The Beggar King (US Edition) (A Hangman's Daughter Tale Book 3) by Oliver Pötzsch

Author:Oliver Pötzsch [Pötzsch, Oliver]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 2013-01-07T22:00:00+00:00

The trip in the knacker’s cart through the city’s back streets seemed endless. The Regensburg executioner kept stopping to shovel more feces, dead rats, and garbage onto his cart. Even though it was against the law to be out on the street in Regensburg after dark, an exception was clearly made for the hangman. The few night watchmen they encountered looked aside and made the sign of the cross once the wagon had rumbled by. It brought misfortune to look a hangman in the eye, especially at night when people said the souls of the damned he’d executed accompanied him through the streets.

When they finally reached their destination, Kuisl struggled to raise his head. Before them stood a fortress-like building consisting of three towers and a courtyard at the center. In contrast to the surrounding houses, light still burned in the windows of the tower to the right, and Kuisl could hear the distant laughter of women.

“Peter’s Tower,” Teuber whispered. “The city guard has a garrison of a dozen soldiers billeted here.” He winked at the hangman. “If you want to hide someone, the best place is where the enemy least expects. That’s an old mercenary saying. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Kuisl watched Teuber approach the tower on the right and pound on the door. The Schongau hangman was seized by momentary panic. Did Teuber intend to hand him over to the soldiers? Didn’t he just say a garrison was billeted here? And now this idiot was knocking at the door of the lion’s den!

Then he noticed a woman in a bright dress in the open doorway. On her head was a red and yellow cap just like those the mercenaries’ whores used to wear. He estimated she was about fifty years old, even though her broad hips and full breasts made her look considerably younger. Though she was overweight and her hair graying, she was strangely attractive, and Kuisl supposed she must have been stunning in her day.

The woman spoke briefly with the Regensburg executioner; she then cast a glance at Kuisl, who tried to sit up a bit amid the piles of rags and manure. Only now did he notice she wore a patch over one eye. With the other eye she squinted at him suspiciously.

“A stinking excuse for a man you’re bringing me,” she said loud enough for Kuisl to hear. Her voice had something sharp to it, like that of one accustomed to giving orders. “Not worth much more than the carcasses lying next to him in the cart. You know that if the bailiffs catch me with this monster, they’ll put the shrew’s fiddle on me and chase me out of town—but only if I’m lucky. If I’m not so lucky, well…” She sighed. “But for the Holy Virgin and because it’s you, Teuber, bring the poor fellow in. Just make sure my guests don’t get wind of it.”

“I… can walk… by myself,” Kuisl grunted. “I… can do it.”

He slid off the cart and staggered toward the doorway.

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