The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,233

in the course of the past week. Karl was certain that this had something to do with Valentin. Something awful must have happened between the two men, something the doctor felt deeply guilty about. Ever since Faust had visited Valentin’s niece at the prison, he’d acted like a man possessed. What was happening to him? The plan to free the girl had been doomed from the beginning. But still Karl had gone with the doctor, because . . . well, because he loved him. Because he couldn’t allow this gifted mind, this extraordinary human being, to run straight into perdition.

Although right now it looked as though they were headed for it together.

Back in Cologne, Karl had wanted to ask Faust to release him. But then they’d had to flee the city and spent the next few months at the tower, where their bond had strengthened. Karl had almost confessed his love to the doctor there, even though he knew that he would only end up heartbroken. He was bound to Faust with an invisible tie.

The events of the last few hours had been more and more puzzling. Why in God’s name was the entire prison empty, as if the plague had befallen the city? Why had Valentin run away when it was so important to him to free his niece? And what was this awful humming and chanting mixed with Latin-sounding words? He felt like his head was going to burst.

But what frightened Karl the most was the doctor.

Karl had never seen him like this. Johann Georg Faustus, the famous magician, was a sharp-witted, wise man who always kept his cool, even in the worst situations, and invariably parried every attack, every surprise with his brains alone. But now the doctor’s face showed something Karl had never seen on it before.

The doctor was scared.

Sweat was running down Faust’s forehead, and his face was ashen. He mumbled individual words that made about as much sense to Karl as that accursed chanting.

“The tower,” whispered Faust. “He knew about the tower and told him . . . It was his raven all along . . . It must have been his raven . . . Baphomet . . . I have failed.”

The last words frightened Karl the most. If the doctor had failed, then this was the end for him, too. No one could save them now—they would be buried alive.

On their way toward the mysterious voices, they passed through more chambers and cellars, and each time one of the doors stood open, almost as if someone was showing them the way. They had long left the passage they’d come from earlier. Karl thought they were heading west, but he felt quite disoriented. The humming and singing were getting very loud now. They entered a spacious cellar room with old barrels stacked up against the damp, moldy walls on both sides.

At the other end of the cellar was a large double door with strange runes carved into the wood.

And on the other side of the door, they heard the chanting of many male voices.

“O Adonai . . . prasa Deus et praesant Deus . . . O Spiritus Mephistophiel Deuschca . . . O Larua . . .”

Karl’s fear took his breath away. He thought he was going to pass out. What was going on with him? He felt as though an invisible force was holding him back, and the feeling of being unable to breathe grew worse with every step. It was as if deep down inside, he knew that death was waiting for him beyond those doors.

Or something even worse than death.

Faust strode toward the portal.

“No!” cried Karl. “Don’t open it! Don’t—”

But it was too late.

The doctor had already opened the doors.

Johann pushed against the doors with both hands, and they swung open soundlessly.

On the other side was a large hall that was at least ten paces high and twice as long. Torches and candles bathed the room in a flickering light, and the walls were lined with glowing braziers. Johann’s first impression was that he was standing in an underground church. There was a choir, a nave, a transept, massive columns holding up the painted ceiling, and a pulpit. There were an altar and a baptismal font in the apse and a cross beyond. A monk standing behind the altar had raised his arms in prayer and was preaching to his congregation in the pews before him.

“O Mephistophiel . . . Obdesca mihy Aglam . . . O Christe meschca