Death and the Devil

“Father!” Daniel gave his father a disbelieving look. “Why are you telling him all this?”

“Because,” said Johann, his eyes boring into Kuno’s, “he is a man of honor who believes in our cause. Gerhard was like a father to him. I know how he must feel. But I also know that we still have a true friend in Kuno, a staunch friend, who”—his voice cut through the air—“is sufficiently aware of his own sins not to condemn us for something that was necessary.” He lowered his voice again. “There are nine of us. I don’t count Lorenzo, with him it’s the money alone, but the rest of us are in this together. Once we start distrusting and lying to each other we will not succeed. We will fail. So I must insist: no more arguments. Daniel?”

Daniel ground his teeth furiously. Then he nodded.

“Kuno?”

He lowered his eyes. “You can’t expect me to jump for joy,” he muttered.

“No one feels like jumping for joy,” said Matthias. “But think of the day when it’ll all be over. Think of that.”

“Then we’ll jump for joy,” said Heinrich. He leaned over toward Kuno, an unctuous smile on his face. “We understand how you feel. But just think what would have happened if Gerhard’s conscience had left him no choice but to betray us. Think how we would have felt, Kuno.”

“If only Hardefust hadn’t killed that butcher,” growled Daniel.

“But he did.” Matthias shrugged his shoulders as he dipped his fingers into a bowl of sweetmeats. “And even if he hadn’t, there would have been occasions enough for the wheel of fortune to turn in that direction. What we are doing is right.”

“What we are doing is right.” Johann added his voice to Matthias’s.

Kuno glowered, but said nothing.

“Tomorrow morning, before the stroke of seven, I’m meeting Lorenzo to go through the details,” said Matthias as the silence continued. “Afterward Urquhart will report to me. I’m confident. It looks as if the count of Jülich really has sent us the best.”

“He gives me the creeps,” said Heinrich in a flat tone.

Matthias had a thousand replies on the tip of his tongue, neat, sharp, biting insults, each more telling than the last. Then he sighed. Their secret alliance had at least three Achilles’ heels: Daniel’s lack of self-control, Kuno’s sentimentality, and Heinrich’s constant fear. There was nothing to be done about it. All he could do was hope none of the three would make a mistake.

He sighed resignedly, his hand hovering over the pieces of spicy roast hare.

FLIGHT

Jacob retched. He stumbled backward out of the low-ceilinged room where Maria’s dreams had come to such a violent end. He backed into the wall, and still that one eye was looking at him, with a strangely reproachful expression, as if she were asking him why he hadn’t been there.

He tried to cross himself, but his arm refused to move.

From the taproom below came the clatter of mugs and the sound of Clemens eating.

“Come on, Maria,” he called. “Hurry up, before we’ve finished the lot. You don’t get something like this every day.”

The tension slackened. Jacob staggered, stumbled, and fell down the stairs. The women screeched. Clemens turned around ponderously.

“Jacob,” Wilhilde gasped, “you’re as white as a sheet.”

For one terrible moment he didn’t know what to do. He glanced feverishly from one to the other. A deep furrow appeared on Clemens’s brow. “What’s up, Jacob?” His eyes were drawn to the stairs. “Maria?” he shouted.

Jacob’s mind went blank. Without thinking, he was out the door and in the street.

“Maria?” He heard Clemens roar a second time.

He started running through Berlich. His mind was in chaos. All he could think was, Get away, away from here, away from Maria, away from that beautiful face with the one eye, still staring at him as he hurried across the Duck Ponds, etched forever on his mind. He ran until the pain in his side was unbearable, and still he kept running, afraid the reality behind would catch up with him. His feet were splashing through a ditch.

Then he fell, facedown in a puddle. Instinctively he rolled over on his back before he swallowed the foul water.

Above, almost close enough to touch, was the moon looking down at him. The moon was Maria’s eye. She was following him.

He sat up, turned away from the remorseless gaze, and threw up. Leaning on his elbows, he waited till the retching stopped. Then he felt slightly better, staggered to his feet, and trotted slowly on his way.

Maria killed. Why?

He tried to work out what to do. It was hopeless. His thoughts were whirling around inside his head. At the same time his eyelids were heavy with fatigue. He had to lie down, curl up, go to sleep, and dream. Some beautiful dream, of paradise, God and the angels, Christ and the saints, of a world without misery and evil. He stopped and crossed himself. Again and again. He found his lips were murmuring the Lord’s Prayer. It was the only prayer he knew.

Sleep. The Wall.