The Play of Death (The Hangman's Daughter, #6)

by Oliver Pötzsch

Magdalena listened in disbelief. Once again, Simon and her father had in a few days’ time managed to get involved in multiple murders. It almost seemed as if they were attracted to crime. Or that crime is attracted to them, she thought.

“Give up, old man, you’re as good as dead, you just don’t know it yet.” Jakob remembered all the men he’d ever fought. His whole life had been one long fight. He’d often battled far stronger and more experienced fighters than this pockmarked fellow who was half his age, but he felt exhausted nonetheless. His fear of the abyss robbed him of his strength, but it was more than just that. There’s no end to it . . . never

Just a single image flashed through his mind. He remembered how Peter had come running toward him a few days ago in the Oberammergau graveyard with outstretched arms and nothing in his eyes but joy at this unexpected meeting with his beloved grandfather. The image vanished, and was replaced by a new one. He could see little Paul, that hot-headed, boisterous child who sometimes made him think of himself when he was young, and how together they’d built waterwheels down at the river and carved wooden swords.

“You really need to rest,” said little Jossi, standing alongside Xaver Eyrl. “You’re badly injured.” “Has it gotten to the point where a child must tell me what I can and cannot do?” he asked, but he lay still because the pain was too great.

Perhaps all books have something magical about them, she thought. Just letters on a page that turn into images, scenes, and conversations in our minds.