The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,39

dried roses; the chicken cages under the bench, where he used to hide as a child; the chest with his mother’s dowry; the faded, crooked picture of Saint Christopher that had brought him so much consolation over the years. Then he cast everything off like an old skin. He stood and went upstairs.

His father hadn’t lied. On Johann’s bed lay a small purse, a coat, and a sturdy-looking pair of shoes. Johann put on the shoes and coat, tied the purse to his belt, and reached for the staff he’d once made for little Martin.

He was about to leave when he remembered the knife under the floorboard. Traveling all by himself—it probably wasn’t a bad idea to carry a weapon. And perhaps he could sell the knife. It looked valuable enough. So he bent down, lifted the floorboard, pulled out the knife, and slipped it in his pocket. On his way out, he helped himself to a piece of cheese and half a loaf of bread, placing both in an inside pocket of his coat.

Then he left his home for the last time and went on his way. Johann didn’t yet know that this way would lead him to the highest of highs and lowest of lows.

Into the whole world and beyond.

It was still early in the morning, and the lanes and alleyways were empty. A light, cold drizzle set in, blowing against Johann’s face. Many Knittlingers would still be working in the vineyards today, bringing in the last few sweet grapes. It was the final day of the harvest, and tonight, everyone would be celebrating. Without Johann, though—from now on, he was an outcast.

Strangely enough, Johann didn’t feel sad. On the contrary: with every step he took toward the upper city gate, his spirits rose. He had a small purse full of coins, and he was clever and deft—surely some farmer would employ him as a laborer. And then he’d see. But first he needed to put as many miles as possible between himself and Knittlingen, not least to help him get over Martin, Margarethe, and everything else that had happened there.

He walked through the open city gate without seeing a guard. The old, wide imperial road stretched out before him, leading out into the world. The road led northwest on one side and to the southeast on the other. To the north lay Bretten, then the Rhine, Speyer, and Cologne; the southern route led via Maulbronn to the Württemberg lands, then Ulm, Mindelheim, and eventually Innsbruck, where the king resided occasionally. Johann had heard there were mountains there covered in snow all year round, and beyond them lay prosperous Venice, and somewhere beyond Venice came Rome, the eternal city.

He stopped in the middle of the road, unsure of which way to turn. He had a vague feeling that his future depended on the decision he made now. After standing around indecisively for a few moments, he pulled a stained coin out of his purse. Heads for south, tails for north. He tossed the coin high up in the air, caught it, and placed it carefully on the back of his hand.

It showed heads.

South.

Johann sighed. That meant he’d have to walk past the Maulbronn monastery and Gallows Hill. Evidently, fate wanted to remind him of his shame one last time. He grasped his staff tightly and started out without turning around to look at his hometown again. He walked along the bare fields and the vineyards, heading into the rain with grim determination. When he came past the execution site, he spat over his shoulder to ward off bad luck. This was where all his misery had started; from now on, he thought, his future would be brighter.

Soon the Maulbronn monastery appeared behind the fog to his left. Johann felt a pang of regret. How he had longed to find employment as the librarian’s assistant here and delve deeper into the world of books and knowledge! For a brief moment he considered paying Father Antonius one last visit, but his shame was too great. If he returned at all, he’d do it as a celebrated scholar!

Johann imagined what it would be like to visit Father Antonius—old and gray by then—many years from now, bringing a whole wagon full of books and medicines as a gift. All of Knittlingen would regret the way they had treated their most famous son. His horrible stepfather would be dead and Margarethe well again. They would marry, and even little Martin would return from