The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,86

afternoon,” Emilio exclaimed. “When one of the Augsburg harlots told us there was a young man in peasant’s clothes with too much money at the White Lamb, we sent Mustafa.”

The giant nodded and cracked his knuckles.

“Search him!” commanded Peter.

Mustafa grabbed Johann, shook him like a wet coat, and patted down his pockets. He pulled out the last coin and handed it to Peter Nachtigall.

“Damn, he wasn’t lying,” Peter said and tossed the penny onto the dirty ground. “And how are we supposed to fix the wagon now?”

“One of the wagons still goes,” said Salome soothingly and picked up the coin. “We can sell the broken one and the old horse and still have enough room for all our gear. The old nag would never have made it across the Alps anyway.”

Johann’s heart started beating faster. “Across the Alps, did you say? Where are you going?”

“Where do you think?” Emilio gave a shrug. “To the warm lands beyond the mountains. That’s where I come from, and I speak the language. Jugglers are always welcome in the cities of Lombardy. Everything is much brighter and friendlier over there, and the people are so wealthy that there’s always enough for the likes of us. And we’ll have winter quarters in Venice that Archibaldus—”

“That’s enough!” barked Peter. “I’m still not convinced that this guy isn’t a spy for another troupe. So you better shut it.” He pointed at Johann. “And you better run along now, before I tell Mustafa to beat you to a pulp.”

“I . . . I could come with you,” Johann blurted suddenly. The words had simply slipped out. Ever since he could remember, he’d dreamed of seeing Venice. He had almost traveled across the Alps with Tonio; perhaps this was his last chance.

“Come with us?” Peter raised his eyebrows, then he gave a laugh. “And why should we take a weed like you to Italy with us?”

“I . . . I could pay back what I owe you.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“Jesus, Peter, don’t act more stupid than you are,” said Salome. “He’s a juggler, remember? Clearly, he’s one of those little tricksters like Lukas used to be.” She gave Johann an encouraging smile. “What can you do, boy?”

Johann swallowed hard. His head felt like thick honey, and his right shoulder ached. Whenever he looked up, he felt dizzy. And yet he knew this was his only chance.

“Does anyone have an egg and a hat?” he asked.

He performed his trick with the egg and the blanket, a few coin and card tricks, the seven Dalmatian knots, the broken stick, and the snake of Giza, whereby a length of rope was brought to life. He briefly considered juggling but decided against it. The troupe already had a juggler; what they needed was a magician, and a good one—who could do more than card tricks.

When Johann was finished, he bowed and awaited their judgment. Cold sweat was running down his forehead, and he thought he might faint.

The jugglers were sitting in a half circle in front of him, eyeing him thoughtfully.

“Not bad,” said Peter Nachtigall grumpily. “Almost as good as Lukas—but only almost.”

“I think he’s better,” said Salome, gazing at Johann with a look he couldn’t read. “He’s charming, and, well . . . not too bad looking. And he can talk. People will like him—the girls, especially.”

“The trick with the egg is good,” said Emilio. “I’ve never seen it before. And we can work with the coin tricks. I think he might be a good addition.”

“You’re not serious about taking him along, are you?” groused Peter. He pointed at his missing tooth. “I’ve got him to thank for this! And one of our wagons is wrecked!”

“Come on, we’ve had blowups before,” said Salome. “If he hadn’t called you out on the shell game, someone else would have.” She ran her fingers through her long black hair. “He’ll pay back his debt. Coin for coin. Isn’t that right?”

Johann nodded, and Salome turned to Mustafa, who hadn’t said a word the whole time. “What do you think?”

Mustafa gave Johann a long look. Then he made a few strange signs with his hands.

“What’s he saying?” asked Peter.

“He’s saying there’s some dark secret surrounding the boy,” Salome replied. “But he doesn’t think he’s a spy for another troupe.” She gave a grin. “And Mustafa likes the trick with the egg, too.”

Peter Nachtigall sighed and raised both hands as if surrendering. “All right. We’ll give him a chance.” He looked sharply at Johann.