The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,24

him. “The boy strikes me as promising. Reminds me of you, Baphomet.” The man laughed and gave the cage a nudge, making it swing from side to side with a squeaking sound. The raven fluttered wildly with his wings, struggling to stay on his perch, and stared at his master from mean yellow eyes.

“Kraa,” the bird called and it sounded almost like a human word. “Kraa!”

“Shh!” said the man. “Don’t worry, Baphomet, you’re still my favorite. At least until we find the right one and all this searching can come to an end.” He uttered a sudden curse and gave the cage another push, causing the raven to scream like an angry child.

“Damn it, Baphomet, and I was so certain about you! I truly thought the day had come. Well, perhaps I’m mistaken yet again. It’s been a while . . .” The stranger looked pensive, then he shook his head. “I must be mistaken. It can’t be. Not yet—it’s too soon. But it’s worth a try, I think. Don’t you?”

The birds fluttered and screeched.

“Easy, easy, you little beasts,” the man said. “You had your time. Don’t complain. Here, take this and be quiet.”

He fished a few chunks of dried meat from a pouch and threw them into the cage. The birds pounced and devoured the chunks.

“And remember,” the man said with a smile. “If he isn’t the one, you get his liver. Promise.”

He turned around and walked out of the stable, humming softly.

The next morning, Johann rose before sunrise.

He and Martin shared the attic room, where rats and martens scurried among the shingles. He dressed as quietly as he could, hoping his brother wouldn’t wake. He’d hidden the knife Tonio had given him in his straw-filled pillow. If his father found it, he’d almost certainly accuse him of stealing it. He took out the knife and studied it in the sparse light. It looked valuable. The black inlay on the bone handle gleamed like gemstones. He noticed only now that three letters had been carved into the handle:

G d R.

What was their meaning? Could they be the initials of a name? The magician was Tonio del Moravia, so they couldn’t be his. Perhaps he had stolen the knife from someone or bought it off its previous owner? But maybe the letters stood for something entirely different.

Johann weighed the knife in his hand, feeling its heaviness. He guessed he could always sell it if he found he had no use for it. Quietly he lifted the end of one of the floorboards and hid the knife underneath. It was better if Martin didn’t see the knife; the young boy wasn’t good at keeping secrets.

After hesitating for another moment, Johann replaced the floorboard and sneaked downstairs. Outside the house, he scooped a few handfuls of water from a bucket, washed his face, and combed his hair with his fingers. Then he hurried toward the prefecture, which lay behind the church.

The prefecture was surrounded by a high wall, like a town inside the town. Behind the walls were the wine presses, the tithe barn, the prefect’s quarters, stables, more barns, and the jail, as well as a torture chamber. The inner part was protected by an additional moat and drawbridge. During times of war, the prefecture acted almost as a castle. But now, during grape-harvest season, the bridge was down and the gates wide open. The sun hadn’t fully risen; a rooster crowed somewhere, but other than that, all was quiet. Not even the servants were out yet.

Johann entered the first courtyard and turned left toward the Trottenkelter, the building housing the oldest type of press at the prefecture. For decades people here had been pressing grapes to extract the juice with their feet. Three huge tubs that were almost as tall as a man stood inside the cool stone building, and barrels were stacked along the walls. The smell of mashed grapes was so overwhelming that Johann grew dizzy for a moment.

He and Margarethe had met up secretly here before. From the ground, no one could see a person hiding inside the tubs. And at the moment, most of the work took place at the large screw presses in the buildings on the opposite side of the courtyard. Therefore, this high-ceilinged, drafty building served as an ideal hiding place.

Johann climbed the ladder leaning against the left-hand tub. Soon he saw Margarethe’s flaxen hair gleaming below. He jumped down into the tub and almost slipped and fell on a bit of old