The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,53

the morning sun made the fresh snow sparkle. The storm had turned the trees along the road into sculptures made of ice. The sky was bright blue, and the countryside was covered in a glittering white blanket. The air was clear and fresh, and Johann felt wide awake.

He would have liked to know what place the master had chosen for their winter quarters. But Tonio said nothing. When Johann asked, he only waved his hand. “I think you’ll like it. At least it’ll be nice and quiet there.” He laughed. “As quiet as a grave. None of those superstitious peasant folk will set foot anywhere near the place.”

Even though the weather was fine now, it was freezing cold, and they made slow progress. The road led south toward the mountains, and soon they’d reached the first foothills of the Alps. Their way led through rugged hills and past boulders so big that Johann thought giants must have thrown them from the mountains. The handful of cottages at the side of the road all looked battened down, their shutters closed. Smoke rose from the chimneys, but the inhabitants of this inhospitable area didn’t seem to have any interest in passing travelers. When they came through the small villages they hardly saw a soul—only occasionally a shadow behind a shutter, a fearful pair of eyes following them.

“Didn’t I tell you?” said Tonio. “They think the devil himself rides in this wagon. Now that Saint Thomas Night is near and darkness wins over the day, people are even more superstitious. I hope they’ll at least sell us provisions for the winter.”

When Johann became too cold, he went into the back of the wagon and wrapped himself up in a woolen blanket. But the cage with the birds hung there, and Johann felt watched. The raven especially seemed to stare at him with loathing.

“Kraa!” called the black bird again and again, almost desperately, as if it was trying to tell him something. “Kraa!” The monotonous sound rattled Johann’s nerves.

And so he never stayed in the wagon for long, despite the cold.

Late in the afternoon of the second day, they came to a large farmstead standing alone in a clearing in the woods. Dogs growled and barked when the wagon came closer to the solid stone house. But the farmer gave them a warm welcome. He was impressed by Tonio’s pompous demeanor and his offer of casting a horoscope for the whole next year for a very small sum. The farmer’s sheds and pantries were full, and he agreed to sell them flour, bacon, dried meat, onions, and a small keg of wine.

In the evening, they all sat together in the cozy farmhouse kitchen. Children, workers, and maids all sat on the bench seats looking frightened, their eyes glued to the magician. Tonio was telling the farmer about his travels and the latest news. Those stories were often part of the service.

“After I finished my studies at the celebrated University of Krakow, I moved to the warm south, to Castile, where the sun burns so hot that the people are as black as ebony and as hard as kilned clay,” he told them while sipping his wine. “Down there is a huge rock called Gibraltar, populated with herds of small, hairy creatures with sharp teeth.”

The farmer’s family listened with their mouths open as Tonio continued, waving his arms in dramatic gestures. “Then I continued by ship to Crete, the isle of the happy, and on to Constantinople, which was conquered by the accursed heathens a few years thereafter. My travels led me to countries inhabited by animals whose tails grow from their mouths, and horses with necks as tall as trees.”

“But weren’t you afraid of falling off the edge of the world?” asked the farmer fearfully.

Tonio laughed. “Haven’t you heard? The Earth isn’t flat—it’s a ball! Just this year, in Nuremberg, I saw a map in the shape of a ball that showed all the countries in the world.”

“But if the Earth is a ball, then the people at the bottom are upside down,” said one of the workers. He scratched his louse-ridden beard. “How’s that supposed to work?”

“Well, how do you think, you dimwit?” Tonio shrugged. “They wear shoes with nails at the bottom so that they always stick to the ground.” The family nodded and muttered in agreement.

It was quite late by the time the master rose from his seat and stretched. He gave the farmer a nod. “I’m going to retreat now