Frank Schätzing - Death and the Devil

Jacob didn’t dare object. Henricus even looked delighted, thanked Jaspar, and went to lie down. Soon he began snoring quietly. Jacob watched him enviously, leaned against the doorpost, and pondered.

After a while he saw Hieronymus start to gesticulate wildly. His fingers made the most bizarre shapes in the air. Some gave Jacob the uncomfortable feeling he was describing methods of torture.

Then he gave a whimpering cry and buried his head in his hands. Jaspar put his arm around his shoulders and talked comfortingly to him.

Hieronymus brayed with laughter and started gesticulating again.

Jacob listened to the wind moaning around the monastery walls.

After what seemed an eternity Jaspar came back and woke Henricus to let them out. In silence he led them around the cloisters to the main gate.

“Don’t forget compline,” said Jaspar with a smile.

“Huh!” Henricus snorted. “When did I ever forget it? What did the old loony tell you, by the way?”

“He told us the monks in this monastery are too inquisitive.”

“He did?” said Henricus in amazement. “Ah, well.”

They left him and hurried through the mud back to the Brook.

“And?” asked Jacob. With the wind whistling around his ears, he had to speak loudly. “Did you get anything out of him?”

“Yes and no.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Yes or no?”

“Hieronymus’s memory has its gaps, but he does remember the crossbows. And he remembered that they got hold of one or two. He mentioned the names of a surprising number of knights and counts, he even met King Louis—well, not met exactly, heard him speak. All in all he can remember quite a lot. Then he talked about the war and what they did with the infidels after the capture of Damietta.”

“What did they do?”

Jaspar shook his head. “Just be glad you don’t know. They gathered all the children together, and the young girls. It would be a huge exaggeration to say they simply killed them. They did other things it’s better not to talk about. A knight with hair down to his waist he couldn’t remember, however.”

“So we’ve been wasting our time?”

Jaspar gave him a disapproving look. “Nothing’s a waste of time, remember that.”

Beneath the city walls, between Three Kings Gate in the south and Neckelskaulen Gate was an area of old stone buildings that had been originally used to store fish. The stone kept the heat out. Several of the buildings belonged to the Overstolz family, but were no longer in use. They backed onto the Wall and several had narrow passages through to the riverside.

Kuno scurried along the inside of the Wall. The wind came funneling down Bayenstraße while the water seemed to be coming from all sides, from above, below, behind, in front. Perhaps it was the start of a new flood. So far it had been fine, despite the advanced season, but this night was bringing a turn in the weather. It was no longer warm rain, a summer storm that cleared the sultry air for a few hours. There was the icy cold of northern seas on the wind, a harbinger of frosts to come. The Rhine would freeze over in the winter and they would be able to walk over to Deutz on the eastern bank again.

Odd, thought Kuno, why should that come into my mind just now? It would be nice to go across to Deutz once more. And I’d like to see the snow on the battlements and turrets again, on the walls and steep roofs of the churches, chapels, and abbeys, on the trees in the orchards and on Haymarket, with the people stepping gingerly between the stalls, so as not to slip and get laughed at.

He shook himself in the rain like a dog. On his left was the first of the dreary line of old warehouses. He had more important things to do than wallow in memories.

Some of the warehouses by Three Kings Gate had a courtyard in front and a surrounding wall, often with a rotting but heavy wooden gate almost impossible for one man to open on his own. Kuno decided to investigate the other buildings first. There were more than he had thought and the very first he came to turned out to be locked. He tried to look in through the windows, but they were too high and he had to climb. The walls were greasy from the rain and he slipped several times before he managed to get up to one. All he could see inside was impenetrable darkness.

“Anyone there?”

His echoing voice and the howling of the storm combined in a ghostly chorale. He pulled himself up through the opening, dropped down into the warehouse, and lit the torch he carried in his belt. He looked around. A few rats scattered in panic, but otherwise there was no sign of life.

The idea of climbing back up through the window did not appeal to him. The door was barred on the inside by a beam, but he pushed it aside and came out into Bayenstraße. Miserably he contemplated the row of mute, black facades. The rain sweeping across was so heavy he could not even see Bayen Tower. He still had them all to check and already he was soaked to the skin.

What if Daniel had been lying? He was probably sitting in the warmth, enjoying a glass of wine, and laughing himself silly.

If, if…

Head down, he ran to the next warehouse. It was easier getting in this time since there was no door, just some rusty hinges hanging down. But there was no one there either.

By the time he reached the first of the buildings with a wall and courtyard he had no idea how long he had been searching. He’d have to climb again. His fingers were aching, but there was nothing for it, the gate was shut tight. Finding a reasonable handhold, he clambered up another wall, but there was no one in the yard or the building. A ladder led to the upper floor. The rungs creaked ominously as he mounted it. The first thing he saw was more rats, but it was lighter there as the room had five wide windows looking out over the Rhine. At some point it must have been an office. All that was left were a few planks lying around. The water was dripping in through a hole in the roof. He pushed his sopping-wet hair out of his eyes and looked down at the river. It seemed like some gray, shaggy beast, swirling and writhing in its attempt to escape from its narrow bed, kept there by the force of Divine Providence alone.

If it kept raining like this, they’d have to hang him out to dry in the morning.

Back on the ground floor, he noticed the narrow door in the back wall leading to the riverbank. It, too, was barred on the inside. He opened it and went out onto the wharves. The wind whipped his coat around his legs. He saw the cargo ships, tugging at their moorings, bringing stone from the Drachenfels for the new cathedral. Between there and Three Kings Gate he could just make out two more entrances in the wall, but they were bound to be barred. Cursing, he went back in and climbed out of the yard in the same laborious manner he had come in. In Bayenstraße, panting and wheezing, he was close to giving up.

He looked around. The night watchmen patrolled here every hour. Their lantern was not to be seen. On to the next, then.

A pleasant surprise at last. Two worm-eaten planks were all that was left of the gate to the next yard. One wall less to climb over. Quickly he went in. Seeing nothing in the yard, he went to the door and pushed at it. It wasn’t barred and opened much more easily than he expected, so that he almost lost his balance and fell over. Steadying himself, he took out his torch as the door swung silently shut behind him. Once the tar was burning well he took a few steps forward.

In front of him was a large handcart. It didn’t look as if it belonged in this abandoned ruin and there were blankets strewn all over the floor. It made such a bizarre sight that he stood staring and it was a while before he sensed another noise apart from the howling of the wind. A faint whimpering, like a child or an injured animal. Hesitantly, he raised his torch higher and went around the cart. In the flickering light he saw a massive pillar. And another. And another.