Despite the cold and the falling darkness, the lanes were still busy, vendors on the squares selling bleating lambs, cackling chickens, and even fish that they kept in large wooden tubs. Money changers sat below the arcades at the edges of the squares, exchanging gold, silver, and copper coins and foreign currencies from countries like Italy, Castile, or the deep south of France. Frozen mud and feces covered the cobblestones in the lanes, and Johann wondered what the stench would be like in summer. Even now, the stink mixed with the acrid smoke from cooking fires was almost unbearable.
It didn’t take Johann long to find out from a money changer where Heinrich Agrippa lived. The scholar was well known in the city, and they found the way across the river to a wealthier quarter. It was quieter here, and the lanes were cleaner—and the air smelled much better.
Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim resided in a three-story stone house with a garden by the riverside. Johann knew from their correspondence that his friend had accepted a position as municipal advocate at Metz this year, a quiet post that enabled him to spend more time with his small family. Johann had announced his visit in a letter several days earlier, and so it wasn’t long before the famous scholar came rushing down the wide, carpeted staircase to receive them in the vestibule, which was hung with expensive damask and furs. Evidently, the city of Metz paid well for the services of the renowned scholar.
“Johann Georg Faustus, my worthy colleague and dear friend!” exclaimed Agrippa, spreading his arms. He still spoke with the broad accent of his hometown, Cologne. “So it is true! You traveled all this way just to see me.” He winked at Johann. “Or is there perhaps another reason?”
Agrippa was shorter than Johann. Even though he was at home, he wore his beret and gown as if he were lecturing at the university. As he had before, Johann particularly noticed the alert eyes and the pointed nose, giving his friend the appearance of a cunning fox. In spite of his young age, Agrippa’s hair was turning gray. He gestured toward Little Satan, who looked as if he was about to pee against the elegant furniture. “Is that the same devilish beast you brought to Cologne all those years ago?”
“Her successor,” said Johann, dragging the dog off the damask blanket. “His name is Little Satan.”
“Very fitting indeed. What a beast. Why don’t you get a small, harmless poodle for a change?” Agrippa gave him a smirk. “Now don’t tell me you only came because you and your dog need a hiding place from the Bamberg prince-bishop.” He wagged his finger at Johann. “Your stay here in Metz will cost you dearly, Johann Faustus. I crave stimulating conversation, so prepare for late nights.”
Johann smiled. “So news of our little adventure at Bamberg has made it this far?”
“Little adventure?” Agrippa laughed out loud. “Ha! The whole empire is talking about the famous magus Doctor Faustus invoking the devil at Altenburg Castle in front of the collective German and foreign delegates.”
“Well, to be precise, it was not the devil but the beast from John’s apocalypse.” Johann pointed at Karl and Greta, who were still standing in the door. “My two assistants kindly helped in the manufacture of a new laterna magica. You’ve already met Karl Wagner. He painted the image of the apocalypse. He is very talented.”
“And the pretty young lady is . . . ?” asked Agrippa.
“A distant relative,” replied Johann. “And a talented juggler and trickster who is going to get far in her field.”
Agrippa nodded at the other two and grinned. “The laterna magica. I see. I remember highly entertaining demonstrations back in Cologne, when you visited for too short a time. But I don’t understand the purpose of your performance this time. You won’t be able to show your face in the empire for a considerable time.”
“I realize that. There was no other way,” replied Johann with a shrug. “But that’s a long story.”
“Oh, I love long stories.” Agrippa clapped his hands together. “This town is so drab that I’m practically withering with boredom. You must tell me about the events at Altenburg Castle, and also about that Luther, who is turning everything upside down at the moment. I am truly looking forward to our nights by the fire, Doctor Faustus.” He gave a wide smile. “And most of all I’m looking forward to your stories.”
The following night, the two scholars sat together by the open fire in Agrippa’s study on the second floor. The wind howled outside, the logs in the fire crackled, and, like in Cologne, the room smelled of rotting apples, old man, and parchment—and of something else that Johann struggled to place. He watched as Agrippa picked up a hollow wooden stick about as long as a forearm with a small pot at one end. Agrippa took a few dried leaves from a case and crumbled them carefully into the little pot. He pressed them down and held a glowing piece of fatwood against them. Smoke started to rise up, and Agrippa sucked on the end of the stem.
“I saw this pastime at a harbor down in Portugal,” he explained, puffing out plumes of smoke. “A seaman freshly returned from the New World had learned the so-called smoke-drinking from the natives there. I bought a small barrel of the weed from him and had one of these sticks whittled for me. It tastes a little odd at first, but it really helps me
