Free The Hangman's Daughter by Oliver Pötzsch, Lee Chadeayne Page A

like this?” asked Jakob Schreevogl. “After all, we are talking about murder. The town hasn’t even got the authority to pronounce a sentence here on its own.”
    Johann Lechner smiled. True, a capital sentence was the responsibility of the Elector’s representative. However, as was so often the case, Wolf Dietrich von Sandizell was sojourning at Pichl, his country house near Thierhaupten, far from Schongau. And until he showed up, Lechner was his sole proxy within the town walls.
    “I have already dispatched a messenger to ask Sandizell to come here within the week and chair the trial,” he explained. “I wrote him that we will have found a culprit by then. If not, the Elector’s secretary will have to remain in town a little longer with his entourage…” the clerk added maliciously.
    The aldermen groaned inwardly. The Elector’s secretary with his entourage! With horses, servants, soldiers…That meant a lot of expenses. They were already mentally counting the guilders and pence that each of the visiting bigwigs was going to squander on food and drink every day until the sentence was pronounced. All the more important, then, to present a culprit to the secretary when he arrived. Then they’d get off relatively cheaply…
    “We agree,” said burgomaster Semer, mopping his balding forehead. “Start questioning her tomorrow.”
    “Very well.” Johann Lechner opened the next register book. “Let’s move on to other business. There’s a lot to do today.”

CHAPTER
4
    W EDNESDAY
A PRIL 25, A.D . 1659
N INE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING
    J AKOB KUISL WALKED THROUGH THE NARROW ALLEY that led southward alongside the town wall. The houses here were freshly plastered; the tiled roofs shone red in the morning sun. The first narcissi and daffodils were blooming in the gardens. The area around the ducal castle, known as the Hof Gate quarter, was considered to be a better part of the town. It was here that the craftsmen who had been successful and had become wealthy settled. The hangman’s path led him past quacking ducks and clucking chickens, which fluttered away in the alley before him. A joiner with a plane, a hammer, and a chisel sat on the bench outside his workshop smoothing the top of a table. As the executioner passed him, he turned his head away. One didn’t greet the hangman; it was thought to be unlucky.
    At last Jakob Kuisl reached the end of the alley. At its farthest end, directly at the city wall, lay the keep, a hulking three-story tower with a flat roof and battlements, built with massive blocks of stone. For centuries the building had served as a dungeon and torture chamber.
    The city jailer was leaning against the iron-hinged door to catch the spring sun on his face. From his belt, next to the finger-long keys, dangled a cudgel. Other weapons were not needed. After all, the suspect was in irons. The jailer had protected himself against possible curses with a small wooden crucifix and an amulet of the Blessed Virgin, both hanging from a leather thong around his neck.
    “I bid you a good morning, Andreas!” called Jakob Kuisl. “How are the children? Is little Anna well again?”
    “They’re all well, thank you, Master Jakob. The medicine helped a good deal.”
    The jailer looked around furtively in all directions to see if anybody had seen him talking to the hangman. The man with the big sword was shunned, but it was to him that people came if they were plagued with gout or a finger was broken. Or when one’s little daughter, as was the case with jailer Andreas, was suffering badly from whooping cough. It was the simpler people who went to the executioner rather than to the barber or the physician. Mostly they came out better than when they went in. Anyway, it was cheaper.
    “What do you think? Can you let me talk to the Stechlin woman alone?” Kuisl filled his pipe and offered the jailer some of his tobacco. Furtively Andreas stuffed the gift into the bag at his belt.
    “I don’t know