Page 75 of Night of the Witch
How many stars are in the sky?
Count them all as we fly by…
Morning comes, a dull gray sky that threatens snow, a heavier chill in the air as the cage of condemned begins to stir. Coughing and shivering wrack bodies with equal measure, and I can’t tell if the trembling is from the frigid temperature or nerves. Either way, I am up well before the midmorning bells, my body rigid as I stand in place.
Jochen has taken position next to me, though I know his legs must ache to stand so long. He gives me a reassuring nod.
Too early, some people begin to shuffle toward the far wall, away from the coming explosion.
“Don’t draw attention,” I hiss.
Jochen repeats the command, and it catches; a few people peel back, treading uneasily over the doomed portion of the floor.
Three hexenjägers stride past the cell door.
Two more. Checking on us silently, then away.
Half a dozen come. These ones jeer and kick the bars. “You scum ready to meet your fate today? God Himself smiles on this purge of evil!”
The prisoners nearest the door flinch, but they don’t respond. If the hexenjägers notice that their silence comes from an intense focus, they don’t show it; they continue out, their laughter echoing over the stone walls.
My heart aches, cold and weighted in my chest, each thump a second passing, and I have nothing to do but count the time.
It should be almost sunrise, the first bells of the day. Almost—
The churches throughout Trier seem to take a collective breath, and then a cacophony of chiming and gonging rings across the city: the sunrise bells.
They won’t ring again until midmorning.
I count the spaces after, minute by minute, swaying back and forth on numb feet.
22
OTTO
The night before the purging, I do not bother attempting to sleep. I am deeply aware that Fritzi is sleeping on a dank and soiled prison floor. That her cousin is trapped in the claustrophobically small stone cell without even a moonbeam of light or the chance to stretch out or relieve herself. That my sister is somewhere else, unreachable, perhaps scared and alone.
Instead, I spend the night in my office, working. I know that, come the morrow, I will end the day no longer a hexenjäger. I will either be successful and leave the city, or I will be dead, killed by the men who I pretended to be comrades with. And so, I use all the time I have left to leave my final gift to the witch hunters—absolute chaos in all the records. It would be simple to burn it all, but instead, I stay awake, painstakingly altering every map in the network of couriers I helped to build, ensuring the reliable and quick paths are no longer marked. I change the records of payments so that the archbishop and executioner’s money handlers will misdirect funds, doing all I can to pilfer away their fortunes and aid the poorest in the process. I write notes to the hexenjäger patrols andoutpost guards scattered among the towns, commanding them to go on fool’s errands, and I send the missives out before dawn.
There is, even now, a limit to what I can do. But I do all I can think of while I can. I burn every bridge and cross every line I did not dare to before, when I could not risk being caught and ruining what little chance I had to make a difference. And in between every pen stroke, I go over the plan in my head again and again.
When the bells ring for Prime, the first hour of daylight, I light a candle to better keep track of time. It would not do to work through my own heist. Timing everything will be key—I must not leave too early, when Kommandant Kirch may notice my absence, but I can also not let too much time pass before I go to the tunnels with my flint and steel to light the fuse to the gunpowder.
My work takes on a frenetic pace, but when the candle gutters hours later, I know.
It’s time.
I open my door and am surprised to see that there is no one about. Some hexenjägers are working to build the pyres, of course, and some are guarding the prisoners, but I suspect most are at the cathedral, basking in the archbishop’s presence as he lavishes them with praise and favors. I have only attended one such morning blessing; that much self-gratification and supplication sickened me. But at least it seems that most of the hexenjägers chose to go to the cathedral early; let them stay until Sext, let them believe they have until the sun is at its zenith before they must fetch their prisoners. The more men at the cathedral, the fewer guarding the prison at the basilica.
It will make escaping all the more easy.
I start to make my way to the stairs, but I pause. I glance across the hall at the kommandant’s office, firmly closed.
What if…?
What if I simply walked into Kommandant Kirch’s office and freed Fritzi’s cousin, Liesel? I stare at the wooden door. I’m alone now. No one would suspect me of such a crime. I could take her, go immediately to the tunnels, and then light the explosion and free the prisoners. The kommandant would not notice his special prisoner was gone until it was far too late. All night long there had been the occasional patrols in the hall, the sounds of others talking outside my door, but now—I’m alone. No witnesses.
Without allowing myself to second-guess the thought, I cross the corridor, my hand on the iron ring to pull open the door. But before I can grip it, the door swings open.
