The Master's Apprentice, page 6
part #1 of Faust Series
“And if I refuse to pay more?” asked the prefect briskly. “What are you going to do? The horoscope’s already cast.”
The foreigner flashed a smile, and then his lips turned into two thin lines. He glared at the prefect with eyes that were no longer gleaming but dark and cold like the blackness behind the moon.
“Pay me. Only the stars and I know what happens if you don’t.”
The foreigner had spoken quietly, yet everyone in the room seemed to have heard him. For a few moments, the barroom grew strangely silent. Then the prefect placed two silver coins on the table, put his hat on, and walked out. The others followed him, glancing back at the stranger with fear in their eyes. In the end, only Johann was left.
“Dumb peasants,” the magician muttered, and Johann wasn’t sure if he’d spoken to him or just to himself. The sinister man rolled up his parchment scrolls and pocketed the coins. At some point he looked up and saw Johann standing there.
“What do you want?” he asked. “Question time is over, boy. Go home like the rest of the numbskulls.”
“I . . . I . . . ,” Johann stammered. He wasn’t sure what he was doing here. But, just like last time, he felt a strange fascination radiating from the foreigner—and also something frightening.
Suddenly the man’s expression changed and he frowned. “Hang on—I know you! You’re the boy I met before in this town, aren’t you? Let me see your hand.” His arm darted forward like a snake, grabbing Johann’s hand, and he began to read his palm. Then he smiled. “Indeed, it’s you! Johann Georg Faustus, right? The lucky one.”
Johann straightened up with surprise. “You . . . you still know my name? After all these years?”
The foreigner laughed and let go of Johann’s hand. “Name is but sound and smoke, but those lines don’t lie. I can recognize anyone by their palm. How is your mother?”
“She . . . she died a few weeks ago,” Johann replied softly. “The white plague, most likely.”
“I’m sorry.” The stranger nodded. “I would have liked to speak with her again. Well . . .” He gathered his scrolls and stood up. “I must go look after the horse and birds. Come back tomorrow if you like—I’ll be offering my services here at the Lion again, and I’ll be in the area until the fair.”
“What services do you offer?”
“Oh, the usual.” The foreigner shrugged. “I cast horoscopes, read palms, and sometimes dabble in a bit of hydromancy or pyromancy—whatever people desire.”
“Pyro . . . what?” Johann was puzzled. “Is that magic? Are you a magician?”
The man laughed again. “Ha, don’t call me a magician! I don’t want to end up at the stake. The church doesn’t particularly like wizards and magicians.” He raised a finger. “No, I’m not a magician but an astrologer. A traveling magister, versed in the arts of alchemy and”—he winked at Johann—“yes, admittedly, also a little in the art of magic, such as it is taught at the University of Krakow. White magic, that is, not black. And now, if you’ll excuse me.”
He left Johann where he was, crossed the barroom, and climbed the stairs. Johann’s head was full of words. White and black magic, alchemy, astrology, hydromancy . . . clearly, this man was far more than just a traveling juggler.
Johann was about to turn away when he noticed something glinting under the table. He leaned down and saw a small knife, about as long as his hand. The handle appeared to be worked from some kind of bone and was adorned with black patterns and lines. The surprisingly heavy blade was wide with a narrow point and sharp as a razor. There was a small hole in the end of the handle.
Johann ran his thumb along the blade thoughtfully. The knife must have belonged to the foreigner. He’d have to give it back—he was no thief, after all. And Johann had a feeling it wasn’t a good idea to steal the blade of a magician. Surely that would bring bad luck. But it was such a nice knife! Why couldn’t he just keep it overnight, or for a few days? The magician would be in town until the fair. Johann could always return the knife to him then and say he found it in the streets.
He weighed the knife in his hand, glanced around furtively, then slid it into the pocket of his jerkin. The weapon felt cool and hot at the same time against his skin, like a burning stone.
Still deep in thought, Johann walked out onto the dark street, and immediately his gloomy thoughts returned. Inside the warm, brightly lit inn, he’d forgotten all about his father and Latin School. Maybe Johann could talk to him again, promise to work harder? School was all he had left!
Johann was about to head for home when he heard a low whistle from a small alleyway. He spun around and his heart leaped with joy. Margarethe! He realized now just how much he had missed her.
“Margarethe!” he called out and ran toward her. “I thought you didn’t want to see me anymore. Didn’t you read the letters I wrote you?”
She held a finger to her lips. “My brother can’t catch us,” she whispered. “Or he’ll tell Father. And he already knows too much about us! They’re trying to keep me away from you because they’re worried about the wedding. Ludwig says if he catches me with you one more time, Father will send me to a nunnery.”
“Your brother can go to hell!” replied Johann grimly.
“Johann, don’t you understand?” Margarethe gave him a pleading look. “I’m supposed to marry! It’s a done deal between my father and the Schmeltzle family. They shook hands on it just a few days ago—as if I were a horse at market.” She paused. “We’ll celebrate my engagement next spring, when I’m seventeen. Old enough, my father says.”
“Then let’s go away from here,” Johann said. “There’s nothing to keep me in Knittlingen.”
“Go away?” Margarethe gave a sad laugh. “And live off what? Your tricks, perhaps?”
“I’ll think of something!”
“Oh Johann, my Faustus,” sighed Margarethe. “I’d love to. Believe me. But there’s no way out.”
He took her hand and felt her shudder. He thought about their time together in the field, only a few weeks ago, how they had almost kissed, and the salty sweat on her skin. “You’ll never find happiness with that man!”
“Happiness?” Margarethe laughed again, but this time tears twinkled in the corners of her eyes. “Who said I’m supposed to find happiness? I must bear his children and be a good wife. His family will elevate ours. The dear Lord never said happiness was part of married life.”
“Margarethe, you don’t believe that. Let’s go away from here. We could—”
Johann noticed Margarethe’s frozen expression and spun around. Ludwig was standing behind him with a whole gang, all of them eyeing him with loathing. In his excitement at seeing Margarethe again, Johann hadn’t even heard them approach.
“Ludwig, don’t!” pleaded Margarethe.
But her brother ignored her. He shoved Johann deeper into the alleyway. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from my sister?” he snarled. “Haven’t you had enough? You just wait. When I’m finished with you this time, you won’t be able to sit down until Christmas. You’ll wish you’d never been born!” He leaned down and grabbed a nail-studded length of timber from a pile of rotten boards.
Johann clenched his fists. There were too many of them to fight back. Should he run? Call for help? But who would help him—the village smart aleck and good-for-nothing? People would say he had it coming.
Then Johann remembered the knife.
His fingers went to his pocket. The handle felt cool and pleasant. But he hesitated. If he stabbed Ludwig now, he’d be a murderer and branded forever. He couldn’t do it! The price was too high. So he merely stood as still as a rabbit that smells the hunter but doesn’t flee.
“Leave him!” shouted Margarethe, trying to run up to him. “Johann!” But two of the young men held her.
“Pull down his pants!” snarled Ludwig. “I’m going to teach him a lesson he won’t forget for the rest of his life.”
Johann thought of the knife again. It throbbed in his pocket like a small, breathing animal. How he’d enjoy cutting Ludwig’s plump cheek open!
Ludwig raised the plank and was about to strike when a voice rang out from the street.
“There you are, you lazy layabout! Have you forgotten? You were supposed to take care of my horse! What did I give you a kreuzer for?”
Johann started. The foreigner stood in the alley and waved at him as if they’d known each other for a long time. In the dim light of night, only his outline with the wide coat was visible, resembling a scarecrow in the fields.
“Is that your new friend?” jeered Ludwig. “A skinny, dishonorable juggler? Ha! He can’t help you now.”
He raised his length of timber once more when the stranger spoke again.
“If you don’t come right now, boy, I see great misfortune. Very great misfortune, for everyone here. The stars don’t lie, and they shine wanly upon you boys. Do you understand me?”
It was the same voice the stranger had used earlier to threaten Ludwig’s father inside the Lion. Low and cold, like a wind from the far north sweeping through the lanes. His last words had been clipped and as sharp as the blade of a butcher’s knife. Ludwig lowered his arm slowly, as though someone were forcing it down.
“Damn it . . . All right, I’ll let you get away this time,” he said uncertainly to Johann. “But next time, you’re done. I will get you—if not today, then tomorrow or next week. You mangy bastard! That’s what you are. A bastard!”
He turned around and signaled for his friends to follow. Margarethe managed to break away and rushed over to Johann. “Tomorrow morning by the Trottenkelter press at the prefecture!” she whispered. “When the bells chime six o’clock, before morning mass. I—”
Ludwig dragged her away before she could finish.
“Your mother is a dead whore!” he shouted at Johann as he walked away. “D’you hear me? A dead whore!” Then the gang disappeared around a corner, Margarethe in tow.
Torn between fear, anger, and the hope of seeing Margarethe again the next day, Johann staggered into the street, where the magician waited for him with a smile.
“I believe you owe me a favor,” he said when Johann stood in front of him. “It looks like I just saved you from a good beating. The least you can do is tell me what those boys wanted from you.” He grinned a wolfish grin. “Let me guess: something to do with that freckled girl.”
“One . . . one of them is her brother,” Johann replied haltingly. He was still shaking. “He doesn’t want us to see each other. He beat me up before and threw me into an anthill with my hands and feet tied.”
“Into an anthill? Wow, that’s nasty.”
For a few moments neither of them spoke, and Johann’s breathing gradually slowed. They could hear music and the laughter of men coming from the inn. Then Johann remembered the knife in his pocket. The cold metal he’d admired earlier suddenly repulsed him. He pulled the weapon from his jerkin and held it out to the stranger.
“You must have lost this under the table earlier. I picked it up for you.”
“Yes, that’s my knife.” The foreigner raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Well, thank you.” He took the knife and weighed it in his hand, thinking. Then he gave Johann an appraising look.
“Hmm, did I just hear that boy call your mother a dead whore?”
Johann nodded.
“And you just put up with it? If someone threw me into an anthill and called my mother a dead whore, do you know what I would do to him?”
Johann looked at the magician expectantly.
“I would wait until he sleeps, then I would bash his skull in with a cudgel. And once the blood ran from his nose and eyes, I would use this knife to cut off his lips. His lips and his goddamned tongue. So he would never say such filth about my mother again.”
Johann waited for the man to laugh at his joke. But he didn’t laugh; his pale face remained completely unmoved.
“Why do you put up with it, boy?” the man asked eventually, running his finger along the blade. “Are you always going to put up with it? Have you never thought of revenge?”
Revenge . . .
Johann closed his eyes for a moment. Oh yes, he had! In his many sleepless nights over the last few weeks he’d seen the same image over and over in his head: himself, lying bound and naked in an anthill, while Ludwig poured out the medicine with an evil smile on his lips. The same medicine that might have saved his mother’s life. Oh yes, Johann had thought about revenge. He’d fantasized about wringing Ludwig’s neck as if he were a chicken, and about slitting open his fat guts with a knife. The thought had entered his mind and burrowed its way into his brain like a tick he couldn’t shake.
“Ahhh, you feel it, don’t you?” The stranger’s lips twisted into a triumphant smile. “Don’t be afraid to admit it. I can see it in your eyes. Hatred burns inside you, and that is nothing to be ashamed of. Hatred can be very healing, purging the soul like fire. But it needs a direction, and it needs closure. You do want that boy to be dead, don’t you? Dead like your mother?”
Johann said nothing, but then he nodded slowly.
“Then say it,” the man urged. “It’ll make you feel better! Just like sweet medicine.”
“I . . . I want Ludwig to be dead,” Johann said hoarsely before he knew what he was doing.
The man nodded and gave him a pat on the back. “There you go. You’ll see, you’ll feel much better.” He gave a wide grin and bared his teeth, which gleamed unnaturally white in the light of the moon. Then he held the knife out to Johann.
“I’m giving this to you. You found it, so it shall be yours. I get the impression you could use a knife. It’s a throwing knife and very old. I just sharpened it. It cuts skin and sinews like butter.”
Johann hesitated, but the foreigner placed the weapon in his hand. “Take it, you silly boy. If you don’t know what else to do with it, use it to peel turnips.”
“Thank you,” Johann said and put the knife back in his pocket. It felt much heavier than before.
“Oh, how terribly rude of me—I haven’t even introduced myself.” The stranger held out his hand to Johann. “My name is Tonio. Tonio del Moravia. Krakow magister of the seven arts and keeper of the seven times seven seals. Tonio to my friends. Shake hands.”
Johann took Tonio’s hand; it felt cold and damp, like the scaly skin of a fish.
“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Tonio said and patted Johann’s shoulder. “Now keep your eyes open on your way home. I can’t bail you out every time.”
Whistling, he untied his horse and walked away. A cool breeze suddenly swept the fallen leaves through the dark lanes, and a chill ran down Johann’s spine.
Summer in Knittlingen was truly over.
The man who called himself Tonio led his horse into the stable and tied it to the wagon, which the lads working for the innkeeper had pushed in there. Above the box seat dangled the cage holding the raven and two crows. The birds screeched and flapped their wings when they recognized their master.
“So, what do you think?” asked the man with a wink. He stood below the cage, speaking to his birds as though they could understand him. “The boy strikes me as promising. Reminds me of you, Baphomet.” The man laughed and gave the cage a nudge, making it swing from side to side with a squeaking sound. The raven fluttered wildly with his wings, struggling to stay on his perch, and stared at his master from mean yellow eyes.
“Kraa,” the bird called and it sounded almost like a human word. “Kraa!”
“Shh!” said the man. “Don’t worry, Baphomet, you’re still my favorite. At least until we find the right one and all this searching can come to an end.” He uttered a sudden curse and gave the cage another push, causing the raven to scream like an angry child.
“Damn it, Baphomet, and I was so certain about you! I truly thought the day had come. Well, perhaps I’m mistaken yet again. It’s been a while . . .” The stranger looked pensive, then he shook his head. “I must be mistaken. It can’t be. Not yet—it’s too soon. But it’s worth a try, I think. Don’t you?”
The birds fluttered and screeched.
“Easy, easy, you little beasts,” the man said. “You had your time. Don’t complain. Here, take this and be quiet.”
He fished a few chunks of dried meat from a pouch and threw them into the cage. The birds pounced and devoured the chunks.
“And remember,” the man said with a smile. “If he isn’t the one, you get his liver. Promise.”
He turned around and walked out of the stable, humming softly.
The next morning, Johann rose before sunrise.
He and Martin shared the attic room, where rats and martens scurried among the shingles. He dressed as quietly as he could, hoping his brother wouldn’t wake. He’d hidden the knife Tonio had given him in his straw-filled pillow. If his father found it, he’d almost certainly accuse him of stealing it. He took out the knife and studied it in the sparse light. It looked valuable. The black inlay on the bone handle gleamed like gemstones. He noticed only now that three letters had been carved into the handle:
G d R.
What was their meaning? Could they be the initials of a name? The magician was Tonio del Moravia, so they couldn’t be his. Perhaps he had stolen the knife from someone or bought it off its previous owner? But maybe the letters stood for something entirely different.
Johann weighed the knife in his hand, feeling its heaviness. He guessed he could always sell it if he found he had no use for it. Quietly he lifted the end of one of the floorboards and hid the knife underneath. It was better if Martin didn’t see the knife; the young boy wasn’t good at keeping secrets.
After hesitating for another moment, Johann replaced the floorboard and sneaked downstairs. Outside the house, he scooped a few handfuls of water from a bucket, washed his face, and combed his hair with his fingers. Then he hurried toward the prefecture, which lay behind the church.
The prefecture was surrounded by a high wall, like a town inside the town. Behind the walls were the wine presses, the tithe barn, the prefect’s quarters, stables, more barns, and the jail, as well as a torture chamber. The inner part was protected by an additional moat and drawbridge. During times of war, the prefecture acted almost as a castle. But now, during grape-harvest season, the bridge was down and the gates wide open. The sun hadn’t fully risen; a rooster crowed somewhere, but other than that, all was quiet. Not even the servants were out yet.
