The Hangman's Daughter by Oliver Pötzsch, Lee Chadeayne Page A

Schongauers could remember a day when a duke had actually taken residence there.
    And the Elector’s secretary, who represented the interests of His Serene Highness in the town, hardly ever bothered to show himself there. He usually lived in a remote country house near Thierhaupten. Otherwise, the dilapidated building served as the barracks for two dozen soldiers and as the court clerk’s office. In the secretary’s absence, the former represented Ferdinand Maria, Elector of Bavaria, in Schongau.
    Johann Lechner was a powerful man. While he was really only in charge of His Highness’s affairs, he had expanded his position over the years, so that now he was able to influence town matters as well. In Schongau, no document, no ordinance, not even the smallest note, could bypass Johann Lechner. Jakob Kuisl was certain that the clerk had been brooding over town files for hours.
    The executioner passed through the stone gate on which two rusty gates hung crooked on their hinges, and entered the courtyard. The sentry posts gave him a tired nod and let him pass.
    Jakob Kuisl looked around the narrow, dirty courtyard. The Swedes had plundered it for the last time more than ten years ago, and since then the residence had fallen even deeper into decay. All that was left of the fortified tower on the right was a sooty ruin, and the roofs of the stables and the threshing floor were leaky and covered with moss. Broken wagons and all manner of bric-a-brac peered forth between the splintered planks of the walls.
    Kuisl climbed the worn steps to the castle, crossed a gloomy corridor, and stopped at a low wooden gate. As he was about to knock, a voice called from within.
    “Enter.”
    The clerk must have very keen hearing, he thought.
    The executioner pushed the door open and stepped into the narrow chamber. Johann Lechner sat at his desk, all but concealed by piles of books and parchments. His right hand was scrawling notes into a register; his left hand directed Kuisl to a seat.
    Despite the early morning sun outside the window, the room, lit only by a few sputtering tallow candles, was murky. The executioner took a seat on an uncomfortable wooden stool and waited patiently for the clerk to look up from his writing.
    “You know why I’ve called you?”
    Johann Lechner gazed at the executioner with piercing eyes. The clerk had the full black beard of his father, who had likewise officiated as Schongau’s court clerk. The same pale face, the same penetrating black eyes. The Lechners were an influential family in this town, and Johann Lechner liked to remind others of it.
    Kuisl nodded and began to fill his pipe.
    “Stop that,” said the clerk. “You know I don’t like smoking.”
    The hangman pocketed his pipe and gave Lechner a provocative glance. It took a while before he spoke to him.
    “On account of the Stechlin woman, I assume.”
    Johann Lechner nodded. “There’s going to be trouble. In fact, there already is. And it happened only yesterday. People are talking…”
    “And what business is that of mine?”
    Lechner leaned across the desk and forced himself to smile. He was not quite successful.
    “You know her. You have worked together. She brought your children into the world. I want you to talk to her.”
    “And what am I supposed to talk about?”
    “Make her confess.”
    “Make her what?”
    Lechner leaned even farther across the desk. Their faces were within inches of each other now.
    “You heard me right. Make her confess.”
    “But nothing’s been proved. A few women have gossiped. The boy was at her place a few times. That’s all.”
    “The matter must be disposed of.” Johann Lechner sat back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the armrests. “There has been too much talk as it is. If we let it drag on, then we’ll have a situation like in your grandfather’s days. Then you’ll be one busy man.”
    The hangman nodded. He knew what Lechner was talking about. Nearly seventy years ago during the