The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,234

. . . O Larua . . .”

On second glance, Johann saw the differences from a regular church: the paintings on the ceilings showed no tales of saints but blood, murder, torture, and wars. The cross in the apse hung upside down.

And lying on the altar was a young girl, either unconscious or dead.

“Greta!” screamed Johann. The sight of his daughter on the altar was too much for him. His knees buckled and he clung on to the doorframe to keep himself from falling.

The monk, who was wearing a black robe with a black hood, lowered his arms, and the congregation stopped singing.

“Greetings, Johann,” said the monk, his voice echoing through the hall. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other. Didn’t I tell you back on the old post road that our pact is valid until I dismiss you?”

Johann was shaking all over, and he was unable to move, like a rabbit at the sight of the snake’s open mouth. He knew that voice—he’d last heard it seventeen years ago. Since then he’d been running away from it, again and again, but it never stopped following him in his dreams.

Now it had caught up to him.

“Come, Johann,” said Tonio del Moravia. “My disciples would like to take a closer look at you. They’ve been waiting a long time for your return. Seventeen years.”

The heads of thirty men turned to face him, and Johann stared at blank masks. Beneath their shapeless black cloaks, which seemed to melt into the dark twilight, they all wore the colorful costumes of the Schembart runners. Faint jingling rang out here and there.

The bells. They followed us the whole time!

Then he noticed another figure. He had been hiding behind a column near the altar, but now he emerged, shaking.

“Valentin!” spat Johann. “You traitor!”

“Forgive me,” pleaded Valentin. “They . . . they made me do it. They said it was the only way for me to save Greta. Believe me—I love your daughter just like you do.”

The anger gave Johann back his strength. With a furious roar he started to storm to the front, but immediately some of the Schembart runners jumped up and stopped him. Strong muscles showed beneath the costumes of the men, and they had no trouble forcing Johann to the ground.

“Bring him to me!” commanded Tonio.

The Schembart runners dragged Johann like a sack of flour into the apse, where they forced him to his knees before his former master. Finally, Tonio took off his hood.

The sight of his face made Johann gasp.

“By all the saints,” he whispered.

“Don’t pray,” said Tonio. “It doesn’t suit you, and it won’t help you.”

Tonio had barely aged. His face was just as haggard and pale as seventeen years ago, his stature still tall and athletic. There might have been a few additional wrinkles, and the skin of his face seemed taut like that of a reptile. But other than that, he looked as though no more than a year had passed since they’d last met.

It’s impossible!

“Pleased to see you haven’t forgotten me after all these years, Johann,” said Tonio. “I must admit, following your unfortunate decision to run away in Nördlingen, it took a while to find you again. At first it seemed you had vanished into thin air. But then friends from Venice told me about a handful of jugglers at the Fondaco dei Tedeschi who called themselves Johann Faustus’s Fabulous Troupe. An unusual name, don’t you think?” Tonio smiled his old wolfish smile. “I thought I’d pay you a visit. I always had a talent for playacting.”

“You . . . you were Signore Barbarese!” gasped Johann. “They were your books!”

“Of course they were my books, you fool!” Tonio laughed. “No one else owns an original copy of The Sworn Book of Honorius, let alone so many manuscripts by Leonardo da Vinci. I was letting you mature like a good wine—you were supposed to find your own way back to me. I understood that you needed more time. It was beautiful to watch you grow and flourish, and entirely without the Krakow University I had intended for you.” He gave a shrug. “Seventeen years is nothing if you’ve been waiting for as long as I have. But then the old fellow in Venice found me out.”

“You murdered Magister Archibaldus!” Johann struggled against the masked men, but they held him firmly. “You . . . you . . .”

“Devil?” Tonio grinned. “Is that what you’re trying to say? If it makes you feel any better—I