The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,85

a thing. Finally the man’s steps slowed. His mysterious abductor lifted him up and threw him onto the hard ground. Johann gasped with pain when he landed on his sore shoulder.

“Open the sack, Mustafa,” said a voice he’d heard before.

Johann heard a ripping sound, and then he was blinded by the light of the moon. He blinked repeatedly and waited for his eyes to adjust. It seemed he was lying in a dirty back alley amid piles of foul-smelling garbage. Two wagons he’d seen before stood nearby. Their canvases were torn, the front wheel of one of the wagons was broken, the box seats were damaged, and one of the shafts was shattered.

And standing in front of Johann was the redheaded fiddler.

He wore a dirty bandage around his head, and his right eye was swollen shut. He studied Johann with pinched lips, as Johann, trembling with fear and cold, looked about himself. The muscular body of Mustafa towered behind him, and Salome and Emilio emerged from the shadows of the yard.

“So we meet again,” snarled the fiddler, still wearing his yellow-and-red costume. He spoke with a slight lisp, and Johann saw in the pale light that he was missing a tooth. “Soon you’ll realize that it was a mistake to mess with Peter Nachtigall. No one makes a fool out of me—no one! Understood?”

“Madonna, calm down, Peter,” said Emilio in a foreign-sounding southern accent. The little bells on his costume gave a jingle. “No one is helped if you skin the boy alive, eat him up, and spit out his bones. We need him to give us back our money and pay his debts.”

“Debts?” said Johann hoarsely, feeling stone-cold sober now. He rubbed his throbbing forehead and slowly got to his feet. “What . . . what debts?”

“Are you kidding me?” shouted Peter. “You . . . you . . .” He lowered his voice. “Our wagons have been trashed—not to mention my face. We can consider ourselves lucky that the guards didn’t lock us up and we’re allowed to stay in this stinking yard for the night. We must leave Augsburg in the morning because we’ve been banned from performing here. And all that just because one little good-for-nothing thought he’d pull one over on us!”

“That’s not quite right,” Johann said quietly. “You were trying to pull one over on me.”

“You dirty little smart-ass . . .” Peter Nachtigall raised one hand, ready to strike, but stopped short when Salome laughed out loud behind him. Her voice sounded husky and quite low for her delicate stature.

“He’s right, Peter. I told you in Würzburg that the shell game is too dangerous. People see through it—though usually not as quickly as this clever boy.” She eyed Johann closely and not without sympathy. He guessed she was about ten years older than him, although it was hard to tell. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you turned out to be a juggler yourself. Are you?”

Johann hesitated briefly, then nodded.

“Ha! So you were sent to have us chased out of town,” Peter growled. “Who do you work for? Steffen Lautenschläger? Or Karl Froschmaul and his gang? Speak up before I cut out your tongue!”

“For . . . for no one,” Johann replied. “I’m on my own. I traveled with an astrologer for a while, but we . . . we went our separate ways.”

“With an astrologer?” Salome gave him a wink. “I hope he wasn’t an old drunkard like our venerable Magister Archibaldus. I swear, if you hadn’t blown up our show today, he would have ruined the next. He drinks like a fish and then passes out.” She gestured behind herself. “Hear him snore?”

Indeed, Johann heard a wheezy rattling from one of the wagons, followed by a loud fart and more snoring.

“We should cut the old boozer loose, damn it,” grumbled Emilio. “His gold trick is ridiculous, and if we’re not careful, he’ll fall into his own bowl sooner or later.”

“You know very well why he’s with us,” Peter said. “So shut up.” He turned to Johann with a challenging look. “Now back to you, boy. Give me back my coins!”

“I . . . I don’t have them anymore,” Johann replied sheepishly. “I spent all but one at a tavern.”

“At the White Lamb, we know.” Salome nodded. “You acted like a little lord and splurged on a night out. But your card tricks weren’t too bad, apparently.”

Johann’s jaw dropped. “How do you . . . ?”

“Maledetto, we’ve been looking for you since this