The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,121

then he nodded and walked over to the window with the raven.

The master pushed the shutters open wide. Pale moonlight fell into the small room and illuminated the chalky, expressionless face with its still slightly sooty eyebrows.

“Tell them that he’s ready,” said the master. “The arrival is near.”

He threw the raven out into the night like a black snowball, and the bird spread his wings and headed north, toward the mountains.

12

JOHANN GREW INCREASINGLY withdrawn, and the others hardly ever saw him. As far as they knew, he left his chamber only for the shows. Contrary to his promise to Signore Barbarese, he had taken some of the forbidden books with him to the inn, including some works on sorcery. It had been easier than he’d thought—Barbarese had left them unlocked on the table in the library. Johann simply hid them beneath the other books he was borrowing. It was almost like Barbarese had wanted Johann to take them.

Thus passed January and February, and with March came the birds. There was chirping all through the city, and people no longer wore long, warm coats. Spring put a smile on everyone’s face, and even the perpetual fog withdrew. When the days started to get warmer, the jugglers began to ask how much longer they’d stay in Venice. Johann’s replies were always evasive. He didn’t want to leave this city, least of all Barbarese’s library, where he felt like his eyes were being opened afresh every day. He hadn’t thought of Margarethe, his mother, or little Martin in a long time; he kept his dark memories locked up deep inside.

One afternoon in March, Johann was so engrossed in his reading that he didn’t hear the knock on the door. When he started up, it was already too late. Archibaldus had entered his room.

“I wanted to check on you, lad,” he said. “The others are worried about you and—”

He broke off when he saw the books on the bed. “Where did you get those?”

“None of your business,” snarled Johann, gathering up the books. He shoved them under the bed, but Archibaldus had already deciphered one of the titles.

“The Sworn Book of Honorius?” Archibaldus turned pale. “Who gave you that?”

“I told you it’s none of your business!” shouted Johann feverishly.

“My boy, you don’t know what you’re doing.” Archibaldus raised one hand in a placating gesture. “Whoever gave you this book dabbles in things that are too dangerous for a young student, no matter how talented.”

“Perhaps they are too dangerous for an old drunkard,” Johann jeered. “But not for me. Now please leave. I want to study.”

Archibaldus gave him a serious look. “I always knew there was something dark inside you, Johann,” he said eventually. “It went into hiding for a while, but now it seems to have returned. Please don’t let it take over—I’m begging you! It would destroy you and maybe even those you love. You’re clever and keen to learn, and you could become someone great—or someone very dangerous.” He hesitated. “I’ve got a suggestion for you. You said it was your greatest dream to study at Heidelberg University. I could ensure your dream comes true.”

Johann blinked with irritation. “And how are you going to do that?”

“I still have a little influence. And I know the right people. What do you say: you leave those books alone, and in return I’ll get you a spot at Heidelberg.” Archibaldus held out his hand. “Agreed?”

“I . . . I’ll think about it,” Johann said and spurned the old man’s hand. “But now I’d really like you to leave.”

“May God protect you,” said Archibaldus. “I fear something deeply evil is trying to grab ahold of you.”

Johann woke from his fixation on the books only once.

One day toward the end of March, Rieverschmitt came rushing up to him in a state of excitement.

“We need you for a bigger show tonight. The first German merchants have arrived at Venice. It was a long winter and there’s still snow on the passes, so not much comes through. There is a huge demand for their wares. The Venetians want to butter them up, so please think of something special.”

Johann nodded distractedly. His thoughts were on other matters. Barbarese’s books robbed him of his sleep. But he knew he couldn’t disappoint Rieverschmitt if he didn’t want to jeopardize his stay in Venice. There were so many books left to read. It pained him to think that he wouldn’t be able to visit Barbarese that night.

“You can always rely on Johann Faustus’s