The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,63

“They’re all in league with Beelzebub.”

“They should all be hanged before more terrible things happen round here,” someone else exclaimed. “There’s a foul wind blowing from the mountains.”

Intrigued, Johann turned toward the speakers. They were two elderly farmers, one of whom now spat noisily on the ground. “I’m telling you, the devil is on the loose,” he grumbled. “He takes our loved ones and burns down the roofs over the heads of those who give him shelter. Have you heard? A magician stayed at the Black Eagle near Kempten over the winter, and now the inn’s burned to the ground—and the heretic is over the hills and far away!”

“I don’t think the scoundrel lives far from here,” the other man whispered, making the sign of the cross. “I heard someone’s staying at the old Roman tower—a sorcerer, so help me God! The charcoal burner saw him dance in the forest the other night with his assistant.”

Johann winced. Had he heard right? Those farmers were talking about him and the master. Someone must have seen them near the tower and was spreading rumors. Worse, people seemed to have them mixed up with Freudenreich. Johann suddenly noticed that many of the guests were staring at him with hatred. Some even clutched the hilts of their knives; conversations gradually died down.

“Dirty traveling scum,” the old farmer hissed once more. “Spawn of the devil!”

Johann was relieved when the tavern keeper returned to his table. The man handed him a heavy burlap sack. “Here’s everything you asked for,” he growled. “Now get out of here before they cut your throat. I don’t want any blood spilled in my tavern!”

Johann took the sack without comment, stood up, and walked to the door. He had barely made it outside when he sensed that he was being followed. Slowly, he turned around. There were three young men, two of them holding gnarly sticks. The third one grasped a knife and approached Johann menacingly.

“What have you done with my little sister?” shouted the young man suddenly, his face contorted with anger. “Did you eat her like a wolf? Are you a werewolf?”

Johann was stiff with fright. “I . . . I’m just a plain tinker,” he stammered. “I’m traveling with my master . . . We’d never—”

“You steal our children!” shouted the second man, cutting him off. He swung his cudgel. “Admit it! Our little Elsbeth and all the others. You steal them at night and you eat them!”

“But . . . that’s nonsense!” Johann started walking backward. He raised his hands defensively. “We are no—”

A rock struck his head. A boy standing by the well had thrown it. The giggling maids were long gone. Instead, Johann was facing a growing number of angry young men.

“Grab him!” shouted one of them. “We’ll beat the truth out of him. And then let’s burn him like a Judas puppet so his black soul can’t harm us any longer!”

Another stone hit Johann on the head. He turned around and a cudgel came down hard on his back. The pain made him gag.

“Club him to death like a dog!” screamed someone. “Just look at him! With his black hair and evil eyes. He’s Satan’s henchman! He killed our children!”

“Satan, Satan!” shouted the others.

Johann stumbled and fell, then got back on his feet before more blows struck him. Another rock whirred past his head. He started running down the road as fast as he could, the mob screaming and yelling behind him. The sack over his shoulder felt like it was filled with rocks. He dropped it into the ditch and ran, stones and clumps of ice raining down on him. For a while he still heard steps behind him, but they faded until he couldn’t hear them at all. None of the villagers seemed to pursue him any longer, but he kept running as if the devil were after him. Finally, he reached the part of the woods that led up the hill to the tower. He turned off the road, followed the muddy path, and, panting heavily, arrived at the tower.

“Master!” he called out and rapped at the door. “Something . . . something happened! We must leave, now!”

But there was no answer. When Johann opened the door, the room on the other side was empty. The fire had gone out.

There was no sign of the master.

For a while, Johann stood in the middle of the chamber, breathing heavily and listening for any sound. But everything was silent. The books were still