The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,195

enormous relief, it was the doctor, arriving back much sooner than anticipated. He was out of breath, and his mouth stood open as if he’d just been about to say something when he happened upon the scene with the boy and the knife.

“What is going on here?” he snapped.

“Um, nothing,” said Karl. “We were just talking.”

“We?” The doctor looked the youth up and down. Faust seemed to suddenly realize what the boy was holding in his hand. His face turned ashen as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Put that down immediately,” said Faust very quietly. “I’m going to count to three, and then Satan will tear you into tiny pieces. Afterward I will feed you to the gulls. One. Two.”

The boy dropped the knife and ran past Faust. They could hear his footsteps for a few more moments, and then everything was silent.

“I . . . I’m so—” began Karl, but Faust cut him off with a wave.

“Pack your things. We’re leaving.”

“But . . . but our show with the laterna,” stammered Karl. “Klaus Störtebeker . . .”

“I said we’re leaving. And if I catch you with another boy like him, Satan’s going to bite off the balls of both of you—understood?”

Karl lowered his eyes and nodded. “Where . . . where are we going?” he asked quietly after a while.

“To Cologne. We’re going to visit someone I should have met a long time ago. Years ago. Hitch the horse to the wagon. Now!”

As Karl slunk away, he saw the doctor pick up the knife and gaze at it thoughtfully.

Then he dropped it into the chest as if it had burned his fingers.

22

THE WAGON SLOWLY rattled along the dusty road that wound endlessly through the heath. Satan jogged alongside the wagon, panting, and stopped to relieve herself or rest up every now and then. She no longer had the strength for long journeys and tired easily. They had left Hamburg in the early evening and set off in the direction of Lüneburg. The heath glowed purple in the light of the afternoon sun; they had been on the road almost nonstop for three days now, and Johann had barely spoken.

He looked over at Karl, who was sitting next to him with a pinched expression. He probably thought Johann was still angry because of the young lad in Hamburg. And Johann had been angry. It was encounters like those that could cost them both their heads. He didn’t care whether Karl lusted after girls, boys, or sheep—as long as he didn’t put them both in danger with his escapades. Especially not now that Johann finally had set his sights on a goal and purpose again. He needed to meet Heinrich Agrippa and speak with him about his masterpiece, De Occulta Philosophia. If anyone knew about the constellations and prophecies, it would be Agrippa. Maybe Johann would finally learn the mystery of his birth.

And perhaps he’d find out more about Tonio del Moravia and Gilles de Rais.

Had it been coincidence that the young thief in Hamburg found the knife? Johann had kept it for all those years, even though he couldn’t tell why. It had brought him nothing but ill luck, but it also served to remind him of the guilt he’d heaped upon himself. He hadn’t dared to throw it away—almost as if the act might trigger a curse. The knife had been resting at the very bottom of the chest, and now it had reemerged. When Johann had picked it up from the floor of the wagon, he was reminded of the engraving.

G d R.

Gilles de Rais.

Another murder of crows rose up from the wide-open space of the heath and moved across the sky like a poisonous black cloud. The birds cawed noisily, and suddenly Johann heard the name again.

Sheel draay . . . Gilles de Rais . . . sheel draay . . .

Why couldn’t he get that accursed name out of his head? It had been torturing him for years now! As if the name was irrevocably connected to his fate. Like Tonio. Like everything that had happened since those days in Knittlingen.

On this trip, they didn’t spend much time on shows, and so they made rapid progress. Large areas of the north of the empire were covered in moors and heath, a desolate, desertlike landscape without any hills to speak of, without valleys, and without lakes. The wind blew up small clouds of any sand the heather shrubs didn’t hold down, and several times the wagon wheels got