The Council of Twelve Read online

  “Nonsense, you’ll like it there,” Kuisl said affably as they walked across the bridge. “I’ve been here before. Folks might be a little rough around the edges in Au, but they’re cut from decent cloth.”

  Almost on cue, two ragged-looking figures staggered toward them, holding on to each other and bawling some Bavarian folk song Simon couldn’t understand. Like the raftsmen down at the landing, these two clearly didn’t want to spend Candlemas sober.

  Soon the Kuisls had reached the first huts of Au. There was neither wall nor gate, just a wide road covered with icy mud that ran parallel to the Isar River. Every now and then, the rows of shacks along the road were broken by larger buildings with narrow stairways on the outside that led to balconies and doors of all shapes and sizes. Old men and women with weather-beaten faces leaned from the windows, eyeing the strangers with curiosity. Narrow, winding alleyways led off the sides into a maze of wooden houses, backyards, mills, and hostels. There was only a handful of stone houses, the largest of which, a three-storied building with multiple chimneys, lay a little off to the side.

  It was getting dark by now, but Simon could make out at least a half dozen taverns right away. Every single one seemed to be packed, the carousing audible from the street; at one tavern, an out-of-tune fiddle played a lively melody. The next moment, the door of the tavern was yanked open, and a drunken man stumbled toward the family. He just made it to the next corner before vomiting noisily.

  Barbara wrinkled her nose and glared at her father. Then she turned to Magdalena. “So, is this the beautiful Munich you promised? The theater, the countless gardens . . .”

  “Grandpa, why is everyone drunk here?” Peter asked.

  “Well, they’re celebrating a year of hard work,” Kuisl explained with a shrug. “Servants and journeymen get a few days off after Candlemas. Then it’s back to work for another year. A little booze-up never hurt anyone.”

  “If they keep drinking like that, their money for the year will be gone by the morning,” Magdalena muttered. “I, for one, don’t want to spend another day in this—”

  She broke off when someone screamed in one of the alleyways. It sounded different from the usual shouts of drunken men—anxious and terrified. Jakob Kuisl hesitated briefly, then turned into the narrow lane. Simon and the rest of the family followed him. Soon they saw a group of people gathered along the creek that ran through Au. A mill stood on their right, and something was lying on one of the waterwheel’s paddles. In the dim light, Simon took a moment to figure out what it was.

  It was a body.

  Some of the people were straining to turn the wheel against the current, but it kept slipping from their fingers and the body was carried higher and higher. Soon it would be thrown down the other side.

  Jakob Kuisl cracked his knuckles, then he pushed the people aside like blades of grass until he stood by the waterwheel.

  “Out of the way!” he growled.

  Oohs and aahs came from the crowd as the hangman grabbed one of the icy paddles and pulled on it. At first, nothing happened, but Kuisl grunted and groaned and finally the wheel began to turn against the current.

  “Who is that?” a bullnecked fellow near Simon whispered. “I wonder if he’s from Giesing. A beer driver, perhaps?”

  “I don’t care where he’s from, all I know is I don’t want to start a brawl with him,” another man replied. “With his shoulders, you could carry a dozen kegs of beer up Au Hill at once.”

  The people watched and whispered while Kuisl kept pulling on the wheel. Finally, a few men came to his aid, and together they dragged the lifeless body off the paddle and placed it gently on the ground.

  Simon winced when he saw that the body belonged to a girl of about sixteen or seventeen. She was dead, without a doubt. Her glassy eyes stared blankly into the night sky; icicles hung in her strawberry-blonde hair like glittering jewelry. The cold water had preserved the body well, so it was hard to tell how long she’d been in the creek. Simon couldn’t see any obvious injuries.

  “Hey, that’s enough now, folks, show’s over. Beat it!”

  A haggard man carrying a lantern in one hand and a cudgel in the other appeared from one of the alleyways. He swung his stick threateningly. “Beat it, I said!” he repeated. “Or do I have to make you? I’ll lock up anyone who keeps staring.”

  Grumbling, the crowd dispersed until only a handful of curious onlookers remained. Finally the tall, skinny man reached Jakob Kuisl. The man’s nose was red from the cold and probably a dram of brandy, too. A drop of snot hung from its end. The man sniffed and glared at Kuisl out of small, nasty eyes.

  “That goes for you, too, big fellow,” he said pompously. “This is a case for the officials, and I’m the Au clerk, God damn it. Or do you have something to do with her death, hmm?” He pointed his cudgel at the girl’s body. “You didn’t want to pay and threw her in the water once you were done with her, is that it? Spit it out!”

  “We only just arrived,” Simon said now. “My family can testify to that.” He pointed at Magdalena, Barbara, and the children, who had remained in the background.

  The haggard man moved his head from side to side. “Hmm, strangers.” He sniffed again, snorting a big lump of snot back up his nose. Then he gestured with his cudgel toward the main road. “We’ve already got enough hungry mouths in Au, so get out of here, you dirty country rabble!”

  “This poor girl was probably also country rabble,” Kuisl said, ignoring the man’s order.

  “Huh?” The skinny man rubbed his nose. “What makes you think that, big guy?”

  “Well, there were several dozen people from Au here before. Every one of them saw the girl, but no one called out her name. And I’m guessing everyone knows everyone in Au, right?”

  “Uh, that’s right,” the clerk admitted. “But still—”

  “Also, tying a sack of stones around someone and throwing them in the water is a pretty elaborate murder. If I was the murderer, I would have knocked her over the head and chucked her in the creek. The cold does the rest.”

  “Sack? Stones?” The clerk looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

  Kuisl leaned over the body and turned it onto its back. Now everyone could see the small sack tied around the girl’s waist.

  “I could feel it when I lifted her off the paddle,” Kuisl explained. “She was damned heavy. I bet it’s at least thirty pounds—that would drag you down like a lead weight. If the waterwheel hadn’t picked her up, she would have stayed at the bottom of the creek until summer.”

  The clerk scratched his nose, then a grin spread across his blotchy face. “Ha, case solved, then,” he announced triumphantly. “The wench drowned herself. Happens all the time. Young things like her get knocked up by some clown from out of town, they can’t see another way, so they jump in the water, and Munich’s down another pretty girl.”

  Kuisl frowned. “Hmm, possible . . .”

  “What do you mean, possible, it’s—”

  “Possible, but unlikely. Or would you jump in the river if you had a purse full of coins?”

  Now Simon was confused, too. “How in God’s name do you know if she’s carrying a purse?” he asked his father-in-law. “I mean, you haven’t even examined her.”

  Kuisl grinned. “If you hadn’t been so busy shouting at one another, you would have heard the jingling when I lifted her down.” He leaned over the body again. “I think we’ll find it just here under the skirt . . .”

  “Hands off!” the clerk hissed. “If she really carries money on her, it’s my job to determine—”

  “And line your own pockets with it, no doubt,” Magdalena added and stepped forward. “No way. The money belongs to the poor girl’s family. It’s your job to find them.”

  “How . . . how dare you talk back to me?” the skinny man exclaimed. “I am an official. You just wait!” He raised his cudgel and started toward Magdalena and Barbara, but Jakob Kuisl got to him first. He grabbed the club like a matchstick a
nd lifted the clerk in the air with it.

  “Let me go!” the man shouted. “I’m going to lock up every one of you! I . . . I . . .”

  “Let him go, Jakob. The fool has embarrassed himself enough.”

  Simon turned to the voice that had come from one of the alleyways and saw a short, broad-shouldered man whose arms seemed much too long for his stocky body. He had a square face with two alert, friendly eyes. The man was about Jakob Kuisl’s age and wore a thick, wide coat made from bloodred wool. Now he approached the small group with long steps.

  “I’ll be damned, it’s Michael Deibler!” Kuisl exclaimed happily. He dropped the whining clerk like a rotten apple. “How did you know we were here?”

  The man named Deibler grinned, exposing a row of black teeth. “Well, a bunch of Au folks just told me about the giant who isn’t from around here and who’s helping fish a body from the stream. I put two and two together—I knew you were coming today, after all.” He laughed drily. “Clearly, it’s true what they say about you, dear cousin: you attract dead bodies like flies.”

  “This . . . impertinent fellow stuck his nose in matters that are none of his concern!” the clerk complained, getting to his feet. “He refused to follow my order and—”

  “Just shut up, Gustl,” Deibler said. “You should be grateful for any help from this impertinent fellow. The Schongau hangman has a reputation for solving murders.”

  “Ha-hangman?” The clerk took a step back. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?” He eyed Kuisl fearfully and made the sign of the cross. Simon knew most people reacted that way when they found out about his father-in-law’s profession. Hangmen brought ill luck, especially if you looked them in the eyes or touched them.

  “So how many bloody executioners are hanging around Au now, huh?” the clerk asked.

  “Twelve, to be precise.” Deibler shrugged. “Most of them have to leave again in a few days. Then it’s only you and me again, Gustl.” He grinned and gestured toward Kuisl and the dead girl. “Now let the man do his job.”

  Without another word, Gustl stepped aside, and Kuisl examined the girl’s skirt. He soon found what he was looking for and produced a small purse. He opened it and tipped out a number of silver coins. Simon leaned down to get a closer look.

  The coins seemed familiar to him.

  It must be a coincidence, he thought.

  He looked again. They were indeed silver thalers. All of them were new and bore the lozenges and the date 1672.

  They looked exactly the same as the coins Simon had received from the Veronese merchants the week before.

  “My goodness! That’s a lot of new money for someone who drowned herself.” Kuisl jingled the coins. “If you ask me, something’s fishy here. The girl couldn’t have been that unhappy, not with a purse full of thalers. And if she was murdered—why didn’t the murderer take the money?”

  “Maybe he didn’t notice the purse?” Magdalena guessed.

  “The purse was right underneath the sack of stones,” Kuisl replied. “Whoever did this would have noticed. Which takes me to my next question: If the girl didn’t kill herself, then why the rocks?”

  For a while no one said anything, then Deibler’s dry laughter rang out again.

  “Damn it, Kuisl!” he called out. “You’ve only been here for half an hour, and already there’s a mystery. You really do live up to your reputation.” He brought his hand down on the hangman’s shoulder. “Now let’s go have a beer to celebrate our reunion. Welcome to Munich, cousin!”

  While Jakob Kuisl and Michael Deibler walked ahead, chattering, Magdalena and the rest of the family followed a few paces behind.

  “‘Welcome to Munich,’ bah!” Barbara muttered and kicked at a frozen pile of horse dung. “This is the gateway to hell. The stinking Schongau Tanners’ Quarter is paradise by comparison.”

  “It’s only a short walk to the city,” Magdalena said. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to visit the beautiful palaces and cathedrals, and the theater, too.” She smiled encouragingly, though inwardly she had to agree with her sister. This trip was turning out quite differently than how their father had promised them. Barbara had told her that Jakob Kuisl had already chosen three candidates for marriage, which would make it harder for Magdalena to help her sister find a suitable husband.

  Also, Magdalena was annoyed because Michael Deibler hadn’t even greeted her. Clearly, Deibler was the Munich hangman and knew her father from years ago. She understood that the two of them had much to talk about, but did that mean common courtesy had to go out the window? Who did he think she was, a maidservant?

  Next to her, Simon was deep in thought as well. Something seemed to be on his mind, but Magdalena was too exhausted from the long journey to ask. Her back was sore; she had been carrying Sophia in a sling around her belly, from which the infant observed all the goings-on attentively.

  After a while, they reached a large tavern on the right. Loud noise came from inside. Just then a jug shattered, men laughed and yelled, and then the door swung open and someone staggered into the street. The man fell into the muddy snow and continued on hands and knees, leaving a thin trail of blood with his tracks. Evidently, he was bleeding heavily from the nose.

  “Ah, the famous Au nightlife.” Deibler grinned. “Looks like it’s packed already. But there’s always room for us at the executioners’ table.”

  “Is this where we’re staying?” Simon asked reluctantly and pointed at the sooty, cracked crown-glass windows on the second floor.

  Michael Deibler nodded. “The Radl Inn is the best tavern in Au, with stoves and glass windows, even a privy in the courtyard. I reserved two nice rooms especially for you.”

  “The best tavern in Au,” Magdalena said flatly. “How kind of you.” With a deep sigh, she followed the others into the dingy establishment.

  They were immediately enveloped in a cloud of sweetish tobacco fumes. The dense smoke made Magdalena’s eyes water. Smoking had been prohibited in Bavarian taverns several years ago, but clearly no one cared in Au. Several dozen patrons, mostly men, were puffing on their pipes and drinking beer from large mugs. Magdalena suspected most of them were servants and workmen who were drinking away a good chunk of their annual pay. The atmosphere was accordingly exuberant. People were singing, laughing, and dancing on a kind of stage, where several garishly made-up girls swayed their hips seductively.

  Magdalena saw a man vomiting out of one of the back windows and then taking another swig of his beer. Every bench was tightly packed—except for one table in the far corner, where a handful of somber-looking fellows sipped their beers in silence. They seemed different from the other revelers.

  “A few of our colleagues are already here,” Deibler shouted at Jakob Kuisl over the noise. He pointed at the brooding fellows one by one. “Kaspar Hörmann from Passau, the Memmingen hangman Matthäus Fux, and even your old friend Philipp Teuber, from Regensburg.”

  Jakob Kuisl looked around searchingly. “Has my brother arrived yet?”

  Deibler shook his head. “I’m guessing he won’t come until tomorrow. Just like Johann Widmann from Nuremberg, the popinjay. He likes to make people wait.” Deibler rolled his eyes. “But he can afford to, since he’s the richest and most powerful man of our guild.”

  “Now, now, Michael.” Kuisl wagged his finger with mock severity. “You’re the executioner of our electoral capital, so don’t hide your light under a bushel.”

  Deibler waved dismissively. “Being the Munich hangman isn’t the same anymore, since the whores are no longer part of my jurisdiction. The few tortures and executions a year aren’t what they used to be—”

  “I hate to interrupt your most important blather,” Magdalena said. “But the children are tired.” She motioned toward Peter and Paul, who were struggling to keep their eyes open. “If you would be so kind as to show us to our rooms . . .”

  “Of course.” Deibler nodded. He seemed to notice Magdalena for the first time. He gave the innkeeper an imp
erious wave. Visibly uncomfortable, the bald, potbellied man came over to them, trying to avoid the Munich hangman’s gaze.

  “Take the children to their room,” Deibler ordered and gave the innkeeper a severe look. “I only hope you smoked out all the vermin, or I’ll squash you like a louse.”

  The fat man kept his head down and made the sign of the cross. Magdalena knew how superstitious people were with one hangman—how would they feel with a dozen in the room? Deibler had probably paid a lot of money so the hangmen could meet here at the Radl Inn.

  “I’m going upstairs with the children,” Barbara said to Magdalena. Her younger sister looked exhausted. When she peered closely, Magdalena could tell that her sister’s body was a little rounder, her breasts fuller. “If you like, I’ll take Sophia,” Barbara suggested. “I could do with the distraction.”

  Magdalena hesitated briefly, then she handed Barbara the small woolen bundle. Sophia happily reached out her little arms to her aunt, and Magdalena smiled. After all the excitement with the dead girl in the creek, she wouldn’t be able to sleep yet anyhow, and a mug of beer would help.

  Once Barbara and the children had followed the innkeeper up a narrow, well-worn staircase, Magdalena and Simon sat down beside Deibler at the scratched table sticky with beer. Jakob Kuisl was already deep in conversation with Philipp Teuber, the Regensburg executioner. Several years ago, the two of them had had a few eventful days in Regensburg and had only just escaped with their lives. Magdalena smiled when she saw her father like this. Some weeks Kuisl didn’t utter more than a handful of words, but when he was among his own kind, he seemed to flourish.

  Next to Teuber sat a man whose nose was huge from drink and boasted a shiny red boil on top of that. A young lad, presumably his apprentice, had fallen asleep next to the man, his hair swimming in a puddle of beer. Opposite him sat a red-haired fellow who stared sullenly into his drink. Magdalena gathered from Deibler’s words that the two older men were the Passau and Memmingen executioners.