright red?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s Jacob, that is.”

“Jacob?”