The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,193

never told him what he used to do before he took up exploring the empire, but something told Karl that Faust had a dark past, as if he’d been cursed a long time ago. Was that the price he’d had to pay for wealth and fame?

Dabbing his brush very gently, Karl gave the pirate a dashing hat. Störtebeker’s gaze was both furious and mysterious at once—as mysterious as that of the doctor, who was on his way to becoming just as legendary as this buccaneer.

Doctor Faustus called himself a fraud, but Karl knew he was much more than that. Faust was the most learned man he’d ever met, blessed with a razor-sharp mind, and open to anything new. Karl worshipped the doctor—probably more than he cared to admit—but he was also afraid of him. Faust sometimes had horrendous fits of rage, and he could be arrogant and awfully sarcastic. And then there were the screams in the night.

The screams at night frightened Karl the most.

They frequently shared a room, and sometimes, when Karl stayed awake for longer than the doctor, he heard him mutter and groan in his sleep. He also cried and sighed in his dreams and repeated the same names over and over again: Margarethe, Martin, Tonio, Gilles de Rais.

The last name, especially, Faust said many times in his sleep.

On top of everything else, the doctor clearly suffered from paranoia, and it was only getting worse. During their trip north he’d often turned around to check the road behind them or stared at the birds in the sky. It was almost as if Faust feared that the birds were watching them. However, Karl had to admit that there had been a few strange occurrences lately. The black figure with the red eyes outside the Erfurt tavern window, for example. And twice more he thought he’d seen the same figure on their journey north, standing among the trees by the wayside. But he hadn’t said anything to the doctor for fear of adding to his paranoia.

Karl had learned more from Faust than he ever would have learned at a university. In Leipzig he was nothing but the son of an ambitious father whom he’d never have pleased. Karl had loved his mother very dearly, but she’d passed away years before. Now, on his adventures with the doctor, he was becoming a man. Still, he had made up his mind that he wouldn’t travel with the doctor forever. He felt that the heavy melancholy clinging to his master was rubbing off on him. He was going to stay with him for one more winter and then leave in the spring. He no longer cared about those stupid letters—his duty was done.

A movement by the curtain made Karl start from his thoughts. The brush jerked and the awe-inspiring sword he’d been working on turned into a long smudge. Karl swore. Now he’d have to start from the beginning. Below the table, Satan growled and pricked her ears.

“Who’s there?” asked Karl harshly. “The doctor is in town. Come back tomorrow.”

“Is there going to be another show tomorrow?” asked a high-pitched male voice. “I would so love to see the doctor one more time. And . . . and you, too.”

“Me?” Something in the voice piqued Karl’s interest. He threw Satan the bone that was supposed to go into the soup for dinner, stood up, and opened the curtain. A handsome boy of about sixteen or seventeen was standing beside the wagon. Karl had noticed him in the last few days—the chap hadn’t missed a show. Their eyes had met in a way Karl knew well.

They always knew each other by their eyes.

The youth smiled uncertainly. He was pale and had fine black hair. Judging by his clothes, he was a simple dockworker, although his delicate stature didn’t really fit the picture. His eyelashes were as long as a girl’s. Karl carefully looked around. It was quiet by the river at the moment. About a stone’s throw away, some day laborers were loading crates into a smaller boat that was probably headed for the Alster port, but none of them were looking in their direction. Karl hesitated, but not for long. The doctor wouldn’t be back before six—they had enough time.

“Come in,” he said and gestured behind himself, winking at the youth. “I want to show you something.”

“But . . . but the dog?” the boy asked anxiously and peered through the curtain, where Satan was chewing on the bone.

“It won’t hurt you.