Free Another Me by Eva Wiseman Page A

Ammeister.
    “Surely the councilors must have decided by now who is responsible for poisoning the well—my people or that lying Kaspar and his accomplices,” he said. “I keep thinking that I should have told the council the truth about Kaspar and what he did to me.”
    I chose my words carefully. “If you had told the councilors that you’re really Natan and not Hans, theywould have said you’re possessed by the devil. No, you did right to say what you did. That was the only chance you had to prove that Kaspar is a liar and your people are innocent.”
    “They still didn’t believe me. If they had, Peter Schwarber would have told us by now.”
    “You’re most likely right. If you don’t hear from the Ammeister in the next few days, we should tell my father the truth. He’ll intercede on your behalf. I’m sure that Schwarber will tell him the council’s verdict.”
    “I don’t think we should say anything to your father, at least not yet,” he said. “Remember what Rabbi Weltner said—we wouldn’t be doing your father a favor by involving him in my problems.” He sighed heavily. “Let’s wait a little longer. I prefer for him not to know.”
    He picked up his steps. I trudged after him, straining at the weight of the pails and perspiring despite a temperature so cold that I could see my breath. We passed a group of burghers, most of whom were customers in our shop.
    “Good day to you, Hans,” one of them called.
    Natan didn’t look up or respond.
    I plucked his arm, causing him to spill some of his water. He glared at me.
    “Pay attention, Hans,” I berated him. “Fritz the bricklayer is waiting for your greeting. You’re behavingas if you’ve never seen him before. You must remember how often he comes into our shop!”
    Understanding flashed across Natan’s face and he turned to the bricklayer with a wide grin.
    “Of course I do,” he said. “Good day to you, Fritz,” he added as we passed the men. “These pails are so heavy that I wasn’t paying attention to anything else.”
    “You have to learn to respond to the name Hans,” I whispered to him as we turned down a narrow lane toward home.
    “It’s difficult to answer to Hans’s name when I don’t feel like him,” he replied. “I feel like me!”
    As we turned the corner, we stopped short. A dozen street urchins had surrounded an old Gypsy woman dressed in bright clothes. The waifs were dancing around the woman and throwing stones at her head. She was trying to protect herself by covering her face with her hands. As the children continued their torment, they sang:
    Watch the Gypsy brew her potion
,
    See her pour it in your ale;
    Drink it all and you’ll lose all motion
    And your Maker awaits
.
    I lowered my pails to the ground, not caring that some of the water slopped over the rim.
    “What do you think you’re doing? Leave the Gypsy alone!”
    I grabbed the back of one boy’s tunic and tried to pull him out of the circle. The other urchins stopped dancing and fell silent. They stared at me sullenly.
    The tallest among them, a boy with a dirty face, turned toward me.
    “What’s the matter, mistress? Why are you worried about the likes of her?” He spat in the woman’s direction. “She’s probably a witch.”
    “The Gypsies poisoned our well to bring the plague upon us,” lisped a little maid with the face of an angel.
    Natan shot me a quick look.
    “I was told it was the Jews who’d poisoned the town well,” he said.
    “They’re both responsible,” said the older boy. “The Jews and the Gypsies are equally guilty. May their souls rot in hell!”
    “Be gone with you!” Natan cried. He shook his fist at the children. “I’m of a mind to send the watch after you.” He turned to me. “Go and fetch the watchman and bring him back with you!”
    I took but a few steps in the direction of the town hall before the urchins dispersed in all directions. The old woman sank down to the ground, her hands still covering