“And then?”
“Let that be my concern. Remember how we got into the underground passages of Nuremberg?” Johann winked at Karl. “Back then I had one or two tricks up my sleeve. We still have a day and a half. I am going to make a few purchases that will help us.”
Karl gave him a doubtful look. “The way you talk, you make it sound like child’s play.”
“I am Doctor Faustus—never forget,” said Johann, but then his expression darkened. “But this situation is far too serious to be considered child’s play. We mustn’t waste a minute.” He rolled up the map. His hand instinctively went to his trouser pocket, where he was keeping the tiny silver globe these days. Maybe he would soon need it.
“This is about the life of a child—my grandson. And who knows. Maybe it’s about much more.”
25
TO MAKE ALL THE PREPARATIONS JOHANN WANTED TO IN such a short amount of time, he and Karl went to the remotest parts of Rome, to lugubrious dives, dodgy vendors selling their goods at deserted catacombs, goldsmiths, and dyers. The ingredients Johann required were difficult to come by. For the legendary aqua regia, for example, they’d had to visit a silversmith who used the components for the alloying of his knives. After these nonstop errands Johann’s savings were completely used up, but the large leather satchel at his side was bulging.
“Aqua regia will help us break through locks,” he explained as they strolled across the Campo Vaccino, the so-called cow meadow, in the city’s center. It was a field of rubble surrounded by ruins. “If you mix spirits of salt and nitric acid, you end up with a liquid that can eat its way through the thickest metal.”
“And through human flesh,” said Karl sternly, eyeing the satchel on Johann’s shoulder. “And many other utensils in your sack are equally dangerous. You’re carrying a highly explosive witch’s kitchen on your back.”
“That’s why we’ll only mix the various substances when we need them. Don’t fret! Remember the flaming arrows I used to make? In the beginning, the Chinese only used blackpowder as a source of enjoyment. But now we know how deadly the powder can be.” Johann grinned. “And anyway, these items are mostly supposed to confuse our enemies—just like back in the Nuremberg underground passages, remember?”
Back then, Johann had filled the corridors with colored smoke. What he wasn’t telling Karl was that this time he’d use the ingredients for another purpose. Johann had tossed the idea back and forth for a long time, and eventually he reached the conclusion that it might come in rather useful.
As useful and as destructive as little else in this world, he thought.
It was the afternoon before the great fireworks that launched the celebration of Milan once again being part of the pope’s realm. The feast was supposed to last for three days, with music, food, and games, just like in the old times. Crowds had already started to gather around Castel Sant’Angelo, hoping to secure a good spot for the fireworks. The spectacle wouldn’t commence until well after sunset, so that the darkness would show off the rockets and firecrackers.
The fireworks had turned out to be a stroke of luck for Johann, as sulfur, saltpeter, and other rare substances had been more readily available than usual—albeit at criminal prices. Johann was glad he hadn’t touched his savings in the last couple of years, instead opting for cheap inns. Despite the staggering task ahead of them, he couldn’t suppress the thrill of anticipation. The time of waiting was finally coming to an end. What had begun many years ago, when he’d first met the magician Tonio del Moravia, was coming full circle.
You won’t get my grandchild, Tonio. No door will hinder me.
Suddenly he stopped. Rising in front of them was Palatine Hill, one of Rome’s seven hills.
“Damn it—we forgot something!”
“What?” asked Karl. “We have ground charcoal of alder buckthorn, sulfur from Sicily, saltpeter, even nitric and sulfuric acid. Not to mention all those other ingredients I’ve never heard of before.”
“We’re missing a simple picklock!” Johann slapped his hand against his forehead. “I have the clerk’s keys, but there are bound to be other locks. And there won’t be enough aqua regia for all of them.” He patted Karl’s shoulder. “You go ahead to the inn and prepare our clothing. Remember, everything must be as dark as the night. I saw a blacksmith up on Palatine Hill who looked like he might produce a picklock without asking too many questions. I’ll take a quick detour.”
“Do you want me to take the bag for you?”
“And blow yourself up with a wrong movement?” Johann smirked. “The bag stays with me. That’s where it’s safest. You go find us some rope and hooks so that we’re prepared for all eventualities at the Passetto di Borgo.”
In truth, Johann didn’t want him to take the satchel because he didn’t want Karl to ask any more questions about the ingredients.
“I’ll be an hour at the most. That’ll give us plenty of time.”
Johann turned away with one last nod and headed toward the southern end of Campo Vaccino. To the east, the Colosseum jutted into the sky, and directly in front of him stood the Mons Palatinus. With its dilapidated imperial palaces and fortifications, the hill formed the last part of the overgrown grazing lands in the center of the city. The Palatine wasn’t a good area; it was considered disabitato, abandoned, a place where no honorable citizens lived. Only ruins were left here, and large parts of those had been carried away as building material for the new churches that were springing up everywhere. Lime burners had dug deep pits in between their poor hovels, which looked strangely out of place among the remnants of lordly buildings. Only a few rugged figures moved between
