The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,19

at his father, his voice shaking. It was the first time his father had spoken to him in a long while—and now this. No sympathy, no kind words, just the end of his dreams. “You want me to be a stable boy?”

Jörg Gerlach shrugged his shoulders. “I need neither a priest nor a scholar. What did you expect? I’ve got four sons, but only Karl can inherit the farm. And you’re no good for anything other than picking grapes or mucking out—or can you conjure up roast pigeons and make milk and honey flow in the Knittlingen moat? Do your oh-so-clever books teach you anything useful like that?” He laughed and took a long sip of his wine. His tongue sounded heavier when he continued to speak. “What did your mother use to call you? Faustus the lucky one? She spoiled you for far too long! Better get used to the fact that this is the start of different, less lucky years for you. It’s time you got to know real life, Johann, and stopped reading and dreaming all day long. You’ll thank me one day! Oh yes, you’ll thank me. Did you hear me, you . . . you juggler! Good-for-nothing!”

But Johann didn’t hear the last words. He’d turned away and stormed out of the house. What did he ever do to his father that the man had to torture him at every turn? Latin School had been the last ray of light in his life, now that Mother was dead and Margarethe couldn’t or wouldn’t see him anymore. Secretly he’d hoped that he might enter the monastery as a lay brother following Latin School, as a kind of assistant to Father Antonius. But that wouldn’t happen if he didn’t learn Latin!

He hadn’t seen Father Antonius in a long time. The old monk had been made prior a few weeks earlier, after the previous prior died of that accursed summer fever. Since then, the father had been too busy with administrative tasks to have time for Johann’s worries and dreams.

Johann walked aimlessly through the lanes and alleyways of Knittlingen in the dim light of dusk, until he suddenly found himself on Market Street outside the Lion Inn. It seemed to him like a stroke of fate. This was where his mother used to sit as a girl, secretly listening to the stories of travelers. And Johann used to love being here, too. But since his mother’s death he’d avoided the place; the memories were just too painful.

At that moment he saw the wagon.

It stood next to the inn, tied to the hitching rail where usually the post riders’ horses received their hay. Even though it had been eight years, Johann recognized the wagon instantly: it belonged to the magician Johann had met during the Knittlingen fair. The dirty canvas showed the same strange runes, and even the old horse munching on his feed seemed to be the same. Johann felt oddly restless, and his depressing thoughts drifted into the background. His curiosity aroused, he opened the door to the inn and looked inside.

Since the post road led past Knittlingen, the Lion was always busy. All sorts of strangers chose to spend the night. Now, too, several travelers sat beside numerous locals at the scratched tables, sharing jugs of wine. Something was going on toward the back of the room. A whole throng of Knittlingers—Margarethe’s father, the prefect, among them—were standing together, so that Johann couldn’t see the table behind them. Some of them whispered to each other, while others led loud discussions. Hans Harschauber, the innkeeper, walked toward Johann with a mug of beer. He smiled and patted Johann’s shoulder.

“Well, Johann,” he said in greeting. Harschauber was one of the few people in Knittlingen who always treated him kindly. “Are you fetching a keg for your father? It’s good to see you here. Too much moping about the house isn’t healthy.”

Johann didn’t reply. He scanned the room but didn’t see the one he was looking for. Harschauber followed his gaze. He winked and nodded toward the group of men in front of the table.

“A traveling astrologer is lodging here,” he explained quietly. “Apparently he’s staying for the fair. But he’s already relieving our Herr Prefect of his money!” Harschauber laughed. “He’s having his horoscope cast as we speak. He’s probably just been told that he’ll make it to emperor one day.”

“A . . . an astrologer?” Johann’s heart beat faster. He walked toward the noisy crowd until he finally