Death and the Devil

“Don’t mention it, Fox-cub. But if you don’t mind, I need to sleep for an hour or so.”

“Sleep?” Jacob exclaimed in surprise. “Now?”

“Yes. Why not?”

“We have to do something. Urquhart will be—”

“Urquhart will be licking his wounds. It’s the middle of the night. Do you want to get Conrad out of his bed? God knows, we need some rest. Don’t worry, I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

Uncertainly, Jacob lay down. “I won’t get to sleep,” he said.

“Pity.”

How can I sleep, he thought, after everything that’s happened? I’ll lie awake, and eventually Jaspar will start snoring and sleep will be even more impossible. We ought to be making use of the time.

His thoughts turned to Richmodis.

I won’t get any sleep, he thought.

JACOB

“Wake up!”

Someone was shaking him. For a moment he thought he was under his arch in the Wall, then he sat up. It was still dark, but he vaguely recognized Jaspar’s silhouette. He was laughing. “So this is the lad who can’t get to sleep?”

“What time is it?”

“The watchman called three o’clock not long ago. The procession starts in two hours, so you have plenty of time to ask for an audience in the archbishop’s palace. Then we’ll meet between the fourth and fifth hour in Seidenmachergäßchen. It’s nice and quiet there on a Sunday morning. Let’s say by the city weighhouse.”

“Just a moment,” said Jacob, rubbing his eyes. “What’s all this about meeting? I thought we were going together.”

“So did I. But I had an idea while you were sleeping. It’s connected with your story. I’m going somewhere else.”

“To Goddert’s house, perhaps?”

“I’d like to.”

“So would I, dammit!”

“But we’d be fools to let ourselves be seen on the Brook at this juncture. Not now. Off you go, and make sure you keep that forest fire you have on your head well covered on your way to the palace.”

Jacob stood up and stretched. Tried to, at least. His body was probably black and blue from being hammered against the shutters. “What do you have in mind?” he groaned.

“I’m—” Jaspar patted him on the shoulder. “Tell you later. You know where the weighhouse is?”

“Yes.”

“Good. If I don’t see you there, I’ll assume your mission has been successful and go along to the palace.”

“Why can’t you tell me where you’re going?”

“Because it won’t get us anywhere just now and would take too long to explain. Off you go, and keep out of Urquhart’s way. He’ll be blazing mad at you.”

Before Jacob could say anything, Jaspar had taken him by the shoulders and pushed him out into the street. The rain had stopped, but it was still cold. Jacob looked around. There was an oil lamp swinging to and fro outside Bodo’s house next to the brewery. Key House opposite was silent. There was no one about.

“Off you go,” said Jaspar.

Jacob put his head back and pumped his lungs full of air till they were bursting. Although he was sore all over, he felt as if he had come alive again after a long time. Then he embraced Jaspar, pressing him so tight to his breast something cracked, and gave him a smacking kiss on his bald head. Jaspar stared at him, flabbergasted.

“Not like me.” He grinned, then turned and scurried away up Keygasse.

The archbishop’s palace, also known as the Hall, was on the southern side of the cathedral precinct, between Dragon Gate and Tollbooth Gate. Built a hundred years ago, it was an imposing, two-story castle with a row of arcades on double columns decorating the opulently furnished hall on the upper floor. That was where Conrad dispensed justice; it was also the place where he had outwitted the patricians when they had come for supposedly unarmed and peaceful discussions.

Conrad’s private apartments were to the rear, opposite the cathedral and not visible from the street. There was no point in trying to gain admittance there. Anyone who wanted something from the archbishop had to approach his soldiers and officials, which meant humbly begging audience at the front entrance.

Jacob had avoided the main streets, weaving his way through the narrow alleys like a salamander. There was a chance the patricians were still looking for him and Jaspar, but they couldn’t get into every nook and cranny, and that was where Jacob was at home.

He paused for a moment to draw breath. He was at the end of Pützgäßchen, which led into Am Hof, a broad, prestigious street with stately buildings such as the Crown House, where the dukes of Brabant held court when they were in Cologne, and the Klockring, the sheriffs’ headquarters. The archbishop’s palace was directly opposite. There were lights on in some of the ground-floor windows and the main door was open. A group of men in armor were talking with two night watchmen on horseback. Their muffled voices came to Jacob, but he could not tell what they were saying. With a burst of coarse laughter, the night watchmen spurred their horses and the soldiers withdrew into the building. The double doors screeched and slammed shut.