“You?” He looked at me closer. “I’ve seen you before?”
“Yes, sir. My father and I used to walk the riverbank together and we’d see you fishing.”
“Your father? The pastor of Riehen?”
“Yes, sir.”
He considered me, now much taller than in those years. “And you’re here for the driver?”
“He’s with the Inn in Basel. He’s replaced the usual driver.”
“Then let him pass! It’s not for me whether they all want to die of plague. Just don’t bring it back here.”
That was enough. Willi moved the horses forward across the line. “Wait,” I said. “Can I ride with you?” I asked, and he didn’t stop me from climbing up beside him. Closer, he looked worn in his being with gaunt face and red sores on his wrists. “You’ll be welcome in Basel,” I said. “Strasbourg’s hated for holding you.”
“I’ll hate the place, always,” he said.
“What was it like?”
“Poor formed and evil.” He spat. “And high ugly.”
“Magistrate Caiaphas was a poor ambassador for it, too.”
Willi jerked the reins, not to stop the horses but from surprise at what I said. But the horses halted anyway and the coach nearly toppled.
“You know his name?” Willi near shouted. “What’s he to you?”
“He was here.”
“What are you doing stopped?” he said to his horses. “Hi, get.” He snapped the reins and the horses heaved and the coach started. “He’s been here? To haunt Basel, too? When? I never saw him here. I’d never have gone to Strasbourg if I knew he was there, never.”
“This last week.”
“Liar! He wasn’t! Why do you say he was?”
“Well, he was,” I said. “What happened to you in Strasbourg?”
“I drove into that foul stinking city, and found that ash heap inn, The Broken Shield, and the keeper Dundrach, and told him Knipper was lost and I wanted a bed and food, and went to find them myself. And I had a bowl from the kitchen, and I had Knipper’s bed and was asleep in it, and then the Guard was on me like on a thief! And dragged through streets! And to a filthy cell and thrown food like swill. The jailer’s an ox, but the magistrate’s a sheer fiend. He threatened me with red pokers and racks if I didn’t answer his questions.”
“Caiaphas?”
“Yes, him!”
“Did he do any of those?”
“No, I only saw him the one first day.”
“He was here this week. He came in the coach. There was a boy, Abel, who drove the route, and Caiaphas came and a gendarme Foucault.”
“For what?”
“For an Inquiry. For Knipper.”
“Knipper, now when I get him I’ll wring his neck. Where was he? I’ll murder him.”
We came about a curve, and far off the steeples of the Munster and Saint Martin’s and the Preacher’s Church and Saint Blaise and Saint John all stood up from the fields. And closer, gawkers by the road were pointing and waving. I thought furiously.
“What did Caiaphas ask you?” I asked him.
“There it is.” Now, Willi had his eye on Basel. “Batwing, you mean?”
“He threatened you if you didn’t answer?”
“Look out there at the people. What’s the news? Is it the plague they’re waving at me for?”
“What else did Caiaphas ask you?”
The closest knot, a half dozen children, were running to meet us.
“Well, he asked about that dust-eaten trunk, and why they’d sent it to him.”
“Sent it?”
“It had Caiaphas’s name on it! That’s why I want Knipper, to wring his neck. And you! You’re the one who told me to get it.”
“Knipper sent me to get you.”
“You say. I never saw him.”
“He wasn’t in Master Johann’s kitchen?”
“No, he wasn’t. And I had to lug that trunk myself onto the cart.”
“But it was sent to Caiaphas? Who sent it? Was there a label on it?”
But I’d lost his attention to the crowd. “What are they saying?” The children were running beside the coach, and their elders were waving Willi to stop. I dropped myself from the box and wasn’t noticed.
I was glad I had my grandmother to talk to at night. As we would eat dinner, she’d ask sharp questions, which seemed to cut through my thoughts and confusion.
“You didn’t tell the coachman that Knipper was dead?” she asked.
“There wasn’t an opportunity. I didn’t realize that Willi didn’t know until we were already with the crowds, and it seemed poor to kick him with the news and then jump off.”