Johann had explained his idea to the bishop first thing in the morning. Georg von Limpurg had climbed all the way up to his tower room, apparently curious to see what sort of books the learned Doctor Faustus carried with him. Following a stimulating conversation about Aristotle, Roger Bacon, and Albertus Magnus, Johann broached the topic he really wanted to discuss.
“Your Excellency, I am planning on presenting your horoscope in a very special manner,” he said, after gifting to the bishop a poem by Dante handwritten by the artist himself.
The bishop lowered the pince-nez he had used to check the poem’s authenticity. “And what manner is that?”
“I’ve discovered a way to make my presentation of horoscopes a little more . . . entertaining. I use an apparatus that conjures up colorful images that everyone can understand.” Johann rocked his head from side to side. “Reading out horoscopes is tedious business, a bunch of complicated numbers and tables. With my method, many people can take part in the presentation. Everyone will enjoy hearing firsthand what the stars hold in store for you and your church—and also for that Luther monk,” Johann added ominously.
“Colorful images, you say.” The bishop smiled and put down his pince-nez. He studied Johann with amusement from his small, reddened eyes. “Times are changing faster than I ever could have imagined as a young man. You’re not wrong, Doctor—those monk’s theses aren’t all bad, but they’re coming at a very inconvenient time. The empire can’t afford any more unrest, and so we’re going to have to take drastic measures. It would be helpful if your horoscope hinted at something like that.” He raised one finger. “But I can only allow your presentation if it doesn’t involve any kind of sorcery. If the horoscope predicts what I need, I would be willing to pay more. I hope you understand what I mean.”
“My current calculations indeed suggest an epochal event,” Johann replied earnestly. “And I can assure you that my apparatus has nothing to do with sorcery and is purely mechanical.”
“I’m so glad we understand each other.” The bishop rose with a soft groan; he was no longer the youngest. “You shall have everything you need, Doctor, no matter the cost.” He paused. “If, however, you were hoping I could spare you from your trip to Rome, I must disappoint you. The papal representative has made the pontiff’s wishes clear. The Holy Father is determined to make your acquaintance, and, as you know, I’m answerable to no one except . . .” He gave an apologetic shrug.
“The pope,” said Johann. “Yes, I know. Well, my conscience is clear, and therefore I have nothing to fear.”
Georg patted Johann’s shoulder with his fleshy fingers. “Spoken like our savior himself. I’m pleased to hear it.”
The bishop made sure Johann received glass, the hollow mirror, and everything else he needed. He worked in the tower room for five days and five nights while Karl and Greta started on the images. The screwing, filing, and fiddling on the copper housing, the tube, and the oil lamp helped Johann calm his mind. He was following a clear goal: he would get out of here with one last big bang. He wanted the empire to remember him for a long time.
And he knew exactly where he would go once he made it out.
Johann felt relief at not having to hide his illness from Greta and Karl any longer. He wouldn’t have been able to for much longer, anyhow. He still started to shake every now and then while bending over the lenses or the hollow mirror in the dull candlelight, but it was never as bad again as the night Viktor von Lahnstein had spoken to him about Gilles de Rais. Johann had been racking his brains ever since, wondering what the pope could mean by his claim that Johann shared a secret with the insane knight. Why might the church be interested in a heretic and mass murderer like Gilles de Rais? And what did Viktor von Lahnstein mean when he said that others were also interested in Johann’s knowledge?
But there was one question that bothered him more than any other.
How did the pope know about his connection to Gilles de Rais in the first place? Johann had never told anyone about it, not even Greta and Karl.
Viktor von Lahnstein had visited him twice since then. The papal representative wasn’t overly thrilled that Johann was taking so long to compile the horoscope; he seemed to sense that something was up. But Lahnstein didn’t dare to defy the bishop’s wishes, and Hagen the mercenary remained at his post outside the door.
Until the sixth day, when the laterna magica was completed and the show ready to begin.
3
KARL PEEKED THROUGH THE CURTAIN AT THE CROWD waiting in rows of chairs in the darkened great hall of the palas. At the end of the long room a small stage had been set up, divided in half by a damask tapestry suspended from the ceiling. The three of them waited together in the darkness behind the curtain for the last of the bishop’s guests to arrive. The doctor was perfectly calm as he stood next to Greta, who was holding Little Satan by a leash, waiting for the signal they had agreed upon.
Karl could not understand for the life of him how the other two managed to be so composed, while his own heart seemed to be beating in his throat. He guessed it was the poise of jugglers, which he would always lack. He still couldn’t bring himself to believe their plan might actually work. But if it didn’t, they would probably all get boiled alive and broken on the wheel—the usual punishment for black magicians and necromancers.
I never should have agreed to this, thought Karl. But he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of once more putting on a great show with the laterna magica, featuring images painted by him.
