OTHER TITLES BY OLIVER PÖTZSCH
The Faust Series
The Master’s Apprentice
The Hangman’s Daughter Series
The Hangman’s Daughter
The Dark Monk
The Beggar King
The Poisoned Pilgrim
The Werewolf of Bamberg
The Play of Death
The Council of Twelve
The Black Musketeers Series
Book of the Night
Sword of Power
Knight Kyle and the Magic Silver Lance
Holy Rage
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2019 by Oliver Pötzsch
Translation copyright © 2021 by Lisa Reinhardt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Previously published as Der Lehrmeister: Die Geschichte des Johann Georg Faustus II by Ullstein Buchverlage GmbH in Germany in 2019. Translated from German by Lisa Reinhardt. First published in English by Amazon Crossing in 2021.
Published by Amazon Crossing, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Amazon Crossing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542014595
ISBN-10: 154201459X
Cover design by M.S. Corley
For my children, Niklas and Lily.
To love sometimes means to let go.
Contents
Prologue
Act I
1
2
3
4
5
Act II
6
7
8
9
10
Act III
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
Act IV
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
Act V
28
29
Epilogue
Afterword
Faust for Beginners
About the Author
About the Translator
Prologue
ROME, INSIDE THE DUNGEONS OF CASTEL SANT’ANGELO
15 SEPTEMBER, AD 1518
THE HOLY FATHER FOLLOWED THE SCREAMS THAT DIRECTED him through the catacombs. The shrill sound told Pope Leo X that the time had come.
Hunched over, he hurried through the low passages, his red velvet cap brushing against the dirty ceiling from time to time. Leo panted, trembling with anticipation as he always did when he came down here to conduct the final interrogation. Built on the banks of the Tiber River more than a thousand years ago as a mausoleum for Roman emperors, Castel Sant’Angelo, the castle of the holy angel, was a maze of cells, grand halls, and corridors, filled with escape tunnels, hidden doors, and burial chambers. The castle was the grave of many known and unknown prisoners, while also serving as papal fortress and refuge—Sant’Angelo was considered impregnable.
The pope’s chambers, in the upper stories, were lordly rooms, every inch of the walls covered with oil paintings by the most famous artists. Bronze taps spouted cold or warm water on demand; servants carried trays of candied fruit and ice, which had been carved from the distant mountains north of the Apennines and sweetened with outrageously expensive sugar that was shipped from the newly discovered lands beyond the sea and was as precious as gold. The upstairs halls smelled of violets and perfume, forcing out the stink of the Roman gutters, and the stone walls breathed the spirit of God.
But deep down in the catacombs, death and perdition reigned.
Pope Leo X paused when another scream rang out, even shriller this time, almost as if from a child. He was definitely on the right track. His heart thumping with excitement, he walked faster and turned right, to where another set of steps led even farther down. Leo was fat, weighing more than two hundred pounds; he’d been putting on weight since the day he’d ascended the throne. He was troubled by shortness of breath and recurring, painful fistulas in his behind. He dreaded climbing all those stairs back up, but his growing sense of anticipation spurred him on.
Perhaps I will learn the truth today!
Smoking torches illuminated a narrow, soot-stained corridor. The pope occasionally passed a Swiss guard, each one bowing low before the pontiff. Leo didn’t deign to look at them. He didn’t like being seen down here, but every now and then it was simply unavoidable.
Especially when a secret must not make its way to the surface.
More stairs went even deeper down into the darkness. At the bottom, two guards became visible in the gloom of the corridor, positioned to the left and right of a heavily reinforced door with a small, barred window at eye level. That was where the screams were coming from, growing louder once more, as if the person behind the door wanted to give the Holy Father a special welcome.
Leo scowled; the howling was barely tolerable. Thankfully, it ended as abruptly as it had begun.
The pope, out of breath, signaled for the guards to open the heavy door. The room on the other side was dimly lit by a torch, and a sweetish, smoky smell oozed into the corridor. Glowing braziers stood in the corners of the almost perfectly square chamber built from rough-hewn blocks of stone. Leaning against the walls were pincers and other utensils whose purpose Leo merely guessed at, though he had seen some of them before—in Florence, for example, where he came from. Leo nodded appreciatively. He bore the plump face and stubborn temperament of a peasant, but his wit was that of a scholar. And he was as ruthless and cunning as everyone in his family.
We hid the truth well, he thought. In the lowest spot of Rome.
Giovanni (as he was named at birth) was a descendant of the Medici family, the same wealthy dynasty that had been ruling the fate of Florence—of all northern Italy, even—for more than a hundred years. His father was Lorenzo de’ Medici, called il Magnifico, the Magnificent. As second-born son, Giovanni had been destined for a career within the church; at the age of seven he was named canon of Florence, then cardinal at fourteen. Following the death of his elder brother, Piero, he became ruler of Tuscany. All things considered, it took surprisingly long before Giovanni’s ambition, his hunger for power, and, most of all, his family’s influence made him pope. For five years now he had been holding the position that he and his family had been longing for since his childhood.
He was the most powerful and richest man in Christendom.
Leo intended to enjoy every single day of his hopefully very long tenure. He wanted to enter the history books as
