Or rather someone else.
Johann now and then glanced to the back, where Greta stood beside John, flirting. Johann had noticed that their demeanor had changed since the previous night, even though they tried to hide it. There were certain moments between them, smiles, furtive touches. At least Amboise was near, and therewith the end of their journey on the Étoile de Mer.
Farewell forever, John Reed.
“If looks could kill, our John would long be floating in the river. But I guess that’s the difference between you and a real sorcerer.”
Karl had stepped beside Johann. The younger man smiled thinly. “I was afraid Greta might like the boy. I know her taste. He’s got that little something. He may not be a Greek god, but he makes up for it with wit and charm.”
“Only yesterday you thought he was rather handsome, didn’t you?” said Johann grumpily. “To be honest, I would rather the fellow were dallying with you, not with my daughter. I told you I don’t trust the guy farther than I can spit. I never should have left them alone last night.”
“You forget once more that Greta is no longer a child,” said Karl with a twinkle in his eye. “And you kept the secret of your paternity from her for too long to have any say in her life. Besides, I think you’re too suspicious. John might be a flirt, but—”
“Well, we won’t have to worry about him for much longer,” said Johann, turning away brusquely.
It was true, he mistrusted Reed. But the truth was, he was also consumed by jealousy. While he slowly rotted alive, his daughter amused herself with this ginger fop. He had never before felt this helpless. A cripple without a plan. What had become of the famous Doctor Faustus and his great mind always devising a solution?
A fanfare tore him from his daydreams. It had come from somewhere in the fog in front of them. A second fanfare followed, and emerging from the fog on the left bank was another castle, the biggest one so far. It stood on a terrace-like elevation and looked splendid with its towers, crenellations, and large windows, just like Blois and other castles they’d seen along the way. The buildings seemed familiar to Johann. Evidently, the French kings had sent for architects from Italy but also added their own twists, something dreamy that went well with the swamps and the milky sun under which the Loire ran its course. Fairy-tale castles—beautiful and eerie at once.
Amboise, thought Johann, his heart beating faster.
The harbor was just as bustling as the ones at Orléans and Blois. Johann could hardly wait for the boat to be tied up. When they finally stopped moving, he picked up his bundle and handed Reed a few coins.
“I thank you. We will no longer require your services.”
John looked astonished. “So fast? Why don’t you at least wait until—”
“I’m afraid we can’t put off the visit to our relatives any longer. I hope your business will continue to go well.”
Johann briefly raised his pilgrim’s hat and walked ashore, hastily followed by Karl. Greta stood next to John for another moment, then she ran after her father.
“Hey, what are you doing?” she asked angrily and tugged at his sleeve. “We’ve been traveling for weeks and now we’re suddenly out of time?”
She turned to look at John, who was still standing at the railing, staring after them. He waved, and Greta waved back.
“It’s because of him, isn’t it?” she said bitterly. “You don’t like that I went with him. You don’t want me to go with anyone.”
“I freely admit that I don’t like the fellow. But you seem to like it when the next-best harbor rat courts you. In your disguise as a future nun you ought to—”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you. That I become a nun with you as my only god. Do you have any idea how self-absorbed and bullheaded you are, you . . . you sick old man!”
Greta clearly regretted her harsh words the moment she’d said them. She stopped and gave her father a sad look.
“By God, I just don’t know what’s going to happen. To me, to us, to . . .” She looked back toward John. “Everything is about as clear as this damned fog. I just need a bit of a diversion from all the creepy things that have been happening.”
“And you shall have it,” replied Johann. “We’re visiting the most famous painter and inventor in the world, remember?” He closed the gap between them and touched her gently. “I’m sorry for being so abrupt. I’m sure your John will stay here for the day. You can call on him later, all right?”
Greta hesitated for a moment and glanced back at John. “Give me a minute,” she said to Johann.
She walked back to John and they exchanged a few words. Johann saw that their hands touched for longer than was proper. Then Greta returned.
“All right.” She nodded. “John has to take care of the freight, anyway. It’s not like I don’t want to meet this famous man, this genius the whole world talks about. It isn’t every day that I meet someone who is even more famous and smarter than my father.”
“And he is probably only half as self-absorbed as me,” said Johann with a smile.
Amboise clearly owed its prosperity to the castle, towering like a huge shadow directly above the town, and a wide bridge that led across the Loire. It was the first bridge since Orléans, and the road was accordingly busy. Carts clattered across the timber planks, and horses and donkeys laden with sacks and bales were led toward the market.
The town itself was wedged between the Loire and a smaller river. It was narrow in shape and consisted mainly of a few parallel lanes lined by half-timbered houses and a few more significant stone houses, which probably accommodated court officials. The fog had lifted. As the small group with the dog passed through the city gate, Johann noticed a bell
