The Hangman's Daughter

“Two days at the most. And then Count Sandizell will arrive, the representative of the Elector. If we don’t have the true culprit by then, they won’t screw around for long, and the midwife will be done for. They’ll want to get rid of the count and his entourage as quickly as possible. He only costs them money.”

Simon rose from the bench.

“I shall go and see Jakob Schreevogl now,” he said. “That is the only lead we’ve got. I am sure something’s fishy with that leper house.”

“Go ahead and see him,” grunted Kuisl. “As for me, I’m going to smoke a little more of the devil’s tobacco for a while. There’s nothing better to help a person concentrate.”

The hangman closed his eyes again, breathing in the fragrance of the New World.

Johann Lechner, the court clerk, was on the way from his office to the Ballenhaus. On his way he noticed with some discomfort the whispering women and the grumbling workmen in the square. As he passed them, he dealt them light shoves and slaps here and there. “Go back to work,” he called out. “There’s a proper way to do everything. It will all be cleared up. Now return to your work, burghers! Or I shall have to have some of you arrested!”

The burghers slinked off to their workrooms, and the market women resumed sorting out their merchandise. But Johann Lechner knew that they would start gossiping again as soon as his back was turned. He would have to send a few bailiffs to the square to prevent a disturbance. It was high time for this tiresome business to be concluded. And just now it was impossible to talk to the damn midwife! The aldermen were breathing down his neck, wanting to see results. Well, perhaps he would soon be able to show them some. After all, he still had a second trump in his hand.

The court clerk rushed up the steps of the Ballenhaus to the second floor, where a small room with a locked door was provided for the more prominent burghers, those one did not want to throw into the rat-infested hole in the Faulturm tower or in the dungeon in the keep. A bailiff was posted in front of the door. He greeted Johann Lechner with a nod before opening the massive lock and pushing back the bolt.

Martin Hueber, the wagon driver from Augsburg, was sprawled over a small table in an alcove, peering through the window at the square below. When he heard the court clerk enter he turned around and greeted him with a smirk.

“Ah, the court clerk! So have you finally come to your senses? Let me go, and we won’t say another word about this matter.”

He rose and walked to the door, but Lechner let it slam shut.

“I believe there must be some kind of misunderstanding here. Martin Hueber, you and your team are suspected of having started the fire at the Stadel.”

Martin Hueber’s face turned red. He slapped his broad hand on the table.

“You know that’s not true!”

“No need to deny it. A few Schongau rafters saw you and your men.”

Johann Lechner lied without blinking an eye. With great curiosity he awaited the Augsburger’s reaction.

Martin Hueber took a deep breath, then sat down again, crossing his arms over his wide chest in silence.

The clerk kept insisting. “Why else would you have been down there at nightfall? You had already unloaded your freight in the afternoon. When the Stadel went up in flames you were suddenly there, so you must have been hanging around beforehand.”

The wagon driver remained silent. Lechner went back to the door and reached for the handle.

“All right then. We’ll see if you maintain your silence under torture,” he said as he pushed down the handle. “I shall have you taken to the keep this very day. You’ve already met the hangman down by the raft landing. He’ll be glad to break a few of your bones.”

Johann Lechner could see the turmoil behind the wagon driver’s brow. He bit his lip, and finally the words burst forth.

“It’s true, we were there,” he cried, “but not in order to burn down the Stadel! After all, our own merchandise was in there too!”

Johann Lechner returned to the table.

“And what was it you wanted there?”

“We wanted to give the Schongau rafters a thrashing, that’s what we wanted! Up at the Stern that wagon driver of yours, Josef Grimmer, gave one of our men such a beating that he’ll probably never be able to work again! We wanted to make sure that such a thing would never happen again, but by God, we didn’t set fire to the Stadel! I swear it!”

Fear gleamed in the wagon driver’s eyes. Johann Lechner experienced a warm feeling of satisfaction. He had suspected something, but he had not believed that the Augsburger would cave in so quickly.

“Hueber, it doesn’t look good for you,” he continued. “Is there anything to support your case?”

The wagon driver thought briefly, then nodded.

“Yes, there is something. When we were down by the landing we saw a few men run away, about four or five of them. We thought they were yours. Just a little while later the Stadel was burning.”

The court clerk shook his head sadly, like a father who is immensely disappointed with his son.