Not surprisingly, she realized. Even with a .32 caliber, that shot must have scrambled half his brains.
She looked over at Eddie. He shrugged.
Noelle turned, raised the gun, aimed it carefully with both hands at the center mass of the torturer's body. The target wasn't more than six or seven feet away. She pulled the trigger.
The gun worked, sure enough. But she missed again. Another ricochet zinging all over the stonewalled chamber had her and Eddie down on the floor.
When she looked up, Eddie even managed a laugh.
"Okay, fine," she snarled. "So I'm not Annie Oakley."
Eddie had read a lot of uptime books, in the three years since the Ring of Fire. "Sure aren't," he croaked. "But you do a pretty good imitation of Calamity Jane."
Anita asked herself whether Lenz was actually insane? Or his master was insane? There was no way that Gustavus Adolphus would ever place Freiherr von Bimbach in charge of Franconia!
No sooner had Noelle and Eddie gotten to their feet than a small group of men came into the chamber from the main entrance she'd used to enter. She was relieved to see that it was the blacksmith and three of his journeymen.
"You are not hurt?" he asked. She shook her head.
He looked over at the body of the torturer's assistant. "Saved us some work, I see. Very good. Where is the swine himself? And the prisoners?"
She shook her head again. "I don't know where the prisoners are." She pointed at the still-open door through which the torturer had fled. "He ran through there."
The blacksmith headed for the door.
"Be careful," Noelle cautioned. "I missed, when I shot at him."
The blacksmith's answering grunt made it crystal clear that he was not especially worried. Given his own size, and that of the three journeymen following him, that wasn't perhaps surprising. Especially since all four of them were carrying heavy hammers.
A few seconds later, she heard him call out. "In here, Fräulein Murphy!"
When she passed through the door, with Eddie on her heels, she found herself in a corridor. Several heavy doors lined it on the left. Finally, something that looked like it was supposed to! Those were cell doors, she was quite sure. Leaving aside their heavy look, the hinges faced into the corridor.
But she didn't give them more than a glance. Her eyes were drawn to the figure sitting against the far wall, over whom the blacksmith and his journeymen were hovering.
It was the torturer. He was moaning, and had his hands clasped over the ribs on his right side.
"Apparently you did not miss with one of the bullets, Fräulein," the blacksmith said cheerfully.
He reached down, seized the torturer by the scruff of his coat, and jerked him roughly to his feet.
"Up, swine. I have business with you."
The torturer shrieked. The blacksmith ignored him, turning instead to one of his journeymen. "Start prying the hinges off the doors, Hans. Easier than trying to break the locks."
The younger blacksmith nodded.
"You have a chisel with you? If not, you can use mine. When I'm done with it."
The journeyman reached into the big pouch on his work belt and drew forth a heavy chisel.
"Good," the blacksmith said. "Mine might be a bit slippery."
He moved toward Noelle, hauling the torturer with him. "Come with me, Dieter and Axel. You can help Hans in a moment. Please be so good as to stand aside, Fräulein."
She and Eddie stepped away from the door. After the blacksmith and his two assistants passed through, they followed.
"This will do," the blacksmith said. He slammed the torturer against the heavy chair. The man groaned again.
"Grab his hair, Dieter. Axel, press his head against the wood. I want the neck braced."
Before Noelle could quite grasp what they were doing, the two journeymen had the torturer's head and neck pinned against one of the thick wooden legs of the chair. The blacksmith drew out a chisel. It was very big, perhaps an inch and half across the blade.
He placed the chisel firmly against the man's neck. Right against the spine. Then, lifted his hammer.
"Jesus," Noelle whispered.
The blow was hard, sure, craftsmanlike. The torturer jerked once. Then his body became slack. The unmistakable stench of urine and feces filled the air.
The two journeymen let the body slide to the floor. The blacksmith stooped and took the time to wipe off the chisel blade on the dead man's coat, before rising to his feet.
The look he gave Noelle seemed as hard and solid as the metal he worked with. "The ram has taken Halsgericht now. This swine"—he gestured with the hammer—"once executed one of my apprentices. For a theft so petty he should not have been more than flogged."