Frank Schätzing - Death and the Devil

Suddenly his fingers felt a different texture. Cloth.

Cloth that was moving.

Daniel shrank back against the wall. “Kuno?” he whispered.

Someone took a step toward him.

“Can’t you see I’m defenseless?” Daniel panted. “You wouldn’t—I mean—that witch blinded me, Kuno, look, she smashed my eyeballs. Oh, God, Kuno, I’m begging for mercy. I’m begging you now. I’m blind, do you hear, blind—”

“Don’t exaggerate. You’re not blind. It would help if you opened your eyes.”

Daniel froze. Then he blinked. His lids were stuck together with blood, but suddenly he could see again. In the gloom of the warehouse he could make out the silhouette of a very tall man in front of him. “You’re not Kuno.”

“No. I am your obedient servant. I see that my charming guest has flown the coop. I presume you didn’t help her on her way?”

“Urquhart?” Daniel exclaimed in surprise.

“That remains to be seen.” There was a note of caution in the voice. “More important is, who are you? What I do with you depends on who you are, so your answer had better be good. One I find convincing.”

“Is Daniel Overstolz convincing enough?”

“Worth considering. If you’re telling the truth, I will be Urquhart. If not, then your executioner.”

“This is outrageous!” Daniel felt his old arrogance return. “My father is Johann Overstolz, one of the most powerful men in Cologne. We pay you for your services, not for your insolence.”

There was a brief silence, broken by the sound of a slap as Daniel’s head jerked to one side.

“What—?” he gasped.

“The next will come from the other side,” said Urquhart calmly. “Then from this side again. We can keep it up until dawn, if you like. I have time until then, as you well know. It’s obvious you’re an Overstolz. Only rich merchant scum that bought its patent of nobility and never held a scholarly book in its hand would show itself up with such empty-headed yapping. What are you doing here?”

“When I tell my father—”

“No, I will tell your father. I will tell your father that my bargaining counter has escaped, leaving behind his son, who appears to have taken a beating. From the young lady herself? Do you think he’ll enjoy hearing that? Will he be proud? Or perhaps you aren’t his son at all? We can easily find that out.”

Daniel felt the other grasp his collar and pull him toward him. “Quickly now. I need to speak with Matthias.”

“But Matthias was going to meet you every two hours—”

“That would be too late, blockhead. Where is he now?”

“I don’t know,” wailed Daniel.

“Then your father will know. If he is your father.”

He let go of Daniel, shoving him back against the wall. Daniel coughed and spluttered. “It’s not my fault,” he muttered.

“No, of course not.” Urquhart smiled. “Nothing’s ever anyone’s fault, is it? Now tell me what happened. And get on with it.”

Goddert yelped. He shook the hand off and took a leap he would not have believed himself capable of.

“Good Lord above!” he exclaimed. “Did you give me a surprise!”

“Sorry.” Jaspar regarded his hand as if it were a poisonous spider. With a shrug of the shoulders he picked up the candlestick and disappeared into the darkness. They heard him rummaging around for a while, then saw him again as the candle lit up.

“Where have you been?” Goddert was babbling and Jacob could see that his nerves were in tatters. Rolof was still stretched out on the bench as if he were sleeping through everything as usual.

“Goddert, there’s something we have to tell you—” Jacob said.

“Tell me? And what about that?” Goddert’s trembling finger pointed at Rolof.

“He’s dead.”

“Christ almighty, I can see that!”

“That’s not important for the moment, Goddert—”

“Not important?” Distraught, Goddert ran over to Rolof and back again. He dug his fingers into his shaggy beard and looked around wildly. “And where’s Richmodis?” he croaked.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Do me a favor and sit down, will you?”

Goddert went paler than he already was and sank down on a stool. Jacob felt like simply running away. It was his fault everything had turned out like this. He brought misfortune to everyone. What could they say to Goddert?

“You, too, Fox-cub,” ordered Jaspar.

Abashed, he sat down opposite Goddert and tried to look him in the face.

“Nothing’s happened to Richmodis?” Goddert asked, like a child.

“I don’t know.” Jaspar shook his head. “I don’t know. No idea, Goddert. She’s been kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?”

“Gerhard’s murderer, at least that’s what we suspect, has taken her away somewhere. If we can believe him, she’s alive, and at the moment I believe him.”

“Kidnapped,” whispered Goddert, with a blank stare.

“We have to—”

“What’s been happening?” whined Goddert. “Everything was fine yesterday. Who would want to kidnap my child? She’s never done anyone any harm, she—”

Jaspar and Jacob exchanged glances. Then, gently, they told him what had happened since they had last seen him. But Goddert only seemed to be taking half of it in. His eyes kept being drawn to Rolof’s body. Eventually it became clear he wasn’t listening at all. He just kept moaning, “Richmodis.”

“There’s no point,” Jaspar said quietly to Jacob. “The shock’s been too much for him.”

“What are we to do with him?” whispered Jacob.

“With whom? With Goddert or Rolof?”

“Both.”

“Goddert we’ll take home—at least there he won’t have to see poor Rolof all the time. That’s the best we can do for him for the moment. As for Rolof? I don’t like having a body that’s been slit open and written on with his own blood lying about the house. Looks suspiciously like heathen rites. I think for the time being we should get him out of the way, however much it pains me not to give poor Rolof a proper burial. Let’s get Goddert home first. You’ll stay with him and I’ll come back and”—he cleared his throat—“clear up.”

They took Goddert by the arm and led him out unresisting. His eyes were blinded by tears. The fury of the storm had increased and several times they almost ended up together in the mire. It was something of a miracle that Goddert was able to put one foot in front of the other. He was rapidly succumbing to apathy. Jacob remembered how he himself had staggered along the Duck Ponds two days ago after he had found Maria’s body, ready to accept any lie, provided it was better than the reality, shattered and yet strangely uninvolved, an interested observer of his own wretchedness.

He felt immensely sorry for the old man.

At last the houses on the Brook appeared through the slanting curtain of rain. They hurried on, heads well down between their shoulders. Goddert was whimpering to himself.

Jacob clenched his teeth. Then he saw something and stopped in his tracks.

There was a jerk as Jaspar took another stride. Goddert slipped out of their grasp and went sprawling, splashing mud in all directions.

“For God’s sake, Fox-cub, what’s all that about?”

“Look.” Jacob pointed.

Jaspar squinted. There was a faint gleam of light between the shutters of Goddert’s house.

Light.

“Goddert,” said Jacob, speaking slowly and clearly, “did you leave anything burning when you went out?”

From the ground Goddert gave Jacob an uncomprehending look. “No.”

“Not a candle, an oil lamp, fire in the grate?”

“Definitely not. Why do you ask?”

“Sorry, I’d forgotten the Lord didn’t bless you with the gift of long sight. It looks as if you have visitors. Were you expecting any?”