The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,213

He whistled Little Satan back, and they followed Streithagen through several guarded doors until they came to a large hall. Shields with various coats of arms decorated the walls, and mighty columns held up the elaborately carved oak ceiling. A round oak table stood in the center of the hall, and bent over a few documents at the table sat a haggard old knight with a bushy beard and a monk-like, half-bald head. His expression looked serious and grim. But when he looked up and noticed the visitors, a smile spread across his careworn face.

“My dear Eberhart!” he called out happily, rising to his feet. “The guards informed me of your arrival.” His eyes turned to Johann and his smile vanished. “And this must be the famous Doctor Faustus—magician, astrologer, and necromancer by trade.”

“Doctor is plenty,” said Johann in reply and bowed his head. “Some titles are earned, while others are bestowed without one’s asking for them.” He tried to keep his tone neutral; he didn’t know what game was being played here. He gestured at Karl. “This is my assistant, an itinerant scholar.”

The older man gave Karl a brief nod without really looking at him, and then he continued to speak to Johann. “Well, Doctor, I only know you from a few hair-raising stories that I don’t particularly like. The latest come from Cologne. But it would seem there are people who think very highly of you.” He motioned for his guests to take a seat at the large table, which was covered in parchment scrolls and papers. Little Satan crawled under the table and started to gnaw on one of its legs.

“My name is Wolfgang von Eisenhofen, and I am the commander here,” the older man continued. “I have asked you to Nuremberg because . . . well, because we have a problem. And an old friend of yours reckoned you were the only man in the empire who might be able to solve this problem.”

“We shall see,” replied Johann with a shrug, trying not to let his unrest show. “It would be kind if I were allowed to meet this old friend. I traveled a long way for him, after all. Perhaps I won’t even recognize him.”

“You’re right. It is possible he . . . changed somewhat since you last met. He told me it was a while ago that you last saw each other.” With a smile, the commander turned to Knight Eberhart, who had been waiting behind them. “Very well—bring him in.”

Eberhart von Streithagen walked to the double doors on the opposite end of the hall and opened them. A hunched figure had been waiting on the other side.

Johann winced and felt the blood drain from his face.

“What in God’s name—” he burst out.

Behind the door stood Valentin.

Johann’s former friend from Heidelberg was almost completely bald. He looked like a wrinkly old man, much older than the thirty years he must be by now. He looked as though life had sucked him dry and tossed him aside.

Only Valentin’s eyes still looked as intelligent and alert as they used to. They scrutinized Johann with a mixture of disgust, curiosity, and . . .

Affection . . . Could it be true?

Johann still sat at the table, unable to move. Was he dreaming? Last time he saw Valentin, his friend was being taken to the Inquisition at Worms inside a prison cell. That had been almost fifteen years ago. Back then, Valentin was most likely going to be charged with satanism—a crime that was invariably punished with death by fire. And now here he was, approaching Johann. Changed, perhaps, but alive.

Valentin’s posture was strangely bent, like a hunchback; scars disfigured his face, and his right arm hung down limply. But then he raised the hand in greeting. It was bent like a claw and missing two fingers.

“Thumbscrews are a nasty instrument,” Valentin said and waved the hand as if it were a scrap of meat. His voice sounded dry and hoarse—burnt, almost. “Nearly as bad as the glowing pincers, the smoldering pokers, and the rack they use to break your back very slowly.”

“You . . . you’re alive . . . ,” whispered Johann.

“Well, part of me.” Valentin shrugged, whereby one shoulder went higher than the other. “They tortured me for three weeks, twice a day, morning and afternoon. But I stayed strong. I had no idea what hidden strengths lay inside me.” He gave a lopsided grin, and Johann saw that two of his front teeth were