The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,50

up another astrologer, and two of your kind, um . . . Do you understand? I’m afraid people will start talking.”

“Another astrologer?” Tonio’s voice had grown as cold as the winter storm still raging outside the gate. “And who is that supposed to be?”

“He calls himself Freudenreich von Hohenlohe, a minstrel and itinerant doctor. He says he’s the only true white wizard.”

“Freudenreich von Hohenlohe?” Tonio laughed derisively. “I’ve heard of the fellow. He’s a cunning swindler. Robs people of their money and sells them salves made of bear shit.”

The innkeeper made a wry face. “My wife bought one of his salves. She had terrible pain in her arms and legs, and now it’s gone. And the horoscope he wrote up for me was very positive.”

“Nothing but lies!” shouted Tonio at the innkeeper. “Throw him out and take us in!”

“I can’t,” the man replied desperately. “He paid in advance. Please understand. All I can offer you is a room for one night. You have to move on tomorrow, or I’ll be in trouble.”

Tonio said nothing for a long while. Johann started to think he’d turn around without another word. But then he finally replied.

“Very well,” he said quietly. “We won’t encroach on your hospitality for more than one night. But I promise you, no matter what that Freudenreich foretold, it won’t come true.”

He handed the reins to the trembling innkeeper and walked into the courtyard. Johann followed him dejectedly. He’d been so excited at the prospect of spending the winter here. And now they’d have to leave again the following morning. Where would they go?

Together they entered the inn on the left-hand side of the yard. The warmth hit Johann and almost instantly made him sweat. The room was quite full. Most of the patrons were farmers, listening to a young minstrel playing the fiddle. He looked like he wasn’t yet thirty years old, and wore a garish tunic, one side colored differently than the other. Lined up on the table beside him were rows of jars and bottles, several sheets of parchment, and a crystal ball sparkling in the glow of the fire. When Tonio looked over to him, their eyes met. A mocking smile played on the minstrel’s lips as he performed a satirical song about the winter in a delicate, high-pitched voice.

“Winter, O winter, you frighten me not. I sit by the stove and my fire burns hot. O winter, keep howling, I show thee no mercy. I’m drinking my beer where it’s warm and it’s cozy . . .”

The people danced and clapped their hands. No one paid any attention to the tall, haggard man with the felt hat and the snow-covered black-and-red coat, standing in the doorway with his apprentice.

“Well, well, the famous Freudenreich von Hohenlohe,” hissed Tonio. “He never was any good at singing—nor at telling the future, for that matter.”

“You know him?” asked Johann.

“We’ve met a few times on the road. The whippersnapper calls himself a wizard, but in reality he’s nothing but a quack and a balladmonger, robbing people of their money. And someone like that steals my winter quarters.” Tonio’s lips were as thin as knife blades when he glared at the minstrel once more. “Freudenreich, what an incredibly stupid and unfitting name! He won’t find happiness in these harsh climes, oh no, he won’t.”

Johann found himself shivering at Tonio’s words.

The innkeeper assigned them the last available room—a drafty hole in the attic that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a long time. The straw in the cushions was old and smelled musty, and Johann saw lice and bedbugs crawling in the light of the tallow candle. Strangely, the master allowed Johann to stay with him this time. He’d brought the birdcage upstairs, too, and the crows and the raven flapped about restlessly in the corner. They seemed to sense their master’s anger and tension.

For a long while, Tonio just sat on his bed and stared straight ahead. When Johann cleared his throat, the master raised his hand imperiously. “Be quiet. I need to think,” he growled. “Or do you want us to freeze to death? We need winter quarters, and I can’t think of any other inn this close to the Alps that’ll take in an astrologer and his good-for-nothing apprentice.”

Finally, Tonio seemed to reach a decision. He nodded with grim determination.

“I might know a place. It’s about thirty miles from here—two to three days’ travel in this atrocious weather. If we lower our expectations a little, it’ll do just

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