The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,251

thought aside with all his might, fighting the unavoidable, but now it rushed back at him with a vengeance.

He had lost his daughter only a few days after meeting her.

Below him, the crowd heaved, people clapping and cheering. The first spectators were starting to tear at the gray fabric of the elephant. It wouldn’t be long before the Nurembergers would shred the beast to pieces until the hell was conquered and the Schembartlauf over.

Everything would be over.

Johann looked around desperately for Karl but couldn’t find him anywhere. Maybe it was just as well that his assistant didn’t see him in this dark hour. Johann decided to throw himself off the elephant in the hope of putting an end to his life—just like the time he leaped off the Heidelberg bridge into the Neckar. Was the height sufficient to break his neck? As he went to look over the balustrade, his gaze was caught by the witch, who was still standing rigidly in the same spot. She wore a dress, an apron, and a headscarf like all old women, and her body was hunched over, making her seem short. For the first time Johann noticed the eyes behind the mask.

He winced as if he’d been slapped.

Eyes as black as pools in the woods.

They were his eyes.

The witch’s hunchback was artificial, and Johann realized that she wasn’t crippled but in fact a small person. Her hands were crossed on the balustrade and tied with thin ropes. Gray, almost invisible strings also ran up her dress and to the tower, holding her upright like a life-sized puppet; only the head beneath the mask rocked gently from side to side. Her eyes gleamed with pain and despair.

“Greta!” screamed Johann. His voice was drowned out by the noise of the crowd. “Greta!”

He tried to rush toward his daughter when someone yanked him back abruptly. A rope was thrown around his neck and pulled tight, and then someone dragged him up as if he were a rabid dog. A huge hand lifted him over the edge of the tower, and Johann treaded thin air. Panting and gasping for breath, he tried to catch a glimpse of the figure behind him.

It was the wild man.

Underneath his fake beard, the giant gave an evil grin. His black hair hung into his pockmarked face like rotting reeds. And finally Johann recognized him.

It was Poitou, Tonio’s French friend he’d met in Nördlingen all those years ago.

Johann had heard his voice down in the crypt, too. Like his master, Poitou didn’t seem to have aged much, although it was hard to tell with the fake beard and the wig. His strength, at least, was just as incredible as seventeen years ago.

The giant was still holding his victim over the balustrade. Johann made out a handful of masked men with their pikes below him, but unlike the ones from the parade, their lances weren’t blunt. The sharp points glinted in the noontide sun, and they were aimed directly at Johann. He gagged and wheezed. If Poitou let go of him now, he’d be skewered like a rabbit. But if the giant hung on to him, he’d choke.

The crowd roared with laughter. Evidently, they thought the squirming monk was another funny stunt. Johann gasped for air and clutched the rope around his neck with his good hand, but he was far too weak to put up a fight. The voices of the spectators began to sound farther away, and his eyesight became blotchy and blurred. The world was narrowing into a tunnel, and at its end stood the loveliest apparition, glowing, surrounded by a halo . . .

Margarethe, I’m coming . . . I’m almost there . . . I . . .

Something grunted, and it took Johann a few moments to understand that it was Poitou. Then there was a crash as the hulk of a man fell backward against the tower, pulling Johann with him. The rope loosened a fraction, and Johann coughed and spluttered. From the corner of his eye he saw Karl wrestling with Poitou and guessed that his assistant must have attacked the giant from behind. One of the masked men that had followed the soldiers up the tower was just about to point one of the little cannons at Karl. And among all the chaos, Greta was still standing at the railing, stiff and quiet.

Johann tugged at the rope around his neck but it wouldn’t loosen any further. It was fastened around his throat like an iron