Read Online The Hangman's Daughter by Oliver Pötzsch, Lee Chadeayne - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Oliver Pötzsch, Lee Chadeayne
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will always float to the top.
Everyone was greatly agitated. They knew the boy’s death could harm their own businesses. The peace of their little town was at stake. The chattering in the wood-paneled council chamber reminded the clerk of the buzzing of angry bees.
“Silence please! Silence!”
Lechner swung his bell one more time. Then he slammed his hand down on the table and the room finally fell silent. The clerk picked up a quill to take minutes of the meeting. Karl Semer, the burgomaster, looked around with a worried face. Then he addressed the members of the council.
“You’ve all heard of yesterday’s dreadful incident, a terrible crime that has to be solved as fast as possible. I have agreed with the clerk that this is the first item on today’s agenda. Everything else can wait. I hope that’s in our common interest.”
The aldermen nodded gravely. The sooner the case was solved, the sooner they could return to real business.
Burgomaster Semer continued, “Fortunately it looks as if we’ve already found the culprit. The Stechlin midwife is already in prison. The executioner will pay her a visit soon, and then she’ll have to talk.”
“What makes her a suspect?”
With some irritation the aldermen turned to look at young Schreevogl. It was not customary to interrupt the presiding burgomaster that early. Especially when one had just been on the council for a short time. Ferdinand, Jakob Schreevogl’s father, had been a powerful alderman—a little odd, perhaps, but influential. His son had yet to win his spurs. In contrast to the others, the young patrician wore no ruff but a wide lace collar. His hair, according to the latest fashion, fell on his shoulders in locks. His entire appearance was an insult to each and every long-serving alderman.
“What makes her a suspect? Well, that is simple, that is simple…” Burgomaster Semer was rattled. Picking up a handkerchief, he dabbed small beads of sweat from his balding forehead. His broad chest was heaving beneath his gold-braided vest. He was a brewer and the landlord of the largest inn in town, and he was not used to being contradicted. He turned to the clerk on his left for help. With relish, Johann Lechner came to his aid.
“She had been seen several times with the boy prior to the night of the murder. Furthermore, there are women who testify to having seen her perform witches’ sabbaths in her house with Peter and other children.”
“Who testifies to that?”
Young Schreevogl wouldn’t give up. And in fact Johann Lechner wasn’t able to name a single one of these women at that point. However, the night watchmen had informed him that such rumors were circulating in the taverns. And he knew the usual suspects. It would be easy to round up a few witnesses.
“Let’s wait for the trial. I don’t want to get ahead of the facts,” he said.
“Maybe the Stechlin woman will kill these witnesses by witchcraft from her prison cell if she finds out who is accusing her,” another alderman piped up. It was the baker Michael Berchtholdt, a member of the outer council. Lechner took him to be capable of spreading precisely this kind of rumor. Other men nodded—they had heard of such things.
“Oh, nonsense! That’s absurd. The Stechlin woman is a midwife and nothing else.” Jakob Schreevogl had jumped to his feet. “Remember what happened here seventy years ago. One half of the town accused the other half of witchcraft. Streams of blood flowed. Do you want to repeat that?”
Some of the commoners began to whisper. Back then it had hit the less affluent burghers most—the peasants, the milkmaids, the farmhands…But there had been some innkeepers’ and even judges’ wives among the accused. And under torture they had confessed that they had conjured up hailstorms and desecrated the host, indeed that they had even killed their own grandchildren. The fear was still deep-rooted. Johann Lechner remembered that his father had often talked of
Everyone was greatly agitated. They knew the boy’s death could harm their own businesses. The peace of their little town was at stake. The chattering in the wood-paneled council chamber reminded the clerk of the buzzing of angry bees.
“Silence please! Silence!”
Lechner swung his bell one more time. Then he slammed his hand down on the table and the room finally fell silent. The clerk picked up a quill to take minutes of the meeting. Karl Semer, the burgomaster, looked around with a worried face. Then he addressed the members of the council.
“You’ve all heard of yesterday’s dreadful incident, a terrible crime that has to be solved as fast as possible. I have agreed with the clerk that this is the first item on today’s agenda. Everything else can wait. I hope that’s in our common interest.”
The aldermen nodded gravely. The sooner the case was solved, the sooner they could return to real business.
Burgomaster Semer continued, “Fortunately it looks as if we’ve already found the culprit. The Stechlin midwife is already in prison. The executioner will pay her a visit soon, and then she’ll have to talk.”
“What makes her a suspect?”
With some irritation the aldermen turned to look at young Schreevogl. It was not customary to interrupt the presiding burgomaster that early. Especially when one had just been on the council for a short time. Ferdinand, Jakob Schreevogl’s father, had been a powerful alderman—a little odd, perhaps, but influential. His son had yet to win his spurs. In contrast to the others, the young patrician wore no ruff but a wide lace collar. His hair, according to the latest fashion, fell on his shoulders in locks. His entire appearance was an insult to each and every long-serving alderman.
“What makes her a suspect? Well, that is simple, that is simple…” Burgomaster Semer was rattled. Picking up a handkerchief, he dabbed small beads of sweat from his balding forehead. His broad chest was heaving beneath his gold-braided vest. He was a brewer and the landlord of the largest inn in town, and he was not used to being contradicted. He turned to the clerk on his left for help. With relish, Johann Lechner came to his aid.
“She had been seen several times with the boy prior to the night of the murder. Furthermore, there are women who testify to having seen her perform witches’ sabbaths in her house with Peter and other children.”
“Who testifies to that?”
Young Schreevogl wouldn’t give up. And in fact Johann Lechner wasn’t able to name a single one of these women at that point. However, the night watchmen had informed him that such rumors were circulating in the taverns. And he knew the usual suspects. It would be easy to round up a few witnesses.
“Let’s wait for the trial. I don’t want to get ahead of the facts,” he said.
“Maybe the Stechlin woman will kill these witnesses by witchcraft from her prison cell if she finds out who is accusing her,” another alderman piped up. It was the baker Michael Berchtholdt, a member of the outer council. Lechner took him to be capable of spreading precisely this kind of rumor. Other men nodded—they had heard of such things.
“Oh, nonsense! That’s absurd. The Stechlin woman is a midwife and nothing else.” Jakob Schreevogl had jumped to his feet. “Remember what happened here seventy years ago. One half of the town accused the other half of witchcraft. Streams of blood flowed. Do you want to repeat that?”
Some of the commoners began to whisper. Back then it had hit the less affluent burghers most—the peasants, the milkmaids, the farmhands…But there had been some innkeepers’ and even judges’ wives among the accused. And under torture they had confessed that they had conjured up hailstorms and desecrated the host, indeed that they had even killed their own grandchildren. The fear was still deep-rooted. Johann Lechner remembered that his father had often talked of
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