“I . . . I killed John?”
“You must have rammed the dagger into him at least a dozen times—the bath was red with his blood.” Father Jerome gave a cackling laugh until his face twisted into a grimace of pain. “Your eyes while you were doing it . . . reminded me of Gilles when he used to kill the little ones. But no surprise.”
“I killed John,” said Johann again in a flat voice. “And Greta?”
“Your daughter was there, too, yes. No idea how the two of them got in. Perhaps it was a mistake to knock out all the guards.”
Johann cried out, his nails digging into the stone floor as if the stinging pain in his fingertips could erase what had happened. In his drugged stupor he had killed John Reed, and his daughter had watched. How would she ever forgive him? And Karl? How could Karl forgive him? Johann had almost stabbed him like a sacrificial lamb!
How could Johann ever forgive himself?
Father Jerome eyed him with curiosity. “Ah, I see! The young man was her sweetheart. Well, you won’t be your daughter’s favorite person. But who cares? She is going to burn as a witch along with all the others. Your sweet assistant will burn, too. Such a shame—I would have loved to spend a night here at the castle with him. But there’ll be plenty of time for that in hell.”
“You . . . you devil!” screamed Faust, attacking him.
The priest laughed as Faust pummeled him with his fists. “You honor me, but no—the devil is my master; I am but his humble servant. If anyone deserves to be called the devil, then it is you, Johann Georg Faustus. The master loves you. I wish he loved me as he loves you. He has given you so much—and how do you repay him? By running away!”
Johann paused, his arm poised to strike. With amazement he gazed at his hands. The paralysis was gone. As if the bath in the font had healed him. Cautiously, he moved his legs, his back, his shoulders—he felt reborn, as if he had never been ill at all. But the sensation brought him no joy.
He knew what price he had paid.
Father Jerome smiled thinly, almost wistfully. “See how much the master loves you? The disease was a gift from him, to remind you of him. He wants you to return to him.”
“That’s what I came to Tiffauges for, to face up to him.”
“You fool! What made you think the master still resides here? For all the happy memories? Ha! He . . .” Father Jerome’s upper body slumped forward for a moment, but then he caught himself again and straightened up. “No, the master has far greater plans. He left us here so that we would keep his legacy alive.”
“Us?” asked Johann. “I know you. You’re Prelati, the priest who helped the dark marshal to invoke the devil all those years ago. But where are the others?”
“You know what happened to Poitou. You sent him to hell back in Nuremberg. La Meffraye and Henriet, however.” The father giggled again, and it sounded like the giggling of a nasty old woman. “Oh, you’ve met them. Not at this castle, however. They serve the master at another important place.”
“Where?” urged Johann. “Where are they? Are they with Tonio?”
“Think, Doctor. You’re so clever. The master doesn’t shower many people with gifts the way he has done with you—money, fortune, wit, among other talents. But one good turn deserves another, right? When the day comes that the chosen ones must pay with their soul, they often show reluctance. But the master comes for them all. Every single one of them.”
Father Jerome fell silent and closed his eyes. Johann saw that the man’s end was near. But he was likely the only one who knew where to find Tonio. He couldn’t die yet. The priest’s words seemed to become more and more confused. Was he still making sense?
The master doesn’t shower many people with gifts the way he has done with you—money, fortune, wit, among other talents.
Among other talents.
“Leonardo da Vinci!” Johann exclaimed. “His gifts, his drawing skills, his curiosity, his inventiveness . . . it all came from Tonio, didn’t it?”
He had been right all along. And Leonardo must have had a hunch that he and Johann shared a dark common bond.
“I was with him,” he said softly, more to himself. “I only wish I had—”
“Leonardo possessed something the master would have liked to have for himself,” said Father Jerome hastily, as if he knew that his time was running out. “As a token of appreciation for all . . . all his services. But the old fool didn’t want to give it to him. The master had asked him for it once before, in Rome, but Leonardo remained stubborn. So the dark marshal ordered his servants La Meffraye and Henriet to go to Cloux and search for it.”
“La Meffraye and Henriet? But—”
“Oh yes. They wrote me about you. They said the old codger was crazy about you and your handsome assistant. Especially your assistant.” Father Jerome gave a pained grin, waving effeminately and chuckling nastily. “Leonardo liked handsome young men—everyone knew that. La Meffraye and Henriet hoped that the senile fool would pour out his heart to at least one of you and give away his little secret. They watched you and eavesdropped on you the whole time. But then that stupid Melzi insisted you leave. Apparently he was envious of you and your assistant.”
“My God,” Johann whispered, finally understanding. “How could I be so blind?”
“You aren’t the first one who didn’t see them,” Father Jerome said. “I know. They are good at making themselves invisible. That’s how they used to get the children in the villages, too. They are like shadows—no one really notices them, but they are always there.”
“The
