The Tangled Web(17)

The other members of the Fulda city council appeared to have forgotten about the up-timers. They had all turned and were staring at Mangold.

Captain Wiegand backed inconspicuously out of the room. Derek Utt got up from the table and followed him. By mutual, unspoken, consent, Wiegand ran to summon his elite guard unit; Derek headed for the corridor where the MP office was.

The situation in the city hall conference room was deteriorating rapidly. Rabich pointed at Mangold, yelling that he was related to Judge Nuss's second wife. Mangold retorted that Mayor Landau was married to a cousin of the Kaus woman who, like Hans Hahn's wife, had escaped. Mangold raised accusations of witch-friendliness against the late Landgrave Moritz of Hesse-Kassel. Someone pointed out that the prince of Isenburg-Buedingen had also sheltered accused witches who escaped. This led to rancorous comments by Mangold about the role of the imperial cameral court, which had denied that Fulda could exercise jurisdiction over non-resident accused witches.

Derek Utt came back with two soldiers per council member. This crowded the room, but quieted things down quite a bit.

Wes Jenkins wasn't exactly happy, but he was feeling rather vindicated in his decision to push hard. It looked like this sort of thing was still a lot closer to the surface than anyone in the NUS administration had realized before.

With Lorenz Mangold, at least. The rest of them were looking at the man very unhappily, with sort of Return of the Creature from the Black Lagoon expressions on their faces, Wes thought.

Wiegand came back.

"Mangold has had a man staying with him for several days," he reported. "He left first thing this morning. I've sent the guard company to try to track him."

"Description?" Derek Utt asked. "Do you have a sketch?"

"He was wearing a brown doublet with leather buttons."

"Half the men in Stift Fulda are wearing a brown doublet with leather buttons."

"Some people prefer bone buttons," Esaias Geyder said. He was wearing a brown doublet with bone buttons himself.

"How many people here have seen Mangold's guest?" Captain Wiegand asked.

Nobody admitted to having seen the man.

"How did you find out about him?" Derek Utt asked.

"Mangold's cook. She's been having to serve up an extra plate each night, but he didn't give her any extra market money."

"Is there anyone around you can take to her to and get a sketch from her description?"

"There's the painter who lives in the St. Severi church," Rabich suggested nervously. "He's been there for four years, now, through imperials and Hessians, and the New United States. Sleeps in the sacristy and paints murals on the wall. They're not bad. The sexton brings food in for him and empties his slops. That's all he's asked the vestry board for—food and his paints."

"Go get him," Wes said to Captain Wiegand.

"Don't frighten him," Andrea added. "Tell him that he's not in trouble before you haul him over to the city hall. Even better, just take him to Herr Mangold's kitchen."

Wiegand shook his head. "I have the cook here."

"Then take her to the church."

"No, this has to be official. I'll bring him here. Nicely, ma'am."



"He really, really, did not want to come with me," Captain Wiegand said. "But it's just as well I brought him. Otherwise, he wouldn't have seen the placards."

"Are those still nailed up all over town?" Wes exploded.

"Nobody said to take them down."

"Well, get somebody out to take them, then. Before Ms. Bachmeierin and the abbot get back. I'm not going to have Clara see that filth."

Derek Utt gestured. Two soldiers per council member became one soldier per council member.

"Why is it important that he saw the placards?" he asked.

"He says that he knows the artist," Wiegand said. "Recognizes him from his style. He says that it's as plain to an artist as a signature, if two men have ever worked in the same studio. Last time he heard of this woodcut maker, he was working in Cologne, in Bonn, really, since that is where the archbishop resides, for a Lorrainer named Felix Gruyard."

"Does that name ring a bell with anyone?"

Head shakes all around. Negative.

"Who's the printmaker?"

The artist himself answered. "Alain van Beekx. A Netherlander."

Head shakes again.

Wes looked at the artist. "This van Beekx. What does he do for a living?"

"He makes filthy pictures, sir."

"Well," Wes said, "I'm happy to meet you. One man today who tells the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"That isn't the whole truth, sir," the artist said.

Wes waited.