The Master's Apprentice, page 13
part #1 of Faust Series
“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. I’m drinking my beer where it’s warm and it’s cozy . . .”
The people danced and clapped their hands. No one paid any attention to the tall, haggard man with the felt hat and the snow-covered black-and-red coat, standing in the doorway with his apprentice.
“Well, well, the famous Freudenreich von Hohenlohe,” hissed Tonio. “He never was any good at singing—nor at telling the future, for that matter.”
“You know him?” asked Johann.
“We’ve met a few times on the road. The whippersnapper calls himself a wizard, but in reality he’s nothing but a quack and a balladmonger, robbing people of their money. And someone like that steals my winter quarters.” Tonio’s lips were as thin as knife blades when he glared at the minstrel once more. “Freudenreich, what an incredibly stupid and unfitting name! He won’t find happiness in these harsh climes, oh no, he won’t.”
Johann found himself shivering at Tonio’s words.
The innkeeper assigned them the last available room—a drafty hole in the attic that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a long time. The straw in the cushions was old and smelled musty, and Johann saw lice and bedbugs crawling in the light of the tallow candle. Strangely, the master allowed Johann to stay with him this time. He’d brought the birdcage upstairs, too, and the crows and the raven flapped about restlessly in the corner. They seemed to sense their master’s anger and tension.
For a long while, Tonio just sat on his bed and stared straight ahead. When Johann cleared his throat, the master raised his hand imperiously. “Be quiet. I need to think,” he growled. “Or do you want us to freeze to death? We need winter quarters, and I can’t think of any other inn this close to the Alps that’ll take in an astrologer and his good-for-nothing apprentice.”
Finally, Tonio seemed to reach a decision. He nodded with grim determination.
“I might know a place. It’s about thirty miles from here—two to three days’ travel in this atrocious weather. If we lower our expectations a little, it’ll do just fine.” Then he grinned. “Who knows—perhaps it’s a stroke of fate. It can’t be worse than this stinking hole.”
Tonio’s mood improved dramatically. He reached for the bottle of wine and the ham and moldy cheese the innkeeper had brought upstairs for them. The magician hadn’t wanted to eat in the taproom. He filled two cups and pushed one toward Johann. “Go on, drink, so you’ll get warm.”
Johann accepted the cup gratefully and took a few sips. Never before had the master offered him wine. The alcohol warmed him up almost instantly, and he felt a lot less miserable. His spirits rose. Cautiously, he glanced at the leather bag holding the books Tonio had brought upstairs with him as usual. The magician noticed the direction of his look and laughed.
“The books won’t leave you alone, will they? You’re a clever lad, even though you’ll never get far with the bagpipe. Who cares! I hate musicians these days. So why don’t we study a little?” He winked at Johann. “Let’s see how you do.”
Tonio reached into the bag and pulled out one of the books. It was a stained, heavy volume, its yellowed pages covered in drawings. The magician opened the book at a page depicting a hand with lines, bumps, and symbols.
“Let us begin with chiromancy,” said Tonio. “It belongs to the arts of divination, the third path of white magic. Of all the different ways of foretelling, it is the easiest to learn.” He gestured at the various lines in the drawing. “See for yourself. No two hands are the same, just as every man has his own fate. The left hand shows your dispositions, and the right hand your future. Look at the Life line, which separates the ball of your thumb from the remaining fingers. It tells you how strong someone is, whether he can expect illness, and how he gets on in life. Each disruption has a particular meaning—sometimes even death. This is the Head line. It stands for your mind, and the Heart line for emotions. They mostly run parallel, and interruptions here can mean a broken heart, but also an impending marriage.”
Johann studied his own hand, for the first time paying attention to the many lines. All together they really did look like a map, like roads in a yet-unknown land.
“And what is this line?” Johann pointed at a fourth line on his right hand, which ran straight down from his middle finger and was broken in many places. Johann had also found it in the drawing, where it was marked with a strange letter.
“Ah, that is a very special line! The Saturn line, or line of Fate. It tells us about our destiny. If you know how to read it, you can see right inside a person!”
Johann cleared his throat. “When I was still a child, you read my hand. You told me I was born on the day of the prophet, and my mother also spoke of that. She said I was chosen by God. What does that mean? Can I read my own hand?”
“You’re taking the second step before the first one, boy.” The master smiled. “I told you before: all in good time. Let us study the art of chiromancy first. It’s important that you find your own way to yourself.”
Without elaborating further, Tonio pointed at several circles and lines underneath the fingers. “Look here. This is the Mount of Venus. And that one is the Mount of Luna, which tells us about a person’s transcendental talents . . .”
The master explained long and patiently. But he didn’t mention the day of the prophet, and Johann soon forgot his question. Too mysterious, too intriguing were the many different aspects of chiromancy. He’d waited so long for the master to show him more than a few cheap tricks—and now he was finally learning one of Tonio’s arcane secrets. How many more of those secrets were written in his books? How much more was there to learn?
“I’d like to try it,” Johann said timidly when the master finished his explanations. “May I read your hand?”
Tonio seemed to hesitate briefly, then he gave Johann a mocking smile. “My hand can’t be read. See for yourself.” He held out his right hand, and to his surprise Johann saw that there were hardly any lines on it. There were calluses and a few scars, but no Head line, Heart line, or Life line.
As if someone had wiped the map clean.
Johann frowned. How was this possible? The master’s hand was like a blank page. Didn’t he say that every person was readable, that everyone had those lines?
Tonio quickly withdrew his hand and grinned. “Don’t worry. You’ll soon get an opportunity to practice your skills. You shall read someone’s hand in the next village—a simple peasant, perhaps.” He pushed the book toward Johann. “Now memorize the lines and mounts well. You have until the candle burns out. Then we’ll sleep and get out of this filthy hole first thing.”
Johann leaned over the book and studied the lines and their names while the master watched him thoughtfully. Sometimes Johann asked a question and Tonio answered curtly. Hours passed. Eventually, the flame started to flicker, gave one last jerk, and died. Darkness descended over the chamber, and Johann closed the book and lay down. It had felt so good to read and learn something new, like he used to do at the monastery. His hunger for knowledge was insatiable, and there was so much the master could teach him. Johann thanked God for sending him to the southeast when he hadn’t known which way to turn, so that he ended up meeting Tonio del Moravia.
He woke up once during the night to find the master sitting by his bed, stroking his hand and watching him with piercing black eyes as if looking deep inside him. Johann wanted to sit up, but Tonio held him back.
“Sleep, young Faustus, sleep,” he whispered. “We’ll know more about each other soon. All in good time.”
Johann wanted to get up, wanted to ask the master a hundred questions, so many things he’d just thought of in his dreams. But he was overcome by exhaustion so strong that he sank back onto his cushion and was instantly asleep.
Later in the night, the master stood up and walked over to the cage with the crows and the raven. As usual, when their master approached, they beat their wings and squawked—it was hard to tell whether out of fear or excitement. Johann tossed and turned on his bed at the other end of the room, but he didn’t wake. Deep in thought, the master pulled a few bits of dried meat from his pouch and tossed them to the birds.
“The boy is truly astounding,” he murmured. “Smart and thirsty for knowledge. And those lines . . .” He shook his head. “Maybe our search really is coming to an end. It’s possible. The stars can’t lie. Or can they? Baphomet, Azazel, Belial—”
The raven pecked at him, and the master quickly pulled his fingers out of the cage.
“Ouch! How dare you, you bastard?”
A few drops of blood fell to the ground and disappeared in the straw. The bird stared at his master expectantly with his small yellow eyes.
“Lousy beast!” hissed Tonio and licked the blood off his finger. “You can’t bear the fact that you failed, Baphomet. That he might be the right one. But you had your chance, and it wasn’t you. Now shoo!”
Tonio hit the cage. The raven flapped about wildly, attacking the iron bars with his beak.
“Kraa!” called the raven, and it sounded almost human. “Kraa! Kraa!”
But the master wasn’t perturbed. He looked over to Johann, who was twitching in his sleep.
“I think it’s a good idea to go to the tower with him,” he said pensively. “What do you think? We’ll have all the time we need there. And we’ve got to stock up on our provisions, and I’ll be able to hunt there. The meat is rather tough and stale by now.”
He put one of the brown lumps between his teeth and started to chew.
“Oh yes, we need fresh provisions.”
It would be two more days before Johann was allowed to read his first palm.
The next morning, the storm had passed and they left the Black Eagle. They didn’t see Freudenreich again, but when they stepped through the gate, the master turned back one more time. His lips formed silent words, and then he leaned down and placed three black pieces of coal in the snow outside the threshold.
“What are you doing?” asked Johann.
“I’m leaving a message for other jugglers and magicians,” Tonio replied. He stood up and wiped the soot off his hands. “No winter quarters to be had here. Saves everyone the argument and disappointment.”
He climbed onto the box seat and cracked his whip. Johann turned back to look at the inn one last time. Dark clouds were gathering above it, like the fists of an angry god. In front of them, however, the morning sun made the fresh snow sparkle. The storm had turned the trees along the road into sculptures made of ice. The sky was bright blue, and the countryside was covered in a glittering white blanket. The air was clear and fresh, and Johann felt wide awake.
He would have liked to know what place the master had chosen for their winter quarters. But Tonio said nothing. When Johann asked, he only waved his hand. “I think you’ll like it. At least it’ll be nice and quiet there.” He laughed. “As quiet as a grave. None of those superstitious peasant folk will set foot anywhere near the place.”
Even though the weather was fine now, it was freezing cold, and they made slow progress. The road led south toward the mountains, and soon they’d reached the first foothills of the Alps. Their way led through rugged hills and past boulders so big that Johann thought giants must have thrown them from the mountains. The handful of cottages at the side of the road all looked battened down, their shutters closed. Smoke rose from the chimneys, but the inhabitants of this inhospitable area didn’t seem to have any interest in passing travelers. When they came through the small villages they hardly saw a soul—only occasionally a shadow behind a shutter, a fearful pair of eyes following them.
“Didn’t I tell you?” said Tonio. “They think the devil himself rides in this wagon. Now that Saint Thomas Night is near and darkness wins over the day, people are even more superstitious. I hope they’ll at least sell us provisions for the winter.”
When Johann became too cold, he went into the back of the wagon and wrapped himself up in a woolen blanket. But the cage with the birds hung there, and Johann felt watched. The raven especially seemed to stare at him with loathing.
“Kraa!” called the black bird again and again, almost desperately, as if it was trying to tell him something. “Kraa!” The monotonous sound rattled Johann’s nerves.
And so he never stayed in the wagon for long, despite the cold.
Late in the afternoon of the second day, they came to a large farmstead standing alone in a clearing in the woods. Dogs growled and barked when the wagon came closer to the solid stone house. But the farmer gave them a warm welcome. He was impressed by Tonio’s pompous demeanor and his offer of casting a horoscope for the whole next year for a very small sum. The farmer’s sheds and pantries were full, and he agreed to sell them flour, bacon, dried meat, onions, and a small keg of wine.
In the evening, they all sat together in the cozy farmhouse kitchen. Children, workers, and maids all sat on the bench seats looking frightened, their eyes glued to the magician. Tonio was telling the farmer about his travels and the latest news. Those stories were often part of the service.
“After I finished my studies at the celebrated University of Krakow, I moved to the warm south, to Castile, where the sun burns so hot that the people are as black as ebony and as hard as kilned clay,” he told them while sipping his wine. “Down there is a huge rock called Gibraltar, populated with herds of small, hairy creatures with sharp teeth.”
The farmer’s family listened with their mouths open as Tonio continued, waving his arms in dramatic gestures. “Then I continued by ship to Crete, the isle of the happy, and on to Constantinople, which was conquered by the accursed heathens a few years thereafter. My travels led me to countries inhabited by animals whose tails grow from their mouths, and horses with necks as tall as trees.”
“But weren’t you afraid of falling off the edge of the world?” asked the farmer fearfully.
Tonio laughed. “Haven’t you heard? The Earth isn’t flat—it’s a ball! Just this year, in Nuremberg, I saw a map in the shape of a ball that showed all the countries in the world.”
“But if the Earth is a ball, then the people at the bottom are upside down,” said one of the workers. He scratched his louse-ridden beard. “How’s that supposed to work?”
“Well, how do you think, you dimwit?” Tonio shrugged. “They wear shoes with nails at the bottom so that they always stick to the ground.” The family nodded and muttered in agreement.
It was quite late by the time the master rose from his seat and stretched. He gave the farmer a nod. “I’m going to retreat now and work on your horoscope,” he said and then gestured at Johann. “My apprentice will keep you company. He is skilled in the art of palm reading. Perhaps one or two of you would like to know what life has in store for you.” Tonio winked at Johann before climbing the stairs that led up to the quarters the farmer had prepared for his two widely traveled guests.
The family stared at Johann anxiously. For the first time, he could understand what it felt like to be a traveling magician—respected and feared at the same time, an outcast and yet admired. He possessed a knowledge that was inaccessible to simple people. His words—a single look, even—decided the fates of entire villages and towns.
After a few moments, the corpulent farmer’s wife shuffled closer to him and held out her trembling hand. “The last harvest was good,” she began haltingly, speaking with a throaty accent Johann struggled to understand. “But a lightning strike destroyed our bakehouse just as I was carrying the bucket to the well. Is lightning going to strike me down next time I leave the house in foul weather?”
Johann took her right hand and tried to remember everything the master had told him and what was written in the old book. First he felt the woman’s hand to see if it was clammy or dry, and whether there were many calluses and cracks from hard work. He could already draw some conclusions from that. Then he studied the various lines and mounts.
“The lightning that struck your bakehouse was a warning,” he said in a low, mysterious voice. “But if you continue to fulfill your duties as good Christians and give shelter to pilgrims and travelers, no harm or storms will come to you. I can’t see any serious misfortunes in the coming years.”
Indeed, the woman’s Life line ran deeply and evenly, and she looked well fed and healthy. Johann told her a few more things about her godly marriage and future blessings. Then a pretty maidservant came and held out her hand shyly.
“Should I stay with this farmer after Candlemas, or should I find somewhere else?” she whispered.
Johann could tell by her frightened eyes and the sour look on the face of the farmer’s wife that there was bad blood between the two women. He studied her lines, especially the Heart line, which was broken and splintered. “You better find a new place to work,” he replied quietly so the others wouldn’t hear. “You’ll find happiness somewhere else.”
He proceeded similarly with the next two candidates, a worker and another young maid. He looked at their lines, but what he mostly tried to do was find out what their fears and worries were and what they were hoping to hear from him. Johann realized the art of chiromancy was both easier and more complicated than merely applying knowledge from books. It was about really listening to people, and the hand was just an aide.
Finally, the corpulent wife pushed one of her sons toward him. He was a handsome lad of about eight years, whose curious, alert eyes reminded Johann of himself as a boy. As was customary for a son of a well-to-do farmer, his hair was cut above the ears, which made him look more slow witted than he probably was.
“This is Rafael,” said the farmer’s wife, stroking the boy’s hair adoringly. “My youngest and most beloved. The priest reckons he’s smart and ought to attend a higher school eventually—perhaps at Innsbruck, even! What do you think, Master?”
