The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,14

side and listened to the boy’s report. Then he nodded gravely. “She’s coughing blood, you say? I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but . . .”

“What is it?” Johann said, giving the monk a pleading look. “Please, tell me!”

Father Antonius sighed. “You know your mother hasn’t been well for a long time. When a body is weakened thus, diseases find an easy target. Nasty diseases like the white plague.”

Johann closed his eyes to hide his fear. He’d heard about the white plague. Travelers often brought it from Venice, Geneva, or Rome. Those who caught it grew increasingly weak, slept more and more, and coughed. The disease seemed to consume them from the inside—which was why it was also known as consumption. It wasn’t quite as bad as the black plague, but eventually they both resulted in death.

“And there is no remedy?” said Johann. “You know so much about healing, Father. Please!” He felt a thick lump in his throat. If Father Antonius didn’t know of any medicine, only the dear Lord could help his mother.

“Hmm, there might be a remedy.” Father Antonius moved his head from side to side, considering. “But I don’t keep it here. It’s down in the store.” He hesitated briefly, then he patted Johann on the shoulder. “I’m sure they can cope without me here for a short while. Come, there’s something else I want to show you. It might just cheer you up.”

Father Antonius gently pushed the boy ahead of him. They walked to the cloister, where a group of monks stood by a bubbling fountain, talking in hushed voices. They faltered when they saw Johann, but the father paid them no heed. Together they entered a small room. A set of stairs led to a lower chamber illuminated by narrow windows high against the ceiling.

This was the store, and it smelled musty and fragrant at the same time, mixed with a slightly metallic, caustic smell Johann couldn’t place. Barrels and crates were stacked against the walls alongside many shelves; salted legs of ham hung from the ceiling together with sausages and bundles of dried herbs. On the far side of the room stood a table with a strange apparatus that reminded Johann vaguely of a fruit press. In front of it stood several open crates, and on the floor, glinting in the light of the afternoon, sticks of iron were scattered about, like the broken teeth of some kind of mythical creature. The metallic smell seemed to come from the apparatus.

“What is that?” asked Johann, puzzled.

“That’s just what I was going to show you. Ha, I knew you’d be interested! It is a printing press.” Father Antonius winked mischievously and walked to the press. “The prior and I managed to convince the abbot to buy one for the monastery. We got it quite cheaply from a monastery near Worms, along with some boxes of Latin and Greek books for the library. Once we start using the press, things will change around here. And not only here.” The father made a sweeping gesture with both arms. “A new age is dawning, I’m sure! So many new insights and discoveries reach us—not only from Italy but also from the Spanish moors and faraway Constantinople. Old Latin, Greek, and even Jewish manuscripts are being rediscovered, and now we can print and duplicate them all! Just imagine, everything humanity has ever thought up can be put down with letters—and will still be legible centuries down the line. Knowledge will become immortal! I’m so grateful for the privilege of witnessing such exciting times at my old age.”

Johann’s eyes grew big. He’d heard about printing presses but never seen one before. Every now and then, a printed leaflet found its way to Knittlingen, usually bearing religious content. The playing cards Johann had bought from his savings and that his father trampled into the dirt had also been printed.

The pages of printed books were made with paper instead of the blotchy parchment used in most old books at the Maulbronn library. In the past, monks had copied each book by hand using iron gall ink to duplicate it, but now presses increasingly took over this task. The letters were cast from lead and tin. A job that used to take months or even years could now be done within days. Johann struggled to imagine how many books could be produced thus in a short space of time. Hundreds? Thousands? Already there were more books than he could ever read!

As he