“Let’s remove the four poles and tie the strings into thick ropes.” Johann pointed at the thin wooden sticks below the linen. “We tie up the ropes, hold on to those sticks, and jump off the balustrade.”
“That’s crazy!” shouted Karl.
“Crazier than all that happened on this terrace?” Johann gestured at the dead pope and the equally dead panther, both lying in a pool of blood that was still growing. “At least what I propose is not sorcery or some bizarre ritual, but reasonable science.” He winked at Karl. “Isn’t that what you always wanted to be? A reasonable scientist?”
Karl hesitated for another moment, but when a powerful thud shook the door, he gave up with a sigh.
“Better to shatter on the ground than burn at the stake, or whatever else they would have done to us.”
He helped Johann and Greta to remove the poles and braid the strings into ropes. They worked in silence as the door shuddered on its hinges. Evidently, the guards had fetched something heavy. The top hinge was beginning to come off.
“Faster!” urged Johann.
When the second hinge came off the wall, they had knotted four reasonably strong ropes. Johann tied them together in the middle, leaving three loops. One for each of them.
“Help me carry the baldachin to the balustrade.”
Acting on instinct, Johann picked up his satchel full of ingredients and tied it around his hips. Maybe some of it could still come in handy. Then they lifted up the canopy together, and a gust of wind immediately pulled on it, making it bulge like a sail at sea. Still, they managed to carry the baldachin to the edge of the terrace.
“I think a quick prayer wouldn’t hurt,” said Johann to Greta. “We could really use the Lord’s help for once.”
“The dear Lord has long since turned away from you,” replied Greta.
The third hinge dropped, and half a dozen guards poured onto the platform with raised swords and halberds.
Johann gave a shrug. “No prayer it is.”
The canopy billowed.
“Jump!” screamed Johann.
And the baldachin took off.
It was no gentle gliding, no elegant flight like that of an eagle, but an abrupt fall.
Karl felt his heart stop for a moment. This was complete madness. Man wasn’t made for flying. The ground raced toward him, hard ground, a maze of lanes in between the roofs of the houses right behind Castel Sant’Angelo. Suddenly the baldachin was struck hard by something. It took Karl a moment to realize that it wasn’t the impact but another wind gust. It lifted them up and carried them a little distance away from the castle. Karl’s hands were cramped around the rope, and beside him Greta was screaming.
And Johann laughed.
It was a throaty laughter that sounded somewhat insane. But the doctor seemed to be the only one who wasn’t on the verge of passing out with fear. Instead, he pulled on his loop, causing the baldachin to tumble but also gain height. They started to spin in wild circles. Below them, Sant’Angelo Bridge appeared; the baldachin bulged. Karl heard an ugly sound as the canopy tore.
Then they plunged into the depths.
Karl doubled over in expectation of the hard, inevitably fatal landing. Instead, his feet suddenly struck something cold and wet.
The Tiber! he thought.
The next instant, the water closed over his head. Now, at the start of December, the Tiber was as cold as the kiss of a water witch. Blackness engulfed Karl. He tried to make a few desperate swimming movements when he remembered that he didn’t know how to swim. When he had fallen into the moat at Tiffauges, John Reed had saved him. But John was dead.
Just like I am going to be.
Something grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up. Spluttering, he emerged between scraps of linen and broken sticks.
“The bank!” he heard Johann shout. “It isn’t far! We can make it!”
The doctor wrapped his arm around Karl’s chest and started pulling him through the river. Karl swallowed stinking water, coughed, but Faust didn’t let go. Karl’s body was pressed against the doctor’s. They hadn’t been this close since the horrific bath at Tiffauges. Karl was scared for his life, but at the same time he felt strangely secure.
Then they reached the muddy bank. Johann dragged Karl out of the river, where he spewed up water and bile. Trying to catch his breath, Karl looked up and saw that Greta was already waiting for them. Her dress clung to her body and was covered in brown slime, as were her hair, her arms, and her legs. Karl looked down on himself and saw that he was just as filthy.
“We stink like polecats,” remarked Johann with a grin and untied the leather satchel from around his waist. He ran his fingers through his black hair, removing leaves and some slimy items that Karl didn’t care to inspect more closely. “The Cloaca Maxima drains into the Tiber a little upstream by the Pons Aemilius,” explained Johann. “This river truly isn’t a violet-infused Roman thermal bath. But at least we flew. How did you like it?”
“How did we like it?” Karl thought he must have misheard. “It was awful—horrible! And we didn’t fly, we dropped like dead birds!”
“Well, we did fly for a little bit.” Johann nodded solemnly. “I believe we are the first persons to prove that Leonardo’s flying canopy actually works.”
“We might have survived,” said Greta, rubbing her arms to warm herself. “But Hagen is long gone with my son.” Her eyes grew empty. “I would rather have crashed and died—then I would soon be with Sebastian.”
“You mustn’t talk like that—” began Johann.
“You can’t tell me what I must and must not do!” said Greta harshly. “Was it your idea to summon the devil up on the terrace? Together with the pope or whoever? That’s why you stole my
