The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,42

He couldn’t believe what was happening here. The bag had been empty from the start. The merchant was trying to cheat him out of his money.

“So give me back my money!” demanded the fat man. “It was funny at first, but I swear to you, if you don’t hand over my coins right now, you’re a thief. And thieves get hanged.”

“Give him the money!” shouted some of the other people. “Thief! Thief! Or we’ll hang you from the linden tree!”

“But . . .” Johann tried to explain. “I promise you . . .”

“Hang him now!” cried one of the peddlers, a bearded knife-sharpener in rags, his belt heavy with grindstones and knives. “Before he steals our money, too. The boy is nothing but a common thief!”

Some of the farmers had sprung to their feet and held up their fists angrily, and the peddler reached for one of his knives. The angry shouts grew louder and louder.

“Hang him, hang him!”

Johann’s hand went to the small knife in his pocket. But what would he achieve with that? He looked around in panic. The way to the door was blocked by the crowd, but there was a narrow window covered with parchment to his right. He ran toward the window and jumped through it headfirst. The parchment ripped and he landed hard in a pile of foul-smelling dung. He could hear angry shouts behind him. He briefly considered running out onto the road, but then he thought the merchant would most likely have a horse in the stable. If he ran, they would catch him faster than he could say the Lord’s Prayer—and soon after he’d be dangling from the nearest tree. So he changed his plan. Hunched over, he ran around the building and toward the stable. While the people from the inn poured onto the road, he slipped through the stable door and hid in the straw.

It was warm and dark in the stable. A horse snorted somewhere, but other than that, all remained calm. The shouting outside grew quieter; a door was shut. It seemed the people had abandoned the search and returned to the taproom.

Johann waited a while longer, then he got up cautiously. He was about to open the stable door to go outside when he felt a knife against his throat.

“I had a feeling you might be hiding out here,” hissed a voice right behind him. Johann saw from the corner of his eye that it was one of the itinerant Franciscans from the inn. A man of God threatening him with a knife—would this nightmare never end?

“Lovely trick you performed in there,” said the monk in a growling voice. Johann could smell brandy and stale sweat. “I’m guessing your purse was full to begin with. And now I’d like to have that purse. Hand it over or I’ll slit your throat like a lamb!”

“Please,” begged Johann. “It’s all the money I have!”

The monk laughed behind him. “Then you should take better care of it, boy. Now give it here!”

Johann thought about the knife in the pocket of his jerkin. He could feel it through the fabric. But if he reached for it, the fellow would most likely cut him open without batting an eyelid. Trembling, Johann reached for the pouch on his belt—when he realized it was still lying on the table in the taproom. He’d forgotten to take the purse in his haste!

“I don’t have the money anymore,” he said anxiously.

“What tricks are you playing now, damn it! Just you wait, kid, I told you I’d—”

Suddenly the man gave a loud groan. The knife fell from his hand and he sagged to the ground, gurgling. Johann spun around; standing behind the monk was a figure like a huge raven silently spreading its wings. Johann couldn’t believe his eyes.

It was Tonio.

“Look at that, the oh-so-lucky boy from Knittlingen,” said Tonio with a grin, calmly wiping his bloodied dagger on a bundle of straw. To his horror, Johann saw that his rescuer had slit the monk’s throat. The wound gaped like a second, grinning mouth with blood spurting from it. The monk wheezed and jerked while the life drained from his body. One last tremble went through his body, and then he lay still.

“Quite a peculiar juice is blood,” Tonio continued as he polished his knife, in a tone as if he were talking about the weather. “As much as you wipe and clean, something always remains. If you have five men with clean daggers and you