The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,172

around with a young student—no, she was suspected of being in league with the devil. And all that just because of the damned laterna magica! He should never have used the apparatus for his own desires. But now it was too late.

So what could he do?

Hans was right—his academic career in Heidelberg was over. And he wouldn’t be going to Vienna with Conrad Celtis. Altmayer would make sure the story of Faustus, defiler of nuns and devil worshipper, would make the rounds at the taverns and university. And worse: he had stabbed Jakob Kohlschreiber—probably to death. Not that Johann regretted the man’s death, but now he was a murderer and had to flee.

But then he would abandon Margarethe.

Johann swallowed hard. He’d reached a decision.

He would have to go to Heidelberg and hand himself in.

He would explain to the authorities that it was all his fault. He had led Margarethe astray and he had built the laterna magica. No devilish machine, just a simple apparatus. They’d understand, and Margarethe would be saved. At least they wouldn’t condemn her as a witch. But he’d need help, and most of all he’d need a witness to confirm his story.

Johann decided to wait until the morning and then find the one person he had left.

Valentin.

He spent the night on the hilltop, gazing down at the Neckar, which wound its way through the valley like a giant black snake. The lights of Heidelberg gleamed beyond, and above them flickered the flames of the Saint John’s fires. Johann occasionally thought he could hear screams, presumably from the youth dancing around the fires.

Long before dawn, he went on his way. He entered the city with the first peddlers and farmers carrying their wares to market in their packs. Johann looked like a beggar in his filthy, torn clothes, and the guards didn’t recognize him. No one tried to stop him as he slipped through the gate.

He rushed to his residence as fast as he could, climbed across the low wall at the back, and knocked on the window of the room he shared with Valentin—softly at first, but then louder and louder. No one opened. Had his friend already left for the lectures? But it was much too early.

A sense of foreboding overcame Johann.

A damp mist hung in the lanes, and hardly anyone was about. Johann cautiously sneaked over to the western city fortifications. He was headed for one building in particular. The Diebsturm Tower, which served as Heidelberg’s prison.

The tower was a bulky construct about ten paces high and built from massive blocks of stone. A few barred windows way up high and a narrow wrought-iron door were the only openings. In front of the tower stood a cart, enveloped in fog. On top of the cart stood a crate about as high as a man, like a mobile prison cell. Two skinny nags were hitched to the wagon.

As Johann approached the tower, the door opened with a squeak, and two guards with halberds emerged. They were followed by two other guards, who were carrying a man in torn clothes. The man’s head flopped to one side like that of a ragdoll, and blood was pouring from a wound on his temple.

Johann clasped one hand to his mouth to stop himself from crying out.

The prisoner was Valentin.

Evidently, Hans had made good on his threat and reported Valentin to the authorities. Johann guessed his friend was being accused of helping to build an apparatus that was used to invoke the devil. But why hadn’t the university intervened? Why hadn’t Rector Gallus been called upon? He would know that the laterna was a scientific invention, not witchcraft. Johann had told the rector all about their plans, and the university had its own jurisdiction.

But then Johann realized that in this case, the city would be responsible. With the accusation of witchcraft, the authorities wasted no time. Johann guessed Valentin was about to be taken to Worms, where the bishop had his seat and where all interrogations of this type took place. Was Margarethe also on her way to Worms?

Had he come too late?

Now the guards opened the door with the barred window at the back of the large crate and shoved the prisoner inside. Johann couldn’t tell whether Valentin was conscious or not—or whether he was still alive at all. Still, Johann needed to try to speak with him. Even if he risked being arrested. He waited until the cart began to move, and then he followed it quietly,