The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,44

the cart stopped. The canvas at the front was pushed aside like a curtain, and Tonio’s head appeared in the opening. He gave Johann a sharp look.

“You’re cold,” he noted. “If you’re not careful, you’ll get a fever and die on me. Then I can forget about my payment.” The magician tossed an old, musty-smelling horse blanket to Johann. “Wrap yourself up in that and then come out and help me with the fire. Go on!”

They were parked a little way off to the side of the road in a grove of dripping fir trees. Shivering all over, Johann searched for any firewood that wasn’t quite as wet as the rest. When he returned to Tonio, the magician had already started a small fire with some twigs. Next to him stood a basket with eggs, a fat lump of bacon, and bread. The magician hung a pot above the fire and added water and various herbs from a pouch. Soon a fragrant, almost biting smell rose from the pot. Tonio took it down, poured its contents into a cup, and handed that to Johann.

“Drink,” he ordered.

Johann obeyed. The brew tasted bitter, but it helped to dispel the cold. Tonio watched him in silence. When Johann had drained the cup, the magician spoke.

“Are you feeling better now?”

Johann nodded.

“Then listen to what I have to say.” Tonio leaned forward, his angular, rosy face below the black felt hat glowing in the light of the fire. “I don’t want to know what happened in that shitty little hometown of yours, or why you’re traveling all by yourself. I don’t care. The devil knows why fate has brought us together! I only know one thing: I’ve helped you out for the second time, and so you should be at my service. Quid pro quo! I saw the trick you performed at the inn. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t special. Any old juggler can do that. Do you know any other tricks?”

“Well, I . . . I know a few card tricks,” Johann replied reluctantly. “And there’s the shell game, the coin trick, juggling, the traveling sticks, the cursed die, the egg in the blanket—”

“The egg in the blanket?” The magician’s bored expression changed, and he straightened up with interest. He reached into the basket behind him and picked up an egg. “Show me what you mean. I don’t know that trick, and believe me, I know most.”

Johann looked at Tonio with surprise. He’d once watched a drunken Venetian juggler perform the trick at the fair in Knittlingen and asked him to explain it for a skin of wine. Could it be true that Tonio didn’t know the trick?

Carefully, Johann placed the egg on the ground and spread the horse blanket over it. Then he stood up and paced around the fire, making conjuring movements with his hands and muttering the spell the Venetian juggler had taught him. Apparently, it was derived from twisting the words of a Latin mass: “Hocus, locus, pocus!”

“Hit the blanket as hard as you can,” he said to Tonio. The magician shrugged. Then he raised his hand and struck the blanket.

“Shame about the egg,” Tonio muttered. “Now we’re down to four. Scant supper for you.”

Johann pulled away the blanket triumphantly. The egg was gone.

“Now lift your hat,” he instructed Tonio.

The magician did as he was asked. The egg was lying in his graying black hair like in a nest. Tonio grinned and took down the egg. For the first time he seemed genuinely surprised.

“The trick is not bad,” he said. “We can use that. But we need to work on the story around it. Always remember, the show is everything. It must be big and colorful. The mass can only be impressed by masses.”

“I could have done the same with a chicken if we had one,” Johann bragged, trying not to let his relief show. The trick with the egg and the blanket was one of the most difficult he’d learned. He’d practiced it for weeks in a small wooded area near Knittlingen. He hadn’t been entirely certain it would work this time. Something told him it was very important that he’d performed the trick without mistake—crucially important.

“Well done.” The magician placed the egg on the ground in front of him. “Now listen carefully. I am a traveling astrologer and chiromancer—am called magister, doctor, indeed, but it is getting harder and harder to attract an audience, especially in the cities. There are just too many jugglers and acrobats. That’s