Oh yes, those three would experience hell right here on earth.
Johann imagined he was floating in warm water, his body drifting on the surface like a cork, without feelings, without pain. Every now and then someone wiped the sweat off his forehead. He guessed it was Karl but couldn’t say for certain, because that would have required opening his eyes, and he’d rather not. He would rather have another drink.
“Theriac,” he muttered. “Just one more sip.”
“You’ve had enough theriac to last you a lifetime,” said a voice that was probably Karl’s. “Do you think I haven’t noticed the increase of your daily dose over the last few weeks?”
“Good Karl.” Johann smiled. “Can’t hide anything from you. You’d have made an excellent physician if you didn’t have to travel the lands with that accursed Faustus. I wonder if people will tell your story in years to come, too?”
In an attempt to fight his shaking, Johann had indeed consumed more and more of his medicine, which contained henbane, thorn apple, and poppy juice. It wasn’t the cheap, harmless swill he sold to his patients but his very own mixture that had become a constant companion. In the beginning he had only taken a few drops in the evening, but now he mixed three or four spoonfuls with a glass of brandy, several times a day. Today he had drained the whole bottle. It eased the pain and the shaking, but most of all it helped him forget.
He would go to hell, and then Tonio would fetch his daughter.
We will mate with her on Blocksberg Mountain, my little Faust. Through her, evil will receive its new coat.
Something pulled at him. At first Johann thought it was the jagged beak of a raven. Earlier that day he had seen an old raven on the opposite roof as if the beast was waiting for him. Johann growled like an angry wolf, but the pulling didn’t stop.
“Go away, you damned creature!” he shouted. “Tell your master that I won’t go with him! Not yet.”
Then he opened his eyes.
There was no raven. Leaning over him was Greta, and behind her stood another figure who looked like it was trying to remain in the background. The figure had hair like fiery flames. Had the devil come in person to take him?
“Greta,” he whispered. “Forgive me . . . I wanted to protect you . . .”
“Jesus Christ, wake up, Father!”
Cold water hit his face, followed by a slap across his cheek. He started up and beheld the face of John Reed with his flaming red hair, his hand raised for another slap.
A wave of anger overcame Johann. He felt so furious that he even sobered up a little.
“How dare you!” he snarled. “And what are you doing here? You have no business being here—you can forget about my daughter!”
John grinned at Greta and Karl beside him. “Didn’t I tell you? Anger can be an excellent medicine. I’d be happy to slap him again if—”
“I think that’s enough, John,” said Greta. She looked at her father intently. “Now can you listen to what I have to say?”
“I am neither senile nor a fool,” said Johann. “Say what you must say and then leave me in peace.”
“Tonio is nearby,” started Greta.
Johann groaned. “I know that. I’ve been saying all along—”
“He’s always been around here, because his castle isn’t far from here. It’s in Brittany,” she said. “It is the castle of Gilles de Rais!” She took Johann’s hand. “Do you understand, Father? He didn’t follow us. We traveled to his realm without even knowing!”
“What are you saying?” Johann shot up as if struck by lightning. Little Satan, who had been lying next to the stove, pricked up his ears and gave a low growl.
“It’s just as your daughter says,” piped up John. “This Gilles de Rais used to live at Tiffauges in the barony of Retz. Folks tell a lot of scary stories about that castle. When Gilles was on trial, they found the bones of hundreds of children in the cellars, and large stoves where his helpers supposedly burned the small bodies. To this day it is a place people avoid.”
Johann’s head was thumping and he struggled to concentrate. He tried to remember what the great scholar Conrad Celtis had told him about Gilles de Rais many years ago. Celtis, too, had mentioned castles of the dark marshal, but Johann never knew the names of the castles.
“What is the name of the place again?” asked Johann. Something had rung a bell in Johann’s mind.
“Tiffauges,” repeated John. “It lies in Brittany and—”
“Seguaffit!” exclaimed Johann. “Of course, Seguaffit!”
“I’m afraid you have a fever.” Greta tried to feel his forehead, but Johann swiped her hand aside.
“Leonardo wrote that word on one of his notes in his library,” he explained. “Below it was the drawing of a castle upon a mountain of skulls and bones. I couldn’t make head nor tail of the word, but I didn’t consider the fact that Leonardo often writes in mirror writing. Only this time he wrote the letters correctly but the word back to front. That’s why I didn’t see it! Seguaffit is Tiffauges—Leonardo knows of the place. And that means he also knows of Gilles de Rais.”
Johann remembered that Leonardo had watched him in the library for a while. He probably saw what Johann was looking at, and afterward the room had remained locked. Because Leonardo didn’t want him to find out more? It was too late to ask him about it, but it showed that they were on the right track.
“How far is Tiffauges from here?” asked Karl.
John rubbed his nose. “Hmm, a little over a hundred miles, perhaps. Not a good area down there. I’ve heard new stories of missing or dead children. Although I guess people talk a lot, and most of it is probably superstitious nonsense.”
Trembling, Johann rose from his foul-smelling cot. The news had sobered him up greatly. He swayed a little but managed to
