The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,71

torture, and that’s why it took so long to get him sentenced.”

The hangman dragged the trembling minstrel down from the cart. He barely resisted. The hangman’s assistants had to carry him for the last few yards because he could no longer walk. It looked as though his legs were broken, along with his arms, which were bent at unusual angles.

Tonio began to sing quietly. It was the same song Freudenreich had performed when they’d seen him at the Black Eagle at the start of winter.

“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 . . .”

Rough-hewn steps led up the rock to the pyre. The assistants tied Freudenreich to the stake and held a burning torch to the wood. The sticks were dry, and the flames devoured them hungrily. Soon the stake was enshrouded in thick white smoke.

Like a giant incense burner, Johann thought.

The crowd fell silent, tense with expectation, even the children. Then a scream rose out from the smoke, animalistic and shrill. Johann thought about how beautifully the minstrel had once sung. And he thought about the master’s words back at the Black Eagle.

He won’t find happiness in these harsh climes, oh no, he won’t.

Johann shuddered despite the heat of the fire. They had denied the great Tonio del Moravia his winter quarters, and he had taken terrible revenge. First the inn had burned down, and now the minstrel burned, too.

Freudenreich’s screams turned into inhuman screeching and finally a wailing that stopped abruptly. Then the smoke turned black. Johann smelled burned flesh, and it smelled like pork. He felt sick.

“Keep howling, I show thee no mercy,” Tonio sang once more, clapping his hands.

The execution was over, and after staring at the glowing embers for a while, the crowd began to make its way back to town. Johann was still in a daze, snapping out of it only when Tonio tapped him on the shoulder.

“I like fires,” he declared cheerfully. “Even though they remind me of darker times. Once I watched a young maiden I was very fond of burn in France. We were like siblings—that’s when it all began.” He turned around and didn’t look at the smoking pyre again. “And now let’s go. If we’re lucky, my friend has finally arrived.”

The master’s friend arrived in the evening. Tonio had been awaiting him impatiently at a corner table of the Golden Sun. Johann sat next to him, reading a book. The master had been drinking expensive Rhenish wine for hours but didn’t seem to be getting drunk—not even tipsy, although Johann noticed that he looked paler than he had back at the tower.

A broad-shouldered man entered the inn, dressed entirely in black, wearing a long coat and a floppy hat like Tonio. He was so tall that he was forced to stoop as he walked through the door. He carried a long staff, like that of a shepherd, except it looked like a little twig in his huge fingers. He smiled as he walked toward their table, but his smile seemed false, as if someone had painted it onto his pockmarked, bearded face.

“Mon baron, it is an honor to see you again after such a long time,” greeted the man with a rough voice, bowing low. Like Tonio, he spoke with a French accent, but his was much stronger.

“Don’t, Poitou,” said Tonio. “Not in front of the boy.”

The man scrutinized Johann, who suddenly felt naked.

“That’s him, yes? Looks rather unremarkable. Pale as a bookworm.”

“I’m a bookworm, too, if that’s what you want to call it. When will you learn that appearance doesn’t matter, Poitou? On the contrary. You may be big and strong, but your mind doesn’t allow you to think further than the next meal.”

“Oh yes, I like thinking about the next meal.” The giant gave a grin. “You’re right, milord. I can eat as much as my horse munching on his barley outside the door. I rode for two days and one night straight to proclaim your arrival and meet you here. There is much to talk about.”

“Parle français,” said Tonio, waving to the innkeeper to bring them more wine.

The men conversed quietly in French, and Johann pretended to be focused on his book while casting furtive glances at the master and the foreigner. Why had the man named Poitou addressed Tonio as a baron? Was the master a descendant of French nobility? The other man’s submissive behavior seemed