The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,23

out to the stranger.

“You must have lost this under the table earlier. I picked it up for you.”

“Yes, that’s my knife.” The foreigner raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Well, thank you.” He took the knife and weighed it in his hand, thinking. Then he gave Johann an appraising look.

“Hmm, did I just hear that boy call your mother a dead whore?”

Johann nodded.

“And you just put up with it? If someone threw me into an anthill and called my mother a dead whore, do you know what I would do to him?”

Johann looked at the magician expectantly.

“I would wait until he sleeps, then I would bash his skull in with a cudgel. And once the blood ran from his nose and eyes, I would use this knife to cut off his lips. His lips and his goddamned tongue. So he would never say such filth about my mother again.”

Johann waited for the man to laugh at his joke. But he didn’t laugh; his pale face remained completely unmoved.

“Why do you put up with it, boy?” the man asked eventually, running his finger along the blade. “Are you always going to put up with it? Have you never thought of revenge?”

Revenge . . .

Johann closed his eyes for a moment. Oh yes, he had! In his many sleepless nights over the last few weeks he’d seen the same image over and over in his head: himself, lying bound and naked in an anthill, while Ludwig poured out the medicine with an evil smile on his lips. The same medicine that might have saved his mother’s life. Oh yes, Johann had thought about revenge. He’d fantasized about wringing Ludwig’s neck as if he were a chicken, and about slitting open his fat guts with a knife. The thought had entered his mind and burrowed its way into his brain like a tick he couldn’t shake.

“Ahhh, you feel it, don’t you?” The stranger’s lips twisted into a triumphant smile. “Don’t be afraid to admit it. I can see it in your eyes. Hatred burns inside you, and that is nothing to be ashamed of. Hatred can be very healing, purging the soul like fire. But it needs a direction, and it needs closure. You do want that boy to be dead, don’t you? Dead like your mother?”

Johann said nothing, but then he nodded slowly.

“Then say it,” the man urged. “It’ll make you feel better! Just like sweet medicine.”

“I . . . I want Ludwig to be dead,” Johann said hoarsely before he knew what he was doing.

The man nodded and gave him a pat on the back. “There you go. You’ll see, you’ll feel much better.” He gave a wide grin and bared his teeth, which gleamed unnaturally white in the light of the moon. Then he held the knife out to Johann.

“I’m giving this to you. You found it, so it shall be yours. I get the impression you could use a knife. It’s a throwing knife and very old. I just sharpened it. It cuts skin and sinews like butter.”

Johann hesitated, but the foreigner placed the weapon in his hand. “Take it, you silly boy. If you don’t know what else to do with it, use it to peel turnips.”

“Thank you,” Johann said and put the knife back in his pocket. It felt much heavier than before.

“Oh, how terribly rude of me—I haven’t even introduced myself.” The stranger held out his hand to Johann. “My name is Tonio. Tonio del Moravia. Krakow magister of the seven arts and keeper of the seven times seven seals. Tonio to my friends. Shake hands.”

Johann took Tonio’s hand; it felt cold and damp, like the scaly skin of a fish.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Tonio said and patted Johann’s shoulder. “Now keep your eyes open on your way home. I can’t bail you out every time.”

Whistling, he untied his horse and walked away. A cool breeze suddenly swept the fallen leaves through the dark lanes, and a chill ran down Johann’s spine.

Summer in Knittlingen was truly over.

The man who called himself Tonio led his horse into the stable and tied it to the wagon, which the lads working for the innkeeper had pushed in there. Above the box seat dangled the cage holding the raven and two crows. The birds screeched and flapped their wings when they recognized their master.

“So, what do you think?” asked the man with a wink. He stood below the cage, speaking to his birds as though they could understand