The Hangman's Daughter by Oliver Pötzsch, Lee Chadeayne

gasped. “But it’s urgent. They told me I would find Fronwieser’s son here. Your father needs help!”
    Andreas’ face was as white as a sheet. He looked as if he had seen the devil incarnate.
    “What in all the world can be so urgent?” asked Simon. Privately he wondered who could have seen him going into the executioner’s house. It seemed that you could not take a step in this town without being observed.
    “Grocer Kratz’s son, he’s dying!” exclaimed the jailer Andreas with his last bit of strength. He kept reaching for the little wooden crucifix that hung round his neck.
    Jakob Kuisl, who up to that moment had listened in silence, became impatient. He slammed his hand down on the rickety table, so that the monocle and Athanasius’ masterpiece jumped up a little. “An accident? Tell us, then!”
    “Everything covered in blood! Oh, God, help us, he has the sign! Just like Grimmer…”
    Simon sprang from his stool. He felt fear rising inside him.
    Kuisl stared at the physician’s son through clouds of tobacco smoke. “You go there. I’ll have a look at the Stechlin woman. I don’t know if she’s really safe in the prison.”
    Simon grabbed his hat and ran out into the street. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Magdalena, who waved to him sleepily from the attic window. He had a feeling they would not have much time to see each other in the next few days.

    The man stood at the window, his head only a hand’s width away from the heavy red fabric of the curtain.
    Outside night was falling, but what difference did that make? Here in this room it was always dusk, a depressing gray twilight, where even by day the sunlight was feeble. Through his inner eye the man saw the sun over the town. It would rise and set, again and again, nothing would stop it. The man would not let anything stop him either, even if delays occasionally occurred. These delays made him…irritable. He turned around quickly.
    “What a useless ass you are! Good for nothing! Why can’t you manage to finish anything properly?”
    “I’ll finish it all right.”
    In the half-light a second figure could be seen sitting at the table and stabbing about with a knife in a pie as if it were the stomach of a slaughtered pig.
    The man at the window drew the curtains still closer together. His fingers clutched the fabric like claws. A wave of pain overcame him. He didn’t have much more time left.
    “That business with the children was totally unnecessary. The talk is just beginning now.”
    “Nobody will talk. You can count on me.”
    “Some people have already become suspicious. We can only hope that the midwife will confess. The hangman has already begun asking stupid questions.”
    The figure at the table continued to work the pie into a stew of meat and lumps of pastry. The knife rose and fell frantically.
    “Bah, the hangman! Who’s going to believe him?”
    “Don’t underestimate Kuisl. He’s as sly as a fox.”
    “Then the little fox will run into the trap.”
    The man at the window quickly took the few steps to the table and struck him hard in the face with the back of his hand. The other held his cheek for a little, then looked up apprehensively into the face of his assailant. He noticed how his assailant put his hands on his stomach and was panting in pain.
    A slight smile played on his lips. This problem would soon resolve itself.
    “You will stop this nonsense now,” murmured the older man, grimacing in pain. A steady ache throbbed from inside his abdomen. He leaned forward over the table.
    “You leave it alone. I’ll take care of it myself now.”
    “I can’t.”
    “You can’t?”
    “I’ve handed it over to someone else. One who won’t let us interfere with his work anymore.”
    “Call him off. It’s enough. When the Stechlin woman confesses, we’ll get our money.”
    The older man had to sit down for just a second. It was difficult for him to speak. Damn this body! He needed it still,