The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,112

jugglers. I’m sure we’ll get free meals and lodging there, right?”

“We . . . we can talk about that,” said Rieverschmitt, squirming. “Best you move into your rooms first, and then come back and show me what you can do.”

“We will,” said Johann confidently. “You won’t be disappointed, Master Rieverschmitt. Johann Faustus’s Fabulous Troupe is the best troupe of jugglers you’ll find in the entire German empire.”

Johann Faustus’s Fabulous Troupe . . .

Johann repeated in his mind the name he’d just come up with. It seemed to strike the right note, because Rieverschmitt grinned.

“Faustus, the lucky one? Well, we can always use a bit of luck at the countinghouse. I’m expecting you back in an hour for your first show.”

As promised, they performed at the Fondaco later that afternoon. Rieverschmitt seemed happy enough, but Johann got the impression that the trade representative was mainly interested in Salome. She danced her seductive veil dance to a queer melody played by Emilio on his wheel-fiddle. Mustafa tore a massive chain apart and flexed his muscles, and Johann performed magic tricks, causing the merchants watching to gasp and laugh. Archibaldus appeared to be of the opinion that he’d fulfilled his part of the day’s work by talking to Rieverschmitt, and he retreated beneath the arcades with a jug of wine. The others found him passed out behind some bales of cloth later. Johann wasn’t particularly upset that Archibaldus hadn’t been part of this important performance.

Johann agreed to Rieverschmitt’s request that over the winter they give two small performances a day—one in the morning and one in the afternoon—to keep the German traders entertained. They received free board and lodging at the Flute Inn, and Johann even managed to negotiate a small sum the Fondaco would pay them each week. It wasn’t much, but enough to make their winter much more pleasurable than if they’d had to spend it north of the Alps, where it was probably snowing by now.

But even in Venice, November was cool. A thick fog covered the city, and the troupe’s clothes were always damp, no matter how many times they dried them before the fire. Johann roamed through the lanes, shivering, watching the black gondolas as they appeared from the mist and vanished again. In Saint Mark’s Square, the large piazza, stood the biggest, most magnificent church Johann had ever seen. It was dominated by five domes that gave the building a fairy-tale quality—like a castle from the stories his mother used to tell him. A huge tower stood in front of the structure, and right next to it was the Palazzo Ducale, where the Venetian doge ruled over the republic.

Archibaldus had explained to Johann that Venice was ruled by a powerful council of patricians led by the doge. The patricians acted like small kings. They never strutted through the city without at least a page boy by their side, if not also a Moor serving as their slave. The high and mighty kept those poor people as if they were pets.

Even more than in Augsburg, pomp and misery, wealth and poverty lived side by side here. Ladies with hair bleached with lemon juice, wearing expensive silks and high platform shoes, tottered past gaunt, hungry street urchins and condemned men who were tortured publicly beneath the arcades of the doge’s palace. There was an entire street dedicated to the manufacture of extremely precious mirrors, while a few streets down people were dying in the gutter.

Exploring the city helped Johann clear his head and gave him time to think. After just a few days, the troupe had accepted him as their new leader, along with their new name. No one asked where the Latin word faustus came from. In Venice, they acted more as court jesters than as jugglers performing set shows; they’d exhibit a magic trick here and do a bit of juggling over there. On good days, they even sold a few bottles of the overpriced theriac Archibaldus brewed from cheap liquor and herbs. The magister touted it as an astonishing miracle tincture and didn’t mind trying it out on himself. But the relics stayed in their chests; the troupe didn’t want to risk getting in trouble with the Venetian authorities. Venice boasted plenty of relics of its own in its many churches.

Everything was going as well as it could, and yet Johann felt restless. Venice had been his goal, the star he’d followed ever since leaving Tonio. But now he realized that this city was just another