Frank Schätzing - Death and the Devil

Suddenly, from one moment to the next, the alley was deserted.

Jacob tensed his muscles, flexed his knees, and pushed off. His hands grasped the lowest branch. Without pausing, he pulled his body up smoothly, did a straddle with his legs and slipped up into the foliage.

It was the work of a moment. And no one had seen him. He clutched the branch above him and swung up onto it. Now he was completely invisible.

But Jacob could see all the better, and what he saw set his heart beating. Nature’s bounty was spread out before him. There was nothing in the world to match these apples. Greedily he grabbed one, his teeth tore through the firm green skin, slicing the apple in two. The juice ran down his chin. The apple disappeared, a second followed, and a few moments later all that was left of the third was the stem.

Jacob gave a loud burp. He looked down through the leaves in alarm.

No danger.

He was going to have a terrible stomachache, that he knew. There was nothing for his belly to work on but the acid fruit. But a stomachache would pass. Now that he had stilled the more immediate pangs of hunger, he could set about filling his new and, fortunately, wide coat with further spoils. He thought of Tilman, and of Maria, the woman who sometimes gave him a roof over his head when the winter was too harsh—and her professional commitments permitted. Taking his own needs into consideration as well, he came, after some laborious counting on his fingers, to the figure of thirty.

No time to lose.

First of all he picked the best fruits he could reach from where he was. But he still had nothing like enough when all that was left were smaller, inferior specimens. Cautiously he shuffled along the branch. Now he was right over the middle of the alley. He held on tight with his left hand, while his right was busy among the branches. You could have fed whole families on the fruit growing there.

The most beautiful apples were luring him farther toward the end of the branch. For a brief moment he considered making do with what he had. But given that he was in the archbishop’s apple trees, he saw no reason to accept less than Conrad himself.

He screwed up his eyes and crept forward a bit. The branch was getting visibly thinner; now it was jutting out over the cathedral building site. Through the foliage he could see the chancel corseted in scaffolding. There was no one there. In the morning, at cockcrow, the whole area would resound with bustle and hammering, shouts and rumblings, but now it was wrapped in a strange peace.

For a moment Jacob was amazed at how close the horseshoe of soaring windows and pillars seemed to be. Or were his eyes playing tricks on him? Was it just the huge proportions that gave the work a physical presence, as if he could touch it with his hand? And they said it was going to be even bigger? More than twice as high, even without the towers. He could scarcely imagine it.

Nor was it important. He turned back to the apples. A cathedral did nothing for an empty stomach.

At the very moment his fingers were closing around a particularly fine apple, a figure appeared high up on the scaffolding. Jacob jerked back and pressed against the rough bark. Time to be going. But that would be a waste. Better to sit still for a while. In the shadow of the leaves he could see everything without being seen. His eyes followed the man as he made his way along the planks. Even at this distance he could see that he was expensively dressed. His coat had a trimming of rich fur. He held himself erect, like a man who was used to giving orders. At times he shook the scaffolding poles, as if to make sure they were well fixed. At others he placed his hand on the balustrade and just looked down.

Even though Jacob was just an idle good-for-nothing, he knew who the man inspecting the building was. Everyone knew the architect. There was a story doing the rounds that Gerhard Morart had called up the Devil to produce his plans. A stonemason by profession, his appointment had made him one of the most respected and influential burghers. The cathedral chapter had granted him a piece of land on which he had built himself a magnificent stone house in the style of the old established families, the so-called noble houses. He moved in patrician circles, with the Overstolzes, the von Mainzes, the Kones. His advice was sought, his work admired, and at the same time feared, as he was himself. Gerhard was already a legendary figure, and there were those who thought he would, with the help of the Arch-fiend, manage to complete the impossible before his death, at which he would plunge from the topmost spire straight down to hell. Accompanied by that vain and pompous archbishop.

To Jacob, though, the cathedral still seemed more the result of hard labor than of a satanic pact.

In the meantime Gerhard Morart had climbed to the highest level of the scaffolding. His massive silhouette stood out black against what was left of the daylight. The wind tugged fiercely at his coat. Jacob felt the first raindrops splash on his face and shivered. Gerhard could spend the whole night up there, if he wanted. It was time for a few more apples and a quick getaway.

Just then someone else appeared on the scaffolding. He seemed to Jacob to come from nowhere. The second figure was much taller than Gerhard. It materialized so close behind him that for a moment the two shapes seemed to merge.

Then a scream rang out, and Jacob saw Gerhard plummet down, past his scaffolding, pillars, and capitals, past his buttresses and piscinas, his pediments and recesses. His arms were flailing; for one terrible moment it looked as if he were waving to Jacob in his apple tree. Then there was a dull thud as the body hit the ground, rose up, as if grabbed by a giant fist, then came to rest on its back.

Jacob stared at the motionless figure. It was impossible that the architect had survived the fall. Hastily he started to push himself back, but he had gone only a couple of feet when, with a loud crack, the branch gave way. Like a witch on a broomstick, he flew down on the rotten branch and landed with a loud crash in a tangle of leaves and scraps of bark. He kicked his legs to free himself, desperately gasping for breath.

Sweet Jesus! He’d fallen into the cathedral site.

Still panting, he got to his feet. His hat had been pulled off. He stuck the shapeless clump back on his head and looked around wildly.

Out of here, said a voice in his head. Out of here while there’s still time. It was the same voice that had warned him in the marketplace that morning.

Out of here!

He caught sight of Gerhard. The twisted body was no more than fifty paces from him. Could that have been a groan he’d heard?

He had another look.

Gerhard’s dead, said the voice.

Jacob clenched his fists as the sweat broke out all over his body. There was still time to slip away unnoticed.

Then he saw the movement. Gerhard’s arm had twitched. Just slightly, but there was no doubt he was still alive.

A memory surfaced. He pushed it back down.

Get away, Fox!

“Will you never learn, blockhead?” Jacob muttered to himself as he scampered over to the cathedral. The rain, heavier now, was falling into his eyes. He knelt down beside the body.

Gerhard was looking up with a glassy stare. The rain was running over his face and through his thinning hair. His fur-trimmed cap was on the ground beside him. He certainly didn’t look like a man who had made a pact with the Devil. It was a gentle, noble-looking face. Or, rather, had been. Now all it showed was the trauma of approaching death.

His chest rose convulsively. His lips quivered.

Jacob brushed the wet hair out of Gerhard’s face and bent over him. Gerhard seemed aware of his presence. With an immense effort he turned his head and looked at him. Again his lips moved.