Frank Schätzing - Death and the Devil

“Sacrilege?” Kuno leaped up. “You can talk of sacrilege? You who had Gerhard murdered?”

Daniel stared daggers, but he remained silent.

“Sit down,” said Johann calmly. “If you are going to talk of Gerhard’s murderers, then remember you are as much a murderer as we are.”

“You made the decision, not me.”

“No. We took certain measures to attain certain goals that we, and many of our class, hope to achieve. You too, Kuno. You leaped at the chance of freeing your brothers from their banishment—without expressing any scruples about the action we all deemed unavoidable. Do you really think you can pick and choose as far as responsibility is concerned? Accept what seems reasonable to you and leave us to bear the rest because it’s not to your taste? You didn’t bat an eyelid at the idea of ordering a death, indeed, you were one of the first to agree. But now you seem to want to distinguish between one death and another, you accept one but not the other, though both are grievous sins. Are you less of a sinner than the rest of us because you didn’t reckon with the death of a man you loved and therefore refuse to accept responsibility for it? As I said, you cannot pick and choose when all these actions flow from one and the same decision, which you made along with the others. You may not have wanted Gerhard’s death, but you must accept responsibility for it, whether you like it or not. If you reject it, then you reject us and place yourself outside our group. We will be compelled to regard you as someone we cannot trust.”

Kuno had gone pale. He started to speak, then shook his head and sat down.

“And now to you, Daniel,” Johann went on in the same flat tone. “You knew how hurt Kuno was. Kuno Kone has no parents; Gerhard was father and friend to him. What did you say to him during the funeral?”

“I told him he was a coward. Is that reason to attack me?”

“That’s not true,” Kuno screamed at him. “You accused Gerhard and me of—of unnatural lusts.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Crazy. What would you call it if someone asked you—” He broke off. His chin began to tremble.

“What did you say to Kuno?” Johann repeated his question.

Daniel’s lips quivered with contempt. He looked at Kuno, eyes half closed, and leaned back. “I asked him what he had done with his strong perfume, since he was on his way to sleep with a dead man for the next three nights.”

There was shocked silence in the room. All eyes turned away from Daniel. He frowned and folded his arms defiantly.

“Daniel,” said Matthias softly, “if it were up to me, I would beat you till the flesh dropped from your bones.”

Daniel stared at the ceiling.

“Yes, well—” said Johann. He placed his fingertips together. “Things are not going as well as they might. We have gone as close as we can to attracting attention to ourselves by putting some of our servants at Urquhart’s disposal. The redhead still hasn’t been found. Urquhart’s idea of getting his witnesses to perform outside Gerhard’s house was a neat tactical stroke, but we still can’t rest easy. This Jacob could be passing on what he knows at any moment. We’ll have to keep our eyes open, too. This situation has unfortunately made further deaths necessary—”

“A whore and a beggar,” muttered Daniel dismissively.

“You shouldn’t talk like that about whores,” Theoderich remarked. “If my information is correct, you make pretty frequent use of their services.”

“—and will also result in the death of the redhead.” Johann could scarcely control his irritation. “We have to live with it, and we will have to atone for it. I pray the Lord no more deaths will prove necessary and that Urquhart can proceed to his main task without further damage. So much for the position at the moment.”

“Yes.” Heinrich von Mainz sighed. “Bad enough.”

Blithildis’s head shot up. “Bad? Oh, no.”

Those few words were enough to bring deathly silence to the room. The men stared at the table, unmoving.

“It was a bad day,” the old woman whispered, “when our men had to go down on their knees before Conrad, in front of twenty thousand people, to beg forgiveness for their just and godly deeds. It was bad when those among us who refused to serve a corrupt, criminal archbishop left the city as free men to be brought back and beheaded like common thieves. Twenty-four patricians in Conrad’s prison, at the mercy of his greed and hard heart, and so many outlawed and scattered abroad over the face of the earth, like the peoples after Babel, can there be worse? Bad, too, are the faintheartedness and shoddy doubts of the moralists, who look for any excuse not to act, the fear of the rabbits pretending to be lions who squeak and quail at the sight of a toothless cur. But worst of all are secret alliances where they raise their fists, shout out watchwords, and pledge their lives to a noble end, and then turn into a pack of whining women, ready to betray everything they swore to fight for body and soul. Men who wear a sword yet cannot kill a rat, those are the worst.”

She raised two bony hands in solemn entreaty.

“What we are doing is right. The deaths are regrettable. Every minute that is left to me will be a prayer for those unfortunate souls. How should I not suffer with them, I who have already tasted of death’s profound peace? The brother of sleep lies with me, one last, sweet lover before I enter into the glory of light and give back the gift of life to the Creator. And yet, my every heartbeat hammers out defiance of those who would destroy us, the whores of the Baphomet and the Great Beast, my every breath pants for justice and revenge for our dead and our exiles. Who among you will tell me my longing is vain, that I must depart this life grieving and unfulfilled, that I have hoped and prayed to no avail? If there is one among you who will tell me that, let him stand before me. I will see him. Blind old woman that I am, I will know him.”

Her hands sank limply to her lap. In their wake her words left the silence of the grave, the speechlessness of shame and self-knowledge.

She bowed her head and spoke no more.

Johann cleared his throat. “We will not abandon our plan,” he declared. “The oath is still valid. I think everyone knows the part he has to play. Kuno—”

Kuno continued staring into space.

“—I think it would be better if you did not take part in our future discussions. That is all, gentlemen.”

Without a further word, Johann stood up and left the room.

“I can’t get to sleep.”

Richmodis sighed. She turned over onto her side and peered through the darkness to Goddert’s bed. The blanket rose over his body like a miniature Ararat. All that was lacking was a tiny ark.

“What’s the matter?” she asked gently.

“I can’t stop thinking about that fellow,” Goddert muttered.

“Jacob?”

“He saw the Devil. I don’t like the idea of the Devil sitting up there on the cathedral spitting down on us.”

Richmodis thought for a moment. Then she got up, shuffled across the room on bare feet to Goddert, and took his hand. “What if it wasn’t the Devil?” she said.

“Not the Devil?” Goddert gave a growl. “It could only be the Devil, he must just’ve taken on human form. The way he often does. What times do we live in when Satan comes to fetch the soul of an architect building a cathedral?”

“Hmm. Father?”

“What?”

“Skip all this about the Devil, all right? Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

Goddert scratched his sparse beard. “Well,” he said cautiously.

“Well?”

“He told us a lot of things, didn’t he, that red-haired lad? We ought to help him, don’t you agree?”