Frank Schätzing - Death and the Devil

“Do you need help?”

He turned to face the woman and looked at her, without really registering her features. A nun. Concerned.

Urquhart forced his lips into a smile. Then he realized he was recovering quickly. A different man’s strange memory of a different life had almost gone.

“It’s all right, thank you, reverend Sister,” he murmured, bowing his head in acknowledgment.

“You’re quite sure?”

“A slight headache, that’s all. The unexpected blessing of your Christian sympathy has worked miracles. I thank you.”

She blushed. “The Lord be with you.”

“And with you, Sister.”

She made the sign of the cross and hurried off. Urquhart watched her go and wondered what had happened. It was a long time since he had had one of these attacks. Why now?

And what was it he had seen?

He no longer knew. The horror had sunk beneath the black waves of oblivion.

Almost automatically his eye went back to capturing the features of the people going about their business, analyzing them, releasing them, going on to the next. Swiftly, precisely, coldly.

It was already getting dark by the time Jacob woke up. He rolled over on the pile of dry twigs that formed his mattress and found himself staring into the yellow gleam of a cat’s eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Are you going to set me on fire?”

It frequently happened in these tiny wooden houses. Cats would lie on the still-warm ashes in the fireplace and when they were driven off there would still be some glowing embers caught in their fur. Then they ran up to the loft, which was full of kindling, pine shavings, and other combustible material, and in no time at all the house was in flames.

The cat objected to the insinuation. It mewled, turned its backside toward him, and released a substantial jet of urine. Jacob stretched, wondering how long he had slept. After Jaspar had driven him to despair with the story about the archangel, he had crawled up to the loft, collapsed onto a pile of kindling, and fallen asleep on the spot. He must have slept through the whole day.

But he was still alive, that was the important thing.

At the memory of what he had been through during the last twenty-four hours he felt a tremor of fear. But it was bearable, as was the pain in his shoulder. Jacob felt revitalized. He also felt a strong desire to do something. Jaspar would probably be downstairs. He found the trapdoor, ran his fingers through his hair to make himself reasonably presentable, and clambered down the ladder.

In the room a massive, good-natured-looking man was sitting by the fire chewing at a joint of fatty ham. For a moment Jacob felt like running away. But the man didn’t look as if he was in league with murderers and devils. Cautiously Jacob stepped a little closer and nodded.

“And a very good day to you, too,” said the man, his mouth full, so that the words were scarcely comprehensible.

Jacob sat down carefully on the bench and looked him up and down. “I’m called Jacob,” he said.

The man nodded, grunted, and continued to tear at the piece of ham.

“Jacob the Fox. That’s what they call me. Jaspar probably mentioned me?”

A further grunt was the response. Impossible to say whether it expressed agreement or appreciation of the food. Clearly not a great conversationalist.

“Right,” said Jacob, crossing his legs, “your turn.”

“Rolof.”

“What?”

“’m called Rolof. Servant.”

“Aha. Jaspar’s servant.”

“Mmm.” Rolof took a deep breath and let out a colossal burp.

“And? Where is he? Jaspar, I mean.”

Rolof seemed to have understood that a conversation was unavoidable, even if the idea of continuing to gnaw the ham joint was more attractive.

He licked the fat from his lips. “St. Mary Magdalene’s. Sermon. Epistle to the Hebrews, yes? At least that’s what he said.”

“St. Mary Magdalene’s? The little church opposite St. Severin’s?”

“Mmm. ’s dean there. Little church? Yes, but lovely. Not a great big lump like St. Severin’s.”

“Er, Rolof,” said Jacob, shifting along the bench toward him, “that joint of ham you’ve got there, er, could you imagine, I mean, assuming you don’t think you really need the whole of that huge piece, you know it could give you a horrible stomachache, my uncle, for example, he ate an enormous piece like that, all by himself, it wasn’t so long ago, and it killed him, his body stank of ham for days on end, it made even the grave-diggers throw up into his grave, and it probably meant he didn’t go to heaven, either, all because of the ham, now you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Rolof froze. He sat there motionless for a long time. Then he looked at Jacob. “No,” he said slowly.

“I thought so.” Jacob gave a jovial laugh and put his arm around Rolof’s shoulder. “Now I would be willing to take some off you. Let’s say half.”

Rolof nodded, gave him a friendly grin, and continued to work at the smoked meat with his huge jaws. That was all.

Jacob started to grow uneasy. “Rolof?”

“Mmm.”

“You want to go to heaven, don’t you?”

“Mmm.”

“You understood what I said?”

“Yes. You said, when I die, I’ll stink of smoked ham. Great, yes? Everyone’ll know Rolof was rich man, lots of ham to eat, yes?”

“Unbelievable!” muttered Jacob and retreated into his corner.

After a while Rolof leaned toward him and bared his teeth. “You hungry?”

“What a question to ask! Of course I’m hungry.”

“There.” He was actually holding half the joint out to Jacob. His heart missed a beat, then he grabbed it and took such an enthusiastic bite the fat came spurting out. How long was it since he had eaten something like this? Not since Bram had died, if at all.

It tasted salty. Rancid. Delicious!

Rolof leaned back, a smug expression on his face, and began to lick his fingers. “Jaspar says Rolof has one big advantage,” he grunted. “Rolof looks thick as two short planks, yes?”

Jacob stopped chewing and gave him a cautious glance. He didn’t quite know what to say. Any comment could be the wrong thing.

“But,” Rolof went on with a sly look, “Rolof ’s not. You want ham, yes? Make up tall story. Not a fox, an ass, yes? In a fox’s skin. Could’ve asked.”

“I did ask,” Jacob protested.

Rolof laughed. “Did lie. Your story’s rubbish. Impossible.” He raised his index finger and beamed. “No uncle. Jaspar says you’ve not got anyone, never had. But no uncle, no ham story, yes?” He rubbed his belly, satisfied with his demonstration of intellectual superiority. Soon after, his snores were making the beams shake.

“I suspect you’re supposed to be keeping an eye on me.” Jacob giggled and returned to his piece of paradise.

At last Jaspar came, putting an end to the tranquility of the tiny, crooked room. He seemed irritated and gave the bench a sharp kick. Rolof awoke with a start. Then Jaspar’s eye fell on Jacob. He raised his brows, as if seeing him for the first time, scratched his bald head, and pulled at the end of his nose. “Oh, yes,” he said, cleared his throat, and disappeared.

“Oho,” said Rolof. “Better I go, yes? Every time Jaspar talks of Hebrews—oh! oh!”

“What’s all this about the Hebrews?” Jacob asked, getting up to see where Jaspar had gone. He heard the sound of the trapdoor in the backyard. Obviously Jaspar felt in need of a visit to his wine cellar.

Rolof looked all around, lumbered over to Jacob, and whispered confidentially, “Jaspar Rodenkirchen, people can’t understand him.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Too clever. Can talk till his teeth fall out, yes? Because—the Hebrews—I know nothing about it, only it says something about peace and brotherly love, entertaining strangers and good things like that. At least I think so, but he always gets furious, in a rage, like an animal, bleeeh, bleeeh.”