Oliver Pötzsch - The Werewolf of Bamberg

“You know exactly what the captain said,” the first guard whispered hoarsely. “No witnesses. Suppose-”

“Shh.” The older man pulled him away from the window. “You’ve already said too much.” He smiled and turned to Barbara. “And you, scram. There are no treasures or ghosts here, only garbage and rats.” Suddenly he frowned. “Who are you, anyway? I’ve never seen you before.”

“I. . I’m just visiting my uncle,” Barbara replied, scrambling to get up on her feet. “Sorry to disturb you. I’m leaving.”

She ran down the narrow, shaded lane as the guard ran after her, shouting.

“Hey, little girl! Which uncle do you mean? Stop!”

But she didn’t stop; she kept on running until she finally saw sunlight in front of her again. As she stepped out of the labyrinth of gloomy lanes, she was relieved to see she had reached the city moat. It stank of decay and feces, but at least she felt the sun on her face again.

By the time Barbara arrived at the hangman’s house shortly thereafter, the incident with the guards was nothing but a distant memory.

Just as Magdalena was running out of the wedding house on her way to the harbor, she remembered the package that Barbara had put down earlier beside the stage. The little brat was so angry at her older sister that she’d forgotten it.

“Damn it, is it my job to look after everything?”

She cursed as she ran back through the portal and up the stairs. If she showed up at the hangman’s house without the things she’d bought, Katharina would be terribly disappointed-to say nothing of her father, impatient for his tobacco. She walked out onto the dance floor, grabbed the bundle, and hurried back out, intending to give her saucy little sister a good tongue-lashing.

The actors were too busy to notice her. Just the same, Magdalena had to smile. It looked like Barbara had fallen for the suntanned youth.

She’s growing up. It won’t be long before she’ll start driving Father crazy with stories about her boyfriends. And why won’t the old man treat her the same as he did me?

On the stair landing, she heard a mumbling voice coming from a chamber off to one side. Curious, she turned and saw a room full of old chests and theater props. Markus Salter, the playwright, was standing with his back to her, leaning over a small trunk, whispering in an indulgent tone, almost as if speaking with a child. When he glanced over his shoulder and saw Magdalena, he quickly closed the trunk and turned to her. He looked as if he’d been caught doing something forbidden.

Magdalena raised her basket and package apologetically. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, I just forgot something, and then I saw-”

There was a scratching and scraping in the box, and something was squealing softly. Markus appeared to be thinking for a moment, but finally he uttered a sigh of resignation and stepped aside.

“May I introduce you to Juliet? But promise not to tell Sir Malcolm about this.”

Magdalena looked puzzled. “Juliet? I’m afraid I don’t understand. .”

Without answering, Markus lifted the lid and pulled out a small, wriggling bundle of fur. It took a while for Magdalena to realize it was a ferret. She laughed with relief.

“This is Juliet?”

Markus nodded and lovingly petted the squirming little animal. “I found her last spring in the forest, along with her brother Romeo. They were the only ones in their litter to survive. The others were probably eaten by wild boars. That old philanderer, Romeo, unfortunately ran away some time ago, but Juliet stayed with me. She’s rather friendly-see for yourself.”

Markus opened his hand carefully, and the ferret climbed up his right arm to his shoulder, where it sat down and scrutinized Magdalena with beady red eyes. There was an animal intelligence in its gaze that reminded Magdalena of a rat. Alert, in a strange way. .

Evil?

Magdalena shook her head, and Markus looked at her, surprised.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you like ferrets? They’re pretty smart. You can easily train them to chase rats.” He shrugged with the other shoulder. “Unfortunately, Sir Malcolm can’t stand animals-ferrets, martens, weasels, all the little creatures that live in the forest. He says they transmit diseases. What nonsense. I think he’s just afraid of them.”

“Well, they do need a place to live,” Magdalena replied hesitantly. “Ah. . especially when they’ve been tamed.”

“If Sir Malcolm finds Juliet, he’ll put her in a sack and throw her into the river. Please don’t tell him anything.” Markus petted the ferret, which was still sitting on his shoulder like a kitten. “I’m hiding her here among the stage props until I can find a better place for her. I’ve really become very fond of Juliet.”

Magdalena smiled. “I’ll be as silent as the grave, I promise.” After a few moments she asked, “How long do you intend to stay here in Bamberg?”

“Well, probably all winter.” Markus put the squirming ferret back in her cage and closed it carefully. “That’s what all itinerant actors do. In the winter it’s too cold to get around. We were here in Bamberg just last May, and evidently the bishop liked our performances, as he has given permission for the troupe to spend the winter. The innkeeper here in the wedding house is very cordial. He’s reserved the dance floor for our rehearsals and shows and provided a few rooms where we can spend the night.” He grinned. “Of course, it brings him business, too. During the shows, people drink as if there’s no tomorrow.”

Magdalena suddenly had an idea. “You say you were in Bamberg once before?” she asked. “Do you happen to know anything about all the abandoned houses in the city? We noticed them when we arrived yesterday evening. It seems rather. . weird.”

“The abandoned houses?” He appeared to hesitate. When he continued, his eyes looked a bit sadder. “Indeed, they do seem strange-silent witnesses to an enormous crime. Perhaps the most violent this part of the country has ever seen.”

“What sort of crime?” Magdalena asked.

Markus looked at her, perplexed. “You really must be from someplace far away if you never heard of the Bamberg witch trials. It was more than thirty years ago. I myself was just a kid at the time and lived with my parents and siblings in Nuremberg, forty miles away. But even there, everyone was talking about the horror that took place here.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if he didn’t want anyone to hear. “Almost a thousand innocent people in Bamberg and the neighboring towns were accused of witchcraft and put to the stake-men, women, and children. Some were just simple people, but some were noble-men; a few were burgomasters, and there was even a chancellor. The prince-bishop and his henchmen were beside themselves with rage, and nobody could stop them. Not even the pope and the kaiser.” He paused and looked into the distance. “What a tragedy. The events would have been good material for a play, an especially bloody one.”

“And the homes of the condemned are still empty?” Magdalena asked in disbelief.

Markus shrugged. “For a long time, people thought the houses were haunted. It was said that the innocent people who were tortured and burned would wander as ghosts through their former homes. Then the buildings fell into disrepair, and now it’s probably just too expensive to restore them.” He sighed. “Bamberg really has its best years behind it. I’ll be happy when we can leave the city again in the spring.”

Magdalena looked out the window, down at the marketplace where the fishwives were still loudly extolling their wares. The early-afternoon sun shone down mildly on the Regnitz, where a small boat was sailing calmly toward the city hall; in the background, the mighty spire of the cathedral rose up into the mist and low-lying clouds. Everything appeared so peaceful-but it seemed to Magdalena that, since her visit to the market, a gray shroud had descended over the city. Even from up here she could see some of the burnt ruins, the gangrenous wounds of a dying city. War, plagues, witch trials. . Would Bamberg ever recover from the many horrors of past years?