Book of the Night

by Oliver Pötzsch

  “You don’t know what that would mean to the people here,” Agnes replied with radiant eyes. “It would be a glimmer of hope that this war cannot destroy everything.”

  The old nurse bade farewell, warmly embracing Lukas over and over. Then she hobbled away with her stick through the badly damaged castle gateway, turning around again and again to wave to Lukas and Elsa.

  “You are crazy, do you know that?” Shaking his head, Giovanni leaned against a damaged stone column, staring at the rubble all around. He was silent for a while, but finally laughed out loud. “But by God, I just love crazy people!”

  Elsa smiled at Lukas. She, too, seemed much more confident after the conversation with Agnes. “The more I think about it, the more I like the thought of staying here,” she said. Then she winked at the others. “And it’s really possible to make this place a bit more comfortable.”

  “Can you perhaps conjure up a nice, warm room with a fireplace, deer antlers, and wall tapestries?” Jerome asked hopefully. “That would be a spell that finally suits my taste.”

  “Well, sometimes one does not need a magic spell. Filthy lucre can do the same thing.” Elsa grinned, pulling a leather purse out from under her jacket. They heard a suspiciously familiar sound inside. “Before we left the monastery, I looked around again in Schönborn’s study and found this inside a book that had been hollowed out.” She opened up the purse, and a shower of gold coins spilled out onto the snow-covered ground. “I knew that Schönborn stashed little sums of money everywhere in order to bribe important people when needed,” she explained. “It didn’t take me long to find it.”

  Paulus groaned. “And you’re only telling us that now? With this we could have been traveling like princes all last month.”

  “And you would have certainly attracted attention and been robbed,” Giovanni replied with a shrug. “Elsa was right to put the money aside for an emergency. With all those gold ducats, you can probably build an entire castle, and it will at least be enough for a few cozy winter months with hot mulled wine and a suckling pig roasting on the fire. I’ve spent worse times in winter quarters, and I’m sure Paulus and Jerome have, too.” He looked at the others, waiting for their response. “Haven’t you?”

  “Hmm, in fact, c’est vrai.” Jerome nodded. “And there are fleas and lice everywhere.”

  “Does that mean you . . . really want to stay here with Elsa and me?” Lukas asked, surprised.

  “Well, if you two thought you could bid us farewell so soon, you’re wrong,” Paulus grumbled. “You’ll need a few strong arms to make a halfway decent home out of this ruin, and besides . . .” He lowered his voice. “If Schönborn should ever come back again and find you, you’ll be happy for every swordsman you can get. Especially if Elsa really wants to keep this magic book.” He looked at her. “Is that what you want?”

  “I don’t know,” Elsa murmured. “Destroying it doesn’t seem like the right thing to do. It has chosen me as its keeper. And I don’t know what would happen to me if I actually tried to burn it. It’s . . . like a living creature, and above all, a very angry one.”

  “You have time to think it over,” Lukas replied, “and until then, we should no doubt be looking around for a heavy chest to hold the money, with many padlocks.”

  They were standing in the middle of the courtyard when Lukas, on a whim, drew his sword and held it up in the air.

  “One for all,” he said in a firm voice.

  The three friends likewise drew their swords and held them tip to tip with his. Elsa raised her arms, holding the Grimorium so that the worn leather cover touched Lukas’s sword handle.

  “And all for one!” they all cried together.

  For a brief moment, the gray winter clouds parted, and the sun shone down. A few of its rays reflected on the blades, and the five friends, all so different from one another, were united for this moment in a brilliant red blaze of light.

  And despite the cold winter, Lukas felt a warm wave of friendship flooding over him.

  EPILOGUE

  It took many weeks to make something resembling a home out of the ruined castle. They cleared away the rocks and broken beams in the courtyard, opened the well, and built new floors and ceilings in some of the rooms that had been gutted by fire. In the end, a half-dozen rooms were renovated sufficiently to be halfway comfortable.

  Their pride and joy was the great hall with the fireplace on the first floor that became the focal point of their lives during the cold, dark winter months. There was always a warm fire burning there, the window openings were covered with parchment to keep out the cold, and heavy rugs and furs on the walls and floors ensured pleasant hours in which they ate, drank, played dice, or simply talked.

  “I must admit I never thought it could be so comfortable here,” said Paulus, cutting himself another slice from the steaming leg of mutton. “When I think what it must be like in Wallenstein’s winter quarters now, brrr . . .”

  “Still, my conscience troubles me that we left Zoltan without saying good-bye,” Jerome said. “That’s not done among honorable men.”

  “At least we sent him a message,” Giovanni replied. “And something tells me we’ll see Zoltan and the Black Musketeers again someday. And perhaps Waldemar von Schönborn,” he added gloomily.

  Elsa looked up from the book she’d been reading as she sat in a corner wrapped in thick furs. It was still hard for her to accept that Waldemar von Schönborn was really her father, though the freckles, the blond hair, and, above all, the birthmark left little doubt. In the past few weeks, Elsa had taken refuge with the books in the castle library, which had been at least partly spared from destruction.

  “If my father really believes he can come and get me and the Grimorium, he’s mistaken,” she responded coolly. “I’m the last white witch. He’ll see what it means to cross swords with a real witch.”

  Lukas looked at his sister with a mixture of respect and also a bit of fear. For her ten years of age, she was sometimes almost incredibly grown-up, as if her year with Schönborn had aged her unduly. But perhaps it was on account of the Grimorium Nocturnum, that Book of the Night, that lay in a chest in the castle cellar for safekeeping. Sometimes, at night, Lukas heard Elsa climbing down the stairway, and he could hear strange, mumbling sounds. He assumed it was Elsa talking with the book. Or was it perhaps the Grimorium whispering something in her ear? He shuddered. There were some things he didn’t want to know about.

  Old Agnes had apparently kept her word and told no one that Lukas and Elsa had returned to the castle, so for the most part they remained undisturbed except for occasional thieves that they quickly drove off.

  Now and then, Lukas rode out to inspect the area, and he learned that the Swedes were still occupying Heidelberg but were slowly withdrawing from the surrounding region. It wouldn’t be long before they could start properly rebuilding the castle. The gold coins that Elsa had stolen from Schönborn would help them greatly to get started and possibly employ workers from the surrounding villages.

  Sometimes Lukas thought of the traveling artists, those whose lives had been lost—the sword master Dietmar von Scherendingen, strong Ivan and his bear, the musicians Bjarne and Thadäus—as well as the Jannsen Brothers with their acrobatic tricks and, naturally, Red Sara and Tabea. Lukas hoped fervently they had reached Augsburg safely. What if Tabea came to stay with them for a while? Would she like the way Lukas had changed? In recent weeks, he had become happier. It was as if his dead parents had decided to give him the freedom to go his own way. He dreamed of them occasionally, and they were pleasant dreams that brought back no bad memories.

  Lukas was warming his hands on a cup of hot mulled wine and letting his thoughts wander when he heard an energetic hammering. Someone was pounding on the door of the great room.

  Paulus jumped up and grabbed his sword that was leaning against the hearth. “If those are plundering mercenaries, they are very polite,” he growled. “Nevertheless, I’m afraid I’ll have to make them a
head shorter.”

  The others also hurriedly picked up their weapons. Carefully, with drawn sword, Lukas went to the door that had been reinforced with strong oaken beams just a few weeks ago.

  “Who goes there?” he asked loudly.

  “A friend who has been looking for you for a long time,” replied a voice that sounded oddly familiar. Lukas hesitated a moment, then a surprised smile spread across his face.

  “Senno!” he cried. “Is it really you?”

  “In person. Now open the door, lad. I’m alone.”

  Lukas was about to pull the bolt aside when Paulus held him back.

  “Do you really trust this charlatan?” he asked.

  “Why not? If armed men were standing out there, Senno wouldn’t have needed to knock. We’re not strong enough to withstand a siege, so let’s see what he wants here.”

  Lukas opened the door, and a cold wind blew in. Indeed, Senno was standing there, and he seemed to be alone. Behind him, a black horse was tied up by the wall, nibbling on a few sparse patches of moss, and Senno himself was wearing a black, snow-covered cape. His moustache was just as well waxed and twisted as when Lukas had met him the first time.

  “It took some doing to find you,” he began while peering past Lukas into the room. “Ah, and here are your friends I’ve heard so much about. Hmm, and the girl with the books is your sister, Elsa, isn’t she? How delightful to see you all unharmed.”

  He was about to enter when Giovanni stepped in front of him.

  “Why do I have the feeling you are keeping something from us?” he asked. “You surely didn’t travel many hundreds of miles just to say hello.”

  Senno smiled broadly. “Hardly. The trip is too difficult just for that.” He pointed at the stool by the fireplace. “Would it be possible for me to present my concern inside? I have a strenuous ride behind me.”

  Giovanni looked at Lukas, and when Lukas nodded, he stepped aside and Senno took a seat by the fire.

  “Actually, I wasn’t looking for you at all, at first, but for Schönborn,” he began, rubbing his cold, reddened hands together. “When he suddenly left Wallenstein almost three months ago, I was afraid he’d finally found what he’d been seeking for so long.”

  “The Grimorium Nocturnum,” Lukas said. “So you’ve heard of the book.”

  Senno nodded. “Naturally, I’m familiar with it. I’ve been searching for the book almost as long as Schönborn has, with the distinction that I want to use it for good purposes, and Schönborn for evil.”

  “That’s what they all say,” Giovanni noted sarcastically.

  “Schönborn wanted to use the Grimorium Nocturnum to lengthen the war,” Senno continued, unperturbed. “Because only in war does the fear and lawlessness prevail that he needs for his nefarious purposes. That’s why he had the Swedish king killed by his henchmen. He stirs up hatred and misery, on both sides.”

  Lukas bit his lip. “Then I was right after all,” he murmured. “That’s why Schönborn left us behind in the monastery at first. His frozen men killed King Gustav. He died by black magic.”

  “I knew for a long time that a white witch was the last owner of the Grimorium and had hidden the book somewhere,” Senno said, turning to Lukas. “When you told me about the fate of your mother, and when it became clear that Schönborn was looking for you, I had a suspicion. But you wouldn’t trust me, Lukas.”

  “For good reason,” Paulus interjected. “Zoltan and many others always warned us of you, and I’m still not sure whose side you’re on. Perhaps you only look out for yourself.”

  “I shall no doubt have to continue living with my bad reputation.” Senno shrugged. “In any case, after Schönborn and Lukas had disappeared, I made inquiries and learned about this strange child Schönborn had adopted, and I set out in search of her. I tracked Schönborn to Heidelberg, but then the trail went cold. It seemed almost like he had been swallowed up by the earth. Did you have anything to do with that?” Senno twisted his beard and looked at them closely. When there was no reply, he went on. “It might interest you to know I heard about him just a few days ago. It seems he turned up in Rome, was granted an audience with the pope, and he may even be made a cardinal.” He laughed bitterly. “Well, they say a cat has nine lives.”

  Lukas was stunned. It was just as he had feared—Schönborn was not dead, and it appeared he was even more powerful than before! How long would it take Schönborn and his henchmen to find them?

  “But Schönborn is not important,” Senno said, interrupting Lukas’s thoughts. “The only important thing is the book.” Suddenly, he scowled. “You have it, don’t you?”

  “And if we did,” Elsa spoke up for the first time, “why is that any of your business?”

  “This book can do great harm, but it can also do good,” Senno explained. “I only want to know it has fallen into the right hands.” He sighed. “But I fear I have come too late. The book has already chosen a new man as its owner. Or rather, a new woman.” He looked at Elsa questioningly. “It’s you, isn’t it? I can feel a very powerful aura emanating from you.” Senno shook his head. “A child! If only dear old Merlin knew that, he’d turn over in his grave.”

  “Who is Merlin?” Elsa asked with curiosity.

  Senno waved dismissively. “Forget it. It’s an old story. What we do now with the book is more important.”

  “We?” Lukas frowned. “Why we?”

  “Well, it is what it is.” Senno drummed his fingers on the table. “One of the most powerful books in the world is in the hands of a ten-year-old girl. To take it away from her would have dreadful consequences. I assume you know what I’m speaking of.” The astrologer glared at the friends. “If I can finally convince you of all the good things this book can do, and what I intend to do with it, I’ll need your help.”

  “Do you mean we can fight evil in the world with this book?” Lukas asked. “But just how would we—”

  “Don’t you see how we’re falling into a trap?” Paulus interrupted gruffly. “The best thing for us to do would be to throw him out, then we’d finally have some peace and quiet.”

  Senno raised his hands, professing his innocence. “First, just listen to what I have to say, and then you can decide.”

  “Very well,” Jerome said, reaching for his wineglass. “We don’t have anything to do at the moment, and these winter evenings can be really boring. So tell me, monsieur, what do you intend to do with the book?”

  Senno smiled, crossed his legs, looked at them for a long time, one by one, and finally began to speak. “Let me tell you about the legendary imperial sword of Charlemagne. It has been lost to history for many years, and I fear that dark forces have taken possession of it.”

  “Hmm, a sword?” Paulus raised his eyebrows. “And not just any sword, but one belonging to the famous king? This is getting interesting. Tell us about the sword. Is it sharp? Does it have magical power?”

  “That’s a long story.” Senno grinned. “But can I assume you like stories and adventures?”

  “Now tell us, and don’t keep us hanging here on tenterhooks,” Lukas added impatiently. “You have at least made us curious.” He wrapped himself up in his bearskin and settled down comfortably in front of the fire beside his sister and his closest friends.

  Something told him that the rebuilding of the castle might take a while.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Oliver Pötzsch spent years working for Bavarian Broadcasting and now devotes his time entirely to writing. He lives in Munich with his family. His historical novels for adults made him internationally famous. He is also the author of the children’s novel Knight Kyle and the Magic Silver Lance.

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  Lee Chadeayne is a former classical musician, college professor, and owner of a language translation agency in Massachusetts. He was one of the founding members of the American Literary Translators Association and is a life member of the American Translators Association. He has served as editor of both the ALTA Newsle
tter and the ATA Chronicle and is currently copyeditor of the American Arthritis Association newsletter.

  His translated works to date are primarily in the areas of music, art, language, history, and general literature. As a student of both history and languages, especially Middle High German, he was especially drawn to the work of Oliver Pötzsch, author of Die Henkerstochter (The Hangman’s Daughter), book one in a series of bestselling historical novels.

  He is also the translator of Knight Kyle and the Magic Silver Lance.