The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,167

A fury welled up in him like he hadn’t felt in years—since his time with the jugglers. Underneath his jerkin, his fingers felt for the knife on his belt. Perhaps he needed to teach Altmayer a proper lesson so he’d finally leave him alone. Johann thought how easily the knife had glided into the eye of the French mercenary back then, as if it were butter. He’d enjoyed the feeling.

“You’re right, I lack a lot of practice at drinking,” he began quietly. “I’m not as lucky as a drunkard like you—drinking day in, day out, and one day ending up as a red-nosed village teacher in some godforsaken hole, unless you become a traveling student and die in the gutter like a mangy dog. Congratulations!”

Altmayer raised his fist. He, too, was drunk and ready to fight. But suddenly his lips twisted into a strange smile, and he lowered his hand again. “Why should I beat you up, Faustus? Revenge will be much more satisfying.”

Then he turned around and walked away. Johann, flushed from the alcohol, staggered after him for a few steps. “Hey, stop, you useless twit, you flat-nosed newt—”

He was about to pounce on Altmayer from behind when someone held him back. He spun around angrily and saw Valentin’s worried face.

“So this is where I find you,” exclaimed Valentin. “And just in the nick of time, methinks.” He grabbed a pitcher from a table and threw cold water into Johann’s face. “Wake up before something bad happens!”

“How dare you!” Johann clenched his fist at his side. Then he felt the knife again, and it was as if it slipped into his hand all by itself. The face before him blurred and was replaced by a grinning visage.

Tonio!

Johann raised the knife, ready to strike. Only at the last moment did he realize that it wasn’t Tonio standing in front of him but his sole friend. The hallucination vanished, and with it the hatred and anger. Johann dropped his arms. Suddenly he felt awfully tired and empty. What had he done? He’d almost destroyed everything he’d worked so hard for during the last year.

With a groan he collapsed into Valentin’s arms.

“I . . . I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “Believe me, I didn’t want to do this. Something . . . something came over me.”

Johann realized what it was that had made him so angry. He had wanted to stab Tonio del Moravia! Or had it been Tonio who had nearly brought him to stab his friend to death? Would he never be rid of that evil man? The master seemed to stick to him like a curse.

Johann shook himself; his legs felt like they were made of wax. “I want to go . . . home,” he slurred. “Sleep.”

“No problem.” Valentin grinned and caught Johann before he landed on the tavern floor. “The great Faustus, bested by a jug of wine. Finally we’ve found an adversary you can’t outsmart.”

The headache the next morning was horrendous, and when it finally subsided, all that was left behind was a feeling of emptiness. That and the realization that Johann had almost stabbed his only friend. He wasn’t entirely sure what exactly had happened at the tavern and whether the wine alone was to blame. He decided to cut back on drinking wine and beer from then on. He had never handled alcohol well—it seemed to dissolve the thin wall between his reasonable self and the animal behind it. And every time he got drunk, the nightmares returned.

Small, squirming bundles . . .

Well, at least the alcohol had been good for one thing: he had come to a decision. He would travel to Vienna and take Margarethe with him. How exactly that was going to work, Johann wasn’t sure yet. But he felt certain he’d find a solution—he’d always found one so far. But first he had to share the news with Margarethe.

And that meant Saint Michael would have to speak to her one more time.

Johann hadn’t intended to make the angel appear anymore. He no longer needed it to, and it was just too dangerous. He wouldn’t be able to keep it secret from Valentin for much longer. And he’d lately had the feeling again that he was being watched. He needed the angel just this one final time. Saint Michael would ask Margarethe to follow Johann to Vienna. The angel had to appear one last time, and then Johann would never use such hocus-pocus again. Margarethe was healed. She never spoke of