cut off your horns for a trophy.”
“Let’s start with the old fart.”
They might as well have been wearing carnival masks and reading lines from the crudest anti-Jewish folksplay, like the Judenspiels of Endigen or Oberammergau—except that I was sure that none of them could read.
That was a possible way out, if I could manage it.
The killers advanced on Jacob, taunting him with their swords. The third one raised his mace and splintered off a chunk of countertop, just in case Jacob had misinterpreted their intentions.
It was time to cast in my lot. I stepped between the sword points and their target.
“You gentlemen had better hold your peace, unless you want to face the consequences of breaking the emperor’s laws.”
The men slowed, puzzled.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t read the emperor’s laws!” I said, amazed at their lack of preparedness. “Then it’s a good thing I got here in time to keep you from getting in trouble with the law, because the statutes clearly state that the Jews are granted permission to live in these lands as vassals of the emperor. That means we are his servants. We belong to him. And the imperial code dictates severe penalties for anyone who willfully damages the emperor’s property.”
They weren’t sure what to do about this. The pikemen looked at each other for assurance, clearly not used to feeling doubt about their actions.
Jacob’s daughter Julie finally said something. “Yes, yes, it’s true. We belong to Kaiser Rudolf II.”
Whisperings rippled through the crowd. Could it be? Was it possible? They weren’t going to listen to some smart-mouthed Jews, were they? Hell no! Kill them all, God will know his own.
A woman standing at the periphery yelped as a gruff stranger elbowed her aside. The man shoved some more gawkers out of the way and planted his boots on the threshold. I had never seen the badge on the man’s left pectoral, but I had no problem recognizing the unmistakable attitude of a member of the municipal guards.
“Uh-oh, Kromy’s here,” said one of the whores.
“Come to collect your Good Friday freebie, Josef?” said another.
Josef Kromy looked at her. “Better keep it warm till Monday.”
The women tittered.
Kromy glanced at the remains of the lifeless girl. The rodents had left teeth marks on her arms, and tiny paw prints in the dark stains on the floor around her. He displayed no shock, no revulsion.
I wondered how many depraved crimes the man had seen for him to have no visible reaction to such a scene.
Kromy said, “Somebody want to tell me what happened here?”
The woman with the blue kerchief said, “I found her. Oh, it was horrible. I made that woman come down and open the door, and there—”
Freyde Federn said, “I’ve never seen this child before. When I came downstairs to open the door, the lock was broken.”
“Which stairs did you use?”
“There’s only one set of stairs, Mr. Kromy, the ones outside the house.”
Kromy said, “Let’s see this broken lock.” He waved a couple of dumbfounded observers aside, and examined the main lock.
“Doesn’t look broken to me,” he declared.
Freyde fumbled for the words. “I mean that the door was unlocked, and I’m sure I locked it when I closed up last night.”
“Then why did you say the lock was broken?”
“Because they’re all liars,” said a woman with bright red lips.
“Hang the bloody lot of them.”
Jacob spoke up. “I opened the shop later on to get something. I might not have closed the latch properly.”
“Ach! What Jew wouldn’t make sure his gold was safely locked up for the night?” said the woman with the kerchief.
Kromy’s lip slowly curled into a lopsided smile. “Trouble always seems to find you, Federn,” he said.
“He knows something about this,” said the woman.
“Anybody know who the girl is?” said Kromy.
One of the house wives crept in close enough to get a good look at the victim’s face. “Pane bože! It’s Gerta Janek!”
“Who’s that?”
“Viktor Janek’s little girl.”
“Oh my God, they’ve been looking for her all morning,” said one of the women.
“Janek the apothecary?”
“Yes.”
The house wife said, “I saw Janek and the Jew arguing the day before yesterday in front of this very shop. But I never thought—”
“What were they arguing about?”
“What do all businessmen argue about?”
Kromy nodded. He looked around the shop, taking stock and fingering the fine goods.
“Getting back at the competition, Federn?”
“It wasn’t me, I swear,” said Jacob.
“You just said you were the last one in here, Federn,” said Kromy.
“Enough talk. My dagger’s hungry for blood.” The dark-eyed mercenary evidently had a flair for