“Three dusty travelers and a large black dog,” he said to the doctor, who took a low bow. Karl and Greta followed his example. “I’ve heard about the dog, but I always imagined its master differently. Somewhat more”—he smirked—“imposing, scarier, well . . . more magical.”
“We tried to avoid causing a stir,” replied Johann, holding the old man’s gaze.
“Even though you’re much admired?”
“Much admired and much scorned.”
Da Vinci stepped forward, the two men standing face to face. Karl studied his two idols. It seemed to him like the meeting of two equal forces, two poles, simultaneously attracting and repelling each other.
“I see. A Doctor Faustus who doesn’t want to cause a stir,” said Leonardo into the silence. “What a shame. I thought you always arrive amid lightning, thunder, and smoke. That’s what I’ve been told, at least. I heard you sent the collective delegates of the empire running with a dragon at Bamberg.”
“That’s a slight exaggeration.” Johann smiled. The ice seemed broken, or at least there was a truce. “And by the way, I can’t fly, in case you’ve heard that, too. Not on a broomstick or a dragon.”
“Then it is all the more surprising that you took this long journey upon yourself just to visit an old man who is waiting for the end,” replied Leonardo. His voice was bright, somewhat feminine. He spoke Italian with the doctor, a language Karl knew almost as well as Latin. Greta, on the other hand, probably struggled to follow the conversation. She bent down and patted Little Satan, who had started to growl at the old servant.
“So it’s true what they say outside?” asked Johann with a worried expression. “Your life is coming to an end. You don’t look overly frail to me, though, if I may say so.”
Leonardo gave a dismissive wave. “I am not as feeble as they think or as the doctors try to tell me. Still, I feel that my time is nearly over. I . . . have my reasons.”
Karl looked more closely at Leonardo. As far as he knew, the great artist was in his late sixties, but he looked much older, drawn, as if some sort of demonic force had sucked out his strength before his time. Karl suddenly noticed that Leonardo’s right hand was hanging down limply, and his whole right side seemed a little stiff. The doctor noticed, too.
“Does your condition have anything to do with this paralysis?” asked Faust, nodding at Leonardo’s arm. “I’ve heard of it.” He cleared his throat and gestured at his own lifeless hand. Then he said in a low voice, “I think we have something in common, Master Leonardo. And neither of us has much time left.” Karl heard the anxiousness in his master’s voice. “Could it . . . could it be possible that we suffer from the same ailment?”
Leonardo said nothing for a long while. Outside, a blackbird chirped; time seemed to stand still. The head of the old servant had slumped onto his chest; he’d probably gone to sleep.
“Maybe,” said Leonardo eventually, looking at Johann very closely. “My ailment is very rare. Only very few share my affliction. To be honest, you would be the first one I’ve met in my life. Is that the reason you came here? Your paralysis?”
“I admit I had hoped to find an explanation here for this strange disease. Perhaps even the prospect of a remedy.”
“The ways of man are finite, and we can’t explore every path, Doctor Faustus. At least not with the usual methods and the brief time we’re granted.”
Leonardo pulled the torn half of the Figura Umana from a pocket in his tunic and held it out to Johann. His long, delicate fingers were studded with gemstone rings. “I never thought I’d see those pages again. I was in financial difficulties back then, and the Duke of Milan was kind enough to help. I always assumed he would burn the work.”
“It is an honor to return it to you,” said Johann. “What I want to know isn’t in these pages.”
“Some things oughtn’t to be written down. They are too awful—too . . .” Leonardo hesitated. “Too outlandish. People would never believe them.” He gently placed the ripped manuscript on the table between them.
“Then tell me about those things.” Faust carefully added the other half of the book so that it looked like it had never been torn apart. “Sometimes thoughts must complement one another to form a whole.”
“True indeed.” A mischievous smile spread across Leonardo’s wrinkly face. “I think the two of us can learn from each other, Doctor Faustus. Brothers in spirit.” He paused and gazed at Faust’s limp arm. “And maybe even more than that.”
Not long thereafter, Greta hurried back to the port of Amboise.
Her heart was beating fast, and not just because she was running. The meeting with Leonardo da Vinci had been impressive, but she hadn’t been nearly as moved as Karl. The men had conversed in fast Italian, and she had felt excluded. She’d soon realized that Leonardo wasn’t interested in her. Faust had introduced her as his daughter, but Leonardo had merely given her a nod. The conversation had soon shifted to scientific subjects and painting. Greta had understood that all three of them were welcome to stay at Château du Cloux, much to the dismay of Francesco Melzi. The quiet old servant had shown her to her room, and an equally old maid had brought her hot water. As soon as Greta had washed the dust from her
