Frank Schätzing - Death and the Devil

“You will not get anyone else. Enough is enough, Matthias.”

“Yes, enough is enough. Just think, Johann. I’m willing to bet they’ve not told anyone else. They haven’t had time. Let Theoderich lock up Goddert and Richmodis von Weiden in the Tower. The pretext doesn’t matter. We’ll invent one.”

“No.”

Matthias wrung his hands. “We must protect ourselves, Johann.”

“I said no. Where is Urquhart?”

“What?” Matthias seemed confused. “Why? I don’t know where he is. It doesn’t look as if he was so badly burned he won’t be able to carry out his commission. Otherwise he’d have sent word.”

“And where will he be when the time comes?”

Matthias gave him a suspicious look. His lips twisted in a faint smile. “Are you thinking of—”

“Where, goddammit?!”

“In a good position.”

Johann stood right in front of him. “I suppose I will not be able to stop Conrad being killed”—his voice was trembling with rage—“even though I have come to the conclusion that I have never agreed to anything more evil, more sinful than this alliance. That must take its course. But I can stop more people being killed in the name of this unholy alliance, the aim of which is nothing more than a cowardly murder to allow each of us to satisfy his personal desires. For too long I have stood idly by while each of you does what he wants. From now on every decision is in my hands. Did you hear, Matthias? Every decision. No more killings.”

“You’re crazy,” Matthias sneered.

“Yes, I’m crazy to have listened to my mother at all. From the outset I should have—”

There was a knocking below. They fell silent and looked at each other. Further knocking, then the shuffle of footsteps as one of the maids went to see who was demanding entry at that time of the night. They heard the sound of quiet voices, then the maid came. “It’s the archbishop’s secretary, His Excellency Lorenzo da Castellofiore, sir.”

Theoderich’s jaw dropped. “What can he want?”

“Bring him up,” Johann ordered brusquely. The maid gave a respectful nod and disappeared. Johann frowned, wondering what could have happened now. Theoderich was right. Lorenzo ought to be in the palace. It was irresponsible of him to be seen here.

The secretary rushed in, completely out of breath. “Wine.”

“What?”

Lorenzo collapsed onto a stool. “Give me something to drink. Quickly, I can’t stay long.”

Matthias gave the others a bewildered look, went to the sideboard, and filled a gold goblet, which he handed to Lorenzo. The secretary tossed it down as if he were dying of thirst.

“Johann has just observed that we are a band of fools,” Matthias remarked pointedly.

Lorenzo wiped his lips and stared at him. “Yes,” he panted, “you can say that again.”

Jaspar seemed engrossed in meditation as he crossed Haymarket with measured tread, his face in the shadow of his hood, his hands in his sleeves. At the entrance to Seidenmachergäßchen he stopped, his eyes scanning the buildings on either side. It was close to the fifth hour. People were still asleep. The furriers’ and saddlers’ stalls were as empty as the shops opposite. They wouldn’t be selling their wares today anyway. It was the Lord’s day.

To the left was the outline of the city weighhouse. Nothing moved.

He took a few steps into the alley and felt his nervousness increase. If Jacob wasn’t there he’d have to go to the Hall. His absence could be a good sign. It could just as well mean he hadn’t managed to get as far as the palace.

He strolled along past the crowstepped facades of the little shops, murmuring the Lord’s Prayer. Immediately Jacob peered out from an entrance and waved him over. Jaspar’s heart missed a beat. He forced himself to keep walking slowly, although it felt like torture, until he was standing beside Jacob.

“Persons in holy orders don’t wave their arms about,” he said with a note of censure, “at least not in public.”

Jacob growled and looked all around. “You’re bloody late.”

Jaspar shrugged his shoulders. “We agreed between the fourth and fifth hour. I preferred to take it at a pace that is pleasing to the Lord. God does not like to see His servants running.”

“How saintly!”

“No, just cautious. Did you get anywhere at the palace?”

“I had a go at flying.”

“What?”

Jacob told him.

“Curses and double curses!” Jaspar exclaimed. “Another conspirator.”

“Who is this Lorenzo?”

“He’s from Milan. In Conrad’s service, though he only arrived a few months ago. As far as I know, he’s responsible for the correspondence. An inscrutable type, vain and unpopular, slimy, sticks to you like porridge. The patricians probably bribed him to get the details of the procession and the placement of the guards.” Jaspar stamped his foot in fury. “These corrupt clerics! No wonder Christendom’s in such a state when everyone can be bought.”

“They must have paid him a tidy sum.”

“Huh!” Jaspar snorted contemptuously. “Some’ll do it for a mess of pottage. Rome’s become a whore, what else can you expect?”

Jacob was downcast. “Well, we can forget about warning Conrad,” he said.

“Yes,” Jaspar agreed. “Probably about finding Urquhart, too. I guess they’ll be gathering in the cathedral courtyard for the procession about now.” He frowned. “We haven’t much time.”

“Let’s look for him all the same,” said Jacob, determination in his voice.

Jaspar nodded gloomily. “We’ll start here. You take the right side of the street, I’ll take the left. Head for Mars Gate in the first instance, the procession will pass through it. We’ll go over the route ahead of them.”

“And what are we looking for?”

“If only I knew! Open windows. Movements. Anything.”

“Brilliant.”

“Have you a better idea?”

“No.”

“Off we go, then.”

They scanned the house fronts. There wasn’t much to see. The tops of the hills in the east gleamed with a pale foretoken of dawn, but it was still dark in the narrow streets. At least the clouds had dispersed. All that remained of the storm were the puddles and the churned-up mud.

“Where have you been?” Jacob asked as they went through Mars Gate.

“What?” Jaspar blinked. “Oh, I see. St. Pantaleon.”

“You went back there?” Jacob cried in amazement. “Why?”

“Because—” Jaspar gave an irritated sigh. “I’ll tell you later. This really isn’t the moment.”

“Why all the secrecy?”

“Not now.”

“Is it important?”

Jaspar shook his head. He had observed a suspiciously dark opening in the upper floor of a house standing somewhat back from the street and was craning his neck.

Not an opening. Black shutters.

“Is it important?” Jacob asked again.

“It all depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Whether we find Urquhart.”

“Then what?”

“Later, later.” Jaspar suddenly felt at a complete loss. He stopped and looked at Jacob. “So far I’ve seen nowhere he might be hiding. I mean, nowhere obvious. You agree?”

“I think what we’re doing is stupid,” said Jacob. “He could be hiding anywhere. All the houses are high enough.”

“But too near.”

“Too near for what? For a crossbow shot?”

“Yes, you’re right.” Jaspar gave a heartfelt sigh. “Still. Let us rely on Divine Providence. If it’s God’s will, we’ll find the murderer.” He bowed his head in humble prayer. “Lord, two sinners beg your aid. Keep us in Thy favor for all eternity, but especially now. Yes, especially now, in the hour of our need, O Lord, Almighty God. Be with us and grant us a sign, amen.”