The Devil's Pawn

by Oliver Pötzsch

  Viktor von Lahnstein shook his head, incapable of coming up with a reply. He had sacrificed his entire life to the church, had fought against heretics and disbelievers because he was firmly convinced that in this time of new teachings, which placed man and not God in the center, only a strong church could be their salvation. He had gone through hell and high water for this pope, had put up with all his escapades, only to find out now that his master had lost his mind.

  The pope was summoning the devil.

  Was it insanity or the worst joke the devil had ever thought up?

  “You must not do this,” said Lahnstein, taking another step toward the pope.

  Leo gave him an astonished look. “What did you say?”

  “With all due respect, Holy Father, I am not going to allow this. This isn’t the church I gave my solemn oath to.”

  “I am your uppermost master, have you forgotten? I am the ruler of this church.”

  “My uppermost master is God, and even you are but His servant. I am sorry to say this, Father, but your time is over.”

  With those words, Lahnstein spun around and strode toward the stairs. He would notify the guards. When they saw what was going on here, they would understand and arrest the pope. It was plain to see that His Holiness had gone insane. Lahnstein couldn’t think of any precedents in the history of the church. Popes had murdered their opponents, kept whores, sold their positions, desecrated tombs. But a pope getting involved with the devil?

  The representative took long strides and had almost reached the steps. The cardinals would certainly agree with him following a thorough investigation. They would elect a new pope, and Lahnstein would have a new master he could serve loyally. The church would never go down, ever! Not even when the Holy Father himself had sold his soul to the devil. All would be well—

  Lahnstein winced when he felt a sharp sting in the back. A moment later, his legs caved in, but he didn’t fall.

  Strange, he thought.

  When he looked down, he saw the blade of a sword protruding from his belly. Blood was dripping off its tip.

  My blood.

  He wanted to turn around but couldn’t move. Instead he felt a deathly cold spreading from the center of his body to the tips of his fingers and toes. The sword twisted several times in his abdomen, then it was pulled back. The pain was indescribable. Only then did Lahnstein fall down the stone steps, tumbling head over heels several times before coming to rest at the bottom of the stairs.

  The last thing he saw was the opening at the top of the stairs, illuminated from behind by the glow of the firepots. Standing there was a huge apparition, his sword raised like an avenging angel.

  Like the archangel Lucifer, thought Lahnstein, his final thoughts thundering like a storm through his mind. The light bringer.

  Then he was overwhelmed by darkness.

  “Did you immobilize him?” asked the pope from his strange throne beneath the baldachin. A small wave was all it had taken to communicate his command.

  Hagen nodded. “He has been silenced for good, Holy Father.”

  “Well done, Hagen,” said Leo with a smile. “I knew I could rely on you. I have always been able to rely on you. Now bring me the child.”

  “Your wish is my command, Holy Father.”

  Heavy boots trudged past Lahnstein’s body, which was already turning cold.

  Dust tickled Johann’s nose, and his rash burned like fire. He had quickly hidden behind the door to the guards’ chamber when Lahnstein had turned around. The last order the pope had issued to Hagen was branded in his mind as if with glowing needles.

  Bring me the child.

  Johann was shaking with rage and fear. Leo wanted to sacrifice Johann’s grandson. Desperately, he racked his brains for ideas. Below him, at the foot of the stairs, lay Lahnstein, his supposed enemy, cut down like an animal by Hagen. Johann had no doubt that the pope’s close confidant was dead. Within a matter of moments, nothing seemed the way it was before. Apparently Lahnstein really hadn’t known about the plan to invoke the devil. Another was behind all this. Someone Johann knew all too well.

  What shape have you taken this time, Tonio?

  Tonio was a master of deception, of masquerade, but Johann’s eternal enemy hadn’t shown himself yet. Sitting enthroned on the platform was a pope who was making common cause with the devil. It must have been Tonio who told Leo about the ritual, just like Tonio must have been the one to put the idée fixe of finding the philosopher’s stone in the pope’s mind a couple of years ago, resulting in the hunt for Johann.

  Where are you, Tonio? What is your plan?

  Trembling, Johann stood beside the open door of the guards’ chamber. He should have followed Hagen downstairs. But he didn’t stand a chance against the giant, and besides, Hagen would bring the boy up here to complete the gruesome ritual.

  Johann hesitated for another moment, then he’d made his decision.

  The devil could be bartered with. And the pope would be another pawn in the bargain.

  Johann stepped onto the terrace, and the wind immediately tore at his clothes. Behind him, the Angel’s Chapel with its platform roof formed the rear part of the terrace, and far below him flickered the lights of plentiful torches as if from another world. Johann studied the bizarre wooden construct riddled with rockets, each one ready to go off at any moment. Then he saw that more fuses led across the walls, presumably to more rockets that would be fired from below.

  It would truly be a spectacular display.

  Johann, still carrying his satchel, walked toward the pentagram.

  Leo had closed his eyes again, but the two panthers noticed Johann right away. They pricked up their ears and snarled, pulling at their leash, which was wrapped around the throne. Leo turned, and surprise flashed in his eyes as he recognized the man on the terrace. But he regained his composure in a heartbeat.

  “Doctor Faustus,” he said with a thin smile and waved for Johann to join him under the baldachin. “What a pleasure. I was told that you were in Rome. Why didn’t you notify us? I would have prepared an appropriate welcome.”

  “I’m sure you would have,” replied Johann, his voice still hoarse. He slowly came closer. “A welcome like your most loyal servant just had the pleasure of enjoying.”

  “Oh, you speak of Monsignore Lahnstein?” Leo sighed. “Viktor disappointed me gravely. I honestly believed he understood how important it is for the church to find gold. If need be, even with the help of the devil. Tough times like these demand unusual methods. Fortunately, I took precautionary measures.”

  “You mean you won Hagen over,” remarked Johann, thinking how cold blooded the mercenary had looked as he murdered his companion of many years from behind.

  Leo gave a shrug. “Hagen is my best man within the Swiss guard. And that guard serves the pope—that is what my predecessor, Julius II, decreed. In addition, I have my very own personal bodyguards.”

  With a wink he gestured at the two panthers, who had settled down peacefully beside the throne. But Johann knew that those beasts could attack him at any time. He guessed a whistle from the pope was all it took to send the shiny black cats flying at him.

  “When a Mussulman merchant offered to sell these two beautiful beasts to me, Hagen arranged the purchase. That was when we got to know each other better, because Hagen loves animals almost as much as I do.” Leo smiled. “My little ones are from the same litter. I named them Romulus and Remus, in memory of the time of the great Roman emperors, when such panthers chased Christians to death inside the Colosseum. Now they serve the pope. How the times change.” He scratched one of the cats behind its ear, and the animal started to purr loudly. “Sadly, my darlings can’t cope with noise. I would have liked to have them with me during the summoning. In some cultures they are considered devils, after all. But Hagen will lead them to their cages once he has brought me your grandson.”

  “All this nonsense here.” Johann gestured at the smoking firepots, the pentagram, and the ingredi
ents surrounding them. “Do you truly believe the devil can be invoked like this?”

  “Certainly! And you know it, too, Doctor, don’t you? You know it because we both learned from the same master. You served him for a long time, but now he serves me. He showed me much during the last few years. He is the greatest wizard in the world—even greater than you. And he has devoted himself to a transcendental power, a power far greater than all worldly empires combined!” Leo pointed at the black outline of the partially built Saint Peter’s Basilica. “The power of the church.”

  “The church?” Johann gave a dry laugh. He took another step toward the throne; so far, the beasts remained still. “Do you honestly believe Tonio del Moravia would ever serve anyone but himself? And where is he, your servant?”

  “So you call him Tonio del Moravia? I know he has many names, and he uses a different one with me. But why not Tonio?” Leo smirked. “Don’t fret, he will come. He promised. He likes to spend his time at Romulus and Remus’s place of retreat. That’s where he likes to gather his strength. He can be a little, well . . . odd at times. But he’s not going to miss the show of the devil dancing to my tune. He loves shows as much as I do.”

  “It was Tonio who put the idea in your head that I knew how to make gold, wasn’t it? And he told you about Gilles de Rais. That was why you wanted me brought to Rome.”

  “That was shortly after he revealed himself to me. And yes, he told me about the dark marshal and showed me some of the knight’s writs. Admittedly, it took me a while to recognize the jewel God sent me in the shape of your former master. But his disguise was just too good.”

  So good that not even the pope can tell that Tonio and Gilles are one and the same person, thought Johann. What is your disguise this time, Tonio? What shell did you slip on?

  Leo gave another shrug. “You managed to escape and couldn’t be found. So I needed a new plan, and this one is even better.”

  “And this plan, too, stems from Tonio,” added Johann pensively. “A ritual to invoke the devil.”

  “Be so kind and tell me how you got here,” said Leo. “I had men searching for you for so long—for years—and now you suddenly stand before me. Upon the uppermost terrace of the best-guarded castle in Rome. How did you do it? Can you fly?”

  Johann bared his teeth, the skin of his face stinging with rashes. “I am a wizard, remember?”

  “You are indeed.” Leo snorted with laughter. “The best in the world, they assured me. And therefore I consider it an honor that you will be witnessing my invocation. Especially since your very own grandson is going to be part of it.” The pope placed his hand against his ear and winked at Johann. “Ah, do you hear that? It can’t be long now.”

  “You really think they’ll just let us in?” asked Karl, following Greta through the crowds.

  Hundreds of people had gathered outside Castel Sant’Angelo, and hundreds more were standing upon the bridge and lining the far bank of the Tiber. Karl knew that the bridge had collapsed once before and hoped it wouldn’t happen a second time tonight.

  “I know some of the guards,” replied Greta, her arm linked with his. “One or two of them owe me a favor.” She glanced at her old friend with a brief smile. “And the way you’re looking, you could offer to hear their confessions. You would have made a good priest.”

  “At least I would have been constantly surrounded by handsome men,” grumbled Karl. “Sodomites are common among monks—I know what I’m talking about.”

  After Karl and Greta’s conversation outside the church, they had paid a brief visit to the hospital. Greta had rummaged through the clothes room until she’d found an old monk’s habit that Karl had slipped over his clothes. He had insisted on accompanying Greta to ensure little Sebastian’s well-being. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that Faust had deceived him.

  To Karl’s surprise, they didn’t head toward the main entrance but walked around the fortress until they came to a smaller gate in the eastern wall. It was manned by two soldiers of the Swiss guard. With their halberds, swords on their belts, and grim expressions, they looked like two statues of Mars, the god of war. But when the men recognized Greta, they broke out in friendly smiles.

  “Sister Greta!” exclaimed one of them. “My uncle sends his regards. His stomach pains have indeed gone.”

  “Tell him to continue taking the powder for another five days.” Greta raised a finger. “And no meat or fatty foods during Advent.”

  The watchman grinned. “Old Greedy Guts will find that rather difficult.” His eyes turned to Karl with curiosity. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Father?”

  “We would like to check on my son,” replied Greta. “Sebastian has been suffering from a nasty cough since yesterday. And Father Rupert is one of the best doctors over at the hospital.”

  “Better than you? That’s hardly possible,” said the second watchman, a gaunt fellow with a freshly healed scar on his face. “Your ointments work miracles, Sister. But I understand—a second opinion never hurts.” He stepped aside and opened the gate. “I hope your son feels better soon, Sister Greta.” He winked at her. “And don’t be surprised if some of the guards aren’t at their posts tonight. I think a few of them wanted to sneak out to the balustrades to watch the fireworks. They should start at any moment.”

  Greta gave the guards a nod, and she and Karl walked into the gloomy building.

  “I hope God will forgive my small lie,” she murmured. She folded back her head scarf so that Karl could see her blonde hair. Her eyes were flashing with the same willfulness he knew from years ago. “I don’t even know why I agreed to this charade. My son is perfectly well—you’ll see.”

  “I wish that you’re right, Greta,” said Karl. “Truly, I wish it with my whole heart. And if you are right, then at least we’ll have spent some time together before we go our separate ways for good. I am going to leave Rome soon.”

  She squeezed his hand. “It was wonderful to see you again, Karl.” She turned abruptly. “Now let’s go. Before more guards ask stupid questions about the handsome monk in the musty robe.”

  They were standing inside a narrow corridor that ran between the outer wall and the cylindrical main building. Every ten paces or so stood a firepot, bringing a little light into the night. A larger gate led inside the castle. Here, too, the soldiers let Greta and Karl pass with a nod at Greta.

  “You seem to have a lot of friends here,” whispered Karl.

  “Everyone gets sick sometimes or suffers from one ailment or another. And there are hardly any women at Castel Sant’Angelo—the guards are grateful for any distraction.” Greta strode ahead. “But don’t forget—this is merely the lower area. The higher up we go, the more heavily guarded you’ll find the castle. I don’t have access to the upper levels.”

  As they followed a wide rampart that was shaped like the inside of a snail’s shell, Karl had to concede that the papal castle truly was an impregnable fortress. They walked across a trapdoor more than three paces long and as wide as the rampart. In the sides and the ceilings he noticed narrow and deep slits. The walls here seemed to be thicker than some houses, and with no windows or doors. The dim source of light was torches sitting in brackets on the wall at regular intervals.

  After a while, Greta took a corridor that turned off to the left. It led them to a small courtyard where young lemon trees grew inside clay tubs; several doors led in all directions. Karl had completely lost his bearings. The moon above him was his only point of orientation, and he faintly heard the cheering crowd outside the walls.

  Greta looked around in bewilderment. “There should be guards here,” she said, shaking her head. “I guess they wanted to see the fireworks. So long as Martha is still there.”

  “Who is Martha?”

  “Sebastian’s nursemaid. She’s a kind and caring woman who has raised many children. Sebastian loves her.” She paused. “Probably more than his own mother,” she added softly.

  She walked to a small
door in the corner. She was about to push down the handle when she froze. Karl walked up beside her and saw what had made Greta stop short.

  The door was ajar, and all was dark on the other side.

  “Martha, are you there?” called Greta into the darkness. “It’s me, Greta. I know it’s late, but—”

  She fell silent when Karl touched her by the shoulder. He pointed at the ground. A child-sized shoe was lying in front of the doorstep, and a wet spot gleamed next to it in the light of the moon.

  “Wait here,” whispered Karl. “Do not go inside without me!”

  He hurried across the courtyard, grabbed one of the torches, and returned to Greta, who stared at him from wide eyes. “What is the meaning of this?” she asked quietly. “Where is Martha? Where is Sebastian? Maybe . . . maybe she just took him to the balustrade to watch the fireworks.”

  “Maybe,” murmured Karl.

  He shoved the door open and cautiously stepped into the room with the torch in his hand. Flickering light fell onto a table with a bowl of cold porridge. Farther back, Karl made out a plain bed and a cradle beside it.

  The cradle was empty.

  Karl lowered the torch and saw a child’s rattle on the floor, a spinning top, a velvet cushion, a hand.

  A hand.

  Karl started. Next to him, Greta gave a small cry.

  A severed human hand was lying on the floor.

  A trail of blood led a few steps to the side, where, in a large pool of blood, lay the body of a woman. Her throat had been almost cut right through, and the stump of her arm was pointed toward the empty cradle as if in silent admonishment. Mercifully, the corner of a sheet covered the upper part of her face.

  “Martha!” cried Greta. “Oh God, Martha! Oh God!”

  She was holding both hands to her mouth, staring at the dead woman as if she hoped to wake from this nightmare at any moment.

  “Where . . . where is Sebastian? Where? Where? Where?” Her voice was growing increasingly shrill.