Memories from the Nuremberg crypt sprang to Greta’s mind. Then, too, a group of people had chanted and invoked the devil.
But this was worse—much worse.
Standing inside the basin were Karl and her father, who was holding a black dagger in his hands.
He was raising it above his head, ready to stab Karl.
“The journey to the master demands a sacrifice,” the priest whispered into Johann’s ear. “This is the final part of the ceremony. You must free yourself from everything, including him.”
Father Jerome nodded at Karl, whose eyes were closed. He was smiling, making him look like an innocent lamb before its slaughter.
“Are you ready for your great journey, Doctor Faustus? Your journey to Gilles de Rais? To Tonio del Moravia, your master and the master of us all? Then make the sacrifice.”
The dagger in Johann’s hand was as cold as a starless night. It felt heavy, as if he were lifting a huge rock. Father Jerome’s voice echoed through his head.
The journey to the master demands a sacrifice.
What sacrifice? Was the priest talking about Karl, standing in front of him? Johann remembered that Karl had confessed his love to him a few minutes or hours ago, and Johann had told Karl that he loved him, too, because in that moment he had loved all men, had felt at one with the world. But that moment had flown away like a silly, youthful crush, and instead the sight of Karl now filled him with pity—with disgust, even. Karl’s closed eyes, his slightly dumb, enraptured expression, like a mutt that drooled because someone was holding out a bone. Johann thought that for the first time he saw his assistant for who he truly was: a lesser mind, limited and incapable of rising up to the heights only few were chosen to ascend. Karl was nothing more than a creeping insect—like most people. They burrowed in the dirt, stuffed their mouths, drank, mated, but the crucial matters remained obscure to them. Knowledge, insight, eternal life, and most of all, meeting the master.
The journey to the master demands a sacrifice.
Johann had forgotten his reason for coming to Tiffauges. The monotonous organ music filled him completely. The people standing in a circle around him sang and hummed like bees; they clapped and gazed at him expectantly. Father Jerome was still smiling, signaling toward Karl. Yes, he was the sacrifice! And what difference was there between his assistant and a dumb, bleating lamb? The fact that Karl had professed his love to him made him even less than an animal. Karl lived against nature, and it was only right that he, Johann, should kill this heretic sodomite—and therewith travel to the lord. To Tonio del Moravia, his master! How could he ever have thought of him as an enemy? He was the only one who had ever understood Johann. Johann would do anything for him. Anything!
“O Mephistopheles, receive your sacrifice,” chanted the immortals. “Sheitan, Satan, Zhoool.”
“Tonio, I’m coming,” muttered Johann.
With a smile on his face, he brought down the dagger.
“Nooooo!”
A shrill cry rang out, made by a voice that sounded familiar to Johann, like a distant memory. The voice painfully pierced his consciousness.
“No, Father, don’t do it! Oh God, don’t!”
He knew this voice—it was the voice of his daughter. Did he have a daughter? Even if he did, she wasn’t important now. All that mattered was his journey to the master. And yet Johann hesitated, lowering the hand holding the dagger. More screams rang out, sounding to him like the waves of a distant ocean.
Karl opened his eyes and gave him a startled look. For a brief moment, the young man’s mind seemed to be alert and clear.
“What in God’s name?”
Johann raised his blade again.
But then someone grabbed his arm and yanked him back. Johann cried out with indignation. Had he struck Karl? He didn’t know. Because now there was this other man wrestling with him. The attacker was big and strong, and he seemed to know Johann. His hair was red and he was shouting.
“Stop it, Doctor! You’re crazy! Give me the dagger!”
Johann hissed like a cat. All those dirty little worms trying to stop him from traveling to the master! But he wouldn’t let them, not this close to the goal. He thought of a ruse. He paused his raging as if he had calmed down. He held his head lowered so they wouldn’t see the glint in his eyes. The knife was pointing down.
“That’s better, Doctor,” the other man said. “It’s not too late. I gave you my word that no harm would come to Greta. But I’m not going to stand by and watch as her father murders his friend.”
Now Johann recognized him. It was that awful fellow who was trying to steal his daughter from him. It was John Reed, the traitor, fraud, and liar. Like a festering sore he had eaten his way into Johann’s and Greta’s lives, destroying everything that had ever existed between them.
John Reed, you bastard! You will never again touch my Greta with your filthy hands. You won’t take her away from me.
Boundless hatred filled Johann, creeping from his heart into his fingers and the ends of his hair.
“Give me the dagger, Doctor,” said John. He smiled reassuringly and held out his hand. “All will be well.”
Johann stabbed him.
Not once, not twice—it was a frenzy. The blade drove deeply into the guts of this cocky, red-haired fellow, jabbing into his intestines, again and again. It felt so good! John screamed and it was music to Johann’s ears. Another thrust, and another one.
When will you finally shut up! Die, vermin!
Johann was like a butcher at work. The blade rose and fell. At the end, there was just a faint wheezing. John clung to him with both hands and stared at him from wide eyes. Finally the impertinent wide grin that had tortured Johann for so long was extinguished. For good.
“Why?” gasped John. “You . . . evil . . . old . . . man . . .” A shudder went
