The Devil's Pawn

by Oliver Pötzsch

  Greta had taken another look at the lines in her father’s hand before she left. They had become even paler, like the trails of fireflies fading in the night.

  He is going to die, she thought. There is no way out.

  “What’s happened?” asked John. He gently led her into the church, where some candles had been lit on the altar. Greta gazed at their shared hideout, knowing that the time had come: she needed to make a decision. She felt in her heart that she’d already made it: she would go with John, the man she loved.

  Why was it so incredibly difficult to take this step?

  My father’s story is also my story.

  “My news isn’t very good,” she began. Then she told John haltingly what had happened in the last few hours. “I knew it would end like this,” she said bitterly. “I just didn’t want to accept it. This whole journey was doomed from the beginning. Maybe all we’re chasing is a phantom. I should never have followed my father.”

  “Your father?” John gaped at her. “The famous Doctor Faustus is your father?”

  “Yes, he is. That and more . . .” Greta was shaking, unable to go on.

  “I think it’s time for you to tell me the real reason for your journey,” said John, taking her hand in his. “No more excuses, Greta. And no lies. We made a promise to each other, remember? I am a smuggler, but who are you, Greta? I know nothing about you.”

  She hesitated for another moment, then she spoke. “Back in Blois, at the tavern. You told me that people around here speak of a child-eating ogre.”

  John rolled his eyes. “Not that again! Don’t tell me your father believes those fairy tales and is too scared to leave the house. I mean, he is Doctor Faustus. He should—”

  “What if those ogres are real?” asked Greta, cutting him off. “What if my father has been cursed by such an ogre?”

  “Cursed?” John looked stupefied. “What in God’s name are you talking about?”

  Haltingly at first, Greta began to tell John about Tonio and the pact her father had made with him a long time ago. Her voice grew steadier as she told him about Johann’s illness and the suspicion that Tonio was some kind of ancient creature, perhaps even the devil himself. In the end, the words came gushing out of her as if she confided in John in the hope of finding solace and absolution. He listened silently. When she had finished, he shook his head.

  “It all sounds very strange. I honestly don’t know what to think. This Tonio—an old pact with the devil?”

  “You don’t have to believe it. I don’t know myself how much of it is true. But at least now you know why we visited Leonardo da Vinci. My father suspects that Leonardo, too, made such a pact with the devil, and that he might know what can be done about it. But Leonardo revealed nothing, and now Melzi has thrown us out.” Her voice trembled. “I saw it in my father’s hands. He . . . he is dying. I could come to terms with that, but not if the devil swoops in to fetch him!”

  “And you could really foretell his death by his hand? You can actually do that?” John held out his right. “Do you want to—?”

  “No!” Greta almost screamed and recoiled as if his hand were a poisonous adder. “I will never read anyone’s palm again. It is . . . Afterward, nothing is the way it was before. I don’t want to know when your end is near, John. I just want to be with you. But I also want to help my father, even if he lied to me for years. Damn it!”

  Tears overcame her then and she was racked by sobs. She who was always so strong suddenly lost her footing as the events of the last few months seemed to come crashing down on her. John wrapped his arms around Greta and held her tightly. She felt his warmth, but now his closeness didn’t offer protection.

  “All is going to be well, Greta,” he whispered. “All will be well with my help and with that of God.”

  “With God’s help?” Greta gave a desperate chuckle. “Where is God? All I can see is evil, evil in human form! In the shape of Tonio del Moravia, evil walks upon this earth—just like that awful villain before him, Gilles de Rais, and others before him. It is always there.”

  “Gilles de Rais?” John frowned. “Hang on a moment. What does Gilles de Rais have to do with all this?”

  “You . . . you know of him?” Greta swallowed, realizing she hadn’t yet mentioned Gilles de Rais to John. She had spoken about Tonio and the devil, but not about Agrippa’s and Johann’s suspicion that Tonio and the former French marshal were in fact the same person.

  “Everyone in the Loire Valley knows of Gilles de Rais—the bastard murdered children in this area, too. There are those who believe that Gilles de Rais is the child-eating ogre you’ve heard of. And some even believe that he is still taking children today. His former castle isn’t too far from here. It’s to the southwest, down in Brittany.”

  Greta stared at him, her mouth open. She took a few moments to let the meaning of John’s words sink in.

  His old castle isn’t too far from here.

  John shrugged. “To be honest, I always thought it was just another scary story to frighten children.”

  Greta was thunderstruck. Everything made sense to her all of a sudden. The pursuit in Orléans, the constant menace. Tonio hadn’t followed them.

  He lived here.

  A stone clattered somewhere and Greta gave a start. A raven cawed in the rafters. Little Satan growled and pricked up his ears, but nothing happened. Greta soon calmed down. The church was very old; it was probably just a loose roof tile. The spire was partially collapsed, which was why they hadn’t dared go up there, even if the view was probably spectacular. Across the island and the Loire, over to the castle and beyond . . . Tonio’s homeland.

  “What is the name of the castle?” she asked.

  “It’s more of a fortress. It is called Tiffauges and lies in the barony of Retz. People say it is cursed, even after all these years.”

  Greta closed her eyes.

  Tiffauges.

  She remembered people talking about it at the taverns. She’d heard the name but hadn’t known what it meant. Now she did.

  And she also knew what needed to be done.

  Greta grabbed John’s hand with determination and dragged him to the door.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” asked John. “You owe me at least one kiss.”

  “I want you to come with me,” replied Greta firmly. “Whether my father likes you or not. But this news will rouse him.” She glanced back at the cross above the altar.

  “Tiffauges,” she murmured almost inaudibly. The word tasted sour, like milk that had turned, or like a foul-smelling subterranean stream that had suddenly burst to the surface. And yet it offered her a solution.

  It was as if God had shown her a new path.

  Upstairs in the derelict spire, Viktor von Lahnstein ran his tongue over his cracked lips. He signaled Hagen to remain quiet. The coarse giant had almost given them away—then they never would have heard what they just had. Or only with much greater effort and accompanied by irritating screams and wailing.

  This way had been much easier.

  When they could no longer hear any footsteps, the papal representative rose from the dusty floor, which was covered in mouse droppings, dead flies, and mummified birds. He adjusted his coat and went to the window, where he watched the two lovers walk away. His plan had worked. When Faust had retreated to an inn, they had stuck to the heels of the girl, and now she turned out to be the doctor’s daughter. A pretty lass who would certainly come in handy.

  Won’t you look at that—the doctor isn’t as prim as he pretends to be. What is it they say? He who has children also has worries.

  Lahnstein smiled underneath his silken bandage, but only briefly, as any movement of his facial muscles still caused him pain. Lucky he had one homing pigeon left. The knowledge he possessed now would guarantee him the post of cardinal.

  Because one thing was clear: the secret the Holy Father so desperately longed to learn was hiding at Tiffauges.

  Lahnstein had always assumed he would have t
o take Faust to Rome, but now the doctor would lead him to the secret like a witless donkey with a carrot in front of its nose. And the best part was: afterward, Doctor Faustus would no longer be needed. He would be superfluous, like a weed ripped out by the roots. There would be no memories left of him. His name would be erased from the chronicles. Yes, God was just! After all his trials, he, Viktor von Lahnstein, God’s most loyal servant, would finally get the revenge he craved.

  An eye for an eye.

  The papal representative stared into the growing darkness for a long time. Lahnstein would have liked to hum a song, but it hurt too much. His facial muscles would never be the same again. But he could think of countless things they could do to the doctor, his daughter, and that young assistant.

  “Gather our men,” he said to Hagen. “Our journey will soon come to an end.”

  Oh yes, those three would experience hell right here on earth.

  Johann imagined he was floating in warm water, his body drifting on the surface like a cork, without feelings, without pain. Every now and then someone wiped the sweat off his forehead. He guessed it was Karl but couldn’t say for certain, because that would have required opening his eyes, and he’d rather not. He would rather have another drink.

  “Theriac,” he muttered. “Just one more sip.”

  “You’ve had enough theriac to last you a lifetime,” said a voice that was probably Karl’s. “Do you think I haven’t noticed the increase of your daily dose over the last few weeks?”

  “Good Karl.” Johann smiled. “Can’t hide anything from you. You’d have made an excellent physician if you didn’t have to travel the lands with that accursed Faustus. I wonder if people will tell your story in years to come, too?”

  In an attempt to fight his shaking, Johann had indeed consumed more and more of his medicine, which contained henbane, thorn apple, and poppy juice. It wasn’t the cheap, harmless swill he sold to his patients but his very own mixture that had become a constant companion. In the beginning he had only taken a few drops in the evening, but now he mixed three or four spoonfuls with a glass of brandy, several times a day. Today he had drained the whole bottle. It eased the pain and the shaking, but most of all it helped him forget.

  He would go to hell, and then Tonio would fetch his daughter.

  We will mate with her on Blocksberg Mountain, my little Faust. Through her, evil will receive its new coat.

  Something pulled at him. At first Johann thought it was the jagged beak of a raven. Earlier that day he had seen an old raven on the opposite roof as if the beast was waiting for him. Johann growled like an angry wolf, but the pulling didn’t stop.

  “Go away, you damned creature!” he shouted. “Tell your master that I won’t go with him! Not yet.”

  Then he opened his eyes.

  There was no raven. Leaning over him was Greta, and behind her stood another figure who looked like it was trying to remain in the background. The figure had hair like fiery flames. Had the devil come in person to take him?

  “Greta,” he whispered. “Forgive me . . . I wanted to protect you . . .”

  “Jesus Christ, wake up, Father!”

  Cold water hit his face, followed by a slap across his cheek. He started up and beheld the face of John Reed with his flaming red hair, his hand raised for another slap.

  A wave of anger overcame Johann. He felt so furious that he even sobered up a little.

  “How dare you!” he snarled. “And what are you doing here? You have no business being here—you can forget about my daughter!”

  John grinned at Greta and Karl beside him. “Didn’t I tell you? Anger can be an excellent medicine. I’d be happy to slap him again if—”

  “I think that’s enough, John,” said Greta. She looked at her father intently. “Now can you listen to what I have to say?”

  “I am neither senile nor a fool,” said Johann. “Say what you must say and then leave me in peace.”

  “Tonio is nearby,” started Greta.

  Johann groaned. “I know that. I’ve been saying all along—”

  “He’s always been around here, because his castle isn’t far from here. It’s in Brittany,” she said. “It is the castle of Gilles de Rais!” She took Johann’s hand. “Do you understand, Father? He didn’t follow us. We traveled to his realm without even knowing!”

  “What are you saying?” Johann shot up as if struck by lightning. Little Satan, who had been lying next to the stove, pricked up his ears and gave a low growl.

  “It’s just as your daughter says,” piped up John. “This Gilles de Rais used to live at Tiffauges in the barony of Retz. Folks tell a lot of scary stories about that castle. When Gilles was on trial, they found the bones of hundreds of children in the cellars, and large stoves where his helpers supposedly burned the small bodies. To this day it is a place people avoid.”

  Johann’s head was thumping and he struggled to concentrate. He tried to remember what the great scholar Conrad Celtis had told him about Gilles de Rais many years ago. Celtis, too, had mentioned castles of the dark marshal, but Johann never knew the names of the castles.

  “What is the name of the place again?” asked Johann. Something had rung a bell in Johann’s mind.

  “Tiffauges,” repeated John. “It lies in Brittany and—”

  “Seguaffit!” exclaimed Johann. “Of course, Seguaffit!”

  “I’m afraid you have a fever.” Greta tried to feel his forehead, but Johann swiped her hand aside.

  “Leonardo wrote that word on one of his notes in his library,” he explained. “Below it was the drawing of a castle upon a mountain of skulls and bones. I couldn’t make head nor tail of the word, but I didn’t consider the fact that Leonardo often writes in mirror writing. Only this time he wrote the letters correctly but the word back to front. That’s why I didn’t see it! Seguaffit is Tiffauges—Leonardo knows of the place. And that means he also knows of Gilles de Rais.”

  Johann remembered that Leonardo had watched him in the library for a while. He probably saw what Johann was looking at, and afterward the room had remained locked. Because Leonardo didn’t want him to find out more? It was too late to ask him about it, but it showed that they were on the right track.

  “How far is Tiffauges from here?” asked Karl.

  John rubbed his nose. “Hmm, a little over a hundred miles, perhaps. Not a good area down there. I’ve heard new stories of missing or dead children. Although I guess people talk a lot, and most of it is probably superstitious nonsense.”

  Trembling, Johann rose from his foul-smelling cot. The news had sobered him up greatly. He swayed a little but managed to sit down at the table.

  “Bring me a bowl of water,” he ordered. “I want to wash. And a clean shirt!”

  Karl threw up his hands in horror. “You don’t want to go to that castle, do you? In your condition?”

  “It is my last chance, and I should have grasped it much sooner.” Johann tried to laugh, but it came out as a hoarse cough. And yet he could feel his strength returning, slowly but steadily. “I am called Magister, Doctor, indeed, and still I can’t see the forest for the trees. Tonio, alias Gilles de Rais, is sitting in his web like a fat spider, and the center of the web is called Tiffauges! We’ve been nearing his home without knowing.”

  “Even if Tiffauges used to be the home of Gilles de Rais—why should we go there?” asked Karl. “What are you hoping to find there?”

  “Haven’t you been listening?” snapped Johann. “The bastard is still there, even if he’s called Tonio now. The missing children prove it. And there’s something else.” He thought of the old raven on the rooftop and the black birds that had been following him for weeks. They, too, had been harbingers. “I must defeat Tonio. I should have tried a long time ago. I’ve been running from him for far too long.” Johann nodded with grim determination. “He used to be my master, but at the end of the day he was always my archenemy, my nemesis. I must rise to the challenge once and for all. That is the only way
to break this curse.”

  “But that’s madness!” said Karl. “You’re sick. You need a physician. In Córdoba—”

  “Stop going on about your goddamned Córdoba!” Johann wiped the empty bottle of theriac off the table with his good hand, and it shattered on the ground. “I visited the most learned scholar and then the greatest inventor in the known world, and neither one was able to help me. And why? Because only I can help myself ! I must challenge Tonio at Tiffauges and vanquish him!”

  “You . . . you want to vanquish the devil?” asked Greta incredulously. “Are you serious? That is impossible.”

  “I like people who strive for the impossible,” replied Johann with a smile.

  He knew his plan was madness. But what other choice did he have?

  “The devil is a good businessman. He always returns for his share,” he said, repeating Leonardo’s words. “But by God, you can cheat him good. I’ve done it once before, down in the crypt below Nuremberg. Why shouldn’t I do it again?” He gave Karl a challenging look. “The only question is whether I’m going on my own.”

  No one spoke for a few moments. Then Karl stepped forward.

  “I will come with you, Doctor,” he said quietly. “I’ve long traveled by your side, and if it is your belief that you must run straight into perdition, then I’ll just have to run with you.”

  Johann saw John and Greta exchange furtive glances. Then the red-haired fellow jutted out his chin.

  “Whoever is murdering those children in Brittany, be it devil or man, they are dangerous. Too dangerous for two weak bookworms. The least I can do is serve as your bodyguard.”