Death and the Devil

“And so am I,” she said emphatically. “You think you can come here handing out pretty little whistles in return for jerkins, and my father’s coat and hat—I can’t wait to hear what happened to them—and then simply disappear? I’m warning you….” She gave him a stern look, tried a pout, but couldn’t stop herself bursting out laughing. “And not a word about my nose.”

Jacob spread out his arms in submission and sank down onto the bench. She wagged a finger at him. “And don’t you move. I’ll be back right away.”

He nodded and breathed deeply. It was irresponsible of him to come to see Richmodis, but what else could he have done? He was injured, and there was always the danger Clemens would think he had killed Maria. Running off like that was the stupidest thing he could have done. Running away meant you were guilty. To be accused of her murder, and of Tilman’s, was all he needed. Next they would be saying he’d pushed Gerhard off the scaffolding! No, that was one thing they wouldn’t suspect him of. There were witnesses to say it had been an accident. Witnesses who hadn’t been there to witness it.

Richmodis returned with a pail of water. She came from the back room, which led into the yard. The von Weidens must have their own well. Not everyone did. Most people shared the wells at crossroads or street corners.

She sat astride the bench and started to clean the wound carefully with a cloth. She did it so gently it was almost enjoyable. Under different circumstances Jacob would have invented further injuries just to feel the caress of her soft hands.

“There we are.” She dropped the cloth into the pail and inspected her work. “That’s the best I can do for the moment.”

Jacob squinted down at his shoulder. It was all the colors of the rainbow. “Richmodis—” He took her hand and squeezed it. She didn’t pull her hand away, just stared at him with her green eyes and waited. He didn’t know what to say.

Eventually she came to his rescue. “You’re running away.”

“Yes.”

“You were doing that yesterday, too.”

“Yesterday I’d stolen something. That’s different. It’s my profession.”

“Aha, profession.” She raised her eyebrows in mock respect.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he said urgently. “I’m a thief and a cheat, I admit it. But this is different. My only mistake was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I saw someone being murdered and the murderer saw me—and the two people I told about it are dead.” His voice trailed off at the thought of Maria. He cleared his throat noisily and looked away.

She placed her index finger under his chin and turned his head back to face her. “And?”

“And nothing. I’m stuck like a rat in a trap and I don’t want to pull you in, too. Believe me, I really did want to see you again—”

“I should hope so, too.”

“—but I might be putting your life in danger. That monster chased me all around Cologne last night. I’m surprised I’m still alive.”

“Monster?” The line between her brows had reappeared.

“The murderer.”

“But you escaped?”

“Yes. For the moment.”

“Good. Then there’s nothing to worry about. If he had found you again, you’d presumably be dead as mutton by now.” She ran her fingers through his hair, then tugged it so hard he couldn’t repress a cry of pain. “But from what I hear, you’re alive.”

She let go, jumped up, and went out of the room. Creaking, rustling noises came from the other side of the door. “And who was it you saw being murdered that makes them so keen to get rid of you as well?”

“Not so loud!” Jacob rolled his eyes and ran over to where she was. The room at the rear appeared to be a mixture of kitchen and ground-level storeroom. She had opened a large chest and was rummaging around among material and other bits and pieces. He slumped against the door frame, then gave a loud groan. His shoulder! Richmodis gave him a brief glance, then returned to the tangle of cloth.

“Oh, I see,” she said. “The murderer’s in this chest listening to every word we say.”

“I can’t tell you. I don’t want someone else to get killed.”

“Here, put these on.” She threw him a tan coat and a cap with earmuffs. “If you won’t talk about it, we’ll have to do something. What are you waiting for?”

Jacob looked at the clothes. They were good, very good, well made from excellent cloth. He’d never worn anything like them in his life.

Richmodis clapped her hands. “What is it then? Does my lord require to be dressed?”

Jacob quickly put on the coat and pulled the cap so far down that not a red hair was to be seen. Richmodis strutted around, giving a pull here and a tug there, then stepped back, with a satisfied look on her face. Jacob felt stiff and hampered. He would have felt more at ease in the old, used coat.

“And now?”

“Now? We’re going for a walk.”

“Where?”