Johann eyed the dark houses near the city wall. Once again he felt an itch between his shoulder blades as if someone was watching him. But every time he turned around, there was nothing.

  Meanwhile, they had crossed the Pegnitz west of the Hospital of the Holy Ghost and were headed toward the main square. Now, in the middle of the night, the stalls of the market women and grocers had been taken down. An icy wind swept across the open space in front of the city hall. Despite the late hour, guards with pikes and halberds were on patrol outside the building.

  Johann thought about his daughter, who was just a stone’s throw away. How was she feeling right now? He hoped she was asleep and dreaming something pleasant. If his plan succeeded, he would be able to wrap his arms around her in just a few hours. And if he failed, they would soon see one another again in paradise. Margarethe, Greta, Valentin, Karl. But Johann didn’t know whether God would have a spot for him in paradise, too.

  They turned left behind the Sebaldus Church and headed toward the city wall again.

  “I still don’t understand why we have to leave the city to get back inside the city,” grumbled Karl. “Are there no other places to access those passageways?” He groaned and tugged at the straps of the crate on his back. “The laterna is damned heavy. I don’t want to carry it halfway to Fürth.”

  “Most access points inside the city are guarded or lie below houses of burghers who have cellars,” explained Valentin. “I found an entrance that is more or less freely accessible. Probably because folks avoid it.”

  “And where is this entrance?” asked Karl.

  “At a cemetery,” replied Johann.

  “At a—?”

  “Shh!” Johann gestured for Karl to be quiet. “We have nothing to fear from the dead—only from the living! So be quiet.”

  Cautiously, they approached Neutor Gate near the castle; the gate was closed at this time of night and was guarded by a solitary watchman.

  “Wait here,” whispered Valentin.

  He approached the guard and, after a few moments, handed him some coins. The man opened the door and let them pass through with a nod.

  The highway stretched before them, desolate and empty. Some crows flew up from the icy fields. The moon emerged from behind the clouds and painted the sparsely wooded landscape with a silvery-gray light. About half a mile to the west, a few lights sparkled.

  “Sankt Johannis,” said Valentin, pointing at the lights. “The city’s plague cemetery. Ever since the last great epidemic, Nuremberg prefers to leave its dead outside the gates.”

  “The entrance is at a plague cemetery?” asked Karl.

  “Just yesterday they dug out a new mass grave and scattered lime over the bodies.” Valentin gave a shrug. “Lucky for us. Folks avoid the place.”

  “And so they should,” said Karl.

  Johann glanced at his young assistant, wondering whether he already regretted having come along. But Karl still strode on at a fast pace with the heavy crate on his back. The laterna was part of the plan Johann had worked out in the last few days. It was a plan that required a huge dose of luck and a crucial moment of surprise.

  After a while they reached the lights, which belonged to a handful of low houses. A little off to the side stood a small church surrounded by the gray silhouettes of tombstones. A low stone wall enclosed the cemetery; dry rosebushes had grown over the wall in places. Valentin stopped in front of a rusty gate and pulled out a piece of parchment that had been folded several times.

  They lit a lantern, and Valentin held it close to the map, which was covered in scribbled lines and arrows.

  “The entrance is in a crypt inside the plague chapel,” said Valentin, pointing to the map. “It has to be somewhere in the family crypt of the Holzschuhers, who are influential patricians in Nuremberg.” He looked up and gestured at the chapel among the graves nearby.

  “Let’s go.” Johann opened the rusty gate. For a brief moment, he thought he heard the jingle of bells, but then the squeaking of the gate drowned out all other sounds. More slowly now, they walked past the old, crooked grave markers that rose out of the ground like the teeth of giants. There were several fresh mounds of dirt, including one very large one. Several black birds sat on top of it, but Johann couldn’t make them out very well in the dark. Even in the chill of winter, the sweet smell of decay lay in the air.

  Soon they reached the plague chapel, a small, towerlike building. Johann pushed against the door and entered the dark room on the other side. In the light of the lantern he saw wooden choir stalls and an altar farther back. The floor in front of them was covered in grave slabs with the likenesses of many long-dead Nuremberg patricians.

  “The Holzschuher crypt,” whispered Valentin, gesturing toward one of the slabs. “We need to get down there.”

  He slipped his pack off his hunched shoulders and pulled out a crowbar. Karl took it and wedged it beneath the edge of the stone slab. There was a crunching noise, and the slab lifted a tiny bit.

  “Wait.” Johann rushed down the apse toward a plain cross that was about as tall as a man. It took all his strength to lift it down and drag it over to the grave slab.

  “Do it again,” he said to Karl while sweat ran down his forehead despite the cold.

  The young man groaned as he pushed up the slab, and Johann pushed the long beam of the cross into the gap. Then he walked to the other end of the cross and levered the stone slab until it crashed to the floor on the side. A cloud of fine stone dust spread through the chapel, along with a musty smell from inside the hole.

  “The law of the lever, by Archimedes,” Johann declared with a smile and wiped his forehead. “The mechanical advantage is proportional to the length of the lever. Yet more proof that science gets a man further than mere muscle power.” He took the flickering lantern from Valentin and held it in the room below them for a few moments. Then he gathered up his cloak. “Well, then—in the beginning was the deed!”

  Clutching the lantern tightly, he jumped into the crypt below.

  The chamber beneath the church floor was about as high as Johann’s shoulders and full of stone sarcophagi, each one bearing the emblem of the Moor with the red hat and a wooden shoe—the family crest of the Holzschuhers. The air smelled of rot, soil, and fungi.

  Karl and Valentin had also climbed into the crypt by now, the younger man helping the older one. The three of them started to feel along the walls, almost completely in the dark despite the lantern.

  “Over here!” called out Karl after a while. He’d found a small, narrow door that had been reinforced with pieces of iron. A rusty lock hung on the door.

  “This must be the entrance,” said Valentin. “Now we need this.” He fished the key ring from his pack and tried one key after another. Finally, on the seventh attempt, they heard a click and the lock opened. They pushed on the little door, and on the other side lay a pitch-black corridor.

  “The entrance to the Nuremberg underground passages,” murmured Valentin. “We actually found it.” He stared into the darkness. “From now on, we must place our trust in God. In God and in my map.”

  Carrying the lantern in one hand and the map in the other, he limped ahead; Karl and Johann followed.

  The passageway was about as wide as two arms’ lengths and just high enough for them to walk with bent knees and hunched shoulders. It had been dug into the sandstone without any bracing. Water dripped from the ceiling, and Johann tried to avoid touching the drops. The bodies of plague victims were buried above them, and their juices of putrefaction probably seeped through coffins and sand. Small puddles had formed on the ground, and Johann saw wood splinters and pieces of bone.

  Their steps echoed through the tunnel. No one spoke. After what felt like an eternity, the passage ended in a small, round chamber with three doors. All three were locked. Valentin raised the lantern and studied the map.

  “I believe we’re near the Tiergärtner Gate now,” he said. “Back inside the city and not far from the castle. I think . . .” He hesitated. “Let’s take the right-hand passage.”

  “And if we get lost?” asked Karl.

  “We won’t get lost,” said Johann. He had produced a black coal pencil from his pack and used it to draw a sign next to the door on the right. “Miners use such signs below ground,” he explained. “If we leave a mark at every fork, we shouldn’t get lost.”

  Valentin smiled. “I knew it was right to bring you to Nuremberg, Johann. You may have lied to me and betrayed me, but I still admire your wit and your nerve.”

  You have no idea, thought Johann. Inwardly, he was shaking and his fingers trembled. His whole life seemed to be coming to a head in these crucial hours.

  He had to free his daughter and right an old wrong.

  Valentin pulled out the key ring again, and soon they’d opened the door. The tunnel on the other side led slightly downhill. The walls and ceiling dripped and gurgled, and trickles ran down the walls like a network of veins inside a giant stone organism. A drain enclosed with bricks stretched down the center of the passageway. The water collected in the drain and rushed into the tunnel below their feet.

  “Yes, it’s the old Loch water supply!” said Valentin triumphantly. “The drains collect the water and direct it to the wells. Hmm . . .” He studied the map again. “The city hall should be southeast of here—”

  “And this tunnel runs southeast, indeed,” said Johann. “I think we’re on the right track.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Karl.

  Johann pulled his hand out from underneath his cloak and held up a small box about the size of his palm. The top of the box was covered with glass, and inside sat a quivering needle. “This is the commander’s,” he said. “It’s a compass. It shows us our direction, even underground and without the stars. We really must return it when we’re done here. It is constructed with a gimbal mounting, according to Leonardo da Vinci’s design, and it’s worth about as much as a destrier.” He shook his head and focused on the needle. “Until very recently, the church condemned compasses as witchcraft—a terrible thought.”

  Using the compass and leaving pencil marks, they continued to move southeast, passing through several more chambers with doors. Each time, Valentin pulled the key ring from his pack and found the right key. Every now and then they heard rustling and scuffling noises in the dark—rats, they assumed. On one occasion Johann thought he heard the jingle of small bells again, but he guessed it was only the key ring.

  They came to yet another door. Valentin unlocked it, and this time, there wasn’t another corridor on the other side but a round reservoir. Johann held his breath. He lifted the lantern through the door and looked down. The black surface of the water was about three paces below them, and a bucket was floating on it. The bucket was attached to a chain that disappeared somewhere in the dark above them. Johann thought he could make out the hint of a flickering light up there, like from smoking torches.

  “This is the Loch Prison well,” whispered Johann as quietly as he could. “I recognize it.”

  “But what about voices? Or the cries of the inmates?” whispered Karl. “Shouldn’t we at least be hearing a couple of guards talking to each other?”

  “We have no choice but to climb up if we want to find out,” said Johann.

  “But then we run right into the guards’ arms!”

  “You forget I came prepared.” Johann took the pack from his shoulders and started to rummage inside. Then he produced a small wooden keg that stank of sulfur.

  “Once I light this keg, we must act fast,” he whispered. “It’s going to cloak everything in smoke. Karl and I climb up the chain. Valentin, you wait here.” He looked at his old friend. “You said there was a set of keys in the guards’ chamber?”

  “I . . . I think so.” Valentin nodded slowly.

  “We’ll take yours just in case.”

  “But these are just for the underground passages, not for the prison. And how are you going to get to her cell with all the guards?” asked Valentin. “The keys won’t help you against those.”

  Johann smiled. “You brought a magician, Valentin. Remember?”

  Johann lit a pine chip on the lantern and then used it to light the contents of the keg. Instantly, dense rust-colored smoke started to pour from the keg and drifted up the sides of the well in thick clouds. Johann carefully set down the keg at the edge of the reservoir and tied his damp kerchief around his nose and mouth.

  “Now!” he said, and he grabbed the chain and started to climb up it.

  The rusty chain links dug into his fingers, and every single muscle in his body ached. It had been years since he’d last climbed up a rope—since his time with the jugglers, in fact.

  Inch by inch, Johann pulled himself up. Below him, Karl panted as he followed him with the laterna on his back. The dense smoke made Johann’s eyes water, and he tried to inhale as little as possible. The mixture inside the keg included cinnabar and ocher, coloring agents he’d bought from a Nuremberg dyer. The powder produced red, almost purplish smoke, which looked particularly devilish. And the smoke was a perfect screen for projecting heinous images with the laterna magica.

  Finally Johann reached the edge of the well and pulled himself up over the side. He paused cautiously and looked around. He’d expected to encounter some guards. It had been his plan to use the general chaos and the cover of the smoke to rush over to the guards’ chamber and steal their keys—or to knock down the prison keeper and take his. Meanwhile, Karl was supposed to distract the other guards with images from the laterna magica. It was a terribly poor plan, but it was the only one he’d managed to come up with. Johann had calculated that it would take him five minutes to open the doors, run down the corridor, fetch Greta, and disappear back down the well with her.

  But there were no guards.

  The room was empty, and there were no sounds coming from the guards’ chamber upstairs, either. Johann stood still and listened. No laughter, no shouts, nothing.

  What on earth?

  Meanwhile, Karl had also reached the smoke-filled chamber with his heavy pack. He coughed and looked about, blinking rapidly. Like Johann, he’d covered his nose and mouth with a damp cloth.

  “Where are the guards?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t know, damn it! And I don’t have time to worry about it—let’s go!”

  An eerie feeling made Johann’s skin crawl. What was going on here? The oil lantern in his hand, he started to run down the corridor. All the doors stood open and every cell was empty. What was happening? With rising panic, Johann raced toward Greta’s cell.

  He threw himself against the unlocked door, and it slammed against the wall inside.

  The cell was empty.

  28

  THE RUST-COLORED SMOKE had spread down the corridor and flowed into the cell, but everything was still and silent as the grave.

  “Damn it, what’s going on here?” asked Karl, standing behind Johann in the open door. “Is it the wrong cell?”

  Johann said nothing and walked inside. A few rats squeaked as they scattered. The bucket with the board had been knocked over. Greta’s doll was lying on the cot. Johann picked it up and stared at it, as if little Barbara could tell him what had happened.

  What in God’s name was going on?

  Had the guards taken Greta to the scaffold? But Valentin would have heard of it. And why were all the other cells open and empty? Where had all the prisoners gone, and the guards? Johann’s thoughts raced. Something was wrong here, very wrong. Suddenly he remembered several strange incidents from the last few days—warning signs he had overlooked in the rush. He’d wanted to rescue his daughter and stormed along blindly, looking neither left nor right. He still wasn’t sure exactly what was being played here, but the eerie feeling from earlier was growing stronger and stronger.

  It was the feeling of having walked into a trap.

  “Get back!” he shouted. “Out of here!”

  He dropped the doll and they ran back up the corridor. The red smoke was so thick that they hardly saw anything. Almost blind, they reached the edge of the well, and Johann grabbed hold of the chain. He climbed down as fast as he could and entered the doorway that led into the room above the water. He’d already guessed what he was going to find there, but the reality still hit him like a blow.

  Valentin was gone.

  You’re so stupid! he thought. So terribly stupid! All your brains, all your knowledge didn’t help. You didn’t see the forest for the trees!

  Silent despair filled his body. He had failed—completely and utterly failed.

  You lost everything. You lost your daughter. You fool, you—

  Johann paused his silent tirade when he heard something.

  It was a humming and lamenting that drifted down the depths of the tunnels. The sound rose and ebbed, and after a while, Johann thought he could make out a few strange words.

  “O Mephistophiel . . . Jesum . . . Escha . . . Eloha . . . Penothot . . .”

  Johann signaled to Karl behind him to be silent. He listened. Then the two of them started to walk toward the source of the sound.

  “Rolamicon . . . Hipite . . . Mephistophiel . . . Koreipse . . . Loisant et Dortam . . .”

  Johann walked faster, hurrying to meet his destiny. He needed certainty, even though he had a fair idea where his path was leading him.

  Or, rather, to whom.

  “O Mephistophiel, prasa Deus . . . O Larua . . .”

 

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