My scholars sifted through Leonardo’s writings, page by page, but they found nothing.
In the passage, too, scraps littered the ground. Johann even found some intact pages, one of them containing an anatomical sketch, the opened torso of a man. The lungs had been removed, making visible the heart, stomach, and intestines. Johann thought about the dissection he had performed with Leonardo and Karl. The precision with which Leonardo had drawn his sketch was truly astounding.
The corridor was supported by ceiling beams every few yards and clad with bricks. As far as Johann could tell, it led in the direction of the castle. He walked faster, the lantern flickering and casting long shadows on the walls. Eventually he came to an iron gate secured by numerous locks.
Johann cursed under his breath. He saw at once that these locks weren’t as easy to pick as the one at the entrance. Had he really thought he could simply march into the royal castle? And what did he want at the castle, anyway? Leonardo’s documents had surely been taken away a long time ago. Angry and disappointed, he shook the gate. He was about to turn back when he heard a noise in the passageway behind him. At first he thought it was just the echo of the noise he had produced himself. But then he heard it again, low and creeping. It was a shuffling and scraping, as if a huge snake was slithering across the floor.
Someone was walking down the corridor directly toward him.
Johann couldn’t detect any light. Whoever or whatever was approaching wasn’t carrying a lantern—meaning that Johann was clearly visible, while the other could hide in the darkness. If that other was armed with a crossbow or a hand cannon, they had a decisive advantage.
Johann hesitated, then put out his lantern. Everything around him went black. But at least Johann couldn’t be seen. The shuffling stopped for a moment, then started again, faster and louder now. The person was getting very close. Johann involuntarily held his breath. Someone cleared his throat and spat on the ground.
“Nice trick, Doctor,” said a low, hoarse voice. “Now we’re both as blind as newborn kittens. But still you won’t get past me. How do you say at chess? Remis, isn’t it?”
Johann took a few moments to place the voice. He had heard it just a few times, mostly in muttered words of submission, of humble obedience.
Very well, monsignore. As you wish, monsignore. Dinner is served, would the gentlemen be so kind as to follow me . . .
Now he also remembered the name that the man standing in the darkness before him had used in Leonardo’s house. And he remembered the sound of the walking stick when the old butler used to hobble through the rooms of Château du Cloux. It was the same scraping Johann had heard just now.
“Battista!” called out Johann. “Or should I call you Henriet? And how is your friend the cook, dear Madame La Meffraye?”
“I see you’re as clever as they say, Doctor. Then I’m sure you have met our Prelati at Tiffauges, or Father Jerome, as he goes by.”
“Indeed I have. His corpse is rotting in one of the secret chambers where you used to torture innocent children. His black soul has gone to your lord, where it will hopefully burn for a very long time.”
Henriet said nothing. Evidently, this was news to him.
“First Poitou, now Prelati,” Johann went on. He strained his eyes but couldn’t make out more than the hint of an outline. “Your numbers are dwindling. And I will not rest until the last one of you is dead.”
“You’ll never succeed, because we are constantly joined by new followers. But I must admit that it saddens me to hear our Prelati is no longer with us. We were a close-knit fellowship, like a family.”
“Gilles de Rais, Poitou, the priest Prelati, La Meffraye, and you, Henriet,” counted Johann. “How many children have you murdered together? A hundred? Two hundred? A thousand? You’ve been at it for over a hundred years, after all.”
“Every single child is worth it if it buys you eternal life and a place by the master’s side,” said the voice from the darkness. “The beast will return to earth soon, Faustus! Homo Deus est! We are preparing for its arrival, and then the air will be filled with the cries, wails, and screams of those who aren’t among its disciples.”
“You’ve tried before, remember?” said Johann. “In Nuremberg. You failed then and you will fail again now.”
“We weren’t ready then. This time, we are. The master’s plan is—I can’t help but say—divine. You will understand once he explains it to you. It’s not too late, Faustus. Join us.” The scraping sound resumed, coming closer, and Johann reached for the knives at his side.
“Did Leonardo tell you what he kept from us so stubbornly?” asked Henriet. “Do you know where the recipe is hidden?”
Johann listened up. Henriet had given away more than he realized. Clearly, the secret wasn’t an item but some kind of recipe. Could Tonio del Moravia also be after the lapis philosophorum, the philosopher’s stone? When Tonio was still called Gilles de Rais, he had frantically tried to produce gold. Was he still searching for a way, and had Leonardo found one? But why would Tonio want to know? He was immortal, at least as long as he quenched his thirst for the blood of children.
What did he need gold for?
Johann decided to string Henriet along for as long as he could.
“I believe you have been looking in the wrong places.”
“We turned over every brick in this house and studied every page of his documents. I went so far as to teach myself to read Leonardo’s mirror writing. The recipe wasn’t anywhere. We searched his dead body, his shroud, all his
