Clouds drifted like gigantic, ghostly sheets through the treetops, where the moisture gathered on the red and yellow leaves and came trickling down. Jakob Kuisl’s boots splashed through the leaves and made a gurgling sound as they sank ankle deep into the moss and decaying foliage. This time, he’d decided to approach the knacker’s house from the rear. He had no idea what his brother might be doing at this hour in the forest, but he didn’t want to give him any opportunity to avoid a conversation. And, God knows, there was certainly a lot to talk about. After Jakob had learned from Georg that Bartholomäus had left for the knacker’s house, he had immediately set out to find him. In recent days, he’d grown more and more distrustful of his younger brother. The notes in Lonitzer’s herb almanac had been the last straw. Was it possible Bartholomäus was making sleep sponges used to anesthetize the victims of the supposed werewolf? The accusation sounded so appalling that at first Jakob thought it out of the question.
