The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,120

Barbarese. “I knew you were ready for it.”

“He writes a lot about machines,” said Johann. “But all these anatomical sketches suggest man himself is also a kind of apparatus that can be repaired. And somewhere Leonardo da Vinci writes that one day, man might be in a position to decide over life and death himself—do you think that’s really possible?”

He thought about Margarethe and young Martin, and of his mother, who had died of a disease Father Antonius wanted to treat with moldy cheese. He thought about all the victims of the Black Death, which people blamed on some sort of vapors coming from the ground or on original sin—so much speculation and so many dated beliefs without any research or proof. The notes in front of him could achieve so much if they were developed in the right way!

Barbarese gave him a long, thoughtful look from behind his glasses. “To conquer death would be the crown of human achievement,” he replied eventually. “If anyone can do it at all, it would take years—decades—of dedicated studying. But yes, I think it’s possible.”

“I want to learn it.”

Barbarese laughed softly. “One thing at a time, my young adept. One thing at a time.”

Over the next few weeks, Johann studied Leonardo da Vinci’s notes and other books, like Roger Bacon’s Opus Majus, in which the author turned against traditional scholasticism. Johann read that it was the people’s fear of authority and their dependence on popular opinion that prevented them from thinking independently. In his Epistola de Secretis Operibus Artis et Naturae, Bacon prophesied that one day there would be machines that enabled humans to fly like birds. Anything was possible!

The books with the padlocks discussed science and machines, but also forbidden philosophy and magic. Increasingly Barbarese picked out volumes for Johann that weren’t just about the sciences but also about magic—white as well as black. And it was no silly hocus-pocus like Johann had first practiced with Tonio del Moravia, but a secret, esoteric field of study that asked questions no one had ever asked before. There were no boundaries in that world, and nothing was forbidden.

“If we want to understand the universe as a whole, we must leave no stone unturned,” said the signore. “There can’t be any taboos—it’s the only way for man to achieve godly wisdom. Homo Deus est.”

And for the first time Johann thought he truly understood what that sentence meant.

That night, while Johann continued to peruse da Vinci’s and Bacon’s works and tried his hand at a few sketches of his own, Signore Barbarese went into his secret chamber. A steep ladder led to the attic, where a well-concealed door led into Barbarese’s demesne: a tiny room full of books whose contents were so frightening and revolutionary that the signore didn’t dare keep them in the library.

In one corner stood a wardrobe full of wigs, fake beards, and costumes, just like in the travel chest of a juggler.

Dangling from a beam of the roof was a cage with two crows and a raven.

“I think he’s ready now,” said the master, sitting at a small table in front of a silver-framed Venetian mirror. He took off his glasses and wig and wiped the soot from his eyebrows. “What do you think, Baphomet, Azazel, and Belial?”

The birds screeched, cawed, and flapped their wings. The master silenced them with a wave of his hand. He carefully peeled away the beard from his lips and studied his pale reflection in the mirror. He had always been good at disguising himself.

“You can’t force them,” he said as he wiped away the white makeup. “Never. It’s the law. They must come of their own free will. That’s how it always has been. Sometimes it just takes a little longer.”

Humming a tune, he took a piece of paper from a drawer in the table and started to write a long letter. When he was done, he folded and rolled it up until it was as small as the finger of a child; he sealed it with wax as red as blood. Then the master opened the cage and took out the raven. At first the animal wanted to peck at him, but then it flapped its wings with fear.

“Kraa!” cried the raven, sounding whimpering, childlike. “Kraa, kraa!”

“Good boy, Baphomet,” said the master. “Always remember your reward. Only those who obey me will receive salvation.”

The master pushed the tiny paper scroll through a ring on the raven’s right claw. He double-checked that it was secured properly,