Free The Poisoned Pilgrim: A Hangman's Daughter Tale by Oliver Pötzsch

assistant fled up to the attic before the explosion. Vitalis?
Viiitaaalis
!” The little monk pounded his cane impatiently on the floor until a shy young man appeared from an adjacent room. He was probablynot even eighteen yet and so delicate in stature that Simon at first took him to be a girl.
    “This is Vitalis, a novitiate at the monastery,” Brother Virgilius introduced him brusquely. “He seldom says a word, but his fingers are so slender he can place even the smallest gear in a clock mechanism. Isn’t that right, Vitalis?”
    Shyly, with downcast eyes, the novitiate bowed. “I do my best,” he whispered. “Is there something I can do, master?”
    “If you weren’t here to observe the experiment, then at least make yourself useful afterward,” Virgilius growled. “I’m afraid we’ll need a new table. Go and see if Brother Martin has another in his carpentry shop.”
    “Very well, master.”
    With a final bow, Vitalis left, and the monk turned again to Simon. “What do you think of my Aurora?” He pointed at the automaton. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
    Simon furtively eyed the doll still standing motionless beside him and smiling. Only now did he notice little wheels under the dress where feet should have been. “Indeed, a… a miracle of technology,” he murmured, “even though I must confess I still prefer real people.”
    “Balderdash! Believe me, the day will come when we won’t be able to distinguish between real people and automata.” Brother Virgilius hobbled around the doll and turned a screw in Aurora’s back, until the soft melody returned. The automaton opened its mouth and rolled through the room as if drawn by invisible threads. In the darkened room, it looked in fact like a refined lady dressed for a fancy ball in Paris.
    “The glockenspiel, the mouth, and the wheels are driven by watch springs and cylinders,” the monk declared proudly. “At present I’m working on making the hands moveable, as well, so Aurora can dance a bourrée. Who knows, maybe someday she’ll be able to write letters and play the spinet.”
    “Who knows?” Simon whispered. The longer he looked atthe automaton, the more sinister it seemed. As if he were watching a vengeful spirit floating through the dark room.
    “And the monastery?” he asked hesitantly. “What does the church say about your experiments?”
    Brother Virgilius shrugged. “Abbot Maurus is an enlightened man who can easily distinguish between faith and science. Besides, the monastery benefits from my abilities.” With a blissful smile he watched the doll make a wide circle through the room, bells tinkling. “But of course, there is also resistance.”
    “Brother Johannes, I assume?” asked Simon curiously.
    “Brother Johannes?” The little monk turned away from his automaton and stared at Simon in disbelief.
    “My apologies,” replied the medicus, raising his hand, “I saw you both engaged in that violent dispute this morning.”
    After a moment, Virgilius’s face brightened. “Of course. Johannes. You’re right. As I’ve already said, he’s an impulsive man who sometimes lacks the necessary vision. We’ve argued frequently in the past,” he continued, lowering his eyes, “but this time I almost feared for my life. Johannes can be very hot-tempered, you know, which may have something to do with his past.”
    “What kind of past?” Simon inquired. At this moment the glockenspiel stopped. An ugly squeal came from inside the automaton, and Brother Virgilius rushed over to it.
    “Curses,” he hissed. “Probably a loose screw again in the clockwork. Can’t you just for once run smoothly without breaking down, you stubborn woman?”
    He undid the back of Aurora’s red dress, revealing an iron plate. Mumbling softly to himself, he extracted a tiny screwdriver from beneath his robe and began to unscrew the plate on the doll’s back. He seemed to have completely forgotten Simon in an instant.
    “It… it was nice to have