Free Dancing in the Palm of His Hand by Annamarie Beckel Page B

morning’s meeting?”
    â€œThe council decided to increase the number of begging licenses issued.”
    â€œGood. Now if the Grain Steward would just release more rye and barley from the stores.”
    Lutz reached for a thick slice of bread. “There is little enough to release, Maria.”
    â€œI think there is more than he claims.” She bent her head over the bowl. “What else did the council decide?”
    Lutz pursed his lips. “They voted to dismiss Frau Himmel’s allegations against Herr Seiler.”
    â€œFra-a-anz!”
    He held up a hand to ward off her rebuke. “Herr Meier’s investigation found no grounds,” he said.
    â€œNo grounds? Everyone knows Herr Seiler is a pig.”
    â€œA pig? He’s a respectable goldsmith, a trade master.”
    â€œRespectable to men perhaps. To women, he’s a
schwein
. No woman wants to go into his shop alone.”
    â€œIs this just women’s gossip? Or is there something you haven’t told me?”
    She bowed her head. “It is shameful to speak of such things.” Lutz studied her down-turned face. “Maria?”
    â€œWe must not speak of it. The poor woman will be humiliated by the council’s decision.” She toyed with her spoon and knife. “What else?”
    Lutz swallowed. “I’ve been appointed to the Commission of Inquisition.”
    Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.”
    â€œIt is my duty as a city councilman.”
    â€œBut it’s so dangerous.” She blinked back tears.
    â€œWhere is your faith, Maria? God protects those who do his work.” Lutz laid a hand over hers. To comfort her? Or himself? “We will be safe.”

9
17 April 1626
    Lutz walked slowly along the narrow street, his fingers combing absently through his beard. He stopped and leaned against the stone wall of a courtyard. The unopened buds held the promise of colour amidst the drab greys and browns of mud and stone and wood, a promise that would normally gladden Lutz’s winter-weary heart. But on this sunny afternoon, he felt faint-hearted, not light-hearted. Despite his brave words to Maria, and to himself, he was afraid, and ashamed of his fear.
    He breathed deeply of the soft spring air, taking in the sweet fragrance of the white blooms of a horse chestnut, then proceeded on. He could think of no better man to seek out for advice than the final confessor for condemned witches. Father Herzeim knew their wicked ways better than anyone. Certainly he could tell Lutz how to protect himself and Maria from their vindictiveness.
    As Lutz approached
Dommerschulstrasse
, an old beggar hobbled toward him. He snatched at Lutz’s breeches. “
Bitte
, a
pfennig
, just a
pfennig
for bread,” he rasped. Quickly, Lutz reached into the lining of his breeches, grabbed a coin, and tossed it at the man’s hand so he would have to release the breeches to catch it. As the beggar did so, Lutz noticed his eyeless socket, the clean lines of the scars indicating that the eye had been deliberately plucked out. Lutz drew back, wondering what crime the man had committed to warrant such a punishment.
    Lutz hurried away from the beggar and maintained his quick pace past the Jesuit House. He’d gone there only once, just afterhis first consultation with Father Herzeim. The cool glances from the rector and the other Jesuits had made Lutz feel so unwelcome he’d never gone back. Which was what they wanted, he supposed. Now he always met the priest at his office at the university, and though it was late in the day, Lutz knew Father Herzeim would still be there. It wasn’t hard to understand why. On his single visit to the Jesuit House, Lutz had seen Father Herzeim’s stark room: a narrow wooden bed, a plain desk and chair, a single tallow candle, a small shelf for books, a crucifix on a wall the colour of mud, and little else, not even a window.
    When Lutz reached the