The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,136
that I preferred not to mention to the rector,” said Johann. “I’ll tell you about it another time.”
“Faustus, Faustus . . . the mysterious stranger.” Valentin gave him a wink. “Whatever the case,” he said and placed his queen in front of his king, “now your Margarethe has married some winemaker from around here, and you’re looking for her. Are you sure that’s such a good idea? Maybe she’s happy with her husband and you’d be bringing unwanted memories.”
“If she’s happy, then at least I want to know—understand?” snapped Johann. “I can’t get her out of my head. Her laughter, her merry eyes—she was the sun of my life. Whenever I got too mired in brooding, she shook me awake. She . . . she rescued me more times than I can remember.”
“Enough already!” Valentin shook his head and laughed. “I can tell you’re incurably in love.” He touched his nose. “Hmm. Do you at least know the husband’s name?”
Johann shrugged. “I know nothing except that he’s a vintner from Heidelberg. For all I know, she might not even live here and the merchant in Venice was talking nonsense.”
“A Heidelberg vintner marries a girl from Knittlingen. That shouldn’t be too hard to find out.” Valentin rubbed his beardless chin. “The folks at the taverns in the Bergheim quarter might know something—that’s where most winegrowers live. Could be worth a shot. Only, I don’t know what the dear husband will say when his wife’s old flame shows up all of a sudden. We’ll have to be careful.” He grinned. “But I wouldn’t mind a few mugs of Heidelberg white—as long as you’re paying.”
“You . . . you would help me?”
“Matter of honor among fellow students! We just need to make sure old Partschneider doesn’t get wind of anything. Every night he locks this place up like a prison.”
“Let that be my concern,” replied Johann, smirking. “Disappearing is one of my many talents. You know, I used to be a magician in one of my former lives. And now back to the game.” He leaned over the board and made his move. “Bishop beats queen. Checkmate.”
Valentin smacked his forehead with one hand. “Damn, you’re good for someone who’s only just learned the game. I don’t get you—one moment you’re bemoaning your undying love, and the next you make a move as if you’ve been thinking about nothing else the whole time. Sometimes I’d really like to know what’s going on in that head of yours, Johann Faustus.”
It wasn’t until the following Saturday that the two students managed to slip away in the evening. Magister Partschneider always locked the door, and the windows were barred, but in an opportune moment Johann stole the key from the hook in the hallway. Using beeswax, he cast a mold of the key and took it to the Heidelberg blacksmith the same day. With their second key, Valentin and Johann were now able to leave their quarters after dark.
The Bergheim neighborhood was in the city’s western section, not far from campus. Many craftsmen lived there, but also winegrowers whose vineyards flourished along the slopes of the Neckar River. The taverns were busy on this Saturday night. Numerous students were about, drinking wine and beer from large clay mugs, bawling their filthy Latin songs, and trying to lure the Heidelberg girls into nearby barns and press houses for a quick tryst.
Valentin and Johann had decided to visit all the taverns one after another—not an easy feat in a student city like Heidelberg. To keep Johann from coming under suspicion, Valentin would lead the conversation with the locals while Johann was supposed to remain in the background. Even though they tried to go easy on the wine, Johann felt rather drunk after the fourth tavern—and they still hadn’t learned a thing.
When they entered the fifth tavern late at night and with heavy steps, Johann saw immediately that it was full of students from the Swabian hostel. Among the half-drunk students was their leader, Hans Altmayer, who’d played a few dirty tricks on Johann already. Altmayer, the son of a wealthy cloth merchant from Esslingen, was an oaf who used his time at the university mainly to hone his bullying skills. When Johann walked past without acknowledging him, Altmayer doffed his beret mockingly. He was tall and of strong build but not very agile, as Johann had found out during their first run-in. Johann had easily outmaneuvered him in that scuffle.
“Look at that, the beggars from the poorhouse were allowed