The Devil's Pawn Page 34

  “’Twas a good deal of work, dragging you back up and all the way across the moat,” said John. “But at least we should have some peace from our pursuers.” He blinked as he squinted at the far shore. “I can’t see anyone over there anymore. Perhaps they believe we’ve drowned.”

  “We . . . we must get back to the doctor,” said Karl, still struggling to speak. Trembling, he scrambled to his feet. “Hagen is going to comb the entire area for us.” He staggered up the slope and soon tripped on a tree root, landing on his knees.

  “Slowly, slowly,” said John. “The doctor isn’t helped if you break your neck on the way to him.”

  Together they climbed up the overgrown bank that ended in a reforested patch of woods near the castle. It wasn’t long before they reached the old warden’s hut. Johann and Greta sat side by side on a wall and stared at the two wet figures as if they were swamp sprites.

  “What the devil?” uttered Johann.

  “No time for long explanations,” gasped Karl. “Hagen is in town, which means Lahnstein is most likely, too. And maybe there are French soldiers, or Habsburg ones, or God knows—we can’t be certain.”

  Greta groaned. “The whole world is after Father. When will it end?”

  “Then there is no other way left.” Johann stood up. “I will go to the castle right away.”

  “Now?” asked Karl, horrified.

  “There is no point in hiding any longer. Tonio knows that I’m coming. As strange as it may sound—I’ll be safest inside the castle. At least from Lahnstein, Hagen, and anyone else who might be pursuing me.” Johann gave the others a long and determined look. “I am going alone. Our journey together ends here.”

  “And you simply leave us behind?” Greta stepped back. She crossed her arms on her chest and glared at her father. “After everything we’ve done for you? You honestly haven’t changed at all, still only thinking of yourself.”

  “Greta, your father is right,” said John. “If he really believes that he is cursed and that he must face up to this Tonio or whoever, then he must do so by himself. There’s nothing we can do to help.”

  “I disagree,” retorted Karl, still shivering. “The devil might live inside that castle, but so do some bad people. And I intend to protect the doctor from those bad people. Come what may.” His teeth were chattering because of his wet clothes. He’d lost the pistol when he fell into the water, but thankfully his expensive eye glasses were safely stored in his luggage.

  “You want to protect me?” Johann looked at him with pity. “How are you going to do that when you still believe that science has any place in this?”

  “I stood by your side in the underground passages of Nuremberg. I followed you to Metz and then to France, and I’m not going to stop following you now.” Karl squared his shoulders. “You might not believe it, but I’ve always remained your friend, in good times as well as bad. Maybe I am your only friend. Even if we don’t always see eye to eye.” He wiped away a tear and hoped that the others thought it was water. “Don’t they say there’s no harm in the occasional disagreement between friends? Well, I disagree with you now. I don’t believe that the devil lives inside that castle. But I will follow you anyway.”

  No one spoke for a while, and then in a gentle voice Johann said, “Karl, believe me, I truly appreciate your offer. All those years we’ve spent together. But . . .” His expression changed, and he looked somewhat wistful. “But why not? I could indeed use a bit of help, even if it’s just so I don’t have to face the devil all by myself. Karl may come with me, but Greta stays here. That is my final word.”

  “And what if you die in there?” asked Greta.

  “Then you won’t be able to stop it from happening. You know the lines in my hand, Greta. Sooner or later, the road ends for every one of us. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, or many years from now. But I won’t allow Tonio to drag you into this.”

  Johann glanced over at the castle, whose walls seemed to absorb the sunlight. There was no movement on the battlements, and the windows stared down at them darkly.

  “Each night that I spend in there, I will light a flame by the south wall that you can see from the forest,” he said eventually. “Two long signals, two short ones, thrice repeated. If I’m in trouble, there’ll be short signals only. That’s how we remain in contact. Agreed?”

  “And if there is no light at all?” asked Greta.

  “Then my mission is over, one way or another. Don’t wait for me. Greta, Tonio might reach out for you following my death. In that case you must get away from here as fast as you can.” He looked at John. “I am placing my daughter’s life in your hands. May God punish you if anything happens to Greta.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to her.” John gave a small bow. “You can rely on me, Doctor.”

  “So you’ll just walk over to the castle, knock on the door, and deliver yourself to the enemy?” asked Greta. “Are you serious?”

  Johann smiled. “Sometimes the simplest plans are the best. It’s like with chess. Always make the move your opponent least expects.”

  They waited until it was dark.

  Karl’s clothes had dried in the meantime, and he no longer felt quite as pathetic as he had earlier in the afternoon when he’d nearly drowned in the moat. They had withdrawn into the shelter of the woods. Once or twice they heard shouting in the distance—the soldiers were probably still out looking for them. But the forests around Tiffauges were thick, and the wild gorse bushes formed a natural labyrinth. The shouting soon ebbed and didn’t come closer.

  They exchanged few words, afraid that talking would make saying goodbye even harder. Karl was scared; fear had grown around his heart like a layer of ice. He didn’t know what awaited him in the castle, but at the same time he was relieved that the doctor had agreed to bring him along. And hadn’t he even seen some affection in Faust’s eyes? Karl knew that the doctor would never love him, but a bond had grown between them over the years that couldn’t be broken. They would walk this path together, too—maybe it would be their last. Wasn’t that what designated true love—to live through everything together until the bitter end?

  And besides, Karl still hoped that maybe everything would somehow turn out well. Perhaps the steward ruling the castle would turn out to be nothing but a steward, and the new priest nothing but a priest. Maybe the death of the children could still somehow be explained by natural causes. Maybe they would leave Tiffauges Castle alive, and maybe Faust’s disease was just a disease and not a curse—a malady that might be treatable, at Córdoba or wherever. But Karl had to admit that there were a lot of maybes in his considerations—more than a scientist like him could accept.

  When night had descended over the woods, the four of them sneaked over to the moat, which stretched before them black and smooth. John had persuaded Johann that it would be best if he and Greta accompanied them as far as the castle. At the far end of the moat, a dam led across the river, and not far from that was the bastion forming the main entrance. The small gate, the only visible way to get into the castle, stood wide open.

  Like an invitation, thought Karl.

  Concealed by the darkness, they hurried across the dam and continued along the castle wall toward the five-pointed star of the bastion. When they had almost reached it, John signaled for them to stop and duck.

  “What is it?” whispered Greta.

  “See the bush by the moat, not far from the gate?” John pointed at the spot. “Two men are hiding there. Not castle guards, I’m guessing, but some of the same soldiers we saw in town.”

  Now Karl could also make out the two figures. They were about eighty paces away and barely recognizable.

  “Wait here,” ordered John. He drew his long hunting knife from his belt and stalked toward the bush, followed by Greta’s worried gaze.

  “What is he doing?” she asked. “There are two of them. If one of them screams—”

  “He belongs to the king’s guard,” said Johann reassuringly. “I think he
knows what he’s doing. I still can’t stand the fellow, but he certainly is a useful fighter.”

  Karl couldn’t see John for a few moments. He wondered if more soldiers they couldn’t see had been hiding, but then a shadow rose behind one of the men by the bush. The man slumped to the ground and was swallowed up by the darkness. Karl thought he heard a muffled sound, then the second man also vanished.

  “Like I said—he knows what he’s doing,” said Johann with an approving nod.

  Soon John returned, the knife back on his belt. He seemed completely composed—not at all as if he’d just slit the throats of two men. “They were Swiss mercenaries,” he reported in a low voice. “I would have loved to finish off that giant, but he wasn’t there. It’s highly likely that he’s lurking somewhere else. So better not hold any lengthy speeches when you’re standing outside the inner gate.”

  “I’ll be pleased if it opens at all,” said Johann before he stood up and stretched.

  His appearance was crippled and crooked as a gnarled willow, and yet he looked determined, fearless, and powerful, like a great sorcerer.

  “Well, then. Let’s get it over with.” He hugged Greta one last time. “Don’t you worry about me,” he said, running his hand through her hair. “You were correct: Doctor Faustus always thinks of something.” He smiled weakly. “After all, he can do magic, right?” Then he turned away abruptly and strode toward the castle gate with Karl.

  15

  KARL KEPT LOOKING BACK, EXPECTING OTHER MERCENARIES to leap out of their hiding places at any moment. But nothing happened. A bridge followed the first open gate, leading toward another gate.

  The timber creaked beneath their feet as they walked across the bridge, the dark, closed gate rising up before them. Above, stone spouts jutted out from the wall through which hot pitch could be poured onto attackers during a siege. Karl also noticed numerous arrow slits. Was someone watching them from the inside? For a moment he thought he saw a flickering light behind the slits, but it disappeared before he could be certain.

  With all his remaining strength, Johann pounded his fist against the heavy wooden door. The sound was as loud as thunder in the silence.

  “Hey, open up!” commanded Johann as if it were the most normal thing in the world to demand entrance to a castle late at night. “No lesser man than the honorable Doctor Johann Georg Faustus requests admittance. Grant him entry and he will compile a favorable horoscope for you. Deny him, however, and the stars will shine on you with ill fortune!” He winked at Karl. “That ought to have awakened whoever’s inside.”

  “And everyone in the village, too,” muttered Karl.

  When nothing happened, Johann shouted, “I’ve traveled very far, from the stormy climes of the North Sea, across the wooded hills of the Vosges Mountains, all the way to Brittany. So far everyone has welcomed me and no one regretted it. Is the steward of Tiffauges going to be the first man to deny my helpful services—the services of the great Doctor Faustus?”

  Still nothing. But then there was a sound behind them. When Karl turned around, he saw about a dozen men jogging toward them from outside the bastion.

  One of them was very tall.

  “Damn it, it’s the Swiss guards with Hagen,” exclaimed Karl.

  The soldiers ran steadily toward the bastion and the bridge behind it. Karl could make out their colorful uniforms, their drawn swords and raised pikes. And at their front ran Hagen. A chill went down Karl’s back. This giant appeared to be invincible. It wouldn’t be long before he reached them. The only way to escape now would be if that damned gate opened—or if Karl jumped into the moat for a second time that day, the surface of the water looking oily in the light of the moon.

  I’d rather get skewered, he thought.

  Defiant and silent the gate stood before them, still no sound coming from the other side, while Hagen and his men got closer and closer.

  Johann hammered his fist against the door as if he wanted to break it open. “Open up! Open the gate! Now!”

  The first soldiers set foot on the wooden bridge. Karl thought that despite the darkness he could see Hagen smirk—when the gate finally creaked open like the gaping mouth of a huge fish.

  “About time,” snarled Johann.

  Karl and the doctor slipped through the crack, and the wings of the gate immediately fell shut behind them. Someone banged against it from the other side, but the timber was hard as iron. A pike that had found its way through the gap lay broken on the ground. As the soldiers pounded the gate angrily, Karl looked around. They were standing inside a narrow entranceway that was separated from the moonlit courtyard by an iron gate. There wasn’t a soul to be seen. But then a rattling and jangling set in, and the gate was lifted up as if by magic. The thumping behind them faded.

  “A rather spooky reception,” said Johann, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “But I didn’t expect anything else.”

  He stepped out into the courtyard and scanned the buildings they could make out in the moonlight. Not far from them stood the donjon, the keep Karl had seen from outside. To their left was a small watchmen’s hut, and just then two armored guards carrying swords around their waists emerged from it. Evidently they had been waiting for the two guests inside their dark room. One of the men carried a torch and shone it into Johann’s face.

  “So you are Doctor Faustus?” he asked in French, tilting his head, sizing up Johann. “The Doctor Faustus?”

  “Do you want me to demonstrate on your body?”

  The man said nothing at first, as if he didn’t know what to think of the doctor’s appearance. Then he asked, “Who are those men out there?”

  “They’ve got nothing to do with us,” replied Johann. “Now take me to your master, whoever he may be.”

  “‘Whoever he may be.’” The soldier laughed. “Ha, that’s a good one! Follow me. The master would like to meet you.”

  They followed the two guards across the courtyard, deserted and barren as if it had been forsaken by God and the world. Farther back they could see the outlines of the manor house and other buildings, but the guards led them to the right, to the donjon. Karl realized now how big and mighty this tower really was. It was surrounded by its own moat with its own drawbridge, a fortified gate, and a three-story main building—it was a castle within the castle.

  As if the one who constructed it wanted to be safe from enemies not from the outside, but from the inside, thought Karl.

  Now he saw another large building to the left of the donjon. It was an old church that, compared to the tower, looked weathered and crumbling. The keep’s moat ran right past the church, and it looked like the church had been cut in half and the front part had simply been torn down.

  The guards led them over the narrow, squeaking drawbridge, then across a courtyard and finally into a low-ceilinged hall that was illuminated by dozens of torches. Nonetheless it was dim, the large room swallowing up the light. Thick smoke wafted below the ceiling and made Karl cough. It stemmed from a great open fire at the back wall that didn’t seem to draw very well. Moldy tapestries displaying battle scenes hung on the walls, like relics of a long-gone era. In the center of the room stood an enormous banquet table that easily would have seated two dozen people. Karl guessed that once upon a time roaring feasts had taken place here, but now there was just one solitary older man sitting at the table’s head. He wore a surcoat that was tatty and stained; his bloated face was covered by a shaggy beard, and his right hand clutched a goblet of wine that gleamed blood-red. At his feet dozed two large black dogs that reminded Karl of Little Satan. When the dogs noticed the two strangers, they started to growl menacingly and bared their teeth.

  “Arthos, Wotan, hush!” ordered the man in a similar growl. He gave the pair of guards by the door a signal. “You can leave us. I think we can handle those two on our own.”

  Karl was still wondering whether we was supposed to mean the dogs or another person when the man addressed the doctor.

  “So you are the
famous Doctor Faustus from the German lands,” he said with a heavy tongue. He took a long gulp from his goblet and wiped his dirty shirtsleeve across his beard. His eyes were small and red, as if from years of drinking.

  Johann gave a small bow. “At your service, Your Excellency.”

  “Tell me, how do I know that you are indeed Faust and not some kind of impostor, huh?” The man’s eyes grew even smaller, and he scrutinized Johann and Karl as if they were a pair of cockroaches. “I’ve heard about Doctor Faustus. He is a powerful wizard, but you don’t look powerful. Not to mention the fellow next to you. He looks more like a wench.”

  “It’s him, no doubt,” said another voice. “The legendary Doctor Johann Georg Faustus and his assistant, Karl Wagner. Am I right? Welcome to Tiffauges Castle!”

  The voice had come from the rear of the room by the fireplace. Stepping out from the clouds of smoke was a gaunt middle-aged man clad in the black robe of a priest. His comely, beardless cheeks and chin were scarred by pockmarks that added a cruel streak to the otherwise handsome face, like cracks in a beautiful vase. His hair was raven black and long, flowing down his shoulders like pitch.

  “Unlike the honorable lord steward, who is far too busy for such things, I have seen leaflets with your image at the markets,” he added by way of explanation, looking at Johann. “It’s a bad habit, I admit. Those leaflets often contain the most hair-raising nonsense. Oh dear!” The man gave a laugh. “Now I’m talking too much again. And I haven’t even introduced myself.” He gave a bow. “Father Jerome, the castle chaplain.”

  Johann looked at him sharply. “Is it customary in French castles for the guests to be greeted by the chaplain, not the lord of the castle?”

  “You must forgive us.” Father Jerome smiled. “The lord steward often feels indisposed. And in such cases he is glad when I . . . well, fulfill the occasional burdensome task for him. I’m afraid this is one such case.” He gestured at the table, where the steward’s head had sunk onto his chest. The old drunkard snored like a bear in hibernation, his beard hanging into his goblet.