The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,20

caught a glimpse of the man at the table.

It was the magician.

Just like his wagon, he was unchanged. He wore the same felt hat with the red feather he had worn eight years ago, and the same black-and-red-striped coat, which made his lean body look even more gaunt than it already was. His eyes gleamed like old copper buttons in his extremely pale face, his nose protruding sharply. Johann guessed the magician was somewhere between forty and fifty years old. But on second look, he wasn’t so sure. The man might just as well have been much younger or much older. On the table in front of him lay blotchy scrolls of parchment with confusing charts and drawings, similar to those depicted on the wagon canvas. The prefect stood beside him and listened intently.

“Fourteen hundred ninety-four is a good year for you,” the magician was saying, running his long, skinny fingers across the parchment. His voice still had the soft, exotic sound of the west. Johann thought the man probably came from the Alsace or even France. “Oui, 1494 is good. But 1495 is going to be better yet, for you and for your town! The sun will be in Leo and the moon in Saturn, and a hot summer and a good harvest await. Hmm, however . . .” He paused dramatically.

“What is it?” asked the prefect, and the men around him fell silent with anticipation.

“Mon Dieu! I see bad weather in April, with lots of storms and hail. Hold back some of your seed, because you’re going to need it.”

A murmur went through the crowd, and the prefect kneaded his hat, which he’d been clutching tightly the whole time. “Thank you, Magister,” he said quietly, placing a few coins on the table.

The foreigner wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Who do you think I am?” he growled, and his voice was suddenly as rough as the bark of an angry dog. “A charlatan or a swindler? That is not enough! A few kreuzers might buy you a line from some little old herb woman, but not a decent horoscope. I’ve studied at Avignon, Krakow, and even Paris!”

“And if I refuse to pay more?” asked the prefect briskly. “What are you going to do? The horoscope’s already cast.”

The foreigner flashed a smile, and then his lips turned into two thin lines. He glared at the prefect with eyes that were no longer gleaming but dark and cold like the blackness behind the moon.

“Pay me. Only the stars and I know what happens if you don’t.”

The foreigner had spoken quietly, yet everyone in the room seemed to have heard him. For a few moments, the barroom grew strangely silent. Then the prefect placed two silver coins on the table, put his hat on, and walked out. The others followed him, glancing back at the stranger with fear in their eyes. In the end, only Johann was left.

“Dumb peasants,” the magician muttered, and Johann wasn’t sure if he’d spoken to him or just to himself. The sinister man rolled up his parchment scrolls and pocketed the coins. At some point he looked up and saw Johann standing there.

“What do you want?” he asked. “Question time is over, boy. Go home like the rest of the numbskulls.”

“I . . . I . . . ,” Johann stammered. He wasn’t sure what he was doing here. But, just like last time, he felt a strange fascination radiating from the foreigner—and also something frightening.

Suddenly the man’s expression changed and he frowned. “Hang on—I know you! You’re the boy I met before in this town, aren’t you? Let me see your hand.” His arm darted forward like a snake, grabbing Johann’s hand, and he began to read his palm. Then he smiled. “Indeed, it’s you! Johann Georg Faustus, right? The lucky one.”

Johann straightened up with surprise. “You . . . you still know my name? After all these years?”

The foreigner laughed and let go of Johann’s hand. “Name is but sound and smoke, but those lines don’t lie. I can recognize anyone by their palm. How is your mother?”

“She . . . she died a few weeks ago,” Johann replied softly. “The white plague, most likely.”

“I’m sorry.” The stranger nodded. “I would have liked to speak with her again. Well . . .” He gathered his scrolls and stood up. “I must go look after the horse and birds. Come back tomorrow if you like—I’ll be offering my services here at the Lion again, and I’ll