Greta looked up. Johann had come over soundlessly and now stood there smiling at her. She still struggled to view him as her father. To her, he was one of the smartest and most learned men in the world, famous and notorious, the hero of many tales both true and false. But her father? How much did they have in common? She feared it was more than she cared to admit.
“I’ve been practicing this trick for a long time,” said Greta, putting the cards away. “I’m surprised you only noticed now.”
They stood together in silence, gazing out at the river that rolled lazily through the landscape like a huge snake, past woods, gentle hills, villages, and distant castles. It was almost noon; they’d been traveling for a few hours since their departure from Orléans. The Loire Valley was as lovely as if God had put in a special effort during its creation, but Greta struggled to see its beauty. Her mind was still preoccupied with last night’s eerie encounter. Had it really been Tonio stalking her in the reeds? After she’d gone to bed she dreamed of a creature with eyes as deep as craters reaching out for her with its scaly hand. The face of the creature had changed all of a sudden, turning into that of her father, who dragged her into the abyss.
Kiss my scaly hand, my dear. We are going to change the world.
She had woken with a scream, drenched with sweat and the bitter taste of ash in her throat. At the same time she had felt strangely excited and aroused. What was this Tonio doing to her?
Johann’s left arm still hung limply at his side. When he noticed Greta’s look, his smile died.
“It hasn’t gotten worse, if that’s what you’re wondering. But not better, either. I entreated Reed to go faster—I even offered him more money—but he doesn’t want to. Reckons we have to spend the night at Blois anyhow, because he’s picking up more freight. Maybe we should have taken the horses.” Johann sighed. “Too late now.”
They had sold the horses at Orléans because they couldn’t bring them aboard the Étoile de Mer, as Reed had named his boat ostentatiously. It was nothing more than a shallow, single-masted barge, ten paces long; it had seen better days. There were patched-up holes and the timber was worm-eaten, and the crew consisted of three somber-looking fellows who treated Karl, Johann, and Greta as if they were only more crates and cloth bales. They did respect Little Satan, though, and tried to avoid him—not an easy feat on a small boat. The young man John had played dice with the night before wasn’t part of the crew. These men seemed more like grim soldiers than boatmen.
John wasn’t nearly as jovial as the day before, and he hadn’t looked at Greta once. Most of the time he stood at the prow with a long pole, checking for shallow patches. Greta was sorry about how she had treated John the previous night. She had acted like a stupid little girl.
But none of that mattered. What mattered was what lay ahead.
“What do you intend to do once we reach Amboise?” she asked her father. “It’s not going to be easy to meet Leonardo da Vinci in person. He is a famous, busy man.”
Johann shrugged; the gesture came out looking rather helpless with the limp arm. “I am famous and busy, too. We’ll see who people are still talking about in a hundred years.” He smiled thinly. “I just hope the great Leonardo will grant me an audience. I’ve been keeping an ear out. They say the French king is crazy about him. Francis I brought Leonardo from Rome to the Loire a few years ago and gave him the magnificent manor house where the king spent his own childhood. It is called Château du Cloux, even though it isn’t a real castle.”
Johann gazed at the opposite bank. Greta wondered if he scanned the reedy edge for possible threats.
“When the king resides at Amboise, he sees Leonardo almost every day,” continued Johann. “Francis treats Leonardo as if the artist were his father. You’re right, it won’t be easy to get an audience.” He clenched his teeth and held on to the railing with his right hand. “But I must try. This book Leonardo wrote . . .”
“The Figura Umana?”
Johann nodded. “It proves that Leonardo has studied the human body intensively, probably more than most scientists. He is a true genius. I browsed through it again last night. Believe me, if there’s anyone who can tell me what this accursed disease is about and whether there’s anything we can do against Tonio, it is Leonardo da Vinci. I should have sought him out much sooner.”
Johann’s eyes turned to the sky, where clouds collided like huge dragons. “No birds,” he said with relief. “Maybe we managed to shake him.”
Instead of explaining, her father gently touched Greta with his hand. “I’m going to sit down for a while. I’m tired. I think we should reach Blois in about two hours. Let’s hope Reed hurries up.”
He gave her an encouraging smile and walked over to Karl.
Greta’s eyes followed him. She thought her father had aged in the last few years, not so much on the outside, but inwardly. He looked as though something was consuming him from the inside, some sort of parasite that grew stronger as he grew weaker. Greta thought of the lines in Faust’s hand that faded more and more, and of the throbbing she had felt and the dark aura she had seen in his palm.
Who are you really, Father? And what is your connection with Tonio?
To take her mind off things, she walked past the many chests, bales, and crates to the front of the boat where John Reed was sitting. His strong arms held the pole he used to detect shoals. She watched him for a while before clearing her throat.
“I want to apologize,” she said.
He said nothing at first,
