Johann was about a hundred paces away from Château du Cloux now and still saw no lights. The building stood in complete darkness. Perhaps no one resided there now that Leonardo was dead? Hunched over, he crept along the wall. He knew from his walks in the garden that there was a derelict patch that was overgrown with ivy. A pear tree had stretched its branches across the wall there. Cloux wasn’t a castle like Tiffauges but an elegant manor house, not designed to keep out intruders. After all, it sat just beneath the royal castle, and that alone afforded some protection.
After searching for some time, Johann finally found the crumbling patch. He tested the tree branches for sturdiness and then started to climb up. It felt so good to use all his muscles again. He had been puzzling for days why the disease had gone and whether it was only temporary. He hoped fervently that it had nothing to do with John Reed’s death—that Tonio hadn’t accepted him as a sacrifice. But deep down inside, Johann knew that was the case.
He pulled himself up another branch and reached the top of the wall. He gazed into the courtyard and saw that all was silent and deserted, and he could still see no lights. Nearly two months had passed since Leonardo’s death; maybe the great artist’s friend and helper, Francesco Melzi, had already departed. But what about the two servants? Johann’s hand went to his hip, where from a leather belt hung five knives, their sheaths freshly oiled so that the blades slipped out easily. Also hanging from his belt was a satchel holding a lantern and a tinderbox; that was all he had brought for this excursion. He took one more deep breath before jumping onto the shed roof below him. From there he lowered himself into the deserted yard.
Johann looked around searchingly. Where should he start? Until then, his goal had been Cloux. He had returned here because he hoped to find something that was of importance to Tonio. Something that Leonardo had hidden well. Now his plan seemed to him like the proverbial hunt for the needle in the haystack. What had he been thinking? La Meffraye and Henriet had searched for months without finding anything. What could it be? One of Leonardo’s inventions, perhaps? Or the philosopher’s stone after all? Father Jerome had said that Tonio had tried before to get that something off Leonardo.
What could Leonardo possibly have owned that was of interest to the devil?
The garden spread before him, a black plane in the darkness with trees protruding from it like monsters. Johann decided to try his luck in the manor house first. The main entrance was locked, but the lock was simple enough for Johann to pick with a knife. Inside, he lit his lantern and looked around. Many pieces of furniture had been removed; lighter colored patches on the floor showed where chests and cupboards used to sit. Other pieces of furniture were covered with sheets. Even though Leonardo da Vinci hadn’t been dead for long, Johann felt like he was the first visitor in many years.
With his lantern raised, Johann entered Leonardo’s atelier. He saw an empty easel, dried-up dishes of paint in the shelves, brushes, and a dead mouse floating in a bucket of murky cleaning water. Johann remembered what the room had looked like when Leonardo was still alive—the many colors, a cage with chirping birds, the painting of the beautiful woman that had been Leonardo’s favorite piece—her mysterious smile, as if she knew exactly which secret the master had taken to the grave with him. The library next door that Johann would have loved to browse had been cleared out. Only a few scraps of paper lay strewn on the floor; dust and spiderwebs now filled the shelves.
Johann’s steps echoed as he walked over to the dining room where he had often sat with Leonardo and Karl, and from there to the kitchen, where it still smelled of old fat and smoked meat. The house was empty and dead. What was he thinking when he’d expected to find a clue here? There was nothing. He decided to cast a glance belowground, even though his hopes were dashed. Stairs led down into a storage cellar with a broken barrel and empty crates. Here, too, nothing but scraps of paper lay scattered on the ground.
Scraps of paper.
Johann paused.
What were scraps of paper doing in the cellar, where he would have expected to find only foodstuffs? He bent down and picked up several scraps. They were parts of Leonardo’s notes and sketches; some pieces contained only one scribbled word. They probably came from books from the library, ripped pages or small notes. When the shelves had been emptied they must have fallen out.
And perhaps then someone carried the boxes of books down here?
In the light of his lantern, Johann continued to search the floor, his heart beating faster. On the right-hand wall that was built from rust-red bricks he made an interesting discovery: one of the scraps was stuck under the wall.
When Johann felt the wall, he could make out joints that formed a high rectangle.
A door.
It wasn’t hard to find the opening mechanism. It was behind one of the bricks, which he easily pushed in. The door swung open, and on the other side, secret stairs led into the depths, just like at Tiffauges. Johann briefly wondered if the same architect had built both doors, but soon abandoned the thought. The door at Tiffauges was designed to lock people up, while this one was part of a secret passage—and Johann thought he knew where it led.
To the castle.
It made sense. Leonardo and the king had been close friends, and Francis often visited the genius he admired so much. But since the king didn’t want to bring half his court
