“I was handling it,” replied Greta, sounding surer than she felt. She laced up her bloodstained bodice. “I am quite capable of defending myself, you know. The two of you have taught me a fair bit in the last few years.”
Karl grinned. “Indeed we have. That fellow looked as if he’d been in a brawl against three men at once. He won’t be back anytime soon.” Unlike the doctor, Karl wore a plain black coat that made his slim stature seem even skinnier. The intelligent eyes in his feminine, clean-shaven face told of a keen mind. During the last few years, Karl had become Greta’s closest and only friend and confidant. He was like a big brother to her. And with Karl she could be sure that he wasn’t interested in her as a woman—because he wasn’t attracted to women at all, at least not sexually.
Karl’s expression soon turned serious again. “But I fear the scoundrel could cause trouble for us. He’s bound to have a few friends in town. Or he might report us as sorcerers.” He looked at the doctor. “Perhaps threatening to turn him into a rat wasn’t the best idea.”
“It would be a wasted effort, because he already is one.” Faust gave a shrug. “Besides, we won’t stay in Bretten for much longer.”
“How come?” asked Karl, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, I received an invitation that I shouldn’t turn down. The letter came by messenger a few days ago, but I didn’t tell you about it because I wasn’t sure what I was going to do.” Faust gave a laugh. “But it’s more of an order than an invitation.”
“Who are you talking about?” asked Greta.
The doctor sighed. “It’s an invitation from the venerable prince-bishop of Bamberg, asking me to cast him a horoscope. He writes of a royal salary, but I detest the idea. Something like that will raise far too much dust, and that’s the last thing we need at the moment.” He gestured to the outside. “Did you hear the people whisper? My reputation in these climes isn’t the best, and even here in Bretten there are some who call me a necromancer and my dog the devil himself. And now Greta starts a fight with an idiot!”
“Hey!” exclaimed Greta in protest. “You make it sound like I asked the guy to rape me.”
“I’m only saying you need to take better care. I can’t always bail you out.”
“And I don’t want you to,” replied Greta coolly.
Faust waved dismissively. “Perhaps Bamberg isn’t the worst place to go. We need winter quarters, after all. And there are worse places to spend a winter than Altenburg Castle, where the prince-bishop resides.”
Greta bit her lip. Her limbs still ached from the struggle, and red streaks showed on her skin. But hurting the most was the shame she’d so nearly suffered. Men were like animals—maybe that was why she had never let any of them go all the way, even if Uncle Johann thought otherwise.
“When are you thinking of leaving for Bamberg?” she asked. “I thought we wanted to stay until the next market day.” She didn’t want to admit it—especially since she thought the prince-bishop’s invitation a little strange—but after what had just happened, she was glad to be leaving Bretten sooner rather than later.
“First thing tomorrow morning,” replied Faust. “There is just one more thing I need to do here.” His expression darkened. “Something I should have done a long time ago.” He left the tent without another word.
Greta gave Karl a puzzled look, but he only rolled his eyes.
“I’ve known the doctor for so long,” he said with a sigh. “But at the end of the day I don’t know him at all.”
Once more Greta realized that she felt the same way. After all those years, she still couldn’t say what kind of a person Faust really was. The doctor could appear gentle and considerate one moment and cold and forbidding the next. His sharp wit overshadowed everything else, and his arrogance was the stuff of legend. Whenever Greta tried to ask him about himself or about her own past, he changed the topic. No one knew what really went on behind Faust’s dark eyes.
Greta reached for Karl’s hand and squeezed it tightly. He could probably tell that she was still shaken. But that was all right—Karl was the only person she trusted completely.
“Johann Georg Faustus will probably remain a closed book to us forever,” she muttered, gazing into the overcast night sky through the opening in the tent.
Deep down inside, Greta felt she’d just described herself, too.
Thunder rumbled in the distance; to the west the clouds piled up in dark clumps. They didn’t seem to agree on when they would release their heavy burden. Not even the slightest breeze stirred in the trees, as if Mother Nature were holding her breath.
His head bent low over the horse’s neck, Johann galloped toward the small town of Knittlingen, which stood just a few miles from Bretten. He had set off with Little Satan right after his conversation with Greta and Karl, out through the Weisshofer Gate and along the Weissach River. He closed his eyes and tried to blank out the memories from long ago, but he failed.
Swimming in the river, low-hanging willow branches . . . I pull myself up and jump back into the water. Look, Margarethe, watch—I’m an evil water sprite.
Soon he could make out the Knittlingen town wall in the muggy haze, and the gentle slopes full of vines beyond, as if time had stood still for all those years. The western gate was still open, and the sole watchman let the strange rider pass without asking questions, glad to stay inside his shelter in view of the impending rain. Or perhaps he didn’t want to approach the large black dog trotting alongside its master.
Johann kept his head down until
