The Master's Apprentice, page 43
part #1 of Faust Series
“I straddled a barrel?” Johann grinned. “But why didn’t I fly out the door rather than share the barrel with a bunch of red-nosed pups? What else have you heard about me?”
“In Cologne, you made a grapevine grow out of a table. And in Erfurt you turned two red roosters and one blade of straw into two oxen and a bale of hay. They say you’re an infamous sorcerer and necromancer, and astrologer and alchemist. I don’t even know in how many taverns I’ve heard tales of your adventures.” The young man eyed him fearfully. “Some even say you’re in league with the devil.”
“So? Am I?” Johann gave his new travel companion a piercing look. When the young man gave a little start, Johann laughed. “A man is always that which people want to see in him. Out of everything they say about me, half at the most is true. But I’m not telling you which half.” He winked.
It was truly astounding what sort of a reputation he had gained over the last ten years of his travels.
“Your name is Wagner, am I right?”
“Um, yes.” The young man nodded, clearly surprised that Johann knew his name. “Wagner. Karl Wagner. I’m a student from Leipzig but have been traveling lately. I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough for saving my life! Even if I still don’t fully understand how you managed to do it.” He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Did you use magic? Sorcery?”
Johann waved one hand. “No magic, just science. I’ll show you tonight.” He bared his teeth, and for a brief moment, his face took on a mocking, almost devilish expression. “And unlike you, I know how you can thank me. Nothing in this life is free, my boy.”
Toward evening they came to a dense beech forest, the foliage glowing red and yellow in the fading autumn sun. To the south, the mighty rock face of Hohentwiel Mountain with its castle jutted into the sky; Lake Constance wasn’t far from here and pushed fog across the woods. The two men climbed off the wagon and led the horse away from the road until they reached a small meadow lined by moss-covered rocks as tall as a man.
“We should be safe here for now,” said Johann, giving the horse some barley from a bag. “Those superstitious peasants avoid this place. They believe it’s haunted.”
“You’ve been here before?” asked Karl.
“Let’s say I’ve moved around a fair bit in the last few years. And now quit talking—go find dry wood for a fire. I’m hungry.”
While Karl went looking for dry twigs and branches, Johann looked about carefully. He was glad Satan was keeping watch at the edge of the clearing. At the slightest sound, the mastiff would bark and defend its master with teeth and claws. The war in the Hegau region had finished only a few years before. The Swiss confederacy rose against the emperor and Swabia, and since then the word of the emperor didn’t carry much weight in this area. The class of knights—for centuries the pillar of the empire—became increasingly impoverished, and to make a living, many knights roamed the lands, thieving and murdering. Here in the Hegau region, too. Not even the everlasting public peace Emperor Maximilian had promised had been able to change this state of affairs. The farmers also suffered, and many had chosen a life in the forests, where they banded together as groups of outlaws. Cities, on the other hand, flourished, and merchants and patricians grew wealthier by the year. The face of the world was changing.
“I think that should be enough wood.”
Karl’s voice tore Johann from his musings. The student was standing in front of him, his arms laden with dry wood.
“Is everything all right?” asked Karl, frowning.
“Yes, yes.” Johann shook himself. “Put the wood down here.”
Karl lit a small, flickering fire, and together they prepared a meal of dried meat, carrots, and wild herbs. Satan was given a bone, which it carried under the wagon. Only its glowing red eyes could be seen in the dark.
“Why did you call him Satan?” asked Karl abruptly.
“The dog?” Johann threw the mastiff a rabbit bone, which the large animal ground up noisily. “Like I said—a man is always what people want to see in him. I’m traveling by myself, without hired mercenaries or other protection. When I call Satan, people think I’m truly in league with the devil and leave me alone.” He gave a shrug. “Although I must admit—the trick probably wouldn’t work if Satan was a cute little poodle.”
While they ate, Johann studied Karl Wagner. He was handsome; the girls most likely adored him. And the lad didn’t seem stupid—a tad naive, perhaps, but he was still young.
“Can you play chess?” asked Johann brusquely.
Karl looked up from his bowl. “Chess?”
“I play according to the new rules as prescribed by Luis Ramírez Lucena in his book. It contains many interesting openings and moves, the ‘smothered mate’ among others. Have you heard of it?”
“Um, I’m afraid not. I’ve played chess a few times, but I fear I’m not very good.”
“I will teach you,” said Johann, trying not to let his disappointment show. He still hoped he’d chosen the right one.
“You want to know why I saved you?” he asked after a while.
Karl nodded.
“I want to show you something. Wait here.” He walked to the back of the wagon and took out the laterna magica. He had installed a few improvements since the first apparatus he’d built with Valentin back in Heidelberg. The casing was now made from copper and had a tube at the front where lenses could be inserted. Another tube at the top allowed the smoke to vent. Also, a larger hollow mirror reflected the light much better.
Johann pointed the front tube toward the canvas of the wagon, opened a flap on the side of the casing, and lit the lamp inside with a burning pine chip. Instantly, a bright, perfectly round circle of light appeared on the side of the wagon.
“Now pay attention,” said Johann.
He decided on the image with the white woman. Most of the time it achieved the desired effect. He opened a small container with glass plates, took one out, and inserted it into the slot on the side of the laterna.
Instead of the circle, a white, ghostly woman hovered on the wagon’s canvas.
“Dear God,” whispered Karl, dropping his plate of food. “What . . . what is that?”
“I don’t think I did particularly well with her,” said Johann with a shrug. “The white dress looks more like a sheet, and her eyes don’t look real. The devil in Warnheim today was a rather sad figure, too. More cattle-beast than lord of the underworld.”
“Are . . . are you saying you insert glass plates into this apparatus and then those . . . those images appear?” asked Karl breathlessly. “You deceived those Warnheim peasants?”
Johann waved dismissively. “I’ll explain how exactly it works another time. The important thing right now is that you understand that it isn’t black magic, just science. The laterna magica is my most important tool. I sell theriac, read palms, cast horoscopes—just like many other traveling artists. But my reputation is all down to my laterna—my wit and knowledge aside.” He sighed. “But I’m not happy with the paintings. Let’s say my talents lie elsewhere.” Johann put out the light and the white woman disappeared. “And that’s where you come in. I saw you in Leipzig—or rather, I saw your paintings.”
Wagner looked at him with growing amazement. “You . . . you went to the university in Leipzig?”
“I’ve visited many universities in the last ten years, sometimes as a guest lecturer—if the rector believed my documents—but more frequently as a keen student. There is so much left to learn.” Johann wiped his mouth with his hands. “I saw your anatomical sketches in Leipzig, the ones you prepared for the medical lectures of Doctor Joventis. I liked them very much. They . . .” He hesitated. “They reminded me of someone from years ago who also drew well. A good friend. The best and only one I ever had.”
“Thank you.” Karl stared into the darkness, the logs in the fire crackling quietly. “My father is a well-known surgeon in Leipzig,” said the young man after a while. “He wanted me to go to college and study medicine like him. But I really want to become a painter, like Albrecht Dürer or Leonardo da Vinci. Have you heard of them?”
“It’s a sin to compare oneself with Leonardo da Vinci,” replied Johann gruffly. “A man like him only comes along once every thousand years. And unlike you lazy paint-slinger, he was a genius in all areas. He would easily have gained a doctor’s title in medicine or law. You, however, quit your studies.”
Wagner’s eyes widened once more. “You know? But—”
“I was going to speak with you in Leipzig. But then you up and left. Very annoying.”
“I had . . . um . . . trouble at the university that compelled me to leave.”
“I think I know what sort of trouble. The same kind of trouble that got you tied to a pyre at Warnheim. It’s the kind of trouble with two legs and a proud package in between.”
Wagner turned red and looked down. “I . . . don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re a sodomite, Karl Wagner. Personally, I couldn’t care less, but the law prescribes death by fire. In Leipzig, you got away by the skin of your teeth. But in Warnheim, you found yourself another young lover—”
“It was purely platonic!”
“A term that that uneducated peasant pack doesn’t understand.” Johann dug a piece of meat from between his teeth. “What a stupid thing to do, letting oneself get caught in the hay with another man in the rebellious Hegau region, of all places. You can count yourself lucky that I followed you. I couldn’t save your friend, though.”
Wagner hung his head and tears rolled down his cheek. “We’d only known each other for a few hours. Our eyes met at a tavern, and I was overcome by fiery passion. I didn’t even know his name. I . . . I know it’s against nature, and I tried to fight it for so long. But the devil keeps returning to my body.”
“Leave the devil out of it. He’s got better things to do than possessing little sodomites. You can forget about your studies, anyhow—for good. Don’t think I don’t know what that means.”
For the first time Johann’s eyes were almost sympathetic, but the look vanished as quickly as it had arrived.
“At least I know what you can do instead. Join me on the road and paint glass plates for me. The demand is surprisingly large. Every town has its own patron saint, and in the country there are plenty of natural spirits, gnomes, and other mischievous creatures that can easily be invoked. A few animals wouldn’t hurt, either—people like animals, cats in particular. Cats are always good.”
Karl Wagner stared at Johann as if he were an apparition of the laterna magica. “You . . . you want me to travel with you and paint pictures on glass?”
“Well, not only that.” Johann gave a shrug. “Other things also need to be done. We need to brew theriac, write flyers, announce our shows.” He paused to think. “I don’t suppose you play an instrument? The bagpipe, for example?”
Wagner shook his head.
“Never mind. I can’t stand that instrument anyhow. I pay you one guilder per image, and free food and lodging.” Johann held out his hand. “Go on—shake on it.”
“I don’t know,” said Wagner eventually. “When I said I wanted to become a painter, I meant something a little different. I thank you for your offer, but—”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” Johann reached into a bag next to him and pulled out a pile of documents. “Do you know what that is?”
Wagner turned pale.
“I found this bundle among the things you had to leave behind at the inn this morning. I must say—touching love letters, even if they’re a tad too flowery for me. A memento of your romance in Leipzig, I take it?” When Karl didn’t reply, Johann went on. “You can choose whether I send the letters to your father first or to the Leipzig authorities.”
“That . . . that’s blackmail,” said Karl hoarsely.
“Call it what you want.” Johann gave him a wink. “In a few weeks’ time you’ll be glad you have accepted my offer. What could be more exciting than traveling the German lands alongside the most famous magician of the empire?”
He put the bundle of letters away and held out his hand to Wagner again. This time, the student accepted. Johann’s grip was so firm that Wagner winced with pain.
“Welcome to the realm of hocus-pocus,” said Johann with a grin. “And believe me, you will learn much from me.”
It took a long time for Karl Wagner to fall asleep, and even then Johann heard him moan and cry out from time to time. He guessed in the student’s dreams he was burning on the pyre next to his paramour. Johann was sorry he hadn’t been able to save Karl’s lover, but on the other hand, at least he had the young man to himself now. Who knew how Karl would have reacted to his offer otherwise.
Johann struggled to find rest. He was lying on his back, gazing up at the stars, which were the same ones as more than thirty years ago, on the day of his birth. The same stars that once foretold a great future for him.
Born a lucky child, his mother had said. Born a Faustus.
Johann gave a silent laugh. The stars, it would seem, played many a nasty trick.
In the thirteen years since his leap into the Neckar he had achieved much, but he hadn’t found happiness. He had pulled himself ashore more dead than alive. For two weeks he was held in the firm grip of a fever, and in his dreams Margarethe and Valentin pointed at him with their fingers.
You are the devil, they called out again and again. You are the devil!
And they were right. The one true love of his life and his best friend—he was responsible for their deaths. Margarethe had hanged herself because of him, and Valentin had most likely been burned at the stake in Worms. On top of everything else, he had murdered Jakob Kohlschreiber, Margarethe’s husband. Johann remembered how much he had enjoyed stabbing the drunken vintner. Who had he been in that moment? Himself? Or a devil in the shape of a man? Either way, he had no trouble understanding why people were afraid of him. He had laden himself with guilt, and it was a guilt that made him wake up screaming at night, a guilt that tortured him like a thousand glowing pairs of pincers, and he still didn’t know how he could ever atone for it.
A kindhearted old farmer’s wife had nursed him back to health back then. She had prayed for him, not knowing that any prayers for him were wasted. Once he’d recovered from the fever, all that was left of him was an empty shell, the shape of a man but without a goal, without joy, without any reason to carry on.
Then, in a ditch beside the road, he’d found a litter of puppies of which only one was still alive. The dog was as black as his soul, and Johann took it with him. Satan helped him come back to life. Johann doted on the animal so he would never have to dote on another human being again—so that he would never drag anyone down with him again. Man and dog wandered along the Neckar together, toward the Rhine and into the lands beyond. Satan grew, and with it grew Johann’s will to live.
Johann.
The name seemed as distant as the stars to him now, even though only thirteen summers had passed since then.
He started with the simple diversions he’d learned from Tonio. Card tricks, juggling balls, coin tricks, the shell game, and even the egg in the blanket returned to his repertoire. Soon he’d saved enough money for a wagon, a horse, and occasionally a night under a warm roof along the imperial road, which carried him through the country like a wide, lazy river. The theriac—cheap liquor infused with herbs and alleged magic powers—caused him to become reasonably well off. He purchased the individual parts he required for the laterna magica and assembled it; he read palms, promised grand futures in his horoscopes, and called himself magister and doctor. Everyone believed him—even the universities. His wit, his gift of public speaking, and his knowledge did the rest.
And so the young Johann Faustus, a Heidelberg student wanted for sorcery and murder, became the infamous Doctor Johann Georg Faustus.
A living legend.
Out of spite and sarcasm he had kept the name he’d used to matriculate at Heidelberg University, the name his mother had lovingly called him. He sometimes went by Faust now—fist. No longer a lucky one, but a punch in the face to all the slow-witted, superstitious, and narrow-minded folk out there. Johann smiled. The fact that every little county, bishopric, and duchy worried only about its own affairs had its advantages. No one seemed to make the connection between the murderer from Heidelberg and the famous doctor.
Until now, at least.
Next to him, Karl moaned again, but this time the student was smiling. Johann guessed he was dreaming of happier days with his lover, just like he himself often dreamed of his one true love.
Margarethe.
No day went by that Johann didn’t think of her. Of her blue eyes, her flaxen hair, and her laughter, which had saved him in the clearing near Nördlingen all those years ago.
Margarethe.
An owl hooted, and Johann started up from his bed. In the light of the moon he saw wafts of mist floating by the boulders. He suspected that once upon a time this place had been used as a sacrificial site, just like the one near Nördlingen where he had drunk the black potion and escaped from Tonio. He had never heard anything about the magician again. Nor, since leaving Heidelberg, about Gilles de Rais, the insane French marshal who had been dead for almost a hundred years now.
And Johann hoped it would stay that way.
With that thought he finally fell asleep.
The next morning, Johann was up before sunrise. He never slept much; a few hours was enough for him. Sleep was dangerous because it allowed the dreams to return, and so he tried to avoid sleeping at night as much as possible. Karl didn’t seem to share this problem, as he snored and stretched under his fur blanket. A thin column of smoke still rose from their fire. Dew dripped from the leaves in the trees; fall had arrived with its damp, chilly breeze.
Johann softly whistled for Satan and fed it the remains of last night’s dinner. As the mastiff slurped up the scraps, Johann watched the animal with a smile, like a father watching his child at play. He had grown fonder of Satan than of any person he’d met in the last few years. The dog had been his faithful companion on his never-ending journey through the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation, as the empire was now called. The animal was no longer so young; the fur behind its ears and on its paws was turning gray, and it didn’t run as fast as it used to. For a few weeks now it had also been limping. But Satan still provided Johann the respectability and protection he required as a lone traveler. The empire was far from safe; dangers lurked everywhere, not just in the woods. There were no laws outside the cities, and no one to keep order. Everyone had to look out for themselves.
