The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,119

Venetian ducat for your thoughts,” murmured Archibaldus.

Johann often borrowed books from Barbarese’s library now so that he could continue his studies at the inn. He was always careful to hide them under the bed so Salome and the others wouldn’t see them. He didn’t feel like justifying himself for being distracted. The books were his secret, his treasure, his hoard that he was protecting like a dragon.

The weeks went by, and Johann became increasingly uncommunicative and brooding. He spent Christmas alone in his chamber with his books, telling Salome that he was bed-bound with a fever. He snarled at the others during rehearsal. If something didn’t work right away, he practically exploded. The only time he felt happy was during his nightly conversations with Barbarese. They still discussed God and man, but also inventions and man’s latest discoveries. But they never spoke about the books with the padlocks.

It was almost February when Johann gathered his courage and asked Barbarese about those mysterious volumes. The signore smiled as if he’d been expecting the question.

“Those books contain knowledge that isn’t for everybody,” he said after a few moments. “Some readers might feel, well . . . overwhelmed by their contents.”

“Why?” asked Johann.

“Because they question the world as we know it. No, they rattle its very foundations. Our view of the world relies on a God at its helm. But what if . . .” Barbarese paused. “What if that God doesn’t exist? What if man is his own master? If he can take charge of everything? Even life and death! Man would be the architect of his own fortune.”

“That would be heresy,” said Johann.

The idea of there being no God was preposterous. Johann felt a black abyss opening up beneath him at the mere thought of it. Everything he knew and held dear—the whole world around him—was built on the fact that God existed. God was the beginning and the end. He made trees grow and flowers blossom; He granted good harvests and brought fertile rain and mild winters. And He alone decided when a man’s time on earth was at an end. A world without God seemed impossible.

“Well, now you know why those books are locked,” Barbarese replied. “Some books can kill the weak, but they can open up new worlds to the strong.”

“I want to read those books,” said Johann stubbornly.

Barbarese eyed him thoughtfully. “Are you sure?” Then he gave a laugh. “To hell with it! I can tell you’ve made up your mind. All right, then. I trust you won’t hand me over to the church.” He pulled a large key ring from a pocket and went over to the shelves. “I think we’ll start with Leonardo da Vinci. I met him in Milan a few years ago. He had written thousands of pages of notes and drawings. When I asked him if I could have some, he didn’t even look up from his work. He’s a genius! A painter and inventor who represents nature as it actually is and doesn’t just copy the way the church likes it.” The signore smiled. “The notes are a little chaotic, but they give you a good idea of what the man is capable of. I had them bound and chose one of the artist’s drawings for the cover.” Barbarese picked a key and opened a book bound in black leather; on its front was an image of a naked man standing at once in a circle and a square with outstretched arms and legs. Barbarese handed the book to Johann with an almost reverent gesture. “Read it and let me know what you think. But you must promise not to take it back to your inn. The book’s contents are too dangerous.”

Johann promised, and Barbarese left the library. The book was like a bucketful of cold water in the face. Johann had never seen anything like it. The illustrations were the most fascinating part. With astonishing intricacy, the man had drawn war machines, boats propelled by paddle wheels, flying apparatuses, and suits that apparently enabled a person to breathe under water. Cut-open bodies displayed life so clearly that Johann thought all the sinews, bones, and organs looked like they were part of a large clock. The notes were difficult to read, especially because large sections had been written back-to-front like some kind of secret code. Still, Johann soaked up much of it like a dry sponge.

When Barbarese returned a few hours later, Johann was still spellbound.

“I’m glad you like it,” said