The Secret Healer(90)
“All right.” They left the meadow and went toward the market. As if by magic, dozens of booths had appeared to offer their wares where it had been empty hours before.
Johannes strode forward, searching people’s faces, while Andreas followed behind. It was impossible to walk side by side in this crowd. When he could, Johannes stopped and waited for Andreas to catch up to him. “This place is packed. I don’t think I can go any farther.”
“If you tell me what you’re looking for, I might be able to help you,” Andreas offered.
“It’s a long story,” Johannes sighed. “For better or for worse, this is something I have to do by myself. What do you say we meet for a beer later this evening?” Johannes asked evasively.
“I’m in no hurry,” Andreas replied. “Where?”
“At the tavern we were at earlier—the Golden Rooster.”
“All right. I’ll be there,” Andreas agreed.
“Then good luck with whatever plans you have for today,” Johannes said in parting. “We’ll see each other later.” With that, he disappeared into the crowd.
Andreas walked through the throngs. He still had the feeling that he was being followed. But though he craned his neck as much as he could, he didn’t see anyone. He shook his head.
Johannes stood in front of a spice merchant’s stand. “My good man?”
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a woman.”
“Who isn’t, my good fellow, who isn’t?” The spice merchant laughed throatily.
Johannes rolled his eyes, but he needed information from this man. “She has long, dark hair, down to here.” He pointed to his waist. “Blue eyes and”—he touched right above his lip—“a mole right here. She’s strikingly beautiful. Have you seen her? Maybe she wanted to buy herbs from you. There could have been another woman with her, a little older.”
The spice merchant thought it over. “Hmm. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone like her. Strikingly beautiful, did you say? No, nobody like that here today.”
“It wouldn’t have to be today. It could have been a few days ago.”
The man shook his head. Many people come by here. I don’t notice every person’s face. But I would probably recognize someone like that. No, so far I haven’t seen her, that’s for sure.”
“I thank you for your time. Have a good day.”
Johannes asked around at a few other stalls, but the answer was always the same. He strolled through the entire market, stopping by every spice or herb merchant. Then he went around the market and asked all the cloth merchants and weavers. But no one had seen the women. Finally, Johannes conjured up a new plan. “My good woman,” he said to the cloth merchant. “Tell me, do you know Emmerich?”
“I would like to think that I know the area. Why?”
“How many inns and taverns would accommodate two women?”
“Two women without a man?”
“Correct.”
“The White Stallion or perhaps the Golden Rooster. There are lots of taverns that will accommodate strangers as long as they have money; it doesn’t matter to the hosts whether they are men or women. And there are two widows right at the harbor that will accommodate anyone.”
Johannes nodded. “Where exactly do these widows live?”
“Right on the harbor. The house is a little bit crooked, and the door is painted quite colorfully. No one knows why. But you can’t miss it.”
Johannes struggled to find his way back to the harbor. Soon after he arrived, he looked around and found the house with the colorfully painted door. It was a little lopsided, as though the tides had tried to pull it out to sea. Resolutely, Johannes walked up to the house and knocked on the door. It creaked open, and a servant looked at Johannes expectantly.
“Is this the house where the widows live?”
“Who are you, and what do you want?”
“Just some information.”
Again, the servant waited. Johannes described the women and asked the servant whether he might have seen them or if they’d ever stayed there.
“What do you want with them?”
“Just answer my question.”
The servant grimaced, scrutinized Johannes, then went to close the door.
“Wait.” Johannes held up a money pouch and counted out three coins. “Here. For you. Are the women here?”
The servant accepted the money. “No, they’re not.”
“Give me back my money right now, you cutthroat bastard.”
The servant put the money in his pocket. “I answered your question. Have a nice day.” He slammed the door in Johannes’s face.