The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,1

feel sad.

His mother told him not to mind the other children. He was different—smarter, brighter than them. Of noble blood, she’d once told him, though Johann didn’t understand what she meant.

Johann had quickly grown bored at the German school he attended over at the hostel. While the rest of the students struggled with math, German, and the few scraps of Latin from the catechism, learning came easily to Johann. Sometimes he even corrected the teacher, a bitter old man who doubled as Knittlingen’s sacristan. Johann often wanted to dig deeper, asking about foreign countries, the phases of the moon, the force of water—but no matter what he asked, the old man never had an answer. And when the other boys beat up Johann, the teacher just stood by, trying to suppress a grin.

“Watch where you’re going, midget! If you step on my toes again, I’ll turn your smart-aleck face to mush.”

Ludwig, who was two years older and almost two heads taller than Johann, and the son of the Knittlingen prefect, punched him in the stomach. Johann gasped and held his belly but, thinking of his mother’s words, didn’t fight back. If he was truly of noble blood, then why had God made him so darn scrawny? He would gladly give some of his brains for more muscles—the only currency that counted for anything among children.

“Piss off!” Ludwig snarled and picked a piece of smoked sausage from between his teeth. Fat was running down his chin. “Go wipe your ass with books instead of standing around in people’s way!”

Johann said nothing and took to his heels before Ludwig could punch him again.

At last he’d elbowed his way to the small square in front of the church, where the jugglers had set up their stage using wooden planks and four barrels and had begun performing their tricks. One musician started a drumroll while another struck a cymbal to announce the next act. Jugglers threw colorful wooden balls and burning torches through the air, catching them at the very last moment—much to the pleasant horror of the Knittlingers.

Johann applauded the jugglers eagerly, as well as the following act, a hunchbacked dwarf performing raunchy poems about wine, women, and song until a giant dipped him into a tankard as big as a barrel. The audience hooted with laughter, and Johann didn’t hear the soft voice beside him. Then someone pulled on his ear, and he started with fright. He thought it was Ludwig, ready for another round.

“Hey, are you deaf? Did one of the jugglers cast a spell on you and turn you to stone?”

Johann spun around and smiled with relief. Standing in front of him was Margarethe, Ludwig’s younger sister. She wore a gray dress with a white apron, its hem already spattered with dung. Her flaxen hair looked wild and windswept, as usual. Margarethe was one of the few children in Knittlingen who liked Johann and spent time with him. Twice already she’d saved him from the other boys by threatening to tell her father. Even Ludwig listened to her. Johann had to pay for her kindness with double beatings afterward, but it didn’t hurt as much as it normally did. He’d simply close his eyes and think of Margarethe’s hair glowing like wheat in the summer sun. However, there was one problem: whenever Margarethe spoke to him, his mouth appeared to be sealed—it was jinxed! Now, too, he couldn’t get out a single word.

“You like the jugglers, don’t you?” Margarethe asked and bit into a juicy red apple.

Johann nodded silently, and Margarethe continued as she chewed: “Did you know that jugglers and musicians are children of the devil?” She gave a shudder. “That’s what the church says. Whoever dances to their music they lead straight to hell.” She lowered her voice and made the sign of the cross. “Perhaps they took the children, too. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Johann. “The wolves took them, even the huntsmen say so. And they must know!”

Despite the cheering and laughter, a chill suddenly ran down his spine as though he were standing alone in the forest. Four children had gone missing in recent weeks: seven-year-old Fritz from Knittlingen, his five-year-old brother, and two girls from neighboring Bretten. The two Bretten girls had been playing in the woods; Fritz, the butcher’s boy, had disappeared from Marktgasse Lane, and his brother, little Peter, had been herding a pig in nearby Eichenloh Forest. The sow had arrived home alone. Some folks said wild beasts had