Death and the Devil

His companion raised his eyebrows in surprise. “How complicated you make things! Isn’t openness the best disguise? If we were to behave like thieves, keep looking around shiftily and muttering in low voices, then we would deserve to end up in—what do you call that funny tower? Oh, yes, in the Weckschnapp. Just behave naturally. Let us show some courtesy toward the venerable servants of the living God.”

He turned to the nuns and gave them a gallant bow. “It’s going to rain,” he called out. “Better get back inside.”

The younger of the two beamed at him. “Rain is also a gift from God,” she replied.

“Do you still think that when you’re lying alone in your cell and it’s hammering against the walls as if the Prince of Darkness himself were demanding entrance?” He wagged his finger at her playfully. “Be on your guard, my little flower.”

“Of course,” she stammered, gaping at Urquhart as if he were every reason to leave the convent made all-too-solid flesh. Then she hurriedly lowered her gaze and blushed. Fifteen at the most, Matthias guessed.

Her companion shot her a sideways glance and hastily crossed herself. “Come,” she commanded. “Quickly!”

She turned on her heel and marched back to the convent with all the grace of a draught horse. The younger one hurried after, looking back over her shoulder several times. Urquhart gave her an even lower bow, combined with a mocking scrutiny from beneath his bushy brows. He seemed to find the whole business amusing.

They were alone in the courtyard.

“That got rid of them,” Urquhart stated complacently.

“Is that one of your tactics?” Matthias’s voice had a frosty note.

Urquhart nodded. “In a way. Openness is the best concealment, the best way not to be remembered is to make yourself obvious. Neither of them will be able to describe us, not even me. Had we turned away they would have wondered why we didn’t salute them and would have had a good look at our faces, our clothes, our posture.”

“As far as I’m concerned, I have no reason to hide from anyone.”

“But then you’re a respectable citizen.”

“And I don’t want to be seen together with you,” Matthias went on, unmoved. “Our next meeting better be somewhere more secluded.”

“You suggested we meet here.”

“I realize that. Now stop turning the heads of harmless nuns and tell me how you mean to go about your assignment.”

Urquhart put his lips to Matthias’s ear and spoke quietly to him for a while. The latter’s face brightened visibly with every word.

“And the witnesses?” he asked.

“Found and paid.”

A smile appeared on Matthias’s lips, the first in a long time. “Then I give your plan my blessing.”

Urquhart bowed his blond head. “If it is the will of the terrible God.”

Matthias frowned and tried to remember where he had heard the expression before, the Old Testament God of vengeance who is terrible to the kings of the earth.

He felt the excruciatingly slow drip of a bead of sweat running down his forehead. Disconcerted, he looked at Urquhart’s eyes. Were they really a dead man’s eyes, as Heinrich had whispered? At that moment the other gave him an amused wink and Matthias felt a fool. Urquhart was playing with words like a jester. The living were alive, the dead were dead.

“We shouldn’t meet at the same place twice. Understood?” he said icily. “Tomorrow at seven o’clock at Greyfriars church.”

“As you wish.”

“Don’t disappoint me.” Matthias walked off without a further word and hurried back the way he had come. Just to make it clear who was in charge.

It was only when he was back in Dranckgasse that he was suddenly overcome with the humiliating feeling that he had actually been running away from Urquhart.

THE CATHEDRAL

It was a crazy idea, of course.

But Jacob had set his mind on getting hold of the most noble apples in the whole of Cologne and they happened to belong to Conrad von Hochstaden, lord archbishop of Cologne, who had commanded an army in the service of the emperor and also crowned the anti-king, Henry of Holland. A powerful gentleman and not one to be trifled with.

Getting at these apples necessitated a visit to the archbishop’s orchard, which was combined with his zoo. It lay between Conrad’s palace and the rising walls of the cathedral choir, or, to be more precise, somewhat behind them. Naturally it had a wall around it and locked gates. Fantastic stories about the animals could be heard in Cologne, for example that the archbishop kept lions and a legendary beast called elephantus with a diabolically long nose and legs like tree trunks. In fact, most of the animals lurking among the laden fruit trees were peacocks and pheasants, which were not only a fine sight, but also a fine adornment on the archbishop’s table. And that, apart from a dozen squirrels, was that.