Death and the Devil

“Bring him up,” Johann ordered brusquely. The maid gave a respectful nod and disappeared. Johann frowned, wondering what could have happened now. Theoderich was right. Lorenzo ought to be in the palace. It was irresponsible of him to be seen here.

The secretary rushed in, completely out of breath. “Wine.”

“What?”

Lorenzo collapsed onto a stool. “Give me something to drink. Quickly, I can’t stay long.”

Matthias gave the others a bewildered look, went to the sideboard, and filled a gold goblet, which he handed to Lorenzo. The secretary tossed it down as if he were dying of thirst.

“Johann has just observed that we are a band of fools,” Matthias remarked pointedly.

Lorenzo wiped his lips and stared at him. “Yes,” he panted, “you can say that again.”

THE SEARCH

Jaspar seemed engrossed in meditation as he crossed Haymarket with measured tread, his face in the shadow of his hood, his hands in his sleeves. At the entrance to Seidenmachergäßchen he stopped, his eyes scanning the buildings on either side. It was close to the fifth hour. People were still asleep. The furriers’ and saddlers’ stalls were as empty as the shops opposite. They wouldn’t be selling their wares today anyway. It was the Lord’s day.

To the left was the outline of the city weighhouse. Nothing moved.

He took a few steps into the alley and felt his nervousness increase. If Jacob wasn’t there he’d have to go to the Hall. His absence could be a good sign. It could just as well mean he hadn’t managed to get as far as the palace.

He strolled along past the crowstepped facades of the little shops, murmuring the Lord’s Prayer. Immediately Jacob peered out from an entrance and waved him over. Jaspar’s heart missed a beat. He forced himself to keep walking slowly, although it felt like torture, until he was standing beside Jacob.

“Persons in holy orders don’t wave their arms about,” he said with a note of censure, “at least not in public.”

Jacob growled and looked all around. “You’re bloody late.”

Jaspar shrugged his shoulders. “We agreed between the fourth and fifth hour. I preferred to take it at a pace that is pleasing to the Lord. God does not like to see His servants running.”

“How saintly!”

“No, just cautious. Did you get anywhere at the palace?”

“I had a go at flying.”

“What?”

Jacob told him.

“Curses and double curses!” Jaspar exclaimed. “Another conspirator.”

“Who is this Lorenzo?”

“He’s from Milan. In Conrad’s service, though he only arrived a few months ago. As far as I know, he’s responsible for the correspondence. An inscrutable type, vain and unpopular, slimy, sticks to you like porridge. The patricians probably bribed him to get the details of the procession and the placement of the guards.” Jaspar stamped his foot in fury. “These corrupt clerics! No wonder Christendom’s in such a state when everyone can be bought.”

“They must have paid him a tidy sum.”

“Huh!” Jaspar snorted contemptuously. “Some’ll do it for a mess of pottage. Rome’s become a whore, what else can you expect?”

Jacob was downcast. “Well, we can forget about warning Conrad,” he said.

“Yes,” Jaspar agreed. “Probably about finding Urquhart, too. I guess they’ll be gathering in the cathedral courtyard for the procession about now.” He frowned. “We haven’t much time.”

“Let’s look for him all the same,” said Jacob, determination in his voice.

Jaspar nodded gloomily. “We’ll start here. You take the right side of the street, I’ll take the left. Head for Mars Gate in the first instance, the procession will pass through it. We’ll go over the route ahead of them.”

“And what are we looking for?”

“If only I knew! Open windows. Movements. Anything.”

“Brilliant.”

“Have you a better idea?”

“No.”

“Off we go, then.”

They scanned the house fronts. There wasn’t much to see. The tops of the hills in the east gleamed with a pale foretoken of dawn, but it was still dark in the narrow streets. At least the clouds had dispersed. All that remained of the storm were the puddles and the churned-up mud.

“Where have you been?” Jacob asked as they went through Mars Gate.

“What?” Jaspar blinked. “Oh, I see. St. Pantaleon.”

“You went back there?” Jacob cried in amazement. “Why?”

“Because—” Jaspar gave an irritated sigh. “I’ll tell you later. This really isn’t the moment.”

“Why all the secrecy?”

“Not now.”

“Is it important?”

Jaspar shook his head. He had observed a suspiciously dark opening in the upper floor of a house standing somewhat back from the street and was craning his neck.

Not an opening. Black shutters.

“Is it important?” Jacob asked again.

“It all depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Whether we find Urquhart.”

“Then what?”

“Later, later.” Jaspar suddenly felt at a complete loss. He stopped and looked at Jacob. “So far I’ve seen nowhere he might be hiding. I mean, nowhere obvious. You agree?”

“I think what we’re doing is stupid,” said Jacob. “He could be hiding anywhere. All the houses are high enough.”

“But too near.”

“Too near for what? For a crossbow shot?”