The Werewolf of Bamberg by Oliver Pötzsch Page B

ceremony, unrolled a parchment.
    “Are these actors?” asked Barbara with surprise. “I’ve never—”
    “Shhh!” Magdalena whispered while the gaunt man began a speech in which he enunciated each word like a traveling priest, with a strange accent Magdalena had never heard before.
    “Citizens of Bamberg, hear and be amazed,” he proclaimed. “The venerable troupe of Sir Malcolm that has traveled widely and performed to great acclaim in London, Paris, and Constantinople has the honor of performing in this city tragedies and comedies, unlike anything the world has ever seen before. Beginning tomorrow, come to experience love and murder, nobility and villainy, and the glory and fall of royal dynasties. We offer for your enjoyment music, dance, burlesque—in short, a true feast for the eye and ear, in the large ballroom of the wedding house.” The man pointed dramatically to a multistory building beyond the harbor square. “Our first play will be given there tomorrow afternoon, at a cost of just three kreuzers per visitor. Anyone missing it will regret it for a long time.”
    “The wedding house,” Barbara whispered. “Isn’t that where the celebration for Uncle Bartholomäus and Katharina will be? Can we go there right now, Magdalena? Let’s see what’s going on there.”
    Magdalena chuckled as she watched her younger sister stare longingly at the actors. A large crowd of people had gathered around the group and began to cheer. The sound grew louder when the men began doing cartwheels and juggling balls. One of them, a handsome young fellow, glanced at the two young women and smiled. He had matted, jet-black hair and was tanned, almost dark-skinned, with sinewy muscles standing out from beneath his tight-fitting linen shirt. Magdalena grinned when her little sister ran her fingers through her curls in embarrassment as they watched the antics of the actors.
    Once again, Magdalena realized how little she herself had seen of the world, despite her thirty years. Occasionally, troupes of jugglers came to the provincial town of Schongau and performed their little tricks and dances and made crude jokes. Many of them came from lands beyond the Alps, and they played short, comical scenes wearing masks on their faces. But a troupe that performed longer stories on stage was new to Magdalena.
    There was a long roll of drums, then the trumpets sounded again, off-key, and the troupe moved slowly back into the wedding house.
    “Come, let us see where they’ve set up their theater,” Barbara pleaded again. “Just for a few minutes.”
    “But what about all these things we’ve bought?” Magdalena asked.
    “We’ll take them along.” Barbara was already making her way through the crowd toward the entrance to the wedding house. “Half an hour one way or the other won’t matter.”
    With a sigh, Magdalena followed. She was going to object, but she couldn’t deny that the theater had an almost-magical attraction for her, as well.

    As soon as the two young women entered the wide door of the wedding house they could feel the coolness of its huge walls. It was almost as if winter had already arrived. Shivering, Magdalena looked around the spacious area where kegs of wine, bales of cloth, and crates were standing. Some servants were unloading a cart that had made its way from the harbor to the building entrance. Farther back, the room opened into an interior courtyard that evidently belonged to a large tavern. The two girls could hear the shouting and quarreling of some revelers, and somewhere a fiddle was being played very badly. Under the dome itself, a wide, winding stairway led to the upper floors, where people could be heard hammering and sawing busily and a roll of drums could be heard now and then.
    “I think the actors are somewhere up there,” Barbara said, and started running up the stairs so fast that Magdalena had a hard time catching up with her. The basket in her hand was full to the bursting point and