fresh dill hanging on a hook. He cupped the lush green herbs with his hands, and inhaled their fragrance a couple of times before letting them drop.
“My grandmother—olev ha-sholem—used to put lots of fresh dill in the matzoh ball soup,” he said. “It’s pretty hard to get this time of year.”
She said, “I don’t even know your name.”
“Sorry. I’m in such a rush I must be forgetting my manners. It’s Benyamin.”
“Ah. Jacob’s youngest son.”
“Yes,” he said. “Listen, Anya, you seem like a righteous daughter of Noah. I need you to help me save what could be hundreds—maybe thousands—of lives and keep the Jews from getting exiled again.”
“You’re telling me that if we catch Gerta Janek’s real killers, the Jews won’t have to flee the city?”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
“Then my answer is yes. I will help you. We have three days, right?”
“More like two-and-a-half.”
CHAPTER 12
THE NIGHT WATCHMAN CAME TRAMPING downstairs, scratching his chest and ranting in his Spanish-Jewish dialect about needing more sleep. He stopped on the landing, and brushed the dark ringlets of hair out of his eyes.
“Oh, it’s you, Rabbi,” he said. “How can I be of service?”
“The earth has shaken the blind beast of hatred out of its slumber, Acosta,” said Rabbi Loew. “And my shammes needs your assistance.”
“What kind of assistance?”
Anya had gone. Yankev had insisted on taking her to the East Gate, where the gatekeepers had recognized her as a Christian and opened the small door for her at once, then resealed it with iron bolts. And now she was gone—my one useful connection to the Christian world outside the gates—and we were back at Rabbi Loew’s house trying to figure out our next move. Yankev looked pale and tense, as if he were weighing a fateful decision.
The whisper of a breeze blew under my cloak and sent a chill right through the damp leggings clinging to my skin.
Avrom Khayim, the head shammes, came shuffling down the corridor from the kitchen, bringing a wave of tantalizing scents with him. I detected simmering chicken soup and brisket with a trace of something sweet. Apples?
“None of the locks were broken at Federn’s shop, nor, I suspect, at the Janeks’,” I said. “So whoever planted this false bloodcrime at our feet seems to know their way around locks.”
“And?” said Yankev.
“And so I need to find a couple of experienced picklocks.”
“And you expect us to put you in touch with such rabble?”
“No, but maybe one of you knows someone who can,” I said. What on earth had gotten into the scrawny yeshiva boy?
The night watchman was the only one who dared to give me an answer: “That’s easy. You want Izzy the Ratcatcher.”
“Where can I find him?”
“He gets a bedroll and a roof over at the shandhoyz.”
“Where’s the shame house?” I said, using the night watchman’s polite word for whore house.
None of the men would make eye contact with me.
Avrom Khayim said, “You can look into that later. We have to attend to the minkhe services first, then the Seder.”
I turned to my new master. “Rabbi, I have to pursue this line of investigation, even if it leads me up the steps of a shandhoyz—”
Rabbi Loew said, “My shammes, attend to God first. He will provide the rest.”
“But—”
Acosta said, “Slow down, newcomer. Do you really think the oysgelasene froyen won’t be around later just because it’s Shabbes?”
I didn’t answer. What else could I do? When Isserles the Pious was quarantined because of the plague, did he bang his head against the walls and curse his fate? No, he sat down and wrote the Seyfer ha-Khayim, the Book of Life, and turned a disaster into a blessing.
Rabbi Loew said, “Come, Ben-Akiva, let’s discuss this with the others,” and drew aside the curtain leading to the study room.
“There’s no time for that now. Let me go—”
“No. Wisdom must be shared in order to have any meaning.”
Vey iz mir, I thought. How long is this going to take?
“Of course, Rabbi, but if you want me to resolve this crisis, you’ve got to let me follow my instincts.”
“Your instincts won’t do you much good unless you wait for that official contract you wanted me to draw up.”
“Oh, right.” How could that have slipped my mind?
“It appears that your assistant shammes needs an assistant of his own to keep track of everything,” said Avrom Khayim.
“You see?” said Rabbi Loew. “It takes time to learn new things, there’s no shame in that. Even the great Resh Lakish was once a circus entertainer for the Romans. Now,