The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,129

Rais,” whispered Johann.

Could it be possible? Had this knife belonged to the man whose name Archibaldus had written on the church wall in his blood?

A sound caused him to spin around. It was Salome entering his chamber. She took only a moment to grasp what Johann was doing.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, crossing her arms on her chest. “Without a word of farewell? Without telling us where you’re going and why?”

Johann slipped the knife back into his pocket and continued to pack. “Trust me, Salome, it’s for the best. All I’m going to bring you is misfortune—all I’m bringing anyone is misfortune!” He laughed with despair. “And I don’t even know myself yet where I’m going. I’ve been running for so long. I think it doesn’t matter where I go—they’ll find me.”

“They?” Salome frowned. “Who’s going to find you?”

Johann didn’t reply and continued to stuff things into his bag. Salome watched him in silence for a while, and then she said, “I told you once that you don’t own me, Johann, and that’s true. But still, I feel something with you that I’ve never felt with any other man.”

“And what is that?”

“Jealousy. If that’s the beginning of love, I’m glad it’s coming to an early end.” Salome gave a bitter smile. “You don’t fool me, Johann. You’ve met another girl and you’re going away with her. You haven’t been with me for weeks. Even when you entered me and made me moan with lust, you were somewhere else. You were with her the whole time. And now you’re leaving with her.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m not going with anyone . . . ,” began Johann, but then he stopped. Perhaps it was better if Salome believed it was another woman. It would help Emilio and Mustafa understand his sudden departure, too. He had never fully belonged to them, had always remained an outsider, just like in his old life.

A stranger among men.

“Did you find Archibaldus?” asked Salome abruptly.

Johann hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He didn’t want his friends to find out about Archibaldus’s brutal death. Whoever had done that would kill anyone who knew too much—or sacrifice them.

Twitching bodies in the trees . . .

“He . . . he told me he was tired of life with a troupe,” he lied. “Apparently the German merchants offered to take him back to Hamburg with them. He still has a few living relatives there who are willing to put him up for the remainder of his days. He took a boat to the mainland first thing this morning.”

“Well, his relatives better make sure they order enough wine.” Salome smiled. “It’s probably for the best—both for him and for you. Neither of you are jugglers. You never have been and never will be.”

Johann nodded and tied up his bag.

Who am I? he wondered.

“And where are the two of you going now?” asked Salome.

“The two of us?” Johann was puzzled for a moment, then he remembered. “Oh, we’ll figure something out,” he replied, trying to sound lighthearted. “Just like Peter Nachtigall and his beloved back then. Remember? He loved a girl he wasn’t allowed to marry. They ran away together and . . .”

He trailed off.

“What is it?” asked Salome.

Johann looked up. It was so blindingly obvious. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner?

He loved a girl . . .

Margarethe had saved him twice already. Once during the eerie ceremony in the forest near Nördlingen, and for the second time here in Venice, at Signore Barbarese’s library. Both times her laughter had led him back to the right path.

He prayed she’d do it for him a third time.

Margarethe alone could show him where to go.

“We’re going to Heidelberg,” said Johann with a strong voice. His hand felt for the letter Archibaldus had given him the day before. He’d almost forgotten about it in all the excitement. Now it might really be of help.

“I know someone there I must go see. It’s important—a matter of life and death.”

“Is that so? Life and death?” Salome walked up to him and stroked his cheek. “Then go, my little wolf. I will never forget you.” She winked at him. “Or one particular body part of yours, at least.”

Johann leaned down to give her one last kiss, but she turned away.

“Goodbye, Salome,” he whispered.

Then he shouldered his bag and walked down the stairs and out into the dusk. It took a pile of money and all his skills of persuasion to find a ferryman willing to take him to Mestre on