“It’s the doctor, isn’t it?” asked Karl warmly before refilling their cups with wine.
Greta nodded and took a sip. “The fit in the Wasgau . . . It’s getting worse.” She shivered despite the heat of the stove. “And there’s something else.”
“You read his palm again,” said Karl in a low voice. “I saw it. You leaned over him when he had the fit.”
“The . . . the dark pulsating was back. An aura so evil that I thought I was having a stroke.” She shook herself. “And his lines are fading, Karl. I mean—everyone has lines on their hands. Why are his vanishing?”
“You prayed for him?” said Karl.
“Yes, and then the shaking stopped. It was as if . . .” Greta paused, searching for the right words. She had the feeling that praying had not only helped Faust but also given her renewed strength. “It was as if the prayer was medicine. That’s what it was like. Medicine.”
“I’m afraid prayers won’t help the doctor for much longer,” Karl said glumly. “He needs real medicine, and soon.”
Greta gazed into the distance, seeing the doctor on the ground in her mind’s eye, twitching and drooling like a rabid dog. “That name he mentioned: Tonio . . . Tonio del Moravia.”
A log cracked in the fire and she started with fright. Why did that name make her jumpy?
“What is it with that name?” she asked Karl, who was visibly uncomfortable. “I can see it in your face! There is something both of you are keeping from me. And it has something to do with the events in Nuremberg, am I right? Damn it!” She swiped the cards off the table. “I want to know what happened back then!”
Karl said nothing at first. “I promised the doctor . . . ,” he began. Then he sighed deeply and made a gesture as if he was throwing something away. “To hell with it! Why shouldn’t you find out? You have a right to know.”
“To know what?”
“Tonio del Moravia used to be the doctor’s master,” explained Karl. “Apparently he took Faust under his wing when he was still very young. Later on, the doctor found out how infernally evil Tonio was and ran away from him.” He lowered his voice. “Tonio sacrificed children for some sort of gruesome satanic rites. Lots of children.”
“Even . . . even in Nuremberg?” asked Greta. In her mind’s eye she saw the knife shooting down and heard eerie chanting.
My torn doll on the ground of a prison cell—a bitter juice running down my throat—I don’t want to swallow, but I must. The tall man with the dead eyes whispers in my ear. He says I must, or else he will drag me down into his realm.
The memories came rushing over her and she felt nauseated.
Karl nodded. “Even in Nuremberg. Tonio took you as his hostage because he wanted the doctor. The potion must have erased your memory. There . . . there was a sacrificial ritual during which the doctor lost his eye and his little finger. Those people in the underground crypt . . .” He hesitated. “They were trying to summon something.”
“What?” asked Greta. “What were they trying to summon? Speak up!”
A few moments passed, the only sound coming from the wind, howling outside like an animal, and the fire.
“The . . . the devil.” Karl swallowed. “I believe they were trying to summon the devil.” He lifted a hand. “Not that I think they succeeded. In my opinion, the devil is much too abstract a being to invoke. But people can pray to him, just like they can pray to God.”
“You said that Tonio took me as a hostage to get to the doctor,” said Greta. “That means Johann must have known me beforehand—I must have meant something to him. What about my mother? My father?”
Karl hesitated. “I think you should speak to him,” he said eventually. “And soon. He is the only one who can tell you what really happened.”
The logs cracked, and Little Satan whined as if something terrible was chasing him in his dreams.
“What sort of devilish pact is that supposed to be?” asked Heinrich Agrippa upstairs. He had just lit his pipe for the second time. “Not that I believe in such things. But I’m intrigued.”
“When I was just a lad, I shook hands with a man,” said Johann. “He took me on as his apprentice and spoke of a pact that only he could release me from. His name was Tonio del Moravia.”
Agrippa frowned. “Go on.”
“Since that day, many things have happened in my life, both terrible and wonderful. I gained wisdom, glory, and wealth. I am the most famous magician and astrologer of the empire. Now, in hindsight, I realize how many obstacles suddenly evaporated right before my eyes. Random strangers would tip me off so I could escape from superstitious city guards at the last moment. Enemies and competitors died of mysterious diseases. Towns that had mistreated me fell victim to massive fires.” Johann shrugged. “They could all be coincidences. But I don’t really believe in coincidences any longer. I think it was the pact between me and Tonio—a pact that made this life possible. And now I must pay the price.”
“And what does any of that have to do with Gilles de Rais?” Agrippa asked and took a long drag on his pipe.
“Well, I . . . I believe Tonio del Moravia and Gilles de Rais are one and the same.” Johann paused. “I know, it sounds crazy. Gilles de Rais was hanged at Nantes eighty years ago, and yet I’m convinced
