The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,123
light of the torches. “Nothing compared to this excellent grape juice.”
Johann cleared his throat and made another attempt. “I knew the prefect a little. My father used to do business with him. You don’t happen to know how he’s doing?”
“The Knittlingen prefect?” Reuter laughed. “I can’t say he’s doing too well. He wanted to marry his daughter off to a Bretten merchant’s son—a good match. Young Schmeltzle may not be the most handsome lad, but the family’s got money. What can I say? The girl lost her mind.”
“Is . . . is that right?” Johann struggled to keep the quiver from his voice. “How come?”
“No idea.” Reuter wiped some drops of wine from his fleshy lips. “That was almost two years ago now. She stopped talking and just lay in bed like a cold fish.” He burped again. “The wedding didn’t happen, not least because she’d allegedly lain with another man—some young smart aleck. Her father gave her to another man, a vintner from Heidelberg. He was the only one who didn’t ask questions and didn’t mind the small dowry.”
“So Margarethe lives in Heidelberg?” asked Johann quietly, more to himself.
The merchant seemed to wake from his stupor. “Margarethe, huh?” The piggy eyes scrutinized Johann closely. “How do you know her name, boy?”
“Um, didn’t I mention that our fathers occasionally had dealings with each other?” replied Johann, standing up hastily. “It was nice talking with you, Master Reuter. Give my regards to the Kraichgau when you return.”
Before the man could say anything else, Johann turned away. He gave Rieverschmitt one last nod and rushed out into the Venetian night. He needed to be alone now, alone with his thoughts. As the fog wet his face with dew, Johann repeated one name over and over.
“Margarethe, Margarethe, Margarethe . . .”
His greatest love, his only love, had entered his life again.
In the following days, Johann struggled to focus on his studies. Every time he bent over the books at Barbarese’s library, he thought he could hear Margarethe’s laughter. The signore noticed that he was distracted.
“What is it, my boy?” he asked with a frown. “I was under the impression that you were seriously interested in my collection. But now you’re unfocused and keep staring out the window.” Barbarese eyed him suspiciously from behind his glasses. “Has someone talked to you? Has anyone found out about our nightly meetings? Speak up!”
Johann shook his head. “I’m just tired, that’s all. I think I need a little rest.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” Barbarese said, smiling and placing an ice-cold hand on Johann’s shoulder, “take a few days off. I will tell my gondolier to pick you up again next Friday. Enjoy your time off and take a good look around Venice. It’s the most beautiful and most curious city in the world. But you must promise me one thing.” He raised a finger and spoke slowly and intently. “You speak with no one about this library and the books inside it, understood? The consequences could be”—he hesitated—“incalculable. For you, too.”
Johann nodded, glad to be dismissed. Everything had become a little too much for him in the last few days. He needed some quiet time and some distance—especially from Signore Barbarese and the books that seemed to drain him.
During the following days he only went to the Fondaco for their shows, spending the rest of the time walking the lanes of Venice. But as much as he admired all the palaces, churches, and canals, he couldn’t find peace. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Margarethe since the German merchant had told him about her. How was she doing? Was she speaking again? He was filled with a deep longing that pushed aside all other thoughts.
On the afternoon of the third day, Johann sensed that he was being followed. His pursuer didn’t try very hard to hide his intentions, or perhaps he wasn’t very good at it. Like a shadow, he kept ducking into gaps between houses or alcoves, always trailing twenty or thirty paces behind Johann. When the figure followed Johann into a narrow alleyway, Johann hid behind an old barrel. When he heard the quiet footsteps approach, he jumped out with his knife raised. He was about to put the blade to his pursuer’s throat when he stepped back with surprise.
“Archibaldus!” exclaimed Johann. “What . . . what are you doing here? What’s this about?”
Magister Archibaldus held up his palms. “Forgive me, but I saw no other way to talk to you in private.”