Book of the Night

by Oliver Pötzsch

  “I’m not so sure.” Daniel shrugged. “He rarely has time for me, even though he sometimes says I’m the most valuable thing he has. He wants me to call him Father, though he really isn’t.” The boy glared at Lukas. “He locks me up like a precious gem. Now this is what he gets for doing so little to take care of me. That’s why I play tricks on him.”

  Lukas seized Daniel by the arm. “Listen, Daniel. I really have to know now what you have to do with Schönborn. This isn’t any joke—it’s important.”

  “Hey, you’re hurting me, stop!” Daniel tried in vain to squirm away. “Just wait!” he snarled. “When he learns about this, he’ll punish you, you’ll see!”

  “Then he can just go ahead and do it, but first you’re going to tell me why you know all about these books here, how it is you can read Latin, and why you mumbled those words before.”

  “He taught me how to, he taught me everything . . . and if you don’t let me go right away, I’ll show you what else I learned from him . . . you ruffian!” Daniel squirmed and whined, but Lukas kept a firm grasp on him.

  “Let me go!” Daniel shouted again. “Or you will regret it . . . Let me go!”

  At the very moment Daniel raised his voice, something strange happened. Directly in front of Lukas, there was a blinding flash of blue light, so brief it might have been his imagination, but Lukas’s eyes hurt as if he’d looked right into the sun. He cried out, let Daniel go, and placed his hands in front of his eyes. He recalled when he’d seen that flash of light before. It was just that morning, when he and Daniel had fled from the Swedish soldiers into the forest. A soldier had been blinded, just as he had been now.

  By Daniel?

  “Who are you?” Lukas gasped as the pain in his eyes subsided. “What’s between you and the inquisitor?”

  At that moment there was a creaking sound as the double door to the library swung open. Lukas looked up and saw as if in a dream Waldemar von Schönborn standing in the doorway, a smirk on his lips. He was wearing a wide black cloak with a high collar, and a crimson cap covered his thinning hair.

  “What a wonderful surprise,” exclaimed Schönborn as he entered the room, his cloak fluttering behind him like a pair of leathery wings. “I thought I heard something, that is, I felt your presence, Lukas. I could sense you were very close by, but I didn’t know you would come to visit me so soon.”

  The inquisitor motioned toward Daniel, who was standing in a corner, pouting. “And I see you’ve already met my impudent protégé. I ought to really give her a good spanking, but on the other hand she led you to me.”

  “She?” asked Lukas, still slightly blinded, in a rasping voice. Everything seemed to start spinning around. “But why . . .”

  “Yes, she.” Schönborn’s lips twisted into a diabolical grin as he continued smugly. “I hope you still recognize Elsa. She may have changed a bit, but she’s still just the same impudent and insufferable know-it-all as she was more than a year ago. A real nuisance, but very . . . well, yes, talented.” He laughed softly and clapped his hands as if he’d just pulled off a successful magic trick. “What a joy! So now brother and sister are finally united again.”

  XXII

  Lukas had to catch his breath. The shock was so great he thought for a moment he’d pass out. Had he misheard? This boy in front of him was really Elsa? Still slightly dazed, he stared at Daniel, who was clearly as confused as he was. Only now did Lukas recognize features in Daniel’s dirt-covered face that seemed strangely familiar to him—the dimple on the chin, the freckles, the small gap between teeth . . . But the boy in front of him had short, dark hair, and Elsa’s was long and blond, and furthermore—

  “Your sister was always a tomboy, as you surely know,” said Schönborn, interrupting Lukas’s thoughts. “She really did everything she could to be accepted among the boys following the army. She cut her hair short and dyed it so she could move through the army camp unmolested. With all the dirt on her face, I would even have had trouble recognizing her. Beyond that, your sister, as I said, is extremely talented. She has learned a few tricks that were even difficult for me.”

  The inquisitor stepped forward a few paces and turned to his protégé. “Elsa, demonstra veritatem!” he demanded in a booming voice. The impertinent, defiant child, whom Lukas had for so long thought of as Daniel, suddenly seemed very weak and fragile. Hesitantly, she held her hands up to her face and lowered her fingers, and it was as if she were stripping off a mask.

  “My God,” Lukas gasped. “How is that possible?”

  Standing in front of him was his little sister.

  Lukas didn’t know exactly what Elsa had done as she passed her hands over her face. It was still the same dirty face, the same short haircut, and the same black hair, but now her features suddenly looked softer, more like a girl’s. The changes were small, but taken together they transformed the strange boy into an all-too-familiar girl.

  “Lukas . . . ?” she asked hesitantly, as if awakening slowly from a bad dream. Her familiar voice was back as well.

  “Not bad, eh?” Schönborn said with a smile. “She inherited her mother’s talent, but even now she’s better than her mother, much better. Someday she will be a very powerful witch. I have woven my magic around her so she no longer remembers her family, but it appears the bond between the two of you is stronger than the shackles of my magic. I shall have to cast another spell. Veni Nebulae!” Again, Schönborn’s voice thundered, and he waved his hand in a peculiar gesture.

  Elsa staggered, as if struck hard by something, and seemed to fall into a trance. She closed her eyes, opened them again, and stared at Lukas, but this time her gaze was blank.

  “Who . . . are you?” she murmured.

  Lukas could no longer hold back. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he embraced the little sister he had been seeking for so long. And all that time she had been so close!

  “It’s all right now, Elsa,” he whispered. “I promised not to let you down, and now I am finally back with you.” Everything was all right, he’d said, but he knew deep in his heart that was not true.

  “How touching,” Schönborn said. “Little brother and little sister in each other’s arms. Too bad that your parents are no longer here to see it.”

  “You devil!” Lukas yelled. He released Elsa and reached for the loaded pistol next to the sword on his belt.

  “You devil!” he cried again, aiming at Schönborn. “I don’t know what game you’re playing here, but one thing I do know—you’ll pay for this, for the death of my mother and father, and for everything you have done to my family.”

  Waldemar von Schönborn didn’t flinch. “If you kill me now, your sister will be lost to you forever,” he said ominously. “I can make sure she never remembers you again, and that she remains forever in the same world of dreams she is in now. If you calm down, however, I give you my word of honor I will let you both live.”

  “The word of honor of a warlock and a murderer!”

  Schönborn grinned. “Perhaps, but still, my word of honor. That’s the best I can offer. So what do you say?”

  Reluctantly, Lukas lowered the pistol. His sister had fallen to the floor, curled up, and seemed to be sleeping.

  Schönborn nodded with satisfaction. “Good children, both of you. Now put down the pistol, remove your sword, and come closer.”

  Lukas obeyed. Unarmed, he approached Schönborn, who had taken his seat on the throne adorned with demonic wood carvings and was looking at him with an almost paternalistic smile.

  “You’re surely wondering what this is all about,” he began. “Let me say first that your sister’s well-being is very close to my heart . . .” He paused for a moment. “Perhaps more than you can imagine.”

  “What did you do to her?” Lukas growled. “What happened to Elsa since you took her away?”

  Schönborn sighed. “Always this childish impatience! I’m afraid that to explain it, I have to go back a bit further.” He pointed to the shelves along the walls. “Ha
ve you looked at the books here?”

  Lukas nodded. “They’re books of magic, aren’t they? Then you really are a sorcerer.”

  “Call it what you will, I myself have never liked that word. It reminds me too much of pitch and sulfur and cheap tricks performed at country fairs. Let’s say I investigate powerful things that cannot be explained.”

  “Things you use to send other people to the stake,” Lukas cut in.

  Schönborn dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. “They are sacrificed on the altar of truth, and sometimes I acquire ancient knowledge from them. Midwives and Gypsies, especially, have preserved knowledge that goes far back to Roman times.”

  “To the druids,” Lukas replied.

  “Aha! You know about them?” Schönborn chuckled. “Let me guess, my old adversary Senno told you about them, didn’t he? Did he also send you here? You must watch out for him just as much as you do me. If he knew my little secret, he’d do exactly the same as I do, I’m sure. He’s been looking for it almost as long as I have.”

  Lukas frowned. “What secret?”

  Once again, Waldemar von Schönborn pointed at the books on his shelves. “Most of these books aren’t worth much,” he said wearily. “They’re just cheap works of random charlatans. Some contain perhaps a grain of truth, but it’s very difficult to find.” Lost in his thoughts, he fondled the demonic figures on the armrest. “There is only one work that truly deserves to be called a book of magic. It’s so powerful that if properly used it could change the world forever.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, it is not in my hands. Not yet. It is called the Grimorium Nocturnum, the Book of the Night . . .” His last words were hardly more than a whisper, but the room seemed suddenly to cool down, and Lukas’s flesh began to crawl.

  “No less a person than Taliesin, the famous English bard, was said to have written it,” Schönborn continued. “The gates of the world stand open to anyone who can read and apply the teachings of the Grimorium Nocturnum—nothing can stop him. For centuries the book was hidden away in Bohemia, in a monastery in Prague, and I’ve spent half my life trying to find it. I almost got my hands on it.” He pounded his fist on the table while Elsa tossed restlessly about in a corner, moaning in her sleep.

  “But then the war came, and the abbess at that time had the book taken away. She entrusted it to a young nun blessed with a strange gift. She was a white magician, one of the last great witches. With this book, she could have turned the world upside down!” Schönborn raised his hands toward the ceiling as if pronouncing a benediction. “But this stubborn woman used the Grimorium only for trivial miracles—healing peasants, making wells flow again, and causing rain to fall when the crops were suffering from a drought.”

  Lukas groaned. “My mother . . . this young nun was my mother.”

  “Sophia von Lohenfels, indeed.” Schönborn nodded. “Beautiful, intelligent, just as hard to control as her daughter. She married some good-for-nothing knight. It took me two years to find her. But Sophia was strong, and I couldn’t wrest the book from her.” The inquisitor sneered. “Then the pope made me his tool, with all the power and authority of a witch hunter. Your mother was one of the first suspects I was able to . . . question. Still, she wouldn’t tell me where she’d hidden the book. She remained silent to the very end.” Schönborn shook his head, almost sadly. “What a waste! Together we could have done so much.”

  Once more, Lukas thought back to his mother at the stake, the blue cloud, the stars, and he could hear her voice within him again.

  Have no fear, my son. I will always be with you . . .

  “My mother is dead,” Lukas said in a soft voice, “so what do you want from me and Elsa?”

  “Now we are getting to the heart of the matter.” Schönborn leaned over the table, examining Lukas like a rare insect. “Even though your mother remained steadfast on the rack, I could coax at least one sentence from her. Only her two children could lead me to the hiding place . . . those were her last words. At that time, I had only one child, the other had fled, and I used every power I had to try to find him.”

  The wolf, Lukas thought. Senno was right. Schönborn sent the wolf to find me!

  “Someone gave you a piece of jewelry protected by a magic spell,” Schönborn went on. “I assume it was a talisman—a pentagram, wasn’t it? It made you invisible to me. But it appears you no longer have the amulet, and I could pick up your trail again. When I was over in the church, I clearly felt your presence.” He grinned. “Now the secret can finally come to light.”

  “I know nothing,” Lukas replied and looked around anxiously at his sister, still in a deep slumber. “If you intend to torture me and Elsa, then—”

  “Who says I will have you tortured? No, I have something much better for you.”

  “¡Ven!” Schönborn called loudly, turning toward the door, and in stepped three Spanish soldiers. Their eyes were empty, their movements erratic, like puppets on a string, and one had a bulging scar on his cheek.

  The frozen one, Lukas thought. The man who murdered my father! My God, Schönborn has created more of these monsters.

  The soldiers, each carrying a long knife, walked slowly toward Lukas and Elsa, who was still lying on the ground.

  “Keep still, Lukas,” Schönborn said gently. “It won’t hurt—at least not more than absolutely necessary. My search is finally at an end.”

  The soldier with the scar raised his knife.

  XXIII

  Lukas dodged the knife, but a second soldier slipped in behind him and held him in a viselike grip while the first one raised the knife again to strike. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the third frozen man approaching the sleeping Elsa.

  This is the end! he thought. They’ll slit our throats like lambs in a slaughterhouse. My search was all in vain.

  To Lukas’s great surprise, the razor-sharp blade only scratched his scalp. There was a pulling and tugging, and that was all. It took him a moment to realize that the man was merely cutting his hair off. Then he did the same with Elsa. What was Schönborn planning to do?

  Lukas could do nothing but watch as his dark locks fell to the floor, one after the other. Elsa lay there bald as an egg, groaning in her sleep, but she didn’t stir. Lukas was trying to struggle free again when he noticed something.

  There was a pattern on Elsa’s bare scalp.

  It looked like an illustration, a rough black-and-blue sketch, and since Elsa continued sleeping without moving, Lukas had time to study it. Lines truncated at regular intervals, then joined together again, formed a strange figure:

  “I see you have noticed,” Schönborn said. “Astonishing, isn’t it? I had to stop and study it myself when I saw it for the first time. Elsa cut her hair off about four weeks ago, and that’s when we saw the pattern. It’s a drawing that someone must have etched into her skin. I’ve had a sketch made of it, and since then, I’ve been pondering what it might be.”

  Lukas stared at Elsa’s shaved head, but no matter how intently he studied it, he couldn’t make any sense of it. The lines appeared just as a blur.

  In the meantime, the two frozen men had cut off his own hair, and one of them, still holding him in an iron grip, swung him around to face Schönborn.

  The inquisitor clapped his hands with glee. “Just as I thought!” he exclaimed. Then he approached Lukas.

  “Even if I don’t know yet what it is, I think I know who is responsible for it,” Schönborn said. “I’m sure this is what your mother meant when she said on the torture rack that the only way to find the Grimorium’s hiding place would be through her children. I have pondered this a long time, but I knew Elsa’s tattoo was only one part of the secret. The other part . . .” He ran his fingers over Lukas’s scalp, and a chill ran down Lukas’s spine. “The other part is, as expected, on your scalp.”

  Lukas flinched. Was there a tattoo on his head? How was it possible he didn’t know anything about it?

  “I presume your mother had these tattoos made long
ago,” Schönborn declared, as if in answer to Lukas’s silent question. “She could have given you a mild sleeping potion so you suffered no pain and it would remain a secret. It must have been shortly after Elsa’s birth.” His face darkened. “And I can imagine why it was at just that time.” He closed his eyes, as if viewing a mental image. Then he stared again at Lukas’s shaven head.

  “Curse her!” he snarled. “I thought the second image would offer the solution to the riddle. But I’m no closer now than before.” He seized Lukas and started shaking him. “What is the meaning of these images?” he shouted. “Talk! You know something! You must know something!”

  “I know nothing!” Lukas protested, his eyes flashing. “And even if I did, I’d never tell you. Not at any price!”

  “Oh, don’t say that. I’m fairly good at . . . shall we say, getting information out of people. You’ll soon learn that for yourself. But first I must take care of something else here,” he said, turning away. “And for that I need my creatures.” He pointed at the three Spanish soldiers standing like mute giants behind Lukas. “Rodriguez, Juan, Carlos . . . I think they turned out very well, don’t you?”

  “The frozen!” Lukas growled.

  Schönborn looked at him curiously. “I see you know. Nothing can injure the frozen ones. They are made of clay, ready to kill anyone who gets in the way of either me or my plans. It took a long time for me to master this magic. There were many”—he grimaced—“failures.”

  “But they are people whose souls you have stolen!” Lukas shot back. “Creatures without a brain or a heart.”

  “Bah! Who needs a heart anyway?” Schönborn shrugged. “In return I have given them immortality. I didn’t even have to force them to take part in my experiments—they all did it willingly.”

  Trembling, Lukas stared at the three Spaniards standing there with empty eyes and pale, paper-like skin—toy soldiers ready to carry out Schönborn’s next command. Lukas remembered the men he saw at his father’s castle. At the time, they’d still seemed normal, even the soldier with the scar, the murderer of his father.