Apothecary Melchior and the Mystery of St Olaf's Church (16 page)

The rules of
Smeckeldach
stipulated that guilds compete over two
separate days with a day off in between for rest and recovery and to allow the samplers' thirst to be properly restored. On the first day the Dominicans and members of the Great Guild would each present four types of beer that had been brewed at locations around the town or, as the Dominicans did, had been brewed by themselves. All competing beers were to be produced according to old German traditions, and if anyone loudly criticized any of the beers then not one of the four could be declared winner.

Melchior counted about fifty men gathered at the Brotherhood of Blackheads' guildhall that evening, the most esteemed amongst them being the Commander of the Order, the Dominican Prior and the Tallinn Town Councilmen. The rules of
Smeckeldach
also prescribed that there could not be two guests of honour at any one time; this distinction could not be shared. Thus Commander Spanheim – as the chief judge – sat slightly apart from the long table in his place of honour, and Freisinger himself assumed the duty of serving the Knight. The Blackhead hosts and the devout Brother Wunbaldus attended to the other guests' beer steins.

Melchior could not enjoy the beer particularly that evening. Of course, he was not the only man there somewhat perturbed by Clingenstain's murder, but he felt a black emotion rising up from the depths of his soul, could sense the pain it imparted even before it arrived. Melchior had visited the Dominican Monastery, he had seen the chessboard, and his father's face once again appeared from Heaven in his mind's eye, causing him pain, even though he tried with all his might to push it as far away as he could. But the stabs of pain bursting from his soul would not pass. Melchior was of Wakenstede descent, and there was no escape from the curse. The symptoms that signalled his pain were seemingly insignificant –merely flashes of memory, different each time. Sometimes they came by day, sometimes by night.

But despite this approaching sense of dread Melchior sipped every brew placed before him out of duty and called his decision out to Spanheim in a loud voice when it was asked of him. So far he had had to praise all of them truthfully and with enthusiasm: the Great Guild's mark beer, the Hamburg-style brew, Tallinn beer and the six-veering beer. Nevertheless, Melchior shouted with even greater resonance when Wunbaldus began to tap the Dominicans' spring brews, including a laurel beer and his bock, which now stood triumphantly like a flag-bearing
knight atop his enemy's tower. The pious Wunbaldus himself kept modestly to the shadows behind the Prior and Brother Hinricus, while words of praise were aimed in his direction.

Melchior also noted Master Goldsmith Casendorpe, Merchant Tweffell and Gallenreutter, the Master Mason of Westphalia, sitting at the table. Even Kilian was present and rotating through the acts of playing his lute, voraciously devouring the feast and knocking back beer. Every man who had come into contact with the unfortunate Clingenstain on Toompea yesterday was at the feast, and Melchior observed each one of them closely. He watched their faces and strove to read their thoughts; when they spoke tried to catch what they were saying. Melchior had come to the conclusion that if Clingenstain had had some kind of arcane connection to the town then these same men must hold the key to it – or if not a key then at least a map to someone who knew where this key was hidden.

He watched these men and tried to guess what was going on in their minds because it was in this way that he strove to dispel his own dreadful secret. It was in this way that he resisted the curse – by directing his mind elsewhere. The profession of apothecary was both the Wakenstedes' joy and their despair – the key to breaking their hex. Yet perhaps this was also wrong, as thus far not one single afflicted Wakenstede apothecary had found the cure to their dreadful torment.

Goldsmith Casendorpe appeared to be in a particularly good mood that evening – entering into conversation with their host Freisinger and patting him on the shoulder at every opportunity – which Melchior put down to the impending wedding. Melchior was sitting next to Pastor Mathias Rode of the Church of the Holy Ghost. The Pastor was a quiet and dignified man even at an event such as this – even though, as most people in the town were aware, beer could occasionally so unfurl the sails of the clergyman's tongue that even sailors would wince in embarrassment. Master Mason Gallenreutter of Westphalia had, on the other hand, already drained several tankards of beer, and his banter seemed to know no bounds. He did his best to rattle off all sorts of tales to any open ear within range and make his presence known in other ways, often in a more thunderous tone than was customary in Tallinn. Melchior detected, though, that when Gallenreutter was not actually talking in a brash voice then he instantly switched to looking completely sober, his gaze darting around the table as if searching for the best person to whom to tell his next story.

The
Smeckeldach
had reached the point at which no one had any further doubts over the evening's best beer. Commander Spanheim arose from his seat and proclaimed, ‘The damn truth, it is, devil knows – pay me no heed, Father – and may all the saints bear my witness, that – and now definitely pay attention, Father – that the Dominicans' beer, this bock, is certainly the best to my liking and to everyone else's, too, it seems. Satan's steaming grandmother, do tell, where did you find such a brewer?'

The question was meant for the Prior, who had difficulty making himself heard over the hubbub. The esteemed head of the Dominican Order still had a tired and beleaguered air about him, although he was drinking the beer like a much younger man.

‘That brewer is none other than our Lay Brother Wunbaldus. He genuinely possesses a gift for many practices that are essential to our poor brothers,' the Prior spoke, and shouts of praise trumpeted from dozens of mouths around the table. Merchant Tweffell was also forced to acknowledge that the Dominicans had triumphed over the Great Guild that evening. While Wunbaldus refilled the men's flagons Master Blackhead Freisinger officially declared the Dominicans' bock to be the very best, as such was the opinion and the will of all present. The men naturally began to demand that Wunbaldus reveal where he had learned this art, and Master Mason Gallenreutter entreated him to do so at characteristic volume.

‘Tallinn might sit at the edge of the world when you look from Westphalia, but when it comes to beer, this town … well, it tastes like that made by the Warendorf Town Council's Master Brewer,' he declared. ‘Or no, wait, the flavour even seems to remind me of one particular English brew that I tried once in London. Where have you studied this art, Wunbaldus?'

‘Here and there,' the Lay Brother replied self-effacingly. ‘I have roamed much through this wide world.'

‘We Dominicans have a wandering way of life, Master Mason,' Eckell also affirmed. ‘It is our duty to bring all that is good in one place with us to another – and to proclaim the Word of the Lord at the same time.'

Gallenreutter, who was sitting on Melchior's other side, nudged him playfully and chuckled, ‘Yes, the devout brothers do not only surpass all others at trading herring and selling indulgences.'

Freisinger overheard the mason and shouted in response, ‘Hey, do not
mock our holy brothers. A poor monastery would be a scourge to all – to our overlord, to the merchants, to the bishop and to the farmers who should all support the brothers' work. Such a monastery would benefit no one.'

The men drank and lavished compliments upon Wunbaldus and the Dominicans while the Blackheads served dried salted cod, white sausages, garlic ham and baked pastries to accompany the copious amounts of beer. Melchior sampled these morsels and had to admit that no one else in the town could compare with the Council's cook.

He had noticed that none of the guests dared talk of the murder on Toompea until it was brought up by Spanheim. The Commander's tongue had now loosened, though, and the ghastly event very soon became the subject of every conversation.

Gallenreutter spoke loudly at Melchior's side. ‘So, just when I had wished to speak to the Knight, to bow before him and declare myself his most loyal and humble of servants – because we both hail from the same area, you see – he was snuffed out. Like a heavenly scourge, am I right?'

‘You, Master Mason, wished to speak with Clingenstain?' Melchior heard the Commander enquire from his own table with astonishment.

‘That I did,' Gallenreutter confirmed. ‘However, your guardsmen sent me away. I am a stranger, and they know me not. I am indeed a foreigner here in Tallinn, but Clingenstain and I are both from the same place, and I do declare that this fine beer would have been very much to his liking also …'

Many then turned towards Magistrate Dorn to demand news of how the Council's hunt for the murderer was progressing. Who is he? Is he from Tallinn? Where is he in hiding? Why did he slay a Knight of the Order? Gallenreutter likewise asked how the man was being sought and who it might be.

Dorn could do little more than proclaim loudly, ‘Tallinn's Council has given the Order its word. This man will not escape, as that would bring shame upon the entire town. The court servants and guards are searching for him at this very moment, and he will soon be in chains and so forth, and then to trial on Toompea.'

Sire Tweffell bleated in laughter, ‘Hear, but tell us, if you know not who this man is then how are you searching for him? Are the court servants asking every townsperson, “Good sir, it was not you perchance who deprived our Knight of his head?”'

‘The Council certainly knows how the Council will search,' Dorn retorted. ‘It's not as if this is the first time. Murderers of an even more horrendous character have been apprehended before. We already know quite a good deal about him …'

‘What exactly does the Council know?' Tweffell demanded. The councilmen at the table shook their heads and averted their gaze. Dorn looked pleadingly towards Melchior for a moment.

‘Well, that he came from the town and what not,' the Magistrate slowly stammered, ‘that … with a sword and off with his head … and then back to the town and …'

Melchior sipped his beer, coughed loudly then rose from his chair and began to speak commandingly.

‘What do we know about the murderer? Esteemed Alderman and honourable Commander, we know quite a great deal. We know that he must be a strong and robust man capable of wielding a sword, one for whom chopping off a head poses no great difficulty. We know he had to have come into contact with the Knight somewhere before and that the killer bore enmity against him. We know that it must have been someone familiar with both the town of Tallinn and with Toompea, meaning that he is not a stranger. No one could have thought the man's presence there unusual, and he has to be as bold and brutal as Satan himself. If he had been discovered then he would have fought back with the same sword. It is someone who was not where he was meant to be yesterday evening at eight o'clock. How will the Council catch this murderer? I answer: with the Lord's aid and by its own wit.'

The room was silent. Spanheim finally nodded approvingly. ‘Those are righteous words, Melchior,' he said. ‘This devil must be seized and dragged to Toompea. Certainly we will then hang him and desecrate his corpse in the same way he did Clingenstain's. We will chop off his head and drive it on to a stake for all to see.'

‘On to a stake?' someone exclaimed. The Commander dismissed this with a gesture and did not bother to respond.

Tweffell shrugged and mumbled just loud enough to be heard, ‘I still do not comprehend how you will ensnare him if you do not know who he is.'

Before Melchior could open his mouth to reply Gallenreutter spoke up.

‘If you will, then please allow me to tell you all a tale from my home
town of Warendorf, where I built a church a few years ago, when a councilman was treacherously murdered in the dead of night. The killer slipped in through the window and choked the councilman in his sleep.'

‘Do tell, Master Gallenreutter. It sounds exciting,' someone called out, and several others voiced their approval.

Gallenreutter rose to his feet and continued. ‘As one might suppose every councilman has many mortal enemies, yet how can the right one be found when all swear they did not commit the act and there was no witness? It's not as if a town council would dare to put a single wealthy merchant on the rack or send him before the Lord's judgement based on suspicion alone. Luckily there was a very clever magistrate in the town of Warendorf, a smart and able man, who began to investigate more closely how the murderer had broken into the councilman's home late at night. And what did he do? He found the locksmith who had crafted the lock on the councilman's door, and they tried together to see how to break the lock in the way the killer had done. Next, the magistrate went to look for the ropemaker who had woven the rope with which the councilman was strangled. Third, he took note of the fact that rain fell on the night of the killing; there was mud and patches of filth in front of the councilman's home at the time, but the entry hall was clean and no trail of mud led from the door to the councilman's chamber. Fourth, the magistrate started considering who would benefit most from the councilman's death. And what became clear? It turned out that –'

Before Gallenreutter could continue Melchior butted in, ‘If I may interrupt you, Master Mason, then I would deduce what became clear.'

‘By all means. Have at it, Sire Melchior.'

‘I would say that, as you have already mentioned these circumstances, it is not difficult to conclude that the door's lock could only have been broken in that particular manner from within, a similar rope was found inside the councilman's house and his wife would enjoy the greatest benefit from his death …'

‘Indeed, Melchior …' Gallenreutter exclaimed in surprise.