Oliver Potzsch - The Poisoned Pilgrim

“Brother Johannes, I assume?” asked Simon curiously.

“Brother Johannes?” The little monk turned away from his automaton and stared at Simon in disbelief.

“My apologies,” replied the medicus, raising his hand, “I saw you both engaged in that violent dispute this morning.”

After a moment, Virgilius’s face brightened. “Of course. Johannes. You’re right. As I’ve already said, he’s an impulsive man who sometimes lacks the necessary vision. We’ve argued frequently in the past,” he continued, lowering his eyes, “but this time I almost feared for my life. Johannes can be very hot-tempered, you know, which may have something to do with his past.”

“What kind of past?” Simon inquired. At this moment the glockenspiel stopped. An ugly squeal came from inside the automaton, and Brother Virgilius rushed over to it.

“Curses,” he hissed. “Probably a loose screw again in the clockwork. Can’t you just for once run smoothly without breaking down, you stubborn woman?”

He undid the back of Aurora’s red dress, revealing an iron plate. Mumbling softly to himself, he extracted a tiny screwdriver from beneath his robe and began to unscrew the plate on the doll’s back. He seemed to have completely forgotten Simon in an instant.

“It… it was nice to have met you,” Simon mumbled, smoothing his jacket with his hand. “I’ll probably have to…”

“What?” Virgilius looked Simon up and down as if he were a stranger who’d just entered the room. “Oh, naturally. The pleasure was all mine, but now please excuse me; I have a lot to do. Damn!” Again he bent to inspect the automaton’s back, and Simon turned to leave.

Stepping outside into the blinding bright sunlight, the medicus had to shield his eyes. He could still hear the mumbling watchmaker inside.

Moments later the soft melody of the glockenspiel began again.

Magdalena sipped on a cup of mulled wine and tried to come to grips with the terror of the last hour. Still trembling slightly, she leaned back on the hard corner bench and from there observed everything going on in the monastery tavern, which she’d entered on a whim.

At the noon hour, the inn at the foot of the Holy Mountain was packed: A few richly clad merchants had ordered a boar’s leg with white bread, and its fatty juice dribbled down their beards and chins. A group of pious pilgrims sat together in one corner over a steaming bowl of stew. Smoke from tobacco and a wood fire hung heavily over the tables, and the air was full of the humming and buzzing of many conversations.

After her fall from the tower, Magdalena had to first answer worried questions from Jakob Schreevogl, the carpenter Hemerle, and a few other workers. The unexpected ringing of the bells had upset everyone on the building site, among them Brother Johannes, who eyed the hangman’s daughter distrustfully. For that reason, she told the astonished men she had just climbed the tower out of curiosity and had slipped. She still didn’t know whether the ugly monk had anything to do with the incident in the tower. Was it possible Johannes himself was the hooded stranger who had pushed her off the belfry?

As she came staggering down the hill from the monastery, Magdalena saw a sign over the tavern door painted invitingly with a wine glass and entered without hesitation. Just as she was about to pour herself another cup of wine, she spied Simon in the doorway. The medicus looked around until he spotted Magdalena in the crowd.

“So this is where you’re hiding out,” he cried with relief when he reached her table. “I’ve looked for you everywhere. Weren’t you going to wait at the knacker’s house until I came back with the herbs?”

“Aha, and when was that going to be?” she replied angrily. “When pigs fly? I waited, but you never came back.” She pointed to the pitcher of mulled wine on the table. “In any case, this medicine does more good than all the marjoram, vervain, and mint in the Priests’ Corner put together. They put so many herbs in the wine here that you get better just smelling it. Now sit down and listen to what happened to me.”

She briefly told him of the bizarre things she saw up in the tower and the stranger who had pushed her off the platform.

“A stretcher with metal clamps along the side and a thick wire?” Simon replied. “What in God’s name could that be?”

“I have no idea. In any case, nothing that anyone’s supposed to find out about-or this fellow in the robe wouldn’t have tried to throw me from the belfry.”

“How do you know he really wanted to throw you from the belfry?” Simon asked. “Maybe you just startled him up there, and he was trying to flee.”

“Are you telling me I just imagined all that?”

Simon raised his hands apologetically. “I just don’t want us to jump to any false conclusions, that’s all.”

Magdalena lowered her voice and looked around furtively. “If you ask me, that ugly monk Johannes has something to do with it. Do you remember the strange look he gave us yesterday when I told him about the light up in the tower? And do you remember the large sack he was carrying?”

Simon frowned. “Yes, why?”

“There were iron rods inside just like the ones I saw up in the tower, only a bit smaller.”

“That’s right.” The medicus tapped the table nervously. “There’s something fishy about that monk, but he can’t have been the man in the tower. Johannes was with me and the abbot at that time.”

“You went to see the abbot?”

Simon sighed. “You’re not the only one who saw some strange things. If we keep going like this we’ll get involved in another messy story and your father will give me a talking-to for not keeping a better eye on you. In any case, by tomorrow the bishop wants a report from me about a possible murder.”

Excitedly he told Magdalena of his experiences in the apothecary’s house, the abbot’s study, and the house of the strange watchmaker. After he finished, the hangman’s daughter just sat there silently for a long time, then picked up the clay pitcher and poured herself another cup of wine.

“An automaton that’s a woman and has a glockenspiel instead of a heart.” She shuddered. “You’re right-this watchmaker Virgilius is really a strange character. An atrocious idea that one can make a doll come to life.”

“It’s not really so strange,” replied Simon. “I’ve heard that in Paris and Rotterdam there are a lot of automata like that-singing birds, life-size drummer boys, tiny black men who strike the bells… In the Hanseatic City of Bremen, they say there’s even an iron watchman who raises his visor to the merchants and salutes.”

“Just the same, I prefer real people.” Magdalena suddenly frowned and nodded toward the door. “Well, in most cases.”

At that moment, the Schongau burgomaster Karl Semer and his son strode into the tavern with haughty looks on their faces. At their side was a gentleman with a Van Dyke beard wearing a white collar, a huge, wide-brimmed hat, and an ornamental sword on his belt. Coldly he eyed the guests as if they were annoying insects. When he snapped his finger, the innkeeper approached, bowing deeply.

“Oh, God, the Semers,” Simon groaned. “We’re not being spared anything today. It looks as if they’ve found a friend.”

In the meantime, the innkeeper had approached the new guests. “Ah, Count von Wartenberg,” he murmured, bowing so deeply it looked as if he was about to polish his guest’s shoes. “What an honor to be able to greet a representative of the House of Wittelsbach in my modest tavern. It’s been a long time since-”

With an impatient wave of his hand, the man with the Van Dyke silenced the stout innkeeper. “Stop buttering me up and get me a private room,” he growled. “I have something important to discuss with these two gentlemen.”