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

smaller.”
    “That’s right.” The medicus tapped the table nervously. “There’s something fishy about that monk, but he can’t have been the man in the tower. Johannes was with me and the abbot at that time.”
    “You went to see the abbot?”
    Simon sighed. “You’re not the only one who saw some strange things. If we keep going like this we’ll get involved in another messy story and your father will give me a talking-to for not keeping a better eye on you. In any case, by tomorrow the bishop wants a report from me about a possible murder.”
    Excitedly he told Magdalena of his experiences in the apothecary’s house, the abbot’s study, and the house of the strange watchmaker. After he finished, the hangman’s daughter just sat there silently for a long time, then picked up the clay pitcher and poured herself another cup of wine.
    “An automaton that’s a woman and has a glockenspiel instead of a heart.” She shuddered. “You’re right—this watchmaker Virgilius is really a strange character. An atrocious idea that one can make a doll come to life.”
    “It’s not really so strange,” replied Simon. “I’ve heard that in Paris and Rotterdam there are a lot of automata like that—singing birds, life-size drummer boys, tiny black men who strike the bells… In the Hanseatic City of Bremen, they say there’s even an iron watchman who raises his visor to the merchants and salutes.”
    “Just the same, I prefer real people.” Magdalena suddenly frowned and nodded toward the door. “Well, in most cases.”
    At that moment, the Schongau burgomaster Karl Semer and his son strode into the tavern with haughty looks on their faces. At their side was a gentleman with a Van Dyke beard wearing a white collar, a huge, wide-brimmed hat, and an ornamentalsword on his belt. Coldly he eyed the guests as if they were annoying insects. When he snapped his finger, the innkeeper approached, bowing deeply.
    “Oh, God, the Semers,” Simon groaned. “We’re not being spared anything today. It looks as if they’ve found a friend.”
    In the meantime, the innkeeper had approached the new guests. “Ah, Count von Wartenberg,” he murmured, bowing so deeply it looked as if he was about to polish his guest’s shoes. “What an honor to be able to greet a representative of the House of Wittelsbach in my modest tavern. It’s been a long time since—”
    With an impatient wave of his hand, the man with the Van Dyke silenced the stout innkeeper. “Stop buttering me up and get me a private room,” he growled. “I have something important to discuss with these two gentlemen.”
    “As you wish, as you wish.” Bowing deeply again, the innkeeper led the count and the two Semers into a separate area of the tavern. As young Sebastian Semer strode past Magdalena and Simon, he gave them a fleeting, disgusted glance.
    “Look, Father,” he whined. “Even lowlife bathhouse surgeons and hangman’s women patronize the Andechs tavern nowadays. The Holy Mountain is not what it used to be.”
    Karl Semer looked down at the two Schongauers and frowned. “I don’t think the tavern keeper knows everyone patronizing his establishment, my son. In
my
tavern something like that wouldn’t happen. Dishonorable people have no place there.” Impatiently he took his son by the shoulder. “But come now, we have more important things to do. I hear they serve an exquisite, though expensive Tokay here—just the right thing for concluding our business.”
    The two disappeared into the side room with the distinguished gentleman. Simon looked over at Magdalena, who had turned white as chalk and was biting her lip.
    “This pompous Semer clan,” she hissed. “Jakob Schreevogltold me the two plan to make a killing here during the Festival of the Three Hosts. The very sight of them makes me sick.”
    “Don’t always get so worked up.” Simon passed his hand through her hair sympathetically. “In any case, there’s nothing you can do to