Book of the Night

by Oliver Pötzsch

  With one final, emphatic nod, Zoltan left the tent, leaving the boys alone. They could already hear the sounds of muskets and cannons going off, and it was clear that skirmishes had already broken out nearby.

  “Did you hear that?” Giovanni whispered, after the commander had left. “This is our chance.”

  “Eh?” Jerome frowned. “What is our chance? Too often you speak in riddles.”

  “Good Lord, how can anyone be so stupid!” Giovanni exclaimed. “The army is leaving, and only Schönborn is staying behind in the monastery. That means the building will practically be unguarded. If we want to steal these documents—now is the time.”

  “You forget Schönborn’s guards, the Spanish mercenaries,” Paulus grumbled. “Surely, they’ll stay here with him.”

  “I can get you past them,” Daniel said, apparently having recovered from his fright. “I know a hallway that—”

  Jerome groaned. “Mon dieu, I’d completely forgotten that our esteemed leader reaches just up to my navel. Perhaps we should take off for Lützen right away and fight in the front line. Then at least I’ll be killed by a bullet and not have to die in the inquisitor’s torture chamber.”

  “I’ve made up my mind,” Lukas said. “I’m going to the monastery with Daniel. Giovanni is right—we’ll never have a better chance. Who knows if Schönborn isn’t already preparing to leave?”

  “But what about our oath?” Paulus asked. “We are Black Musketeers, don’t forget. We have sworn always to follow the orders of our commander. You heard Zoltan, and he won’t put up with any nonsense.”

  Jerome nodded. “We are Black Musketeers, we don’t just run away. And besides—”

  “I also swore an oath to my mother!” Lukas interrupted brusquely. “And for me, that carries more weight than any soldier’s vow. I’m going to look for Elsa, and by God, I’m going to find her,” he declared, staring stubbornly at the others. “Besides, for a long time I’ve been wondering about the point of this war. At first, I thought it was all about protecting the German Empire from its enemies—the Protestants, the Danes, the Swedes . . . But who really is our friend, and who is our foe? Wherever I look, all I see are victims, on both sides!”

  His face contorted in pain, Giovanni sat up from his sickbed. “I agree with Lukas. This is a war between great powers, and the farmers have to suffer for it. I’m sick of extorting every last penny from the poor so that our baggage train can keep eating its way through the country. If we just keep on like this, the war will never end.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Paulus argued. “We can destroy the Swedes here and now. Then we’ll finally have peace.”

  Giovanni nodded grimly. “The peace of the dead—until the next battle, and the next . . . How long has this war been going on? Ten years? Twenty? I’ve stopped counting.”

  “If everyone thinks like you, we’ll be an easy target for the Swedish king,” replied Jerome. “I can’t forget that my parents were murdered by Protestant mercenaries loyal to the Swedes.”

  “A few of the men out there saved my butt at Nürnberg,” Paulus growled, straightening up to his full height. He, too, seemed to have made his decision. “I can’t let them down now, not in this decisive battle.”

  “But you can abandon Lukas? Is that what you’re saying?” Giovanni hit back.

  “Damn! I don’t even know his sister, and none of us even knows if she’s still alive.” Paulus pointed furiously at the entrance to the tent. “But the men out there I know, and they’re still alive.”

  “Stop!” Lukas shouted. “Just stop your quarreling because of me. I didn’t want any of that. You’re my friends, aren’t you?”

  An embarrassing silence followed. Just as Giovanni was about to reply, a horn sounded outside the tent.

  “The signal to march off,” Jerome murmured, and he looked down at the ground.

  Paulus cleared his throat. “I’ll check the horses over there,” he grumbled. “Some of them need to be saddled. We can talk later, can’t we?” He looked at Lukas, who smiled back at him wearily.

  “It’s all right, Paulus, just go. We’ll meet again, I’m sure.”

  Jerome, too, headed slowly toward the exit. “I’ll go and help Paulus. Until later then, Lukas.”

  Jerome winked at Lukas, trying to appear confident. But it didn’t look genuine; it was as if he were wearing a mask. Then he went outside with Paulus, where the noise of the departing baggage train could be heard. Lukas, Giovanni, and Daniel remained behind, alone.

  “Surely, they’ll be back soon, and then . . . ,” Giovanni began to say, trying to console Lukas, but he shook his head sadly.

  “They’re right, Giovanni. They’re heading off to their war, and I’m going off to mine.”

  “Whatever happens, you can rely on me,” Giovanni replied. He tried to get up, but fell back onto his bed with a groan. The injury troubled him more than he’d first admitted.

  “Damn!” he cried. “Why couldn’t the bullet have gone just a bit farther to the left?”

  “It could also have gone a bit farther up, then you would be dead,” Lukas replied as he got to his feet. He buckled on his sword, reached for his pistol, and put on the leather straps attached to the pouch of gunpowder and bag of bullets.

  “Where are you going now?” Giovanni asked, pearls of sweat on his brow.

  “Where else? I’m going to the monastery with Daniel. We’ll find those documents and take them to Senno, and then I’m going to pray that my sister is still alive.”

  “I’ll pray with you, Lukas,” Giovanni promised in a faltering voice. Once again he tried to sit up, but fell back, moaning. “You must forgive the others,” he said. “They’ve experienced terrible things in this war, and they think they’re doing the right thing.”

  “Everyone in this war thinks they’re doing the right thing,” Lukas replied gloomily. A bitter taste rose in his mouth. He took Daniel by the hand. Until then, the boy had been listening silently to the friends’ conversation.

  I mustn’t cry now, Lukas thought. I’m no longer a child, and I have a mission to fulfill.

  “Come, boy, it’s time to go,” he murmured, leading Daniel to the exit.

  “I wish you luck with all my heart,” Giovanni called to them.

  “I’ll need it,” replied Lukas. “Farewell, my friend.”

  Then he turned and headed out with Daniel into the noisy army camp.

  XXI

  For a while, Lukas perceived his surroundings as if through a veil. The laughing and singing soldiers, the neighing horses pulling heavy cannons toward the battlefield, the distant gunfire . . . Everything seemed muted and gray, just like the winter sky with its deep-hanging clouds.

  A nagging feeling came over Lukas that he’d just lost the only real friends he’d ever had. Once again, he was alone, and no one could say who would survive this battle or what awaited him in this accursed monastery. Lukas had come to a crossroads, and now there was no going back.

  He had to find Elsa, even if this attempt should cost him his life.

  The sounds of musket fire brought him back to earth. The first skirmishes were beginning nearby, and he had to take care. He grabbed Daniel firmly by the arm and ran toward the little city of Weißenfels, from which a long line of soldiers wound its way. Here some of the larger buildings were burning, among them the old castle that the soldiers had likely set on fire when they left. The city gates were wide open, and the air was full of the odor of smoke, gunpowder, and death. Lukas decided to avoid the wide main road in order to meet as few soldiers as possible. They ran through deserted alleys and lanes, encountering from time to time a horse that had broken free or a wandering cow. Thundering cannons could be heard outside the city walls.

  “You have a sister?” Daniel asked after they’d wandered around awhile.

  Lukas nodded dreamily. Only now did it occur to him that he hadn’t told Daniel anything about Elsa.

  “Yes, I have a sister,” he said, “but I’ve lost contact w
ith her during the war. When I saw her the last time, I promised I’d keep looking for her, and since then, that’s what I’ve been doing. I’m hoping I’ll learn more about her in the monastery.”

  “I had a brother once,” Daniel replied. Suddenly he appeared very tired and confused. “But that was a long time ago. I can’t remember him—he probably died.”

  “Well, I don’t know about my sister,” said Lukas, “but something tells me she’s still alive—at least I hope she is. Her name is Elsa.”

  “Elsa?” Daniel stopped and smiled. “A nice name. I think—”

  An earsplitting blast made Lukas flinch, and he dropped to the ground, pulling Daniel after him. A moment later, huge rocks and rubble came flying over their heads, smashing through the roof of a house. There was another loud crash, and splintered rafters fell all around them. When Lukas looked up cautiously, he saw that part of the castle had been destroyed. Evidently the withdrawing soldiers had blown up large supplies of black powder.

  “I’m afraid we have no time now for conversation,” Lukas panted as he turned to Daniel. “Show me how to get into the monastery unnoticed. You said you know the way.”

  “Come.” Daniel took his hand and led him on through the silent lanes until they came to a stop in front of a dark, towering, box-shaped building. For a moment, Lukas thought he heard a desperate cry coming from inside.

  “The monastery,” Daniel announced, with childlike innocence. “This is where I live.”

  Shuddering, Lukas looked up at the mighty walls, blackened by the soot of centuries. It might have been a splendid building at one time, but the war had left its mark here, too. Gutted windows stared out at the two boys, and the upper part of the steeple had collapsed, but the monastery building behind it seemed to be in better condition, with gardens and a cloister. Daniel led Lukas past the monastery into a narrow lane.

  “Where are we going?” Lukas asked, surprised.

  Instead of replying, Daniel led him to a small stone bridge over a trickle of water that might at one time have been a brook, though now the bed was muddy and almost dry. Daniel pointed to a rusty grille directly under the bridge.

  “I found this grille some time ago when I was playing,” he said proudly. “It’s easy to lift up.”

  To prove his point, he climbed down into the smelly streambed and pushed the rusty grille aside. Lukas followed, but was disgusted to find himself up to his ankles in mud. He crawled over a dead cat, then stooped down and squinted into the dark passageway.

  “And this passage really does lead to the monastery?” Lukas frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “It doesn’t take long,” Daniel tried to assure him. “I’ve already used it a couple of times when I wanted to run away for a while. Come on!”

  The two boys crawled on all fours through the knee-high tunnel that stank of mold and garbage. It was so dark that Lukas couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face. Again and again, he reached out and touched something disgusting and slimy. He didn’t even want to know what it was. And a few times his shirt ripped against sharp corners and edges. Fortunately, Daniel was telling the truth, as the tunnel soon ended in front of another grille hanging loosely on its hinges. Behind it Lukas could just barely make out a large room.

  “The wine cellar,” Daniel whispered, carefully opening the grating. His face was even grimier than usual now. “From this point on we need to watch out for the guards.”

  As quietly as possible they sneaked past the huge barrels. A bit of daylight shone through the slits in the walls so that Lukas could see a door at the other end of the cellar. Daniel put his finger to his lips and pressed on the door. It swung open, revealing a hallway lit by a few torches that soon branched in two directions. To the right, the stairway led up, and to the left . . .

  A long, agonizing scream came from that direction, and Lukas knew at once where that corridor led. He hadn’t been wrong earlier.

  The torture chamber! he thought. Surely, that’s where they took the butcher and his daughter. We have to help these people before they suffer the same fate as my mother.

  He was about to turn left, but Daniel tugged at his sleeve to hold him back.

  “There are too many guards that way,” he whispered. “They’ll catch us right away. You want to search for papers, don’t you?”

  Lukas nodded reluctantly. Even if everything in him wanted to resist, he had to admit that Daniel was right. And he’d have to trust that Senno had told him the truth. If they had the documents, they’d be able to extort Schönborn, and then he would have to release the prisoners.

  Again a piercing cry echoed through the dark corridors. Lukas clenched his teeth, then followed Daniel, who had already scurried up the worn stairs to the ground floor. Suddenly, the boy stopped and motioned to Lukas to be silent. With bated breath, Lukas pressed his back to the wall, trying to make himself as invisible as possible.

  They could hear footsteps coming, and Lukas caught a glimpse of three Spanish mercenaries patrolling the wide hallway. They were talking quietly, and he was relieved to see that the frozen man with the scar was not among them. Nevertheless, if the guards turned their heads just a bit, they would discover the two boys on the stairway, and Lukas didn’t even want to think what would happen then.

  He didn’t dare to breathe again until the mercenaries had gone by.

  “That was close,” he whispered.

  “But good for us,” Daniel said with a smile. “They’re making the rounds. After they pass us, they go first to the cloister and then to the sleeping quarters, so the way up to the library is clear.”

  “What do you actually do here that makes you so familiar with this place?” Lukas whispered.

  But Daniel was already hurrying down the hallway toward another stairway leading up to the second floor. At the top of the stairs, he ran straight toward a wooden double door.

  “The library,” he said. “If you are looking for documents, this is the right place. Besides, he always works here.”

  “He?” Lukas gasped and stopped suddenly. “Schönborn? You mean Waldemar von Schönborn works in there? But if he’s now—”

  “Now he’s over in the church celebrating mass,” Daniel cut in. “He always does that around this time.” The boy had already opened the door and motioned for Lukas to enter. “Here,” he said, smiling with pride. “The library. We have time until the next bell rings, when the mass is over.”

  Reverently Lukas entered the high-ceilinged, wood-paneled room. Books, folios, and rolls of parchment rested on shelves reaching up to the ceiling. In the middle of the room was a large oak table with stacks of documents piled on it, and behind the table, a chair whose wooden frame and high back were richly decorated. Grotesque demonic figures with devil’s horns seemed to grow out of the wood. Many had their mouths wide open; others writhed in pain or seemed to be casting evil glances at the observer.

  The inquisitor’s throne. The thought flashed through Lukas’s mind: This is where he probably signs his death sentences.

  He reached for the amulet hanging around his neck, which until then had at least given him a feeling of being protected. But it was missing. He stared at his torn shirt in shock.

  “The amulet!” he cried. “It’s gone!”

  Once again he felt around his neck, under his shirt, and in his pockets, but the talisman had disappeared.

  “I must have lost it down in the stinking sewer,” Lukas said. “It got caught on something. Damn!”

  He felt an irresistible urge to run back into the cellar to look for the amulet, but naturally he knew that would be foolish. They should feel lucky they made it into the library at all, and there was no proof the talisman really offered any protection. Perhaps it was all just pure superstition. Here in this room, he didn’t need any magic, just a clear head.

  He walked along the bookshelves. Where should he start his search? Senno had spoken of documents that would bring Schönborn’s treachery to light. Letters, messages, hastily scr
ibbled orders . . . He saw nothing but endless rows of books and parchment rolls. Randomly he began taking some heavy tomes off the shelves, but all were written in Latin. Now he was annoyed he’d spent most of his time staring out the window during the old chaplain’s Latin class, unlike Elsa, who could read Latin verses out loud by the time she was six and had always been interested in books. He put the books back and moved on to some other shelves. The works here were more interesting, full of symbols, pentagrams, and signs like the ones he’d seen in Senno’s tent. One of the books was lavishly illustrated—a male goat dancing around a young maiden wearing a wreath in her hair, for example, or a snake coiled around a five-pointed star. Curious, Lukas took the book and began to leaf through it. He probably wouldn’t find any proof of Schönborn’s treachery here, but it did seem like a kind of magic book. Was Senno right—was Schönborn really a black witch?

  “The Grimorium Verum,” came a voice just behind him. It was Daniel.

  Lukas jumped. For a moment, he’d completely forgotten he wasn’t alone in the room.

  “It’s very old,” Daniel continued. “It describes how to conjure up demons. I like the pictures because the animals look so real, but the Merseburg Incantations are even better.”

  “What . . . ?” Lukas was at a loss for words and just stared at Daniel in amazement. “You know all these books here?”

  “Well, not all of them, but most. Whenever I’m bored, I leaf through them, and I’m often very bored.”

  Lukas pointed at the endless rows of shelves and shook his head. “But there are hundreds of books here! How can you say you know all the books in the monastery? You’ve only been here a few weeks.”

  “Not here in the monastery.” Daniel winked at him. “He always takes them along, well protected in boxes. When he has time, he even reads them to me out loud.” He closed his eyes and whispered almost inaudibly, “Eiris sâzun idisi, sâzun hêra duoder, suma heri lezidum . . .”

  “He reads to you?” Slowly it was dawning on Lukas that Daniel was perhaps not a simple servant boy as he and the others had assumed. “It seems you know the inquisitor quite well,” he mumbled.