The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,158

aren’t ready for it yet.”

“So you’re saying we aren’t going to show the laterna to anyone at all?” asked Valentin, puzzled.

“Not yet,” replied Johann. “One day, perhaps. But it should remain our secret for now.”

He gazed at the cat with the arched back, and the vague idea was slowly coming together.

An idea about how he might win over Margarethe after all.

During the cold months, Johann’s meetings with Margarethe had been infrequent. There was no more work in the fields, and the nuns mostly stayed indoors. Johann often had to content himself with a long, cold wait beneath one of the convent’s windows until Margarethe finally appeared for a few brief moments. To arrange their meetings, they used their secret code in letters that Johann—bowing and scraping—delivered to the mother superior. Each time, he claimed it was from Margarethe’s husband, who in reality never had contacted his wife again. One time Johann even included a short love poem, hoping ardently the mother superior wouldn’t notice. The fact that he sometimes felt he was being watched he put down to his fear of getting caught. He couldn’t bear to imagine the consequences for him and—more so—for Margarethe if they were discovered.

One night, as he once again waited below a window in the freezing cold, Margarethe had some happy news for him.

“I’m relocating to Heidelberg,” she said quietly, trying not to wake the sleeping sisters. “The mother cellarer needs an aide for our outpost there, and I have proven that I’m not only good at writing but also counting. I’ll be moving in just a few months.”

“But . . . but that’s fantastic!” exclaimed Johann. For a brief moment he forgot to keep his voice down. “We’ll be able to see much more of each other. You’ll have to sell your wares at the market, after all, and—”

“We must be all the more careful, Johann,” urged Margarethe. “Sometimes I feel like Mother Superior knows something. She gives me strange looks and didn’t want me to go to Heidelberg at first. And then I feel eyes in my back like daggers—”

“Don’t start that again,” said Johann. “I prayed that the boogeyman won’t appear to you again, and so he won’t.”

“But he will return—I know it. If not now, then later.” Margarethe closed her eyes as if she could see an image in her mind’s eye. “The devil may have retreated for now, but only because he is preparing for his final, great day. And we must prepare, too!”

“Listen, Margarethe!” Johann came as close to the wall covered in frozen ivy as he could. “You can’t say things like that anymore! I’ve heard at the university that several women have been arrested as witches in the area. Apparently they were dancing on Heiligenberg Mountain, and the bishop himself wrote to the authorities, urging them to be vigilant. Two old women were burned at the stake on Dilsberg Mountain not long ago because they allegedly concocted a pestilence powder from the innards of children. It is dangerous to speak of the devil in times like these.”

“And what if these women really were witches?” asked Margarethe. “What if they really murder children, grind up their innards, and celebrate the return of Satan? Have you ever considered that?” She lowered her voice. “The Odenwald Forest is ancient. They say it is named for an evil god who used to rule here.”

Johann groaned inwardly. As long as Margarethe was locked up in this nunnery, she’d never get rid of her delusions. He needed to take her out of there—as soon as possible.

“Sometimes I hear voices,” whispered Margarethe. “They are the voices of demons who howl and scream and wait for the day of the beast. The day of the beast is coming closer. His followers are waiting for the stars to be favorable. That’s what the man said in the forest . . .”

“And what if you heard the voice of an angel?” asked Johann brusquely. “Would you believe him? Would you believe that the devil is just toying with you and that he’s not coming back to earth at all? That the boogeyman only exists in your nightmares—that none of it is real?”

Margarethe smiled. “That would be nice, but I’m afraid that’ll never happen.” She hesitated. “Sometimes I’m not even sure anymore whether I’m not imagining it all. But what I saw back then, and what the boogeyman said to me, it . . . it seemed so real! And then those dreams—those horrible dreams . . .”