The Master's Apprentice, page 11
part #1 of Faust Series
He leaned over the merchant and pulled a coin from his nose, and then another one out of his mouth. When he leaned down to the man’s broad backside and coins jingled in his hand shortly thereafter, the people hooted with laughter.
“Dear Lord!” exclaimed Johann. “The man shits coins! I want a donkey like him in my stable.”
The inn guests held their bellies with laughter while the merchant just sat there with a sour face.
But then the man broke out in a grin and extended his hand demandingly. “What a pretty little trick,” he said. “And now give me back my money, boy.”
Johann stopped short. “What money?”
“The money you pulled out of my backside. It’s mine—you stole it from me, didn’t you?” He turned to the people sitting at the tables around him and gestured at a leather pouch by his side. “The lad cleaned me out! This bag was full of coins before, and now it’s empty.”
Johann’s smile froze. He couldn’t believe what was happening here. The bag had been empty from the start. The merchant was trying to cheat him out of his money.
“So give me back my money!” demanded the fat man. “It was funny at first, but I swear to you, if you don’t hand over my coins right now, you’re a thief. And thieves get hanged.”
“Give him the money!” shouted some of the other people. “Thief! Thief! Or we’ll hang you from the linden tree!”
“But . . .” Johann tried to explain. “I promise you . . .”
“Hang him now!” cried one of the peddlers, a bearded knife-sharpener in rags, his belt heavy with grindstones and knives. “Before he steals our money, too. The boy is nothing but a common thief!”
Some of the farmers had sprung to their feet and held up their fists angrily, and the peddler reached for one of his knives. The angry shouts grew louder and louder.
“Hang him, hang him!”
Johann’s hand went to the small knife in his pocket. But what would he achieve with that? He looked around in panic. The way to the door was blocked by the crowd, but there was a narrow window covered with parchment to his right. He ran toward the window and jumped through it headfirst. The parchment ripped and he landed hard in a pile of foul-smelling dung. He could hear angry shouts behind him. He briefly considered running out onto the road, but then he thought the merchant would most likely have a horse in the stable. If he ran, they would catch him faster than he could say the Lord’s Prayer—and soon after he’d be dangling from the nearest tree. So he changed his plan. Hunched over, he ran around the building and toward the stable. While the people from the inn poured onto the road, he slipped through the stable door and hid in the straw.
It was warm and dark in the stable. A horse snorted somewhere, but other than that, all remained calm. The shouting outside grew quieter; a door was shut. It seemed the people had abandoned the search and returned to the taproom.
Johann waited a while longer, then he got up cautiously. He was about to open the stable door to go outside when he felt a knife against his throat.
“I had a feeling you might be hiding out here,” hissed a voice right behind him. Johann saw from the corner of his eye that it was one of the itinerant Franciscans from the inn. A man of God threatening him with a knife—would this nightmare never end?
“Lovely trick you performed in there,” said the monk in a growling voice. Johann could smell brandy and stale sweat. “I’m guessing your purse was full to begin with. And now I’d like to have that purse. Hand it over or I’ll slit your throat like a lamb!”
“Please,” begged Johann. “It’s all the money I have!”
The monk laughed behind him. “Then you should take better care of it, boy. Now give it here!”
Johann thought about the knife in the pocket of his jerkin. He could feel it through the fabric. But if he reached for it, the fellow would most likely cut him open without batting an eyelid. Trembling, Johann reached for the pouch on his belt—when he realized it was still lying on the table in the taproom. He’d forgotten to take the purse in his haste!
“I don’t have the money anymore,” he said anxiously.
“What tricks are you playing now, damn it! Just you wait, kid, I told you I’d—”
Suddenly the man gave a loud groan. The knife fell from his hand and he sagged to the ground, gurgling. Johann spun around; standing behind the monk was a figure like a huge raven silently spreading its wings. Johann couldn’t believe his eyes.
It was Tonio.
“Look at that, the oh-so-lucky boy from Knittlingen,” said Tonio with a grin, calmly wiping his bloodied dagger on a bundle of straw. To his horror, Johann saw that his rescuer had slit the monk’s throat. The wound gaped like a second, grinning mouth with blood spurting from it. The monk wheezed and jerked while the life drained from his body. One last tremble went through his body, and then he lay still.
“Quite a peculiar juice is blood,” Tonio continued as he polished his knife, in a tone as if he were talking about the weather. “As much as you wipe and clean, something always remains. If you have five men with clean daggers and you want to find the murderer, just wait and see which blade the flies choose. They smell the blood even if we can’t see it anymore. Interesting, don’t you think?”
The magician looked just like Johann remembered him. Tall and haggard, with a narrow face and eyes as black as charcoal. Only he didn’t look as pale today—his cheeks had a rosy glow, and his lips were red and full. Tonio placed the dagger back in his belt. Then he adjusted his felt hat and studied Johann. “So we meet again. Shouldn’t you be at home with your family?”
Johann remembered the dark figure at the back of the inn. Tonio must have sat there earlier and watched him. Evidently he, too, was traveling along the imperial road.
“I . . . I no longer have a family,” Johann replied and, still in shock, continued to stare at the dead monk and the growing puddle of blood on the ground. Tonio raised an eyebrow.
“If you’re worried because he’s an honorable man of the church,” he said, “he isn’t. Or rather, he wasn’t. He was a scoundrel, a tramp, and a thief, like most people here.” He shook his head in disapproval. “Didn’t I give you a knife? Why don’t you use it? You really ought to be more careful—the imperial road is full of scum. You can consider yourself lucky that I was here.”
“Th . . . thanks,” Johann whispered. He felt terribly faint all of a sudden. Everything went black before his eyes, and he braced himself against a beam.
“It looks like I helped you out once again,” the magician said. He grabbed Johann by the arm and pulled him farther into the stable. Now Johann saw the familiar wagon and horse.
“Climb in the back,” Tonio commanded with a low, sharp voice. “Before they come to check the stable.”
Trembling, Johann climbed into the wagon. It was dark inside and he couldn’t make out much, but it seemed to be lined with chests, and bunches of dried herbs hung from the canvas ceiling. The smell was sweet and sickly. The magician flicked the reins, and the wagon went rumbling out the open gate into the pouring rain.
“This time, you owe me more than a small favor,” Tonio said over his shoulder as they drove out of the village in the dim light of dusk. “And I think I know just how you can repay your debt.”
They rode in silence for the next few minutes. Johann expected the angry mob to pursue them at any moment, or the fat merchant on his horse. But nothing happened. Johann was shivering with cold; his already damp clothes had become soaked again when he’d escaped through the rain. He still couldn’t believe what had just happened. He’d almost been killed and he’d lost all his money! Even the staff he’d carved for Martin once upon a time—his last reminder of his brother—was left behind at the inn.
But the worst part was the memory of the casual ease with which Tonio had slit the monk’s throat, like a butcher killing a calf. Then he remembered with horror that the false Franciscan had been about to stab him to death for a pouch of rusty coins. How stupid he had been to think he could travel all alone, without a companion, a writ of protection, or a horse! He’d almost paid with his life for his stupidity.
The wagon squeaked and bumped along. Through a slit in the canvas, Johann could make out Tonio as a dark outline. Evening had turned to night, and the rain gradually eased off.
Once Johann’s eyes had adjusted to the dark, he could make out more details inside the wagon. There was a lowered section in the middle that was covered with brushwood; he guessed that was where Tonio slept. What Johann had thought were chests turned out to be bench seats with storage space underneath. The cage holding the two crows and the raven dangled from the ceiling among the herbs. The large, rusty cage swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the wheels, the raven watching Johann out of almost human eyes. The crows shuffled nervously from side to side on their perches, as if they sensed danger. For the first time Johann could study the birds more closely. The raven frightened him the most. It seemed to be quite old, with some feathers missing and a beak that was scuffed and jagged at the edges. There was something sly in its gaze.
Suddenly, the cart stopped. The canvas at the front was pushed aside like a curtain, and Tonio’s head appeared in the opening. He gave Johann a sharp look.
“You’re cold,” he noted. “If you’re not careful, you’ll get a fever and die on me. Then I can forget about my payment.” The magician tossed an old, musty-smelling horse blanket to Johann. “Wrap yourself up in that and then come out and help me with the fire. Go on!”
They were parked a little way off to the side of the road in a grove of dripping fir trees. Shivering all over, Johann searched for any firewood that wasn’t quite as wet as the rest. When he returned to Tonio, the magician had already started a small fire with some twigs. Next to him stood a basket with eggs, a fat lump of bacon, and bread. The magician hung a pot above the fire and added water and various herbs from a pouch. Soon a fragrant, almost biting smell rose from the pot. Tonio took it down, poured its contents into a cup, and handed that to Johann.
“Drink,” he ordered.
Johann obeyed. The brew tasted bitter, but it helped to dispel the cold. Tonio watched him in silence. When Johann had drained the cup, the magician spoke.
“Are you feeling better now?”
Johann nodded.
“Then listen to what I have to say.” Tonio leaned forward, his angular, rosy face below the black felt hat glowing in the light of the fire. “I don’t want to know what happened in that shitty little hometown of yours, or why you’re traveling all by yourself. I don’t care. The devil knows why fate has brought us together! I only know one thing: I’ve helped you out for the second time, and so you should be at my service. Quid pro quo! I saw the trick you performed at the inn. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t special. Any old juggler can do that. Do you know any other tricks?”
“Well, I . . . I know a few card tricks,” Johann replied reluctantly. “And there’s the shell game, the coin trick, juggling, the traveling sticks, the cursed die, the egg in the blanket—”
“The egg in the blanket?” The magician’s bored expression changed, and he straightened up with interest. He reached into the basket behind him and picked up an egg. “Show me what you mean. I don’t know that trick, and believe me, I know most.”
Johann looked at Tonio with surprise. He’d once watched a drunken Venetian juggler perform the trick at the fair in Knittlingen and asked him to explain it for a skin of wine. Could it be true that Tonio didn’t know the trick?
Carefully, Johann placed the egg on the ground and spread the horse blanket over it. Then he stood up and paced around the fire, making conjuring movements with his hands and muttering the spell the Venetian juggler had taught him. Apparently, it was derived from twisting the words of a Latin mass: “Hocus, locus, pocus!”
“Hit the blanket as hard as you can,” he said to Tonio. The magician shrugged. Then he raised his hand and struck the blanket.
“Shame about the egg,” Tonio muttered. “Now we’re down to four. Scant supper for you.”
Johann pulled away the blanket triumphantly. The egg was gone.
“Now lift your hat,” he instructed Tonio.
The magician did as he was asked. The egg was lying in his graying black hair like in a nest. Tonio grinned and took down the egg. For the first time he seemed genuinely surprised.
“The trick is not bad,” he said. “We can use that. But we need to work on the story around it. Always remember, the show is everything. It must be big and colorful. The mass can only be impressed by masses.”
“I could have done the same with a chicken if we had one,” Johann bragged, trying not to let his relief show. The trick with the egg and the blanket was one of the most difficult he’d learned. He’d practiced it for weeks in a small wooded area near Knittlingen. He hadn’t been entirely certain it would work this time. Something told him it was very important that he’d performed the trick without mistake—crucially important.
“Well done.” The magician placed the egg on the ground in front of him. “Now listen carefully. I am a traveling astrologer and chiromancer—am called magister, doctor, indeed, but it is getting harder and harder to attract an audience, especially in the cities. There are just too many jugglers and acrobats. That’s why I need a trickster.”
“A trickster?” Johann gave him a puzzled look.
“Sacre bleu! Don’t you know anything? I thought you were a juggler.” Tonio sighed. “There are different occupations among jugglers.” He counted on his fingers. “Musicians, jugglers who actually juggle, goliards, false alchemists, bear tamers, tightrope walkers, and tricksters. They are young, cocky jesters who know the small tricks. Coin tricks, cups and balls—all those things. It will be your task to gain the people’s attention. You’re short and scrawny, but your voice is strong enough, as I heard at the tavern. Can you play the bagpipe?”
Johann shook his head. He’d never learned an instrument. He thought he wasn’t very musical at all.
“You’ll learn,” said Tonio. “The bagpipe is the loudest instrument and easy to master. Whoever plays it draws the people in like with a magic flute.” He grinned. “Even if it doesn’t sound quite as beautiful. We’ll start tomorrow.”
“I . . . I’m supposed to travel with you?” asked Johann slowly.
“You finally got it?” The magician laughed. “By the devil, yes! I saved your life, and now you shall serve me for one year, as a test and without pay. After that time, we’ll see. The pact is valid until I dismiss you.” Tonio tilted his head to one side and eyed Johann. “You can’t go back home, I can see it in your face. And traveling by yourself means certain death. Either you starve or you’ll get butchered. So, what do you say? You’ll fare well with me. You’ll be amazed to learn what life holds in store for you. Shake on it.”
The magician held out his hand. Johann thought of the last time he’d shaken Tonio’s hand. The tall, haggard man with the felt hat still frightened him immensely. But did he have a choice? He had no money, and Tonio was right: he was doomed on his own. Besides, he felt almost magically drawn to Tonio, and the feeling was old and familiar.
It stemmed from his childhood, when he’d seen the magician for the first time.
He clasped Tonio’s hand. The man’s grip was viselike, and he held Johann’s hand for so long that Johann gave a little cry of pain. It felt like the magician was squeezing the blood from his hand. Tonio smiled, and once again he reminded Johann of a wolf.
“Welcome to life on the road,” Tonio said. “Our pact is sealed.”
Johann pulled back his throbbing hand. “You said earlier that the year was a test,” he said. “What if I don’t prove worthy, if I don’t live up to your expectations? If I don’t pass your test?”
“Well, it’s just like with eggs,” Tonio replied and reached for the brown speckled egg in front of him. He held it in his fist. “Some withstand the pressure, while others . . .” He clenched his fist. There was a crack, and yellow yolk ran through his fingers and dripped into the flames. “Others crumble under it.”
He wiped his hand on the ground as easily as he’d wiped the blood off his dagger earlier. Then he reached into the basket and started to cut the bacon.
“But now let’s eat and drink. Oh, and one more thing.” The magician held up his knife like a teacher’s pointer. “From now on, you call me master. Understood?” He smiled. “And believe me—you will learn much from me.”
Act II
Tonio the Sorcerer
5
THE FOLLOWING WEEKS were the most exhausting of Johann’s life. Instead of returning to the road, the two men stayed in the forest. The weather was too awful for travel anyhow. The road had turned into a mud pit with wheel ruts deep as ponds. While the rain and sometimes hailstones as large as pigeon eggs beat against the canvas, Tonio made Johann show him every trick he knew. Usually the magician merely gave a bored wave or corrected Johann with a growl. Tonio was a tough master, not tolerating any sloppiness or the tiniest mistake.
“You call that a trick, damn it?” he snarled and struck Johann with a cane. “I saw the coin in your hand! One more time—and roll up your sleeves, for God’s sake. Or do you want them to call you a swindler in the next village and string you up? I won’t help you again!”
Johann got beaten on his second and third attempts, too. The same happened when he performed his card tricks—even those he’d thought he could do with his eyes closed. Tired, hungry, and sick from days of being cold and wet, he soon struggled to manage even the simplest tricks.
“Are you trying to insult me?” snarled Tonio. “Watch. This is how you do it.”
The magician produced a deck of cards in one hand, let them slide into his other hand with a sound like a drumroll, fanned them, and suddenly held only kings. Then he closed the fan and opened it again, and now they were all queens. “And now you,” he ordered.
Johann clumsily dropped the entire deck, and the cane came whistling through the air.
Soon Johann’s hands hurt so badly that he couldn’t hold cards any longer, and the master demanded he juggle balls out in the rain. Tonio’s balls were red, blue, and gold and made of hard ash wood. When Johann dropped one of the balls, Tonio hurled it at him. After countless failed attempts, Johann had a huge bump on his head and felt every single muscle in his body.
