Oliver Pötzsch - The Werewolf of Bamberg

“I know,” Jakob snorted. “That doesn’t mean the councilors sitting around on their fat butts are going to care a whit. If you want to, you can explain anything by calling it witchcraft, and this damned commission wants to please the Bambergers by finding a culprit. They won’t point to anyone living here, if they can get their hands on a fine scapegoat like Matheo. Even if we drew out the interrogation, sooner or later they’d put Matheo to the stake, as sure as the amen in church.”

“Unless. . we can find the true perpetrator.” Magdalena sat at the table, her arms crossed, looking expectantly at the others. “Come now,” she continued. “It wouldn’t be the first time that we’ve hunted down a criminal.”

“Except that this time the evildoer is a werewolf.” Simon weighed his head in his hands. “Or at least someone dressing up as one, if you are to accept your father’s assumptions.” Suddenly his face brightened. “This wolf pelt that they found in Matheo’s possession. Isn’t it possible that the real perpetrator planted it on him to deflect suspicion from himself?”

Magdalena nodded. “It’s possible. In any case, someone needs to talk to Matheo. Perhaps he knows who might be behind this.”

“That’s something Uncle Bartholomäus and I can do,” Georg replied hesitantly. “Provided my uncle agrees.” He sighed. “I’ll do anything to try to bring my sister back, even though I still think this actor is a dubious character.”

“Someone also has to go and look for Barbara,” said Jakob as he struggled to his feet, grunting. “Not that she’d do anything to harm herself. Perhaps I, myself-”

“Certainly not! You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Magdalena replied, patting her father on the arm. “You’ve caused enough trouble here with your boorish behavior. This is a woman’s job.” She smiled grimly. “And as chance would have it, I think I know where Barbara is hiding.”

THE STREETS OF BAMBERG, EARLY MORNING, OCTOBER 30, 1668 AD

Magdalena hurried through the narrow streets of Bamberg, pondering the dreadful news. Young Matheo was suspected of being the werewolf everyone had been looking for. At the breakfast table, she had looked into her sister’s eyes and seen how her world was collapsing. She could understand Barbara’s anger and grief all too well, and she knew how mercilessly the wheels of justice would start turning now. For Matheo to have even the slightest chance, they’d need to quickly find the real beast and inform the council. Was that even possible?

With a billowing skirt, she ran along the foul-smelling city moat and from there southward through the Lange Gasse, where at this hour crowds of merchants and farmers were coming from the Green Market. She made her way past market women hawking their wares and coachmen loudly cursing their horses until she finally reached the harbor and the wedding house. She suspected Barbara would seek shelter with the actors. There was no one else in the town that she knew, and ever since Barbara had helped Sir Malcolm and his colleagues in the performance the day before, they were on friendly terms.

Magdalena ran up the stairway to the wedding house, taking two steps at a time. When she arrived, breathless, at the top, she found the actors gloomily sitting around on the floor among ransacked piles of boxes and crates. The floor was covered with costumes, some of them ripped apart; one of the backdrops had been slit lengthwise, and everywhere there were the muddy shoeprints of the guards, who had wreaked havoc like marauding bandits.

When Sir Malcolm raised his head and saw Magdalena, he smiled sadly.

“Ah, see who’s here-the beautiful hangman’s daughter,” he said in a melancholy singsong. “Well, I fear we shall not be able to perform for you today, my dear,” he lamented, pointing to the chaos all around them. “First, we shall have to clean up here, and then we’ll see if we can ever play again in Bamberg.”

“What happened, anyway?” Magdalena asked, still out of breath from running.

“The guards came this morning and turned everything upside down,” Markus Salter explained in a tired voice, crouching down on a trunk next to the producer. He was even paler than usual, and there were dark rings under his eyes. “Each of us has his own trunk where he can store his costumes and belongings,” he continued. “They ransacked everything, and in Matheo’s trunk they found the wolf pelts. I have no idea what the lad was planning to do with them.”

“Did he admit that they’re his?” Magdalena asked.

Markus shook his head. “No, he denied everything, and to tell you the truth, I can’t make any sense of it, either. But the guards didn’t care, they just took him along, and now I hear there are a number of witnesses who claim to have seen him in town dressed as a werewolf.”

Sir Malcolm sighed. “Yes, it looks like the boy has a dark secret, a dark soul that he concealed from all of us.”

“Are you saying you really believe that Matheo has something to do with this beast?” Magdalena looked at Malcolm wide-eyed, but he just shrugged.

“Who can look into another man’s soul? I only know I have to protect my troupe. If we’d defended Matheo, they would have taken us all along. We still have the blessing of the prince-bishop, but that can quickly change-particularly now that this cursed Guiscard has arrived in Bamberg with his own troupe.” Sir Malcolm rolled his eyes, then he intoned in a dramatic voice: “Sometimes a person must be sacrificed for the good of the rest, do you understand? I think we should soon dedicate a play to Matheo, some heroic epic, perhaps Henry the Fifth. ”

“But. . but. . that’s disgusting. Is that what you all think?” Magdalena looked around, horrified, but saw only indifferent expressions. Some of the actors turned away and stared at the floor, as if there might be something interesting to discover there. Only Markus Salter returned her gaze.

“I’m afraid Sir Malcolm is right,” he said finally in a soft voice. “There’s nothing we can do to help Matheo, and remember, these wolf pelts were in his trunk. None of us can figure out how they got there.”

“Haven’t you wondered if someone might have planted them there?” Magdalena replied sharply. “Possibly the guards themselves, because they had to find someone to blame. And who would be a more obvious choice than a dishonorable foreigner whom nobody will miss?”

Icy silence followed. Magdalena waited awhile before continuing. “Actually, I’m not here for Matheo, but for my sister. I already know that my father is not at all happy about how close Barbara and Matheo are. Now tell me the truth-did she come here to hide out?”

Sir Malcolm shook his head. “Unfortunately, no, though she would be welcome here any time. I must tell you honestly that we offered her a job yesterday. The girl has real talent. And now, since Matheo. . uh. . is no longer with us, we need someone for the women’s roles.”

“You did what ?” Magdalena caught her breath, realizing what Barbara had meant with her strange, veiled hints. “Do you idiots have any idea what my father will do to you if he hears about that, you. . you. .” She shook her head, unable to say another word. Then she stormed out of the hall.

When she was already on the stairway, she heard a voice behind her.

“Magdalena, wait!”

Markus Salter came running after her. “I saw your sister,” he called. “She was down in front of the wedding house, and it looked like she was coming up to see us, but then she suddenly turned around and went over to the Wild Man. Maybe you’ll find her there.”

“The Wild Man?” Magdalena frowned. “What in the world does she-” But then she put her hands to her head. “Naturally. Why didn’t I think of that before?”