Death and the Devil

“Yes, you’re right.” Jaspar gave a heartfelt sigh. “Still. Let us rely on Divine Providence. If it’s God’s will, we’ll find the murderer.” He bowed his head in humble prayer. “Lord, two sinners beg your aid. Keep us in Thy favor for all eternity, but especially now. Yes, especially now, in the hour of our need, O Lord, Almighty God. Be with us and grant us a sign, amen.”

He backed up his prayer with a vigorous nod and set off again.

Jacob stopped. He was looking up at the sky, obviously filled with reverence.

“What is it now?” asked Jaspar impatiently.

Jacob started. “I thought—”

“Forget it. Don’t stand around. God’s a very busy man.”

The first people were beginning to appear in the streets, on their way to church. Nobody paid any attention to them, though Jaspar felt the way they were constantly craning their necks must make them extremely conspicuous.

With every step his hopes fell. Urquhart could be anywhere. They were behaving like children. If they did find him, then his second visit to Hieronymus would perhaps have been worthwhile. Perhaps—assuming, that is, Hieronymus hadn’t simply made it all up.

But Urquhart would make sure he couldn’t be found.

After a while the palace appeared in front of them again.

“Wait.”

Massaging the bridge of his nose, Jaspar turned toward Jacob. “You think they might recognize you?”

“Possibly.”

“I imagine they’ll hardly expect you to turn up here again. Remember, you’re just a monk, one of thousands. A monk has no face.”

Jacob looked dubious. “You might know that, but”—he pointed at the palace—“do they?”

“You’d rather go back?”

“No,” said Jacob irascibly, stepping past Jaspar out into Am Hof. Diagonally opposite was the tree through the branches of which he had come crashing down.

“Slowly,” hissed Jaspar. He took Jacob’s arm and drew him past the palace up toward Pfaffenstraße. They saw priests, bishops, and monks from various orders gathering in a long procession outside the cathedral cloisters. Novices were dashing to and fro, bringing crucifixes and reliquaries. Jaspar could see the top of a tall, wide baldachin. Presumably Conrad would be riding underneath it. The archbishop was not keen on going on foot.

Suddenly Jaspar had misgivings. The baldachin was huge. It would hide Conrad completely. How could Urquhart even see his target from an elevated standpoint, never mind hit it?

Or did Urquhart have something else in mind?

“But what?” he muttered to himself.

Then he had an idea, an idea that made him abandon caution and hurry along the street.

Jacob would have preferred to stride out as he followed the route of the procession, but Jaspar was right. As long as they were within the palace, it was best to remain as inconspicuous as possible. And most inconspicuous of all was a monk plodding slowly past.

He was starting to get hot under his habit. It couldn’t be the weather. Was it fear making him sweat?

Pull yourself together, he told himself. You’ve been through worse than this.

His eye was caught by the gathering in front. Patches of purple, blue, and gold were picked out by the dawn light. A group of riders appeared from behind the provost’s house, impressive in their gleaming armor, which shone like molten pewter in the first light of morning. For a brief moment they parted and Jacob saw another figure on horseback: slim, stiffly upright in the saddle, with a sharp, clean-shaven profile and curly gray hair. Then he was gone and a baldachin was raised. He heard the faint sound of music. The great processions were always preceded by an organ on a cart.

Jacob had seen many of these processions and the music always reminded him of the marvelous ships that had sailed across the land in honor of the fair Isabella. He felt a brief stab of melancholy.

Another time. Another man.

Jacob suddenly realized he was dog weary. It was the weariness that comes from not knowing what to do. What did they hope to achieve? Ridiculous, looking at all the houses, as if Urquhart would be leaning out of the window to give them a friendly wave. Here I am, look, up here. Great you could make it. Come up and stop me from murdering Conrad.

Too many streets. Too many buildings. If Urquhart had survived the fire in anything like one piece, the archbishop would die. They couldn’t stop the murderer carrying out his commission because they couldn’t find him.

He looked over at the cathedral. That was where everything had started. With a few apples. Damn the apples. They’d caused nothing but trouble since Adam and Eve.

As he surveyed the forest of spars forming the scaffolding, in his mind’s eye he saw again Gerhard walking along, on the top level, and then Urquhart’s black shadow—

The Shadow.

Bewildered, Jacob screwed up his eyes and looked again. For a moment it had seemed as if history were repeating itself. But that was nonsense. Nothing about the building was different from usual.

He looked away and turned his attention back to the procession.